Dream Paris (40 page)

“What? So I could be like you?”

He smiled. So did Mme Joubert.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re already like me, Anna. Like it or not, we’re both the same. We have different brains, you know, the people like us who take charge. They’ve done studies on monkeys. Monkeys at the top of the hierarchy have more developed regions in certain parts of their brains. I don’t know if we’re born this way, or if the brain grows according to experience, but people like us are made to lead.”

I looked at Francis, mute in the corner of the carriage. Francis wasn’t a leader. Francis waited to follow.

“I’m nothing like you, Mr Twelvetrees,” I said.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Anna. You’re a survivor, just like me.” He pointed to his eyes. “Do you know why I look like this?”

“Something you ate?”

“No. I was caught in the web of a Dream Spider, back in Dream London. Do you know about them?”

Francis was looking at me. I knew what he was thinking. He’d remembered, just as I had.

“We have a spider here with us,” I said. “One of them is riding Francis.”

“You spotted that? I thought you would. The Dream Spiders spin their webs throughout the Dream World. People don’t see the webs – I suppose a fly never sees a spider’s web.”

That made sense.

“The Dream Webs are clever. Most things pass straight through them, the spiders sieve their prey from the world. A Dream Spider must have thought I was prey, it caught me.”

“That was unlucky,” I said. I didn’t mean it.

“It wasn’t. It was my fault. I was allowing myself to be prey. I allowed myself to become the fly. Look at me!”

“I am looking. How did you escape?”

“I remembered who I was. I stopped acting like prey. I took charge. I took a knife and I cut the webs and I cut myself free. Sadly, it was too late to save my eyes.”

“Good for you.”

“Yes, good for me. Later I thought on how I could put that Dream Spider to use. A line that stretches on forever, one that only becomes tangible to those who wish to return home…”

“I don’t see how that makes me like you.”

“We’re both survivors. We’re both clever.”

And he was clever, thinking of using a spider like that, using it to lay down a path here.

Francis spoke up.

“The spider is feeding on me, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Mr Twelvetrees.

I shuddered.

“You bastard.”

“Francis is a soldier. He knew when he agreed to accompany you here he was carrying untested equipment. He knew there was a risk.”

“You bastard.”

He smiled. He was a sadist. He was enjoying this.

“Why are you so upset, Anna?”

Kaolin’s voice sounded like someone tapping a cup with a teaspoon. Sharp and impersonal.

“Why am I upset, Kaolin? Do you think it right, what’s happened to Francis?”

“These are the terms Francis agreed to when ’e signed up for the job. Were you lied to, Francis?”

“No…”

“But…” I began. Kaolin spoke over me.

“When people regret the choices they make, they often blame those who offered the choice.”

“
Exactement
!” said Mme Joubert.

“I know that contracts often favour one side unduly. My mother didn’t choose to go to the workhouse.”

Kaolin tilted her head, just a little.

“You think your mother is the innocent party here? You know whose name is on the contract she signed with us?”

“No. Whose?”

Kaolin didn’t answer.

Mme Joubert said something in French.

“What’s that?” asked Francis.

Jean-Michel rubbed his stubbly chin, he looked up with those hangdog eyes.

“She said that Mr Twelvetrees is right. The aristocracy is born to lead.”

I couldn’t believe what I’d heard.

“How can she say that! She’s a revolutionary!”

“But of course! She seeks to overthrow the people’s republic and restore the aristocracy. Her great grandmother held the title of Comtesse de Ségur.”

“As do I!” she declared haughtily.

Mr Monagan spoke up excitedly.

“We’re here,” he said.

T
HE DRAWBRIDGE DESCENDED.
A welcoming committee of porcelain-faced dolls were lined up on either side of the road.

“Welcome to the Bastille,” said Kaolin.

I walked out into the shade of high walls. We were in a wide, deep courtyard, flagged in yellow stone. Narrow windows looked down at us from all sides.

“How did the
Banca di Primavera
come to own this place?” I asked.

“We don’t own it. We run it,” said Kaolin.

“They let a bank run a prison?”

“Who better than a
Banca
to manage debts, and what is a prison but a place where people repay their debt to society?”

Two Pierrots appeared. They locked handcuffs around Jean-Michel’s wrists.

“Where are you taking him?”

“To the holding cells.”

“What’s he done?”

“That’s to be determined. At the moment, the Committee for Public Safety do not run the city. The
Révolution
currently holds command. This may be subject to change. Mme Joubert, I think you may wish to discuss matters?”

“
D’accord
!” She nodded to me. “
A bientôt,
Anna.”

And at that she followed Jean-Michel and the Pierrots off through an archway.

“Wondering if you made the right choice in helping the Revolution, Anna?” asked Mr Twelvetrees.

I was, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him. We made our way through a smaller gate into a wider courtyard beyond. Again, barred windows looked down from the high walls on every side.

“The rehabilitation area occupies most of the interior,” said Kaolin. “Our offices are located in the outside walls for the most part. Our clients prefer natural sunlight.”

“I’m sure the prisoners would, too.”

“The prisoners are entitled to put the cost of better living quarters on their debt,” said Kaolin. “The
Banca di Primavera
is not immoral.”

No,
I thought,
you’re amoral. That can be a whole lot worse.

Two prisoners walked towards us wearing neat silk clothes trimmed in yellow and white checks. Prisoners, I guessed. But clearly prisoners paying a little extra for comfort. Their uniforms were edged with lace, their hair extravagantly trimmed and coiffed. They smelt of lavender.

“
Bonjour,
(2)Madame Kaolin,” said one, but his full attention was on me. He was turning up his charm, turning the full force of his personality in my direction. “
Et bonjour, mademoiselle(5)
!”

“Leave it, you nonce,” said Francis.

“You’re(5) English?” said the man. “I didn’t realise the young ladies(5) of England were so pretty!”

And the spell broke. I hadn’t matched wits with a talking veal cow to have someone like this call me a young lady(5).

“(6)We’re not only pretty, but very smart, too. What are you(6) in for? Statutory rape?”

He smiled at that.

“Ah! Such fire! Would that (5)I had met you(5) eight years ago! (5)I could have taught you(5) to be a French Lady. The price you(5) could have commanded!”

“What
are
they in for?” I asked Kaolin.

“Careful, Anna,” said Mr Twelvetrees. “The
Banca
will give you anything you desire, but it will charge you.”

“I don’t intend to charge Anna, Mr Twelvetrees,” said Kaolin. “Our best customers are entitled to rewards for banking with us. M Duchamps took out a loan on the charm and accoutrements needed to build up his business. ’e proved very successful in recruiting young women and girls to his cause. Alas, ’e did not prove so successful at accountancy.”

“Figures bore me,” said M Duchamps. “Who would spend their time looking at books when he could be living? Don’t you think, young lady, that the biggest sin is to have regrets?”

“What?” I said “Bigger than acting as a pimp for paedophiles?”

He gave a rueful smile.

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

I’d seen Francis do this before, explode from calm affability into vicious, concentrated action. The punch landed hard in the man’s stomach: a glorious blow, every ounce of his weight behind it. A textbook example of how to inflict maximum pain. It was followed by two good kicks to the side. Normally I’m against violence, but I thought Francis had judged this one about right.

“That’s enough,” said Kaolin. “M Duchamp is guaranteed a certain amount of protection when in here.”

M Duchamp was heaving up thin gruel on the pavement.

We stepped over him and walked on across the courtyard. A metallic creaking sounded from a doorway to our right.

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” said Francis.

“That’s where the bad machines are punished,” said Kaolin.

“Bad machines? How can a machine be bad?”

“A machine can be bad on a regular basis, without rest. Some are built that way. Some choose to be bad.”

Kaolin made no further comment.

There was a guillotine erected at the centre of the square, sunlight flashing from the edge of the blade.

“A guillotine? How do you make a profit from someone when they are dead?”

“The bodies are worth something. Plus, the Committee for Public Safety pay us thirty-five Dream francs for each execution.”

We walked through a door, the shade beyond a welcome relief. I blinked at the coloured lights before my eyes, trying to focus on where I was stepping. Kaolin led us down a set of stairs.

“You’re holding my mother in the dungeon?”

Mr Twelvetrees laughed.

“You should be proud of her, Anna. Your mother has proven herself to be a very difficult woman to hold onto.”

We went deeper and deeper underground. As Mr Twelvetrees explained, the dungeon wasn’t a cruel place. The
Banca di Primavera
didn’t have that much interest in its capital. Instead, the dungeon was a place of ordered efficiency, its inmates offered the exact amount of light or space or food or water allowed by the terms of their imprisonment.

Finally we came to the cell that held my mother.

“Open the door,” said Mr Twelvetrees.

“No,” said Kaolin. “If you wish to be assured that all is in order you may examine the debt through the window. When you are satisfied, we can discuss terms.”

“I think Anna should have the honour,” smarmed Mr Twelvetrees.

I looked through the hatch and saw my mother sitting up on a bed, reading a book.

“Mother!” I called.

Kaolin slid the hatch shut.

“Communication is extra.”

“Is everything in order?” asked Mr Twelvetrees.

“She’s fine,” I snapped.

“Then I think we can discuss terms.”

“Very well.”

It was impossible for Kaolin to smile. Even so, there was something smug about her posture. “What are you offering?”

Mr Twelvetrees had an answer ready.

“Selected property in Dream London.”

“Dream London is mostly gone. We would wish for property in London itself.”

“That could be arranged.”

“No!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You can’t be serious! You can’t be thinking about letting them back in again! Remember what happened last time?”

Mr Twelvetrees raised a hand.
Calm down, dear!

“Anna, this is perfectly normal business practice. We shall be seeking to establish premises in Dream Paris, too.”

“I’m sure that’s what they said last time! Mr Twelvetrees, you can’t be serious! You can’t let the Dream World in again! It will take over.”

“Last time we were caught off-guard. This time the incursion will be controlled. Besides, we need to do this. How else will we get our people back home?”

“No! This isn’t right!”

“You’d sacrifice your mother for the sake of your principles? I’m only trying to secure her release.”

“No you’re not! You’re just looking for an advantage! You don’t care about my mother,
or
the people trapped in Dream Paris. This is all just an excuse to exercise power. Jean-Michel was right! Anyone who shows the slightest inclination to be a leader should be taken to the Star Chamber and left to fall to their deaths.”

He smiled again, maddeningly, infuriatingly.

“I imagine that’s quite a novel thought when you’re seventeen. Open the door, Kaolin. Let her out. I’m sure that Margaret should be involved in these negotiations.”

Kaolin opened the door. My mother was waiting, dressed in a dark business suit, looking as if she’d just arrived for a day’s work at the office, not as if she’d spent the night in prison.

“Anna,” she said, nodding to me. “Now, Kaolin, Mr Twelvetrees. Shall we begin negotiations? We have a city to save, and time is of the essence.”

“You’re going to help them?” I said. Francis put a hand on my arm. The person who turned to me wasn’t my mother. It was Margaret Sinfield, hard-headed business woman, who spoke to me now.

“Anna, how many times have I told you? This is where I want to be.”

“But –”

“Mr Monagan, Francis. Would you be so good as to escort my daughter safely back to England?”

Mr Monagan took my other arm. He and Francis gently escorted me up the stairs, back to the daylight, back to a city that was shaken by bombs, filled with British troops, a city that was rocked back and forth by rebellion.

I didn’t care anymore. I’d had enough. I wanted to go home.