Vurt

by Jeff Noon

  ‘You heard that,’ I said. ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘What’s up, love?’ asked Des.

  ‘That voice! Listen to it! Can’t you hear it! We’re in a Metavurt!’

  ‘Don’t be silly now.’

  And as she said it, she held my hand in her own. Her fingers were soft and long, with sharpened nails, that dug in, just slightly, just enough.

  ‘Okay, lovebirds. Enough words,’ announced the Beetle. ‘Here come the fuckers!’

  And the snakes came, unravelling from the shadows, from the golden shadows, all violets and greens, giving a shine to the world, a poisonous shine. They were coming in hundreds, but so tightly knotted, it would take more than a human span to count them.

  I tried to run. I think I tried to run.

  But something held me back; this could only be perfect.

  Takshaka the King rose up, his great head all mutilated and bleeding. He seemed to be made out of smoke, not flesh, a snake of smoke.

  YOU ARE REALLY GETTING ON MY WICK! PLEASE VACATE THIS META-LEVEL IMMEDIATELY.

  Beetle let loose the first blow, swinging his ball hammer down in a hard graph, the muscles in his arms standing out like plague swellings. The head of a young snake caught the blow, and then cracked open, so that the weed could get through, dripping sap into the system, until the snake split apart, and there was snake juice everywhere, all over the warriors. But it looked so good, that splatter, we all just had to join in, bringing hammers down on the heads of snakes, dodging the fangs, revelling in the juice that was pouring over us, like a marinade of rain.

  We hit that first line of snakes like a flesh hammer, and it all seemed so easy, so very easy for a Yellow, so maybe Yellows aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Or maybe I was dreaming all this. Maybe I getting the Haunting again, seeing the dirt through the glass.

  No matter.

  Some dreamsnakes died that night, let me tell you.

  Of course we did well, we did good, we did it like warriors, like heroes. We didn’t get Takshaka, King Snake, but we hammered some bad fucker cronies. And we got those earrings back, and delivered.

  The Beetle was draped all over with snakeskin, layers of it, stuff he had flayed with his own hands. He had a snakehead pinned to his jacket, a personal souvenir of the victory.

  ‘That was some theatre, Des!’ he said. ‘Thanks for finding it.’

  ‘No trouble, Bee,’ my sister answered.

  We were all slumped out; Brid fast asleep on the couch, me in my favourite armchair, Desdemona on the rug by the fire. Only the Beetle was lively; he was pacing the room like a jammed-up panther, looking for something to eat.

  ‘I feel like squeezing the juice some more,’ he said. ‘Come on, Bridget. Time for bed.’ She rose up to follow him, and the door closed behind them with a soft sound.

  Desdemona and I, all alone then, against the world.

  ‘You wanna go to bed?’ I asked her, copying Beetle.

  ‘Yes please,’ she answered. And my pulse sang.

  This is just like she’s never been away.

  We fell into each other’s arms, under the sheets, with a warm breath blowing from the open windows, like an English balm.

  Just like she’s never…

  And afterwards—as we lay stomach to back, my right hand on her breasts, my left scrunched up against her neck, my right leg draped over her legs, my left tucked up neat against her thighs, her breathing moving to mine like a twin clock—a man came into our room.

  Desdemona was fast asleep, and so was I, but I could feel him there, in the darkened air, like a taste on the mouth long after the feast has gone.

  ‘Young man,’ the ghost said. ‘I am most disappointed in your conduct.’

  My eyes wouldn’t open; I was locked in fear.

  ‘No doubt you have an excuse,’ the darkness said.

  ‘Desdemona…’ I asked. Or tried to ask. Or thought that I might have asked. Or didn’t ask. No matter, Desdemona just slept right on through anyway.

  ‘Open your eyes, young man, when you’re looking at me.’

  Something made me do it, some outside force.

  My father was looking down at me, from the foot of the bed.

  Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh Christ!

  I couldn’t seem to move. Why can’t I move?

  Stay calm. Can’t be. Can’t be.

  Not my father. Just some older man.

  Father wouldn’t have just stood there watching his children in bed. No. He would have pounded me. Not out of any common decency, no, but out of jealousy; having bedded his daughter a few times anyway, along with all the cuttings to her—

  ‘Be careful,’ the man said.

  I knew that voice.

  I was sitting upright now, the sheets caught up around me. Desdemona stirred beside me, but did not awake.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Be careful. Be very, very careful.’

  ‘Game Cat?’

  ‘Indeed. You remember me.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you before.’

  ‘Why, we met only this morning. At a rather sleazy affair I’m afraid.’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  I was coming down from the fear by now, and getting pictures; me standing on the balcony, looking down; the man standing beside me No! I wasn’t having that! This morning I was sleeping next to Desdemona, this very bed.

  ‘You know that Tapewormer is a young boy’s feather?’

  ‘Tapewormer?’

  ‘Presumably you have heard of it?’

  ‘Of course, it’s a—’

  ‘You’re in it now.’

  ‘No. This is—’

  ‘Young man, you are in the Vurt. Listen to me. This is the Game Cat speaking. When am I ever wrong?’

  I looked over at Desdemona. She was peaceful. She was there. ‘Cat! Tell me I’m not in Vurt,’ I pleaded.

  The Cat just smiled.

  ‘Please! I’m not on Vurt. Please! This is for real.’

  ‘Don’t fight it, kittling. You just did a Yellow. You just did Takshaka. Think about it.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘That was a Tapewormer Yellow. Has to be. You’d be dead otherwise. Yellows do not come that easy.’

  ‘Please!’ I was hugging Desdemona in her deep sleep. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re not talking about me! Desdemona is here! She’s here!’

  ‘Did you not get the voices?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘You know that you did. Inside Takshaka. The voices warning you about going Meta. That was the Sniffing General speaking.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The General’s in charge of the layers. You made him very, very angry. You heard him, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. But—’

  ‘And the others—the Stash Riders, is it? How very quaint—they didn’t hear the voice. I wonder why?’

  ‘Because they…’ But I was feeling it bad.

  ‘Because you are indulging in Tapewormer. Alone. The others are just figments. Nothing is real.’

  I couldn’t take it any more. I was trying to get up, struggling with the wet sheets. ‘Get out of my house!’ I screamed, but the Cat just laughed. He pushed me back easily, with one finger. I collapsed back onto the bed, beside Des. She still hadn’t woken, and I suppose I should have seen it by now.

  The Game Cat was looking down at me. His face had turned cold.

  ‘You ever heard of Curious Yellow?’ he asked.

  ‘What? No…I…vaguely…’

  ‘It means nothing to you?’

  ‘Isn’t it some high-level Vurt. A yellow feather? Why? Should it mean something?’

  The Cat sighed, wearily. ‘Let me tell you about Curious Yellow. It’s a sucker fuck, my kittling. A testing ground, if you like. A rites of passage game. It’s painful. We are at this moment inside Tapewormer. It makes the past beautiful. It takes out all the bad stuff. Exaggerates the good. Curious Yellow is the exact opposite. It makes the past into a nightmare, and then
strands you there, with no hope of release. Only knowledge will get you out. Listen, I’ve been there. It takes all you’ve got.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘That’s where your sister is. Curious Yellow. Trapped there. Suffering. Dying. And you, young man, are spending your time in wanker feathers like this one, making believe that she is safe. That disgusts me.’

  This speech had finished me. It felt like I was being told some ultimate truth; I knew it to be true. And yet it went against the world I was living in.

  Maybe I just wanted to deny it.

  ‘Am I getting through?’ the Cat said.

  ‘You’re confusing me.’

  ‘I had to do this, Scribble. Tapewormer is not the way. I need you out there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The real world. You’ll be pulling out soon. And when you do…all this will make sense. I have something to ask of you. Will you look after my brother for me? No, don’t protest. His name is Tristan. In this version of the world you never meet, but in reality you do. We are…well…we’re not very close. Not these days. He has just suffered a great, great loss. I would like to offer some condolences…alas, it is not to be. He needs help, Scribble. Would you do this for me? No, no, don’t say anything. Just remember these words. Consider this a dream—it may be easier that way—and that soon you will awake. Do you understand?’

  ‘Almost.’

  ‘Good. Let Sirius guide you.’

  Game Cat reached inside his jacket and pulled out a feather. It was a silver feather. ‘Do you have anything to give me?’ he asked.

  I shook my head. The feather was holding me, the way the lights were dancing in it.

  ‘That card will do.’ He was looking over at our bedside table. The strange card was lying there, the one with the fool and the dog. ‘Give me that.’

  I gave it to him and he placed the feather in my hands. It rested in my palm like a sliver of the moon.

  ‘Do you know what it is?’

  ‘It’s a Silver. An Operator feather. I…’

  ‘I know. It gets to you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Never seen one before. It’s very beautiful.’

  ‘Its name is Sniffing General. The General is a Doorgod. Perhaps one of the most powerful. Be very careful, when dealing with him. You may find need of him one day.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘Hobart gave it to me.’

  I was so shocked, I almost dropped the Silver.

  ‘You’ve met Hobart?!’

  ‘Sniffing General is Hobart’s servant.’

  Everybody knew about Hobart, but nobody knew anything. Just the hundreds of rumours that surrounded the name: Hobart invented Vurt. Hobart is alive, Hobart is dead. Hobart is a man, a woman, a child, an alien. Some have called her Queen Hobart, and they have worshipped her. To others Hobart is a dream or a myth, or just a good story that somebody made up, so good that it stuck around, became truth.

  Nobody knew anything.

  ‘What is Hobart, Cat?’ I asked. But his eyes were far away, his mouth set into a tight line.

  ‘Some Viper is coming in the system, Scribble. I’m getting it. Bad messages. I really don’t need this, young man. This is your fuck up! This is what you get when you go Meta. We’re getting some leakage from Takshaka Yellow. May I advise a jerkout?’

  ‘Wait! Game Cat! What’s happening?’

  ‘It’s all yours, Scribble. It’s your show.’

  There was a noise coming from beyond the door.

  ‘Game Cat!!!’

  He’d vanished.

  Oh Christ! What was that?

  There was a light shining under the bedroom door, and I knew that I’d turned all the lights out before following Desdemona to bed. It was a green and violet light, and I could smell saffron in the air as drifts of smoke found their way in through cracks.

  I turned to wake Desdemona.

  She had slipped away from me, unseen.

  I was alone. Everything was slipping away; the room, the world, the love.

  I was in a Vurt, haunted.

  That terrible sadness.

  Takshaka exploded through the door, a great rush of colours and mists, writhing around the room, even as the room started to fade and I was pulling out…

  Come on! Do it!

  Couldn’t find the way out.

  King Snake wove his long body around the room, almost like he was showing off. His head was three feet across, with a cruel mouth split by two spear-like fangs. There was a knowing look in his unblinking eyes, like he was laughing at me. And something else there; something that stirred a bad memory for me; I knew that look! From the real world—

  Come on, you bastard! Let me out of here!

  I was working the jerkout switch but getting nowhere, stuck between worlds, knowing in my mind exactly what I was, even whilst my body clung to the Vurt.

  And somebody calling my name…

  Takshaka opened his mouth wide to show off the bloated poison sac at the back of his throat.

  ‘Scribble!’ That voice.

  Help me. Voice, help me. Takshaka closed his mouth slightly until I could see his eyes again and catch the look that was there—

  Shadowcop!

  ‘Scribble! Come out! Please!’ The voice calling to me. Twinkle’s voice!

  King of the Snakes soaring down at me—

  Do it now, do the jerkout! Do it!

  ‘Scriiiii—

  Intense wrenching somewhere in the body and I was—

  —iiiiiible!’

  —falling onto the settee as though from miles away.

  Shaking, shaking. Twinkle was shaking me. ‘Scribble? Stop it!’

  ‘What? Huh! Christ! Hurts—’

  ‘I’ve got you now. Calm down!’ Twinkle holding me tight as I held on to the real world, like it was my mother, holding me back from the dream.

  Tapewormer.

  It was all just Tapewormer. All the kisses and caresses of Desdemona, they were all just false dreams, a poor boy’s dreams.

  Desdemona was still captured and this was reality.

  I was stretched out full length on an old settee, in a rented room in Whalley Range, and Karli the robobitch was licking my face, and Twinkle was bending over me. ‘Are you alright, Mister Scribble?’ she asked.

  Couldn’t answer. Didn’t know if I was or not.

  She forced something into my hands. ‘It’s from the Beetle. He can’t use it any more. Not with his bad arm.’

  I bought my hand up to my face. The Beetle’s gun in my hand.

  ‘He says to tell you…happy birthday.’

  Beetle had given me this?

  ‘And from me,’ Twinkle said, slowly, like it was hard work. And then I remembered hitting her.

  ‘I’m sorry for hitting you, Twink. Stuff was getting to me.’

  ‘I can see that.’ And she could. Girl was growing.

  I weighted the gun in my palm, feeling its power. Opened it up, saw three bullets left there. Mine to use. This time, I won’t drop you in panic or fear.

  In my other hand, a silver feather lay waiting. Sniffing General. Doorgod. Key to the Cat.

  ‘Scribble! You brought back a Silver!’ cried Twinkle. ‘Well done!’

  Well done?

  Well then…yes…well done, well fucking done! I was coming through!

  It’s all yours, Scribble. It’s your show. Let Sirius guide you. And I knew exactly what he meant. The dog star.

  I’m coming after you, all my lost ones.

  DAY 23

  ‘A glass of fetish. Clean drugs. Good friends. A hot partner.’

  FEATHERED UP

  Midnight. Closedown. Stepping out of the house, locking the door behind me. Alone. The streets of Whalley Range shimmering to a dark haze. Some few streetlamps still functioning, most of them long dead. The warm clammy air hung like a Sunday’s curse over the town, full up with the smell of rain. It sure was building up to a comedown. This was going to be the longest Sunday of my life.
/>   Let’s do it!

  I reached into my pocket, pulled out a tube of Vaz, looking up and down the street, searching out a potential victim. I saw one some twelve cars away, a nice bright Ford Transit, parked half on, half off the pavement. I started to walk towards it, thinking; come on you bastard, you Game Cat, give me some knowledge! Let me know how it feels! I was seeking out a Vurt along the way, something to jump into, featherless.

  If I could just manage it…

  By the second car along I was trying for Crash Master. Did no good. Couldn’t reach it. Too high to reach, too black. By the fourth car I was trying for Jumpstarter. No use. Too far to go.

  Shit to fuck! What was I doing?

  I didn’t have a license, or anything. Beetle had given me some lessons, during which he’d cursed like a demon, grabbing at the wheel, and here I was, hoping to pull a Taking Without Owner’s Consent.

  I drew up close to the Transit.

  I put my hand on the door handle and called up Baby Racer.

  Baby Racer was a real low-down theatre, a learner’s Vurt. Should’ve gotten right on in there.

  Easy.

  Left ankle was twitching. Felt like the wound down there, seemed like miles away, maybe it was opening, and I could feel the Vurt in my veins, the blood in waves, chopping, just inches away from my fingertips.

  Couldn’t reach it. Tried hard. Just couldn’t.

  The waves were going out, back to the sea. I was left up dry, human dry, with a beautiful blue and white Transit sitting right there on the curb and nothing to show for it. Felt like the rain should start, and right now, and on me, just on me.

  That bad.

  We had to carry the Beetle down the stairs, just like the old alien days, me on one end, Mandy on the other. Mandy was on the feet. I kept dropping him of course, or so Mandy kept telling me.

  ‘What are you on, Scribble?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m on the head,’ I answered. ‘What are you on?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Yeah. Fucking hilarious!’ shouted the Beetle. ‘Just get me down easy.’

  Behind us were Twinkle and Karli. Behind them Tristan, carrying the body of Suze, her long strands of hair falling free at last, from the lover’s knot. He had some bad things in his brain, you could see them moving, just behind the eyes. I had to turn away from it, back to where the Beetle was making a sad call, ‘Keep a fucking grip, you two! I am the wounded warrior and I deserve your respect.’