by Richard Dee
He blinked, what were all these things? There seemed to be so much more of everything than he remembered.
Huge vehicles, belching steam and black smoke roared past him, filled with crates of goods, or seated people. There was a distinct lack of equines, the last time he had been in the city, they were still providing the majority of motive power. Equines had pulled trams and carts, driven machines by walking in circles attached to shafts. Now there were hardly any in sight, the ones that were visible had heavy blinkers and seemed to be protected from the bustle of modern life. If they had not been, surely they would surely have been terrified by the racket and bolted. The smell of sweat and manure had been replaced by that of coal and combustion. The machines had changed in the time he had been inside too, they had become less, he struggled for the word, amateurish. They were better finished, less obvious in their mechanics, even graceful, in a way.
There were Exo-men, the walking machines, oversized, faceless men, he remembered them well enough. They strode purposefully about, carrying huge loads or performing tasks, closely attended by their generators, the operators hung in their harness, limbs waggling furiously.
He saw groups of soldiers and sailors in uniforms, women in fine gowns and the usual assortment of beggars, street urchins and hawkers, shouting of their wares. Strange and enticing smells came from the stalls of street food sellers. Behind the walls, there was naught but the distant hum of life, close-up it assaulted Jackson’s unprepared senses, like a physical thing. He stopped still, aghast at the racket. Jessamine seemed not to notice; he felt his arm pulled by her. “Come on,” she shouted, “we need to see what we have come to see, ’twill not wait for us.”
They jumped on to one of the cable-trams; at least they were familiar to him. Jessamine pushed at a button on the Umbell’s handle and it collapsed into the small cylinder shape. How did it do that? he wondered. There was a jolt as the tram’s motion clamps engaged with the moving cable beneath the street and they set off. Jackson was thrown against Jessamine and together they tumbled into a seat. Jackson had thought that her body would be hard, from the muscle she so obviously possessed; he was surprised to find it pleasantly soft. Blushing, he pulled away and they sat side-by-side in silence.
“I remember these,” he said, “from when I was… before.”
“They are old now, and replaced by the aerialway, look up.” They rounded a corner and Jackson saw the line of pillars marching away into the distance. Running between them, a long track extended across the sky. Jackson could see where the buildings had been altered to make way for its advance. There were stations located in the sides of them, places where the line was doubled to allow passing and the sudden shadow as a carriage moved in front of the sun. It was beautiful, almost magical.
How does it work?” he asked.
“I don’t really know; you’ll have to ask Oswald. There is some sort of gear arrangement on the track; an engine in the carriage drives a cog that engages on the rail, like the cogs in a clockwork. We can ride on one later, if you wish.”
Considering she claimed ignorance, Jackson could picture the workings perfectly from her description. He added a trip on the aerialway to the list of things he desired. What else could be better than a ride above the city, over the river? It would be like travelling in a flying machine.
“Anyway,” Jessamine continued, “today is a day away from work, as far as possible. We must enjoy ourselves. Although we have a place to go, Langdon has told me that I should also show you around the city, so that you can see how it has changed. Then, we will have luncheon in the park and go to visit a most useful person, someone who will be a great help to you, if ever you’re in need.”
Jackson savoured the sights and sounds, the noise of conversation, the squeal of tram wheels as the thick wire cables dragged them along. As he got more used to his situation, he spotted a few equines still clopping on the cobbles. To his surprise, they seemed less bothered by all the noise than he was.
They disembarked near the main square, close to the river. The rain had ceased, the clouds thinned and parted, allowing sunshine to brighten up the dark buildings. Jessamine led him around the city, pointing out the landmarks, some of which he remembered from happier times, days out with this mother. Others were new to him, places they were intending to visit, before the accident that had changed everything.
He saw the great buildings of state, where decisions were taken that shaped the world. Victory Square, the wide-open space on the north of the River Norland, with the great promenade along the shore. The bridges of Stafford, Maloney and Giles, brick arches stood solid in the raging torrent. And all the while, Jessamine explained how everything fitted together in the scheme of Langdon’s machinations.
“Langdon keeps a network of houses, all over the city,” Jessamine said. “On a map in your belt, when you get it, will be a list. If you are in danger or outside and unable to return, you should be safe in any one of them.”
She took him up First Avenue, where the rich and famous had their town houses, past the theatres and gaming rooms, then they were in the Aldondo, the home of the most exclusive shops and emporia. Jackson’s mother had cherished the idea of one day browsing the fine clothes and jewellery, so far beyond her means. He felt his chest tighten at the memory of her, blinked back a tear.
Jessamine had not noticed his sadness. “Now we have to get the most important job done,” she said, as they stood outside the premises of Hardspill and Walker, tailors to gentlefolk. “You are to be measured for suitable clothing. That is a part of today’s purpose; you need to be outfitted to pass as a gentleman, or as a tradesman. Sir Mortimer keeps an account here.”
“Is it Mortimer or Sir Mortimer?” asked Jackson. “You call him by both.”
“He is Sir Mortimer, the last king but one honoured him, for what he will not say. In normal conversation, Mortimer; or even Langdon is sufficient. He always says that he is unconcerned about his honorific. That there are others more deserving. He is a modest man, and a patriot too.” There was true affection in her tone.
Inside the shop, Jackson was greeted with an array of waxen, faceless, model men; arranged in lifelike poses. They were clad in all manner of garments. An assistant provided a chair for Jessamine, a cup of Char and a journal to read, while Jackson was taken away and thoroughly measured. He was made to strip to his under things as two men with tapes gauged the size of his every part. They called out a string of numbers to a third who recorded them all in a small book. The only words uttered were ‘raise your arms,’ and, ‘lower them.’
Finally, he dressed and returned to Jessamine, who was in conversation with a female assistant. She had a book, with pages made of cloth and was pleased to see him. “Jackson, what do you think of these patterns?” she asked. “You will need three suits, as well as shirts, hats and accoutrements. Oh, and clothes for walking the land and labouring.”
Jackson didn’t know what to say, he had one set of clothes, the idea that different ones were needed for different functions was beyond him. He was about to say so when he was saved by the assistant. “Shall we make up the collection as we did for Sir Mortimer’s last apprentice?” he asked.
“Yes, that would be the best plan,” Jackson replied. He realised that he had learned another lesson. When in doubt, say as little as possible and wait for clues.
“The clothes will be made up and sent to the usual place,” the assistant said, and they were free to leave.
In a daze, Jackson walked down the street. “That was a terrifying experience,” he said. “To be measured like that, I felt as if I was being judged, like a prize bovine in some country fair. And what do I know of which clothes are for what function.”
Jessamine laughed; Jackson was becoming used to that laugh. Unlike Capricia’s bray, it was a pleasant sound. He liked the way her mouth turned as she laughed and now that he thought, he realised that he was trying to make it happen as much as he could.
“You did well, agreeing
that they do what they had done before; it was clever not to show your ignorance. I think Cofé is in order; here is a favourite place of mine.”
She led him across the busy road, dodging between the trams and mobiles. Ahead was a place calling itself the Excelsior Char Rooms, its long frontage one great sheet of clear glass. As they peered through it, Jackson could see inside that people were taking Char and Cofé, eating small cakes and talking. He vaguely remembered the name. “Isn’t this a famous place?”
“You remembered,” she said. “Yes, this is the very place frequented by Aphra Claringbold in the early days of the Ladies who Lunch. She is a hero of mine.”
Jackson remembered the name from one of the lectures, it had been back at the start of his training and at first, he thought it of little interest or relevance to him. He recalled that when he had heard it, he had almost been asleep with boredom. He decided that it would not be a good idea to reveal that he could remember little save the name. After all, he had changed his attitude toward absorbing knowledge soon after.
“Well then,” he said, “we must go in and take a cup of Cofé.”
“You’re right, the rest of the day is ours, now that we have performed that duty. We have to meet Clarry this after, but that is a long time away.”
They went inside and a waitress found them a table. Jackson looked at the menu, then saw the prices. “How will we pay? I have no money,” he said.
Jessamine laughed again. “It’s alright, I have money.”
“How? Did Sir Mortimer give it to you for today?”
A shadow crossed her face. “It’s not polite to ask how a lady obtains her money,” she said. “However, this time I will tell you. Some of the work I do for Sir Mortimer involves being paid for services rendered. If I did not take the money offered, it would throw suspicion on my true motives.”
Jackson understood. “Forgive me, I did to mean to pry. I suppose you mean paid employment, in shops or offices, whilst obtaining information.”
“You understand it completely,” she said. “But remember, it’s impolite to enquire.” The waitress returned and Jessamine ordered Cofé and cakes for them both.
“You are one of us now,” she said.
He nodded. “Thank you, it feels good to know that I am a part of something again. What of the future? Will I soon be off on some daring escapade?”
“I don’t think of the future,” she said, “none of us do. We are alive, we function in the moment. We all know that each day could be our last. There is no point in dreaming of a future, there are no old agents. It might be best if you did the same, enjoy every day, wring as much from it as there is, but never expect a tomorrow. When you wake, it will be a bonus.”
Listening to her, she seemed old beyond her years, what things had she seen to make her think that way? Was it because Enoch was lying close to death, or was there more?
“I want to get away,” said Jackson, giving voice to his dreams.
She grew agitated, grabbed his hand across the table. “You cannot,” she hissed, causing others to look at them. “You have sworn an oath.”
Just then, the waitress appeared with a trolley, on which sat an array of cups and pots. There was also a three-tiered glass and metal stand, filled with dainty cakes and morsels of refined cacao in paper cases. “Shall I pour?” the waitress asked.
“No, I can manage,” replied Jessamine. The atmosphere crackled with tension; Jackson knew that he should not have said it but wondered at the ferocity of her response. Obviously annoyed, Jessamine poured them both Cofé and selected a cake.
He laughed, “What of it, oaths are made to be broken, the great and the good break them all the time.”
“Jackson, let me tell you about Rufus Seymour. He was once one of us and he thought the same. He vanished one day, after he had been trained. He is the reason why you do not have your own quip-belt, he took his and all the other trappings when he went.” She took a sip of her Cofé. Jackson did too, it was delicious, it could have been another thing entirely to the drink they called Cofé in the orphanage.
“Langdon flew into a rage, I’d never seen him so angry, ‘ungrateful wretch’, he said, he got us all outside looking, even Patching and Clarry, the man you will be meeting later. We turned the city upside down. Eventually we found him, cornered him in a disused warehouse by the docks.”
“What happened?” asked Jackson, although he half knew what she would say.
“It was awful. Patching did it, we were all made to watch. He was as casual as if he were killing a porker for our lunch. It must have been nothing to him. ‘Let that be a lesson to you all’, Langdon said when it was done, ‘if you’re not in; then this is the only way out’.”
There was real anguish on her face. “Be warned, Jackson, I would be loath to see the same happen to you. But if we had to, we would find you and do it, without a second thought.”
Jackson tried to rescue the situation, explain that he had changed his mind. “I said that I wanted to, not that I would. That was my initial thought; I saw all this as a way to gain my freedom, now I’m not so sure.”
“That’s wise; now eat your cakes, before I take yours as well as mine. They are delicious.”
Jackson tried one of the cacao squares; he had not tasted the substance since before he had been in the orphanage. It was as he remembered it, melting slowly on his tongue, its sweetness filling his senses.
“If days like this are on offer, I would be mad to run,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. “There is all this talk of work, but when? And what? Is it all spying and secret meetings?”
“Who knows?” she said. “All we can do is wait for the call. There is always some intrigue in progress, someone bent on disrupting the governance of the country, by money or secrets, men seek power and our life as a nation is ever under threat.”
“What are the most interesting things you have done?”
“I wondered when you would want to know about my exciting life,” she said. “Well, I have been on a ship through a fierce storm, jumped from Rail Rydes, been chased by canines and had many other adventures.” It sounded exciting; in his mind, Jackson has glimpses of doing the same.
Then she went back to seriousness. “But there is one part of this work that I will not reveal, the part concerning my dealings with men. You will hear of things that might seem callous or beyond the bounds of respectable behaviour. I will only say this once; I’ve done things that you might not approve of. I’m not ashamed of any of it, I did it all in the name of Norlandia and I would do it again if I thought it would keep my country safe. More than that, I will not discuss.”
As she finished he saw that her hand was shaking as she placed her cup down. The delicate material rattled against the saucer. He had never considered the toll that clandestine work might take on mind as well as body.
“I will not judge you,” he said as kindly as he could, taking her hand, feeling the tremor subside. “Although this is a new world for me and I find it strange, the casual attitudes to life and death; to mind and body…, well, they are not what I feel comfortable with at present. I will try to understand.”
She looked at him across the table, he saw tears welling up. “If you stay with us, you will want for nothing,” she muttered.
“Except freedom?”
“Freedom? Look around. Who is truly free? We all have responsibilities, things that tie us. You have to decide where you are contented.”
“It sounds as if I have little choice in the matter. I have either to live and be content here or spend my life on the run, hunted by those who used to be friends.”
“It’s not a bad life, with all its faults. Once you accept that your time may be short, you take the maximum pleasure from each day, take every chance for enjoyment that is offered to you.”
They finished their Cofé in silence, Jackson wanted to ask so much, but could not find the words. Jessamine paid at the desk and they left, catching a tram across the Stafford Bridge. T
hey strolled through the more genteel suburbs of the south side of the city. There were huge houses, behind stone walls, with wrought iron clockwork gates, manned by old soldiers. Then they came upon rows of well-kept terraced houses, with neat gardens and brightly painted doors. It was a world away from the bustle of the north side. The mood had changed between them, it was now more serious; he felt uncomfortable. If only he had not mentioned his thoughts of escape.
“I’m sorry, I was stupid,” he said. “I should never have said it.”
“Said what?” she asked.
“That I wanted to leave, it has spoiled the day.”
“Don’t be silly,” she replied. “We all wanted to leave at some point. It’s not that, just some memories stirred up by our conversation. I should not allow them to intrude. I will banish them to the back of my mind.”
They reached the end of the houses, beyond them, a vast expanse of green, dotted with small buildings and groups of people. “This is the great park,” she said, “a place of recreation and enjoyment, let’s sit for a moment, we can have our luncheon.”
They strolled among the trees, climbing a small hill, sitting finally against the bole of a huge querca. “There are so many of these glorious trees,” Jessamine said, “of great age now that the navy no longer wants them for its ships.”
Jackson felt the power in the tree; he relaxed for the first time since he could remember. Here and now, there was no threat, no need for caution. He began to see what Jessamine had meant when she had said take every moment, and that even if he wasn’t free, this would be as good a way as any to live.
“When was the last time that you went outside those walls?” Jessamine asked.
“I’ve been at the Orphanage for six years,” he replied. “I had a normal life, till my parents died.”
She gasped. “It must have been so awful, to have been with a family, then not.”
Jackson nodded. “With my parents dead there was nobody, save an aunt, to take me in. She had no husband or children and quickly tired of caring for me. We argued all the time, then one day, I decided that I was leaving, to take my chances on my own. It happened that was the day she had sold me.”
