Rainbow Bridge (56 page)

‘When we came to England,’ she said, ‘we felt ourselves in terrible danger. Wang set himself up in the heart of darkness, he displayed Fiorinda’s face in the rooms where Rufus had seduced her. We were very reassured when actions of that kind brought no hostile response from the populace or from the Reich.’

Actions like the Reading massacre, he thought.

‘Our thinking was naïve. Power generally corrupts, and corrupt people are stupid. But sometimes, rarely, great power breeds subtlety and wisdom.’

‘So then you exposed us to Toby Starborn.’

‘In China, a death penalty that has been commuted becomes mandatory if the criminal reveals the details of their interrogation: this is true for all serious crimes. We believed that if you were guilty you must have been aware of Toby Starborn’s latency, and you would interrogate him. In fact he
told you
that snapshot had been used on him, with everything that implied, but you saw no threat. You ignored him!’

‘Dumb luck,’ said Ax. ‘We just weren’t thinking.’

Aoxomoxoa, not yet dressed for the stage but still a magnet for the eyes, had launched into a passage of dance moves for the engineers—

‘Sage is remarkable,’ said Elder Sister, softly. ‘I have come to believe that he is truly what you call him, an enlightened master: returning to the marketplace with bliss-bestowing hands. You and Fiorinda must never, never part from him.’

Ax nodded, without taking his eyes from the big cat; thinking of all the stages on the way to this one. I’ve seen bigger crowds. Wave on wave of punters, far as the eye could see, what a feeling, to rule that ocean. And never again—

The set-up was nearly done now, it was time. ‘What does it mean?’ asked Elder Sister, softly. ‘The freedom of the rose tree? In your anthem, “Always The Day”? The rose tree is England I suppose?’

‘No, it’s a quote, don’t remember where from but it stuck in my mind. The complete thing goes, lemme see: “
Freedom is the unclosing of the idea which lies at our root: the rose is the freedom of the rose tree
”.’

‘Hm. I like that… I’m leaving now, Ax.’ She would not stay for the concert: Elder Sister did not belong at this ceremony. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again.’

Ax thought it very unlikely. ‘Maybe so.’

‘It has been an honour to know you all.’

‘I’m glad to have known you too,’ said Ax, turning at last to smile at her. ‘Goodbye
, jiejie.
I wish you well.’

And that’s that.

Backstage the faithful were gathered. The Prestons were there in force, including Ax’s mother and her boyfriend. Dave Wright, the poacher turned Stand-Up, the Prime Minister and her entourage, Areeka Aziz and Jam Today; the ubiquitous Gintrap. Sayeed Muhammad Zayid al-Barlewi was talking to Joss Pender; and Beth Luarn, Sage’s mother. Talking, or trying to keep the peace. The novelist and the software baron had been parted for more than twenty years, but the acrimony survived—

‘It’s not the end of the world, Joss! It’s hardly different from tax exile!’

‘You make a religion of being poorly informed, Beth,’ snapped Joss. ‘We’ll never see him again, and I just hope there isn’t a
backlash
against her, over this.’

‘What mixed feelings! Of course the money wins out. Elder Sister has destroyed your son’s life, but she’s good for business.’

Muhammad cleared his throat. ‘I’ve watched them, especially this past year, and there’s a saying about musicians and the law that’s come to my mind.
Who breaks a butterfly on the wheel
? They’ve done enough for us, in my opinion. I’ll miss that lad like my own son, and Fiorinda and Sage too, but they’ve been beating their wings against the bars long enough. It’s high time we set them free.’

The
hadith
of rock and roll.

The Few sat together in their professional finery, Chip and Verlaine, Rob and the Babes and Allie. Smelly Hugh was with them, Marlon and Silver and Pearl; Bill and Peter. George was up on stage with the boss. Silence reigned.

‘I’m going to try and get into Caer Siddi,’ said Chip. ‘After, well after things have calmed down.’

‘No you are not!’ cried Dora, horrified. ‘You can’t leave us! How can you
say
that, Chip!’

‘We got to stick together,’ advised Smelly Hugh firmly.

Chip drew a circle around the rim of his beer glass. ‘I was watching ripples on the ceiling, the ghosts of water, and then Sage was calling my name. I don’t remember anything else, not a thing. I can’t leave it like that, I need an explanation. Some kind of explanation for, well, I don’t know. Just why—’

Verlaine squeezed his hand. ‘Give it a while, young Merry, and I’ll come too.’

‘So will I,’ said Cherry in a low voice, ‘if they’ll have me. As some kind of tea girl, or, or cleaner. I can’t go on living in the normal world. How can I?’

It had never crossed Cherry’s mind that she had TB. Her friends and lovers were the guilty ones. They’d seen the signs, and been unable to stand the idea that she’d be taken away from them. Their unspoken, unthinking cowardice had cost everything, lost everything—

‘Who said anything about normal?’ demanded Felice, trying for humour.

No answer. ‘I have some mementoes, from Fio,’ said Allie. ‘I suppose I should give them to you now.’ Maybe there should have been a ceremony, but she couldn’t see that happening so she just passed the tokens round, a silver filigree charm for each of them; two in reserve for George and for Rox.

‘Is it the Hand of Fatima?’ wondered Pearl, solemnly inspecting her treasure. ‘Or Fiorinda’s hand? I want it to be Fiorinda’s.’

‘It’s both,’ said Allie.

‘Remember when she told us it was over in a voicemail?’ said Dora.

The tiger and the wolf smile and say goodbye, Fiorinda takes away our trainer wheels. The mood changed, a
gestalt
flip. Something stirred in them, faintly: ideas, convictions, plans all of their own.

‘We’re going to make this work.’ Rob glanced around, bringing them all in. ‘This isn’t the time to be going off on any quests, Chip. We are the Reich now.’

The music washing through, bursts of laughter from outdoors; Dave Wright milking his bows. Rob and the Babes had better go to join the Big Band.

Roxane paid off hir taxi, considered the backstage marquee, and chose instead to limp carefully, over mud-puddled chicken wire track, to the Portakabin communal dressing room. Sage was alone there, sitting with his long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, staring into space: wearing immaculate sand-coloured trousers and a ragged blue tee-shirt with sweat stains under the arms.

‘I hope you’re planning to change that shirt, Natasha. It’s a disgrace.’ S/he lowered hir old bones into a plastic chair, and folded hir hands over the top of the ebony and silver cane. They smiled, old affection renewed. ‘How is she?’

Sage pulled the offending tee over his head. ‘She’s good, very good. Just didn’t want to be here, an’ I don’t blame her.’

‘Nobody likes goodbyes. Tell her God bless… And Ax?’

‘He’s around, prob’ly in the bar by now. Ask him yourself.’

Rox winced. ‘I think not.’

S/he was mistaken. Mr Preston can bear a grudge, it’s one of his vices, but Rox had been forgiven a while ago. Ah well, never mind. Sage donned a clean white tee and the suit jacket, and grinned at himself in the mirror. The message on the tee said
My IQ Test Came Back Negative.
Here I am again, a little older, any wiser?

‘Why Natasha? Who she? What did I do that was girly?’

His fabulous face, thought Rox. This backstage moment is when they are most conscious of their own beauty. But
he
won’t miss the smell of the crowd. What will he become, I wonder, our bodhisattva? I will never know. For years the critic had teased Aoxomoxoa by nicknaming him after hi-culture fictional characters. This would be the last of them.

‘
Girly
? Not at all. It’s Natasha Rostov, from
War And Peace.
A native, passionate spirit, the belle of every ball. War sweeps over Russia, interminable. Dreams die, lives are shattered, Moscow burns. The smoke clears, and there’s Natasha grown up, taking a happy housewifely interest in the contents of her babies’ nappies. I think Tolstoy’s message is that tragedy may have the best tunes, but comedy has the stronger material in the end. An even-handed conclusion.’

‘Hahaha. C’mon, no moping. Let’s go find the folks.’

‘All right, Fiorinda?’

‘All right, Joe,’ she said, reading over his shoulder. ‘Zap it down the wire.’

Joe Muldur zapped his copy and watched his virtual screen vanish like dew. ‘I won’t be doing that again very often.’

‘What, are you quitting?’

‘Nah, just it isn’t what happens anymore. Different rules pertain. Less roving reportage, more an’ more writing done by Sphere desk software.’

‘Everything passes.’

He felt that she’d already left. She was taking a polite interest, she didn’t give a damn how
NME
reported the Last Waltz. They watched a wall screen, along with everybody else in the quiet bar of The Three Guineas. The final moments, the security cordon breached, forests of hands reaching up to touch the man, to touch the founder of the Reich and carry something away; something to last for a long time. ‘I’ll be off,’ said Joe. ‘Got a train to catch. Tell Ax and Sage…’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Tell them have a nice life, and, er, don’t take any wooden ’shrooms. It’s been
brilliant
knowing you three, following your fabulous trail, every step.’

‘Including Rainbow Bridge?’

Joe grinned. ‘Including that weird, ghastly hellhole.’ He tickled Min behind the ears, and smiled at the sleeping baby. ‘G’bye Fiorinda.’

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. ‘G’bye Joe.’

You to your life, I to mine. Unsullied little friendships, she thought, are the memories I will treasure from my celebrity career. Not much else I want to keep.

Fiorinda sat dreaming for a few minutes after Joe had gone, tuning out the post mortem on the big screen, thinking of many things. Then she returned to the work she’d brought with her, and finished it off; while Coz slept and Min dozed like a sphinx beside the baby basket, chin on his outstretched paws.

The last words down. She read over what she’d written—

So there you have it. This is my story, my account of the Reich. Put together over the years from memory, scrapbooks and scribbles on old bus tickets; and now it’s done. Complete with conversations I can’t possibly have overheard, unwarranted assumptions about other peoples’ motives and emotions, references I haven’t checked, and details I’ve made up because I’ve forgotten or I never knew. Some of it you won’t believe. There are gaps of weeks and months: sometimes that’s censorship, sometimes I really don’t remember and I don’t feel like trying to dig it up. Some holes are pure accident. Don’t believe I said a single word about Jor and Milly’s wedding or the—

And here they are, the two coolest dudes in the known universe.

‘Ready to go?’ said Ax.

‘I’m ready.’

One baby basket, one cat carrier, one backpack; their treasures, the tapestry bag, the visionboard, Ax’s Les Paul. And goodbye cruel world.

Later, the barmaid noticed Fiorinda’s tablet on the table, a message in Chinese taped to the case. She studied the characters, wondering what they meant, and put the tablet away carefully, on a shelf behind the bar.

To be called for.