by M. Suddain
‘I know, I know.’
I remember the crowd jeering and throwing things. I didn’t care. I couldn’t see Nanše. I remember a man with a thin moustache damping down the noise and announcing to the room that I was going to do a wine tasting, and if I got it right I’d live. Or some shit. The Butcher had started making synthetic copies of famous wines and she wanted to prove you couldn’t tell the real from her fake. There was a table set up with a bottle of fine wine beside the synthetic version made in one of the Butcher’s factories. I could see instantly which one was the copy. I know the sleepy little Lake Placid 41 like my own mother. The synthetic version was like a garish painting of the real thing. Also, there was a dull square on one of the bottles where the label had been steamed off. The other bottle was brand new.
‘Gods,’ said Lepold as he banged the table with delight, ‘that woman was such a dullard!’
‘So,’ said the moustached man. ‘You guess right wine, you live.’
‘Yes, it’s that one. Listen, can you tell me where I can find the kitchen staff?’ The place went fucking nuts. But I was already leaving, or trying to. Full bottles of wine were flying past my head. A fight broke out among the queens. One of them slashed another with a broken bottle, burst her fake tit. Fluid went everywhere. Soldiers were slipping and falling in it. The Butcher was so angry, and the man with the thin moustache shouted, ‘She plans to drown you in wine! Go and leave! You don’t want to be at this party!’ So I left to find Nanše. I got lost, ended up on the deck.
‘And that’s where we met.’
‘So I wasn’t imagining it. You were there.’
‘In a sense.’
‘You were smoking in the shadows.’
‘Yes. Do you remember what we talked about?’
‘I don’t. I’m sorry.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. I said you shouldn’t be there, and you said you had to be. I asked you if it was love, and you said no, something better. I asked you where in the world you’d go if you could choose one place, and you told me about a hotel you’d wasted years trying to find. You described it in such detail it was astonishing. It was miraculous that you could have described the place so well without ever having visited. I asked you who you’d bring to the hotel with you, if you could bring anyone. You said your friend, Nancy.’
‘Nanše.’
‘Yes. But I could tell you were lying, Jonathan. I can always tell. I could tell there was someone else you’d rather take. Sometimes we embark on insane quests to distract us from reality. And the reality was that you were thinking of someone else. So that was when you shot up the list. To the very top.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t want to bring anyone else here.’
‘I’m not saying you did it because of feelings. I think you did it because you knew it would change her. And have you ever seen her so happy? You haven’t, don’t bother lying. So you said goodnight to me and went to find your friend.’
I found her near the kitchens. The party was descending into chaos. She had a worried look, unkempt hair. She understandably was not impressed to see me.
‘Why the fuck would I leave with you, you fuck?’ She said something like that. And I said, ‘Because I want to help you.’ Or some insane bullshit. She told me, kindly, that it wasn’t my job to look after her. She’d done pretty well without, and, in fact, in spite of, my help. And she told me, kindly, that she still loved me like a brother, but that from what she’d seen lately I had enough to do looking after myself. And that kind of settled it. Then some soldiers came along and tried to order her to drink with them. I told her to go back to the kitchen and lock herself in, and she was sensible enough to do it. The soldiers were angry, but there were only two of them, and they weren’t very big. Once I’d dealt with them I took one of their hunting knives and went off to barricade myself in my room. The noise outside was indescribable. Several times they tried to kick my door in. I slept in my clothes. And when I woke in the morning the door was intact, and it was silent. I wore a gas mask. A message was smeared in the mirror in lipstick: ‘DO NOT REMOVE YOUR MASK.’ Someone had left a book on my bedside table, and put a laundry ticket between the pages. My door was still locked and barricaded. Everyone was dead. I never saw the Butcher. Did you kill her?’
‘Yes and no. We made a copy of her. She’s here now. You think I’d be satisfied with killing that woman once? I keep her here where I can have tea with her whenever I want. I must have murdered that woman a thousand times, in a thousand different ways, and still I hardly feel like I’ve begun. I’ve done it until it doesn’t feel like revenge. It just feels like a relaxing habit. Like smoking a cigarette, or stroking your lover’s hair. Usually I tell her the whole story first. There’s pleasure in the telling. That look she gets in her eyes when the truth dawns on her. I’m so grateful for your story, Jonathan. And I’m sorry you lost her. I know how it feels to lose your family.’
‘So she is dead?’
‘Of course. We couldn’t save everyone. But we saved you, and you’re here, and everyone is happy.’
‘So why is this place still open if you did all this just to get revenge on one mad woman?’
He looked astonished. ‘Is that what you think? No, you can’t think that.’ My next course arrived.
‘Well, what then?’
‘Do you remember when we were young, Jonathan, the old folk tales they’d tell us? How it rained and some man built a boat. How the bad would be punished and the good would go to heaven? Well, I think we both know that’s horseshit.’
‘Of course.’
‘We both know there are no gods, and nothing beyond death. True evil goes unpunished. It turns to dust with the good and gentle. Well, I couldn’t fathom this. I thought about it every day in the camps while I watched people starve and get raped and murdered. How can people with the power to change the world stand by and do nothing? So I decided to do something. That’s why I built this place. I did this for them.’
‘And the children in your factories? Did you do it for them, too?’
‘I did it mostly for them. I’d do anything for them. This is war. We are fighting for civilisation. But in that fight sacrifices must be made. What we learned from those few thousand children who gave their lives has helped millions.’
‘To be better slaves to the rich and powerful.’
‘I belong to an elite, Jonathan. A Super Class who run the world, and who own most of it. In ancient times we were hemmed in by national borders, and laws, and powerful religious institutions. These days we live beyond any borders, including the borders of ideology and justice. We do what we want, we pay no taxes, and life has never been better.’
‘I’m well aware of who you are and what you do.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t believe that’s true. When I built this place I went to members of the Super Class and said, “How would you like life to be even better? How would you like to live in paradise, and be young forever, and have those you love around you forever, and want for nothing, and experience delights beyond imagining? I will make you immortal. I will make you happy. How much of your fortune would you give for that?” “Why, all of it!” was the common answer. Digital cryogenics. They wet themselves over that name. But you should never trust the person who offers to satisfy your ultimate desires.’
‘And what about the children from the factories? Your little slaves. Do you give any thought to their desires?’
‘Yes. But are they any longer children? Ms Zhivast is several hundred years old now, in real terms. And slaves? No. They are servants. To serve is a heaven. They serve these animals all year. They give them unfaltering service. They wait upon them, and suffer their indulgences. And then once a year, at Harvest, my children get to show these people how grateful they are for the dark little world they’ve built, and for everything they’ve done for them.’ He allowed his lips to pull back over his perfect teeth.
‘Hold on.’
‘Oh yes, that look you’re doi
ng. That’s what I live for. Turn your head a little to the light.’
‘Are you saying …?’
‘These animals think they live above the world, Jonathan. Above justice. Well, they’re not above my justice. All year we put up with their inhumanity. The children absorb it all with perfect grace, with smiles and polite nods. The girls take the crass comments and wandering hands and the constant threat of sexual invasion. The boys take the insults and slaps around the skulls and the pushes down the stairs for perceived insolences. The weeks leading up to Harvest are hardest. Almost a year’s worth of hate sits on our shoulders. And the animals are drunker, and worse behaved. But can you imagine, Jonathan, what it feels like, at Harvest, the night before the Wild Hunt, the swelling pleasure in our collective chests as the clock-hands stalk towards the hour, when the halls have a quiet holiness about them, when a lowly maid or porter knows that in just a few short pushes of a cart, in a few pulls of a bed sheet, in a few unhappy smiles and “Yes, ma’ams”, the signal will be given, and a merry, bloody hell with be unleashed.’
‘Gods.’
‘There are no gods here. There are no gods at all. But there must be a hell for these people. There must be a punishment for the things they and their kind have done to the world.’
I couldn’t fathom what he was telling me. I clutched the silver spoon in my hand. The skin which wrapped itself around the bones and muscles in my hand seemed vile. The small morsel on the spoon seemed like a disgusting secretion.
‘The Wild Hunt is a magical holiday. It’s what Harvest was always meant to be. A time for the people. And then, when Harvest is over, and Spring Rounds are done, and the place is cleansed and restored to order, the animals are woken, refreshed, restored into new bodies, and they go about their animal business none the wiser. They think they went to bed as they always do. The clones rise. The cycle begins again. This is our ninth Harvest, and I can tell you they get better and better every year. Would you like to be a part of it?’
‘I’m sorry, what are you asking me? Would I like to pay you so that you and your children can butcher me every Harvest?’
He looked genuinely shocked. ‘Great gods, Jonathan, do you think you’re one of them? The most powerful people in the Cloud sell their souls for membership here. A man of your means could never … I’m sorry for the confusion. Even with all your mother’s money … And I’m mortified you think I’d treat you like one of those gold-encrusted sewer rats. You’re one of us. And because you brought the Water Bear to us, for better or worse, I want to reward you. So now I’ll give you a simple choice. You can leave after dessert. Go back into the world, with no memories of this place of course. Or you can stay on as a member of our circle. We want to hire you. Everyone is very excited.’
‘Hire me?’
‘Oh – your face! No, not as some clerk or waiter. Gods no. You’ll be playing yourself. As a guest. Our inside man. Your “job” – if it can be called that – is to drink and dine with the animals, to be witty, to stir a little intrigue, perhaps, and to generally follow your will. Much like you have been doing. Within limits, of course.’
‘… Are you saying you want me to be an actor?’
‘I suppose that’s one way to describe it. Yes. You’ll act your part until Harvest comes again, and then the mask will come off. I think you’ll make a fine member of our family. So. What do you think?’
‘What do I think? I think this is completely fucking incredible.’ Credit where it’s due, Colette. His scheme was monstrous. But also utterly amazing.
‘I thought you might think so. They’re all here, Jonathan. The people who abandoned you in your time of need. So you’ll join us? You’ll agree to be a member of our happy little family forever?’
‘Hmmm? Oh, absolutely not. No, you’re obviously out of your fucking shell. In a profoundly interesting way, granted. You have my respect, Lepold. You could be the most interesting man I’ve ever met.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And Rojiibo’s meal is more miraculous than I could even have imagined.’
‘This is only a taste of his genius.’
‘I’m sure. But I don’t want to be a part of your play forever. You might enjoy waking up not knowing if you’ll be killed with a hatchet by your double, but that’s because you’re a lunatic. No offence.’
‘None received.’
‘I’ve only come here to distract you long enough for my friends to escape, and then to leave myself. Or to shoot myself in the head, if you won’t let me leave. Once I’ve had coffee, of course. I wouldn’t leave before coffee.’
‘Jonathan, you should consider this more carefully. Do you know what you’re sacrificing? Paradise. Eternal life. The chance to be a lord of retribution. Take a few minutes to consider it.’
‘I’ve had my whole life to consider it.’
‘Well, that’s your choice. The last course is coming. Ms Green, too. If my information is correct.’
‘What? Gladys?’
‘Yes. Just in time to ruin dessert.’
A few minutes later we heard shouts; a small cloud entered the restaurant. The cloud, a merry, mystical fluffy thing, came squeezing in through the arched entrance. The cloud said, ‘Come on, idiot, it’s time to go.’
‘Gladys! The fuck are you doing here?’
A shadow moved from within the cloud.
‘My job.’
We had been enveloped in whiteness. My host had vanished but for his voice.
‘Ms Green, this is a surprise. Are you here to make more demands? Fine, we’ll acquiesce, you can see her again. You can say goodbye. We’ll give you the Presidential Apartment for the night. Now come, sit down, drink a glass with us.’
‘Thanks, we’re not staying. Come on, dick-for-brains.’
‘The way she speaks to you, Jonathan.’
‘I know. It’s wonderful.’
‘Sit, please. Both of you. Let’s talk this through. It’s war out there in the halls. If you try to leave you’ll make them angry. And you haven’t been uploaded yet. If they kill you, that’s it forever.’
‘We’ll take our chances. Come on, John. It’s now or never.’
‘I need my luggage.’
‘Fuck your luggage.’
‘All the best, Lepold. It’s been … interesting.’
‘All the best, Jonathan. I’m sad to see you go.’
I shot him in the face. How many chances do you get to do that?
‘You wasted a fucking bullet. Give me my gun, idiot.’ I handed it over.
A cloud-filled corridor lit by emergency lighting. Shadows moving in the fog. ‘Who are these women, Gladys?’
‘They’re my Huntresses.’
‘Of course. And what are they doing?’
‘Hunting. Huntresses, remember what I taught you. Slow and perfect. Don’t let them flank you like last time. Use your ears and noses. Hit the temple or the brainstem.’
Her Huntresses, nine of them, had removed their white aprons and smeared their faces with kitchen soot so they looked like shadows. They carried compact weapons, mostly ice picks. One Huntress pulled a Winchester loaded up with several dozen portable fire extinguishers, and she intermittently shot jets of carbonox forward and back to obscure our group. The only other object on the Winchester was Doctor Rubin’s head. He looked surprised. One of the women had a flame-thrower strapped to her back. It was marked ‘MPS’.
‘Don’t I get a weapon, Gladys?’
‘Yeah, that’d go well. Take off your shoes.’
‘What? I only just got them back.’
‘I swear to the gods, Jonathan, I will shoot you in the fucking balls.’
I took off my shoes.
‘Here, wipe off your cologne and blacken your face.’
‘I don’t do blackface, G. It’s offensive.’
‘I fucking swear …’
‘Fine, fine.’
We moved in a column like guerilla fighters through the misty halls. As we approached junctions two Huntr
esses moved forward and shot clouds of carbonox into the new passages, then vanished. We heard muffled cries. The women returned with bloodied tools and gave G a short salute. On we travelled. Inch by inch through the sticky twilight. Squads from rival cliques came at us in small packs. The Huntresses saw them off. The enemy was noisy. We could hear them whispering, giggling. We could hear them nervously jiggling their weapons. We picked off their sentries. The air was hot and sticky. It smelled of sweat and honey. How far had we gone? When we came upon our own scouts we absorbed them into our group and moved on. Passage by passage we grew. We came to a fountain and we stopped to drink. The Huntresses dressed their wounds and said nothing. Sometimes one would glance at me, but otherwise I was ignored. I’d stopped asking any questions. I’d obeyed requests to breathe less audibly. We moved on. We came to makeshift barricades. Dozens of shadows waited. A banner said ‘PUZZY PITROL’. But she’d trained her Huntresses well. They hit the defences softly. The enemy had no time to react. Sometimes the Huntresses would infiltrate a group waiting in ambush, with each girl taking a man and standing just a few inches behind him. The boys had no idea. Then, at some signal I couldn’t perceive, they’d strike at once, the bodies would fall noiselessly. For well-defended positions the Huntresses might pretend an attack and fall back, wailing and calling for help, drawing the enemy into the open, and as the attackers came blindly on they finished them.
We were in a small arcade only a few turns from the Grand Staircase when a large force attacked us. They came from both directions. Dozens and dozens of men. Too many. I saw arrows and nails cut through the fog around my head. I heard battle cries. I knelt and waited. A Huntress knelt near me, her pointless eyes closed. Then she was gone. I heard the sounds of battle moving away from both directions. Sound and space was compressed. Gladys moved softly away to help, saying, ‘Don’t move.’ The shapes of men came charging at the place her voice had been, lumbered on past me through the fog, breathing heavy, thickly scented. They couldn’t see me. They were so close. Just a step to the left. Huntresses came back from up and down the hall, giving little hoots. Two squads pursued them from both directions, roaring and swinging primitive weapons, attacking nothing but fog until they met in the middle, hacking wildly, confused in the netherspace, and annihilated each other. I ducked under a blade and felt the wind. Its hulking owner slammed into me. I fell on my back and rolled away. Heard his dying scream. Now I was lost. I didn’t know which way we’d come from. I couldn’t smell or hear my own kind. The sounds of battle came from every side. Muffled cries. The sound of metal cutting flesh. I teased the air with my fingers, looking for a wall. I felt coarse cloth brush past. A wall, finally. I felt the coarse paper. But where was I? There was a burst of gunfire nearby. I heard a voice say, ‘Fancy Man is over there. I smell him.’ I pawed my way along the wall, looking for any place I could hide. The battle was drawing in around me. The place was full of bodies. I sensed Huntresses crouched still nearby, probably as confused as me about what was happening. Then they moved off. The battle eased. Large shadows came stalking closer. ‘He is this way!’ From the milkiness, I heard a familiar voice: ‘Fancy Man. Is me, Ginger. I want to kiss you.’ Her voice, but not her. I heard men giggle. I saw Massimo’s thick-armed shape. At least a dozen more shapes. Drawing in, tightening the noose. ‘Come out, Fancy Man. Come out and let me kiss you.’ Massimo was now so close I could see he wore a pair of fire gloves he’d adorned with long, cruel shards of glass. He clacked them together. I found an abandoned fire axe on the carpet. Its handle was sticky with blood. I’d take him with me.
