We turned and began to walk away. Somewhere behind me I could hear the voice of Miss Elizabeth Baines calling after me.
“Captain Wedderburn! Oh, Captain! Stop! It’s urgent!”
“Not her too,” I said.
“Who is that woman?” asked Bill as I hurried her along.
“That’s Miss Elizabeth Baines. She’s mad. She thinks I’m going to marry her.”
“She sounds pretty upset.”
“Of course she’s upset,” I replied. “She thinks I’d make a suitable husband. Wouldn’t the thought of marrying me upset you? Like I said, she’s mad. Just like everyone else in this city.”
There were two pedalcabs and one hansom cab waiting outside the station.
“Not the horse,” said Bill.
“Okay.”
We climbed into the first pedal cab. The driver was a young woman barely five feet tall. She stood on the pedals above a mountain of silver cogs and gears, her legs like young trees.
“The Spiral, please!” called Bill.
“Twenty minutes,” replied our driver and she let out a huge grunt and began to pedal. Slowly the cab began to move. A scatter of filigree-patterned starlings erupted around the cab as we glided down a side street, and then we were rolling down the ramp onto the Kingsway. A flight of bright green parakeets arrowed alongside the road, heading for the docks and passage to other lands.
“You talked about the Numbers Floor,” said Bill, suddenly. “Did you hear about the mathematicians, James?”
“No? What about them?”
“They committed suicide. All the ones remaining in Dream London. At least, it looked like suicide.”
“It’ll have been suicide,” I said, thinking of the Numbers Floor. “Trust me.”
THE SPIRAL HAD begun in Piccadilly Circus, back when Piccadilly Circus still lay at the end of Regent Street, back before it had spun off to its current stamping ground.
Now the electric displays had crackled and died, and the buildings had pulled back into the distance, a grey horizon of broken teeth, a broken Stonehenge. The ground had crumbled and turned over itself and slipped downwards in a wide concrete spiral. The spiral formed a path lined with two queues of Dream Londoners. One queue of eager observers descended to look through the hole at the bottom of the Spiral, the second ascended in stunned silence.
Barrows and stalls had been set up all around the perimeter, selling ice creams and coffee, flowers and jewelled beetles.
“Look at the statues,” said Bill, pointing beyond the stalls. “What are they supposed to be?”
“I don’t know,” I said, squinting. “They don’t quite make sense... Why are we here, Bill?”
“To send a signal. Stop asking me questions. Don’t make me tell you anything else. Now, take my arm. Let’s look as if we’re enjoying ourselves.”
I did as I was told. I was past arguing. The brightly dressed people walked amongst the broken forest of stone that rose from the concrete ground, and I peered closer.
“They’re people,” I said, and I suddenly smiled, despite myself. “They’re hugging!” I said.
“They’re not just hugging,” said Bill.
Now I knew what I was looking at the statues resolved themselves into figures of men and women in various erotic positions. Sometimes alone, more often in pairs or threes or fours.
“And parents bring their children to this place?” said Bill in amazement, watching as a young girl skipped by, her hair in curls. I shuddered. The girl reminded me of Honey Peppers.
“Look at that one,” said Bill.
We walked around the edge of the stalls to see the statue that stood at the top of the Spiral. Women in white crinoline, men in striped blazers, children in sailor suits: no one could pass it by without stopping a moment to stare.
The figures on this statue were still uncompleted, still half focused, but the meaning of the tableaux was obvious. Two women, five men and some shorter figures, all engaged in group sex. The two women in particular were enjoying themselves immensely, the half formed expressions on their faces caught between joy and ecstasy.
“Why?” said Bill. “What does it mean?”
“It means there’s more sex than love in Dream London,” I said. “Or hadn’t you picked up on that?”
“There’s diminishing amounts of sex, according to what the other girls tell me,” said Bill. “More and more of the men seem to just want to tell the girls about their problems then burst into tears.”
She flashed a look at me. “Is that what’s happening to the girls at Belltower End?”
“Not my girls,” I said. “You wouldn’t waste what they had to offer by crying into their bosom.”
“You’re loathsome,” said Bill.
I was rather hurt. I wasn’t being serious, but Bill was. She was speaking the truth.
“Tell me now, what are we doing here?” I demanded.
“Sending a signal.” She jabbed me in the side with her fingers. I don’t know what she hit, but I doubled up in incredible pain. She bent over and hissed in my ear. “I told you, don’t demand answers from me when I’m like this.”
We joined the thinning evening queue and began the slow descent. The crowd shuffled forward bit by bit as those at the front took their turn looking through the hole.
“Have you been here before?” asked Bill.
I said nothing. Two could play at her game.
“Stop acting like a child. Have you been here before?”
“A couple of times,” I said, grudgingly. “The Spiral gets deeper all the time. The hole gets wider.”
“What do you think is down there?”
“Another world,” I replied.
“Do you really think that it could be Pandemonium?”
“I don’t believe in Pandemonium.”
Bill looked up into the violet sky. “Which reminds me...” she said.
She pulled a mirror from somewhere within her dress and pointed it to the sky. She began to flick it this way and that.
“Heliography?” I said. “You’re flashing messages?”
“The spy satellites can still pick up the reflections,” she said. “Dream London hasn’t managed to reach up high enough to affect them yet.”
“Give it time,” I said.
“What’re you doing, darling?” asked the man behind us in the queue.
“She’s trying to do her make-up,” I said.
“There’s no need,” said the man. “Pretty girl like you.” His girlfriend elbowed him in the ribs.
We shuffled forward down the Spiral. From where we stood we could look over the heads of three spiral turns of people, all waiting their turn to look down the hole. It was like queuing for the rides at an old theme park. There was the same air of expectation, the same sense of carnival. Still we shuffled on until, just as evening was falling, we reached the front of the queue.
The hole lay at the dead centre of the Spiral. It was the size of a manhole, just big enough for someone to climb through. A woman in a peaked cap stood nearby, keeping order.
“No more than two at once,” she said to us. “Take your time. You don’t want to fall in, do you?”
Bill and I got down on our hands and knees and crept forward to the edge of the hole. I looked down and saw a patchwork of green fields, far, far below.
“It is another world,” I said.
You could make out cities in the middle of the fields, irregular grey blobs.
“There’s a city directly below us,” said Bill, in awe.
“Is it directly below?” I wondered aloud, looking down. “I’m sure it used to be more off centre...”
“It’s below,” she said. “And look. Look at the shadow.”
“Where?”
“Look to the centre of the city. A shadow. Cast by that tower in the middle. The tower is foreshortened at this angle, the shadow gives it away.”
I looked again. I couldn’t see anything.
“Are those cranes down there?”
said Bill. “They must be building the tower...”
“Time’s up, sir and madam. Let someone else have a look.”
We crawled back from the hole and got to our feet, brushing off our knees as we did so.
“It’s incredible,” I said.
“I know,” said the attendant. “And it gets a little closer every day.”
“Do you know there is a tower in the middle?” said Bill. “I think it’s growing towards this hole.”
The attendant agreed. “Professor Humphrey brings his telescope here in the early morning to take measurements.”
“I think the tower will join to this hole,” said Bill. “And when it does, I think something will climb up it and come through.”
The attendant laughed.
“Madam! Let’s not frighten the other customers.”
WE WALKED BACK up the ramp away from the hole and crossed the wide space around the Spiral.
“I have to get back to the Laughing Dog,” said Bill.
“I’m not sure where I’m going,” I said.
“You need to get back to the Poison Yews.”
“Why? The place is a madhouse. Margaret keeps making passes at me. Alan is under the spell of Shaqeel...”
“Shaqeel,” said Bill. “I wish we could do something about him... I’m sure he’s working alone, just another guy out for himself...”
“The only sensible one there is Anna,” I said, wistfully.
The thing was, I wasn’t sure where else to go. Daddio Clarke was sure to have Belltower End staked out. The smartest thing to do would be to get away from the city for a while and lay low, but of course that option no longer applied. You couldn’t escape Dream London.
We left the wide open space and headed down an evening-lit street in search of a taxi. Couples out for an evening stroll lined the pavements, and the poets and musicians were emerging. Somewhere nearby I heard the sound of an accordion. Then a harsh voice barked out:
“I spy a soldier!”
It was hard to miss the man who spoke the words. He wore a scarlet jacket covered in silver braid; his tight black trousers were tucked into polished black boots that passed his knees.
“Well?” he said. “Am I right, sir?”
“I was a soldier,” I admitted, looking down at my bright green military jacket. “Not any more.”
“Once a soldier, always a soldier, sir! I knew it! You can’t fool me!”
Now I saw the desk, tucked back in a shop doorway. A man and a woman dressed in similarly old fashioned costumes. Both were good looking, though my eye was naturally drawn towards the woman, the way her long curly blonde hair spilled down, the way she filled her jacket, the way the stripes on her white trousers curved over her hips.
“I see you’ve noticed Gloria, sir!” He nudged me in the ribs. “What soldier wouldn’t?” Gloria was standing to attention; her brown eyes slid to meet mine and she gave me a saucy wink before resuming eyes-front. “Plenty more like her in the Dream Londoners!”
“The Dream Londoners?”
“Prospect Tower First Infantry, ma’am!” The soldier gave Bill a second look: she was dressed like a whore, after all. “Ladies like yourself are always welcome there, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Bill.
“Prospect Tower First Infantry?” I said. “Why does a tower need an army? Is there a war?”
The soldier laughed. “Not that I know of, sir. But there are other places. Sail up the river and you’re in other lands. They’re always in need of people to keep the peace. Old soldier like you would be welcome in the regiment, sir.”
“I don’t fight anymore.”
The man held out a hand, fingers spread wide, and waggled it back and forth.
“Not much fighting, really. Most of the time we keep the peace. There’re a lot of primitive people down the river. We do our bit to bring a bit of civilisation to them.”
“What people?” asked Bill. “You mean humans, like us?”
“Weeeeelll,” said the soldier, shaking his hand. “It’s debatable as to whether they’re like us, isn’t it? I mean, look what we’ve achieved. Cities and books and things like that. The people down the river, well, they just live in little huts. It’s not like they’re like us, is it?”
“I meant, do they have two arms and legs. Are they humanoid?”
I thought about Mr Monagan, the orange frog who insisted he was a man.
“Oh yes. They’re humanoid. Quite good workers some of them, when you can get them to understand what you want. Can be really quite on the ball, when they want to be. That’s what I mean sir...” He turned back to me, effectively dismissing Bill. “Sign up today and you could get yourself dressed up in a smart uniform like this! Girls like a man in uniform...” He winked again.
I was tempted, there was no denying it. Sign up, sail up the river and live the life of Reilly, lording it over the savages. The uniform, the women, the chance to make a little on the side. It would be just like the old days... But what would I really be letting myself in for? I’d be astonished if this man was telling me the full truth.
“I’m sorry,” I said, regretfully. “I’m not interested.”
“Come on, sir. Tell me that you’re busy, tell me that you are earning more at the moment, tell me that you’ve got commitments, but don’t tell me that you’re not interested! Old soldier like you. Admit it, you miss it, don’t you?”
“No...”
“Come on, you miss the camaraderie. Just think about it, sir, sailing up the river with your mates, new lands to explore. And that’s not all...”
He stopped, clapped his hand over his mouth.
“Sorry sir, said too much. Only, well, listen sir. I shouldn’t tell you this, but I can trust you, can’t I? Old soldier and everything?”
Bill rolled her eyes, the soldier ignored her.
“Only, well, there are rumours, you know how it is, the word is, that well,” he came closer, lowered his voice, “face it sir, it’s obvious. This is just the beginning. The Spiral is only part of it. You’ve heard what’s happening in the parks, haven’t you?”
“Tell me,” said Bill, suddenly alert. “What’s happening in the parks?”
“Not for your ears, ma’am!” He leant closer to me again. “But you know something’s up, sir. No one can get near them! Something big is happening there, sir. Something that will make the river redundant. A new way to the other lands, sir! And I tell you what, when that happens, they’re going to need a lot more soldiers! I tell you what, sir, sign up now and get yourself established. Get yourself promoted and dug in. Get yourself behind the counter in the quartermaster’s stores where you can get your hands in the honey, a little for you, a little for the troops. Things fall off the back of the lorry, and into a smart man’s bag. You know how it works, sir. You know how it works...”
I looked at Bill; her eyes were alive with interest.
“I’m convinced!” she said. “Where do I sign?”
“Are you sure, Bill?” I said. Was that the truth? Was she still under the effect of the Script?
The soldier laughed.
“She’s got some balls, sir! I’ll say that! How about you? You wouldn’t let the lady join on her own, would you?”
He took Bill’s hand and led her to the desk by which the other two soldiers stood. Gloria smiled at me as I approached. She more than smiled at me; she made it perfectly clear how she was interested in me.
The recruiting sergeant sat at the desk and opened a leather folder. He pulled out two sheets of yellow paper and laid them on the desk. Bill took one and examined it.
“I can’t read the writing at the bottom,” she said.
“Don’t worry about that,” said the recruiting sergeant.
“And I’ve never heard of some of these names. Cleronic Bovaclus, Valvius Methostophile. Some of these words aren’t even written in any script I recognise.”
I picked up the other one of the sheets, and looked at some of
the strange letters inscribed upon it. Not in black ink, but of a colour that seemed to shimmer like a beetle shell, and all of a sudden strange numbers were swimming before my eyes. Reds and greens and the other numbers from the tower. At the same time I felt someone gently stroke my bottom. I smelt perfume, and Gloria leant closer to me, her long blonde hair tickling my face.
“Pen, sir? Pen, madam?” said the recruiting sergeant, smiling as he held out one in each hand.
Despite myself, I was reaching out to take one. As I did, it seemed to me that a fresh wind blew from the sealed shop doorway behind him. I smelt grass and the sea.
I would have signed there and then if Bill hadn’t suddenly laughed loudly.
“Oh yes,” she said. “It doesn’t affect me so much. I am new here after all.”
“Excuse me, miss?”
“The flowers you have in your pocket, Sergeant. And you too, Gloria. Look at Jim here. He’s quite bewitched!”
I shook my head. She was right.
“And I feel so much better,” she said. “Completely back to normal.” She glared at me.
“Oh, that’s good,” I said. With some effort, I placed the paper back down on the desk. “I think I need to go and think about this.”
“Not to worry, sir, I’ll be here all week.” The Sergeant winked at me. “And so will Gloria!” he added.
THE SKY WAS darkening, blue ink seeping down from above. The air was filling with the smell of flowers, and the birds chirruped and squawked their evening messages.
“You wanted to go,” said Bill.
“It was the flowers.”
“Do you always run away when things get tough?”
“Why do you say that?”
“You left the army. You’re thinking of abandoning Alan and the Cartel.”
“I told you, you don’t know what it’s like in that house.”
There was a beef stand up ahead.
“Two please,” I said, holding up two fingers. “And two teas.”
“I hate the way you Brits drink tea, strong and milky.”
“There’s a coffee stand further along.”
We watched as the vendor sliced beef from a joint onto two slices of bread.
Dream London Page 17
