Dream Paris (42 page)

THE NORTH TOWER

S
EEN FROM THE
altitude of the Ballroom Suite of the North Tower, Dream Paris seemed like the perfect city. The carefully planned boulevards, the way the sun reflected from the golden domes, the green copper of the roofs, the turquoise blue of the Seine…

Down on the streets, of course, it was a different story. The Army of the Dispossessed had taken control. For the moment, at least. They ensured that the food that was suddenly rolling into the city was shared out equally; they were rehousing those made homeless by the fighting, those who had lost their homes when the Zeppelins had crashed to the ground. And they were finding homes for those who previously had none.

They patrolled the streets, herding the mosasaurs back to the river and sealing the breaches in the walls. They disarmed the few soldiers of Mr Twelvetrees’ army who were still hiding in the city and sent them on their way.

And for those people who wanted to return home, for those who wanted to return to places like London, the Army of the Dispossessed fed and clothed them, they showed them the wire, they gave them advice on following it back.

Of Mr Twelvetrees, there was no sign.

Nor of Mr Monagan. One moment his body had been lying in the park, the next it was gone.

“I wonder how long he could hold his breath?” Francis had said.

“Long enough,” I said.
I hope
, I thought.

Francis was sat on a stool in the corner of the room, bent over against the weight of his backpack. He was in pain, I could tell. Count von Breisach had promised to fly us as close as he could to home the next morning.

“Perhaps, once you’re back in the Mundane World, you’ll be able to take the pack off.”

“I hope so,” said Francis, with feeling. “So, how does it feel to be the hero of Dream Paris?”

“Don’t say that, Francis. It’s not true.”

“Jean-Michel Ponge thinks it is. You fed the homeless. You raised the Army of the Dispossessed.”

“No I didn’t. I gave my meal ticket to a hungry family.”

And that was it, I was being written into the story. First I was to be the hero of the British for laying down the path here from Dream London. Then I was to be the hero of the Revolution for finding my mother. Now I was the Anna, who had raised an army with a few fish and a couple of loaves of bread. People were saying that I’d been in league with the
terroir
all along. When I’d given my meal ticket to the woman in the market, I’d provided a way for the farmland that surrounded Dream Paris to take control of the city.

None of it was true. None of it was planned. It just turned out that way and it was convenient for all that I be labelled a hero.

I watched Francis, chatting to a glamorous woman who simply oozed Dream Parisienne style. Her long dark hair was tied up in a chignon, her dark green silk dress followed the elegant curves of her body. Francis would always chat up women, but he didn’t mean anything by it. I could appreciate that now.

Jean-Michel came up to me, as lugubrious as ever. He’d shaved, though his chin was already blue with stubble. His shirt looked a little better pressed than usual.

“Anna! You can’t stand by the window all day. Come and meet my wife!”

“Your wife?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. I’d never thought of Jean-Michel doing anything but his job, but now he was leading me, to my great surprise, to the elegant lady that Francis was chatting to.

“Anna, I’d like you to meet my wife, Isabelle.”

She was taller than Jean-Michel, and I noted the way she looked down at her tubby little blue-chinned husband with an amused smile.

“Isabelle, meet Anna, the spy.”

I shivered. “Don’t say that. Not after what happened. I was never a spy!”

Jean-Michel shrugged. I had been a spy, we both knew it, albeit an unwitting one.

Isabelle took my arm. “Don’t listen to him. He can never leave his work at the office.”

It took me a moment to register her accent.

“You’re English,” I said.

“That’s right. From Leeds.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I used to work for the
Banca di Primavera
. I met Jean-Michel when I was transferred to the Dream Parisian branch.”

I looked at Jean-Michel in amazement. Jean-Michel was short and stocky with a bulbous nose and drooping, sad eyes. He wasn’t exactly ugly, but this beautiful woman was clearly way out of his league.

“He makes me laugh,” said Isabelle, guessing my thoughts.

“Jean-Michel?”

She gave that amused smile again.

“Come over here, and meet some of the other expats. We’re all married to Dream Parisians. We have nothing else in common but that, but it’s enough.”

She took me to a little group of people, all holding drinks and chatting. Count von Breisach was there.

“Anna!” he said. “I was just telling the group about you. How you saved Dream Paris.”

“Please don’t say that. I don’t want the credit – or the blame – for what happened here.”

“People want a hero.”

“Not me. If the Army of the Dispossessed had arrived two minutes later, I’d be dead and this conversation would not be taking place.”

“You’re too modest,” said an oriental woman holding a glass of champagne. “The Count was telling us how brave you were at the Dinner. How you ate all manner of things simply to infiltrate Madame Joubert’s revolution.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t know what I was doing!”

“Of course you didn’t!” said the Count, and then he gave a broad wink for all to see.

“Clever of you to hook up with the Germans,” said another man. “How did you know they were arming the homeless?”

I hadn’t. I hadn’t known anything about the plots and counter-plots that were taking place in this city. I doubted I yet knew about most of them. The only thing I could understand was that the surrounding cities wanted to maintain the status quo. They didn’t want Dream Paris falling into the hands of the British, or anyone else.

“I lost half my fleet to the British,” said the Count, ruefully. “I’ve never seen anything like those rockets they carried. We’re trying to develop them ourselves now, of course.”

I smiled, I tried to appear relaxed, but all I could think of was
what have I done?
I’d come to rescue my mother, in the end I’d just helped to prolong a battle that had been fought for centuries. For millennia. Funny that, I’d marched for what was right in Dream London and I’d been forgotten. Here, I’d been nothing but an unwitting pawn and I was treated like a hero.

I heard a voice at my shoulder.

“Excuse me. May I borrow Anna from you?”

I turned and saw M Duruflé, beautifully dressed in dove grey, his beard neatly trimmed to a point.

“Hello, Alain,” I said. “And in what capacity are you appearing here today?”

“
Logicien et Immortel de l’Académie Française,
” he said, beaming.

“I’ve heard you mention that before. What is that?”

“The charge of the
Immortels
is to work with all the care and all possible diligence to make the French Language pure, eloquent and able to treat the arts and sciences.”

“Ah.”

“I see that you aren’t too impressed. Perhaps you don’t understand. It is the Academy that developed the Dream relative pronouns, the
(5)
vous and
tu(3)
forms. You took part in the
Grand Dîner
. You defeated a Veal. You should by now realise that power lies in being able to say
mine
. Claiming something for yourself, saying that your needs are greater than others.”

“Maybe here in the Dream World!”

“And in your own world. I believe in your land you’re told that you’re subjects of the monarch?”

“That’s just convention!”

“Really? Perhaps you could learn something from the mosasaurs. They say
(17)mine
. That’s all they do. All they are. They’ve survived 65 million years by never doubting for a moment that the world is theirs.”

I gazed at him.

“But all this talk is making me thirsty. More wine? Or perhaps a little champagne? Or maybe some cheese. I see all the
terroirs
are making themselves known today.”

I saw what he meant. A circular ring of tables was set out at the centre of the room, laden with cheese and meats, vegetables, shellfish, pies and pastries, sweets and souffles, wine and spirits and all of the produce of France, a pleasant reminder of one of the new powers at large in the city.

“I’m okay,” I said. I’d eaten a little bread and cheese, just for hunger’s sake. I wasn’t ready to turn my body into a battleground just yet. Besides, there was something I needed to know.

“And what about the Revolution? Are you no longer a member of the Mme Joubert’s plot to overthrow the Committee for Public Safety?”

“Oh, I am still a member.”

I paused, weighing up my words.

“And Luc…?”

“He is there, too. In prison, I mean. You are welcome to visit him.”

I wasn’t sure if I would. I changed the subject. “What about you? Why aren’t you in prison?”

“I will return to the Bastille this evening and be imprisoned. I take my various roles very seriously.”

“You’re imprisoned part time?”

“Oh, yes. Besides, whilst in the Bastille I will do some of my work for the
Banca di Primavera
.”

“You still work for them too?”

“
D’accord
! In fact, I’m about to perform a little errand on their behalf.”

“And what’s that?”

He spotted a china doll across the room and waved to her.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I hope we get a chance to chat later.”

I didn’t have time to be upset at the snub. I’d just seen the person I wanted most to speak to. She was there across the room wearing a satin blue jacket and skirt, sipping at glass of sparkling water. I hurried over to meet her.

“Mother!” I said.

MOTHER

W
E DIDN’T HUG,
simply nodded at each other.

“What are you doing here?” I said. “I thought the
Banca di Primavera
wanted to punish you for running away. I thought they’d have you locked up in the Bastille.”

“Oh, Anna! Why would the
Banca
lock up one of its best assets?”

Yet again I was left feeling naive. I had the impression that my abiding memory of Dream Paris wasn’t going to be fear or discomfort, but rather embarrassment. I was wrong, though. Very wrong. I would spend a long time wishing the worst thing that could have happened here was my being humiliated.

“I’m beginning to understand something about Dream Paris,” I said. “It’s not a question of right or wrong, it’s just about being on the winning side.”

“Oh, Anna, that’s true of everywhere. Now, I rather fancy some of that salmon mousse…”

I didn’t. Nothing was naturally that shade of pink. Also, the fresh octopus on the adjoining dish had been helping itself to the mousse when it thought no one was looking. I took another piece of bread whilst my mother heaped up a plate of seafood.

“You’re not coming home, then?” I said.

My mother smiled in acknowledgement to a woman across the room. I got the distinct impression that our conversation was just one of a number of meetings she hoped to fit in that day.

“We already discussed this, Anna. Besides, things are even more exciting now the Army of the Dispossessed is on the scene. There are a whole new set of opportunities opening up before us.”

“The Army of the Dispossessed. You’re going to help exploit the homeless now?”

Why wasn’t I surprised?

“Oh, no, Anna. You’re too harsh. The
Banca di Primavera
is going to help them. The homeless are a new business opportunity to be embraced. Clever of the
terroir
to make use of them.”

“But now the
Banca
intends to do the same.”

“Of course. The homeless realised their power, right at the end. They had nothing to lose, and that’s why they were so powerful. We won’t make that mistake again. We’ll make sure they have something to lose in the future.”

“I’d like to think I’m no longer surprised by your cynicism…”

“I’d like to think you shared it.”

I couldn’t win an argument with her.

“They’re calling me a hero, Mother. I don’t deserve it.”

“I know. But who cares?”

“I gave my meal ticket to a hungry mother. Who wouldn’t do the same?”

“Me.”

“Please come home with me.”

Something flickered across her face. She felt something. She wasn’t completely cold. She touched my hand.

“Anna, there’s nothing for me back in London. Here, I’ve got a chance to pursue my career properly. Besides, I’ve met someone…”

She looked across the room. I followed her gaze.

“No!” I said. “But he’s so… so…”

She laughed.

“You’re going to say ‘so logical’. You think he’s too clinical, perhaps?” She laughed. “One night of passion with a young stud and you think you know it all.”

I blushed.

“But, Anna, my dear, you must learn to keep your eyes open. M Duruflé is very discreet, he would never boast.”