Dream London (35 page)

“Hello there,” I said.

There was another cat just below the window ledge, a large tabby that sat licking its paws. And another cat, just slinking up from behind me. Now that I looked the street was full of cats, all of them apparently just passing through, and all of them watching me.

I came to the blue door half way down the street and paused. A cat sat inside a window by the door, watching me.

I was about to turn and walk away when the door opened.

Miss Elizabeth Baines stood there, beaming at me.

“Captain James Wedderburn,” she said. “Here you are at last!”

FOURTEEN

33 PAPILLON STREET

M
ISS
E
LIZABETH
B
AINES’
house was filled with cats. They walked the corridors, they sat on the seats, they ate from little saucers placed on the floor.

“Don’t look at me like that, Captain Wedderburn.”

“Like what, Miss Baines? And it’s not Captain any more, it’s just James.”

“James. I’ve always liked the name.” She smiled at that and half closed her eyes. “James,” she repeated. Then she came out of her reverie and grinned.

“Don’t look at me as if I’m some sort of sad old cat lady, James.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Really,” she said, “these aren’t my cats.”

“You allow them in your house...”

“There are many cats around here. So many strays since the changes began. They seem to think that I can look after them.”

Miss Elizabeth Baines seemed different on her home turf. That was normal. But what was it about her? She was dressed in the same spinsterish way. Very female, skirt and blouse and make-up, but with every inch of skin covered and nothing left for the imagination.

“Why do they think that you will look after them?” I asked, looking around. The house was exactly as I would have imagined, from the little flowery pictures on the walls to the lace antimacassars on the back of the chairs.

“Why do they think I will look after them?” asked Elizabeth, drily. “Heaven knows. The word seems to have got round the locality. Perhaps the cats talk to each other? Who can tell nowadays?”

“But even so, you still look after the cats.” I gazed at her, and something occurred to me that I should have thought before: that Dream London liked to push people into roles, but that some people were better than others at fighting back. Dream London changed the houses, the clothes, the fortunes, but some people resisted. That’s what I could see in Miss Elizabeth Baines’ eyes – resistance. I should have thought of that before, but of course, Captain Wedderburn would never have thought of anyone but himself.

“I didn’t used to be a virgin, you know,” said Elizabeth, matter of factly.

“What?”

She smiled at my reaction, and then she changed the subject.

“The cats turn up at my house. What am I to do? I’m lucky enough to have a lot of money. I can afford to look after them.”

“Aren’t there better ways to spend your money?”

“Perhaps we could compare your charitable acts with mine, Captain? You wish to tell me about them? No?”

She bent down and lifted up a cat that was pushing another aside to get at its food.

“I leave them food and water,” said Elizabeth, putting the cat down next to another bowl. “Sometimes the cranes lower boxes of fish heads into the back garden. Someone at the docks seems to like cats and is helping me out.” She looked thoughtful. “Sometimes they lower a case of flowers as well. I think perhaps it’s not only the cats they are interested in.”

“Who sends you flowers?” I asked.

“Are you jealous, James?”

“No!”

That lopsided grin again. There was something about it that I found attractive

“I have no idea who sends me flowers, James. Who knows what’s really going on in Dream London?”

I had just been sent by a stranger from the shrunken remnants of St Paul’s to the house of the woman who had been stalking me the past few days. I think it fair to say that someone must know what was going on. Someone was orchestrating all of this. I thought of the group of people who sat on the Writing Floor of Angel Tower.

“Doesn’t your garden smell?” I asked. To be honest, I was lost for anything else to say.

“The cats are very clean. They can’t abide untidiness,” said Elizabeth. “Now, would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps something stronger. A beer perhaps?”

“No thank you,” I said.

“Perhaps you want to go straight to bed?”

I was quite floored by her words: she spoke them so directly. I remembered she had made the same offer when I had been going to the brothel to meet Bill.

“I don’t think I have the time...” I said, weakly.

“Oh, James! You’re not going all shy on me, are you?”

“No, I’m just...”

“You strut around the city acting the big man, but when it comes down to it, you’re just a frightened little boy, aren’t you? I promise I’ll be gentle with you!”

What was going on here?

“Listen, lady...”

“I told you, it’s not Lady, it’s Elizabeth... hold on.”

She tilted her head. I heard it too. A plaintive mewing. Something was in pain.

I followed Elizabeth into a kitchen. A cat flap in the back door led out into a dark green garden stacked with wooden crates. The flap moved, and I heard the mewing. Elizabeth opened the door and went into the garden.

“It’s been in a fight,” I said. The cat was covered in blood. One of its ears was badly torn.

“Not just a fight,” said Elizabeth. “Look, two of its legs are broken. I don’t know how it got here. The blue monkeys like to carry them up to the roof tops and torture them. Dream London is a cruel place. Give me your pistol.”

“My pistol?”

“I know you have one. I can see the outline in your jacket.”

“What do you want my pistol for?”

Miss Elizabeth Baines directed a gaze at me that would have withered a warehouse worth of flowers.

“I was hoping to use both it and my veterinary experience to heal this cat’s broken legs.”

“You used to be a vet?” I asked.

“Stop asking stupid questions and give me the bloody pistol.”

I finally realised what she meant and, somewhat hesitantly, handed the pistol across.

“Thank you,” she said.

She pressed the cat down onto the ground and placed the pistol to its head.

“There you are,” she said, handing the pistol back to me afterwards. “And I note that, despite the care I took, I have blood on my sleeve. I’ll go upstairs now and change.” She fixed me with an electric blue gaze. “Why don’t you bury this cat for me, and then meet me up there.”

“You’re not sentimental, are you?” I said.

“I look after the animals, James. Now, are we going to bed or not?”

I finally realised that she was teasing me. She had been teasing me ever since she had met me.

“I only came for a bath and change of clothes. I have to be at Snakes and Ladders Square by sunset.”

“I’ll show you where the bathroom is. I’m not sure what I have for you to wear.”

“Clothes would be nice. A bath would be enough,” I said.

I
TOOK A
bath and... well, that’s it. I took a bath. I never really expected Elizabeth to try and take advantage of me. It was nice just to soak and ease the soreness in my legs and backside. But the thirst was building in me, and all that water around me just made me thirstier, so I got out and went downstairs.

“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat or drink?” asked Miss Baines.

“I can’t,” I said, and I stuck my tongue out at her.

“I can see the two slits, but there are no eyes yet,” said Elizabeth,

“If I don’t die tonight, I don’t know what I’ll do,” I said. “Take a drink of water or kill myself. It will amount to the same thing.”

“If you don’t die tonight, come back here,” said Elizabeth.

“Why should I do that?” I asked.

“Where else would you go?” asked Elizabeth.

I gazed at her, and I felt so tired.

“You know, I’m not Captain Wedderburn anymore,” I said. “But it’s only been a few hours. I’m not a nice person, Elizabeth. You don’t want to waste your time with me. Seriously, there are lots better men out there. I’m not what people say I am, Elizabeth. I’m not a hero.”

“Good,” said Elizabeth. “I often think that the world needs fewer heroes and more good fathers.”

“You just want a husband.”

“No, I want a
good
husband.”

“I’m not going to marry you, Elizabeth...”

“You misunderstand me, James. That wasn’t a proposal. It’s just an observation. Dream London wants every man to do nothing. To be weak-willed and selfish. But if it can’t break them, it wants them to be heroes, to lead the last desperate charge, to die alone in a glorious last stand. What it doesn’t want is people who stick to the daily grind, people who become part of the quiet majority, people who do what’s right despite getting paid no notice.”

She was right, of course. The ants in Angel Tower worked together, that was the secret of their power. They didn’t want others doing the same.

“So which one are you now, James?”

“I don’t know what I am any more,” I said.

“None of us do,” said Elizabeth. “Not really.”

She picked an imaginary hair from the lapel of my jacket.

“Come back here afterwards,” she said. “Promise me?”

“I’ll try,” I said.

A
ND SO
I found myself back on Papillon Street.

Dream London was descending towards evening. The sky was on fire as it always was at this time of day, red and yellow bloomed on the streaking clouds, and the air smelled of the usual spices and flowers. I could hear the distant sound of cheering and clapping. The match had started. I heard the roar of the crowd rise and fall as the ball travelled back and forth across the pitch. The buildings echoed to the sound of drums and singing.

A great drama was being played out within the stadium, but a greater one was unfolding outside it.

Tonight, Dream London would be fully joined to the other worlds.

I began to walk the streets towards Snakes and Ladders Square. There was no question of the direction. Everything flowed that way, the other pedestrians, the clouds, the birds. Even the roads themselves seemed to flow downhill towards Snakes and Ladders Square. That was the place to be. I thought it was my plan to raise an army there tonight. If it was, Dream London seemed happy to go along with it.

A sudden roar sounded, the animal howl of the city. It soared over the houses, it echoed from every surface. Someone had scored a goal. Soon the match would finish and the fans would pour from the ground and head towards the pubs surrounding Snakes and Ladders Square. They would drink and sing and fight in a riot of burgundy and silver, brown and cream. The roar of the crowd died away in a thunder of drums, and I heard other instruments taking up the slack. Guitars and accordions and flutes, all the soloists of Dream London filling the air with white noise.

I was getting closer now. Three teenage girls staggered out of a house in front of me. They wore short dresses and high heels and were obviously drunk already. One of them glanced at me and announced in a loud voice:

“I’m so drunk I’d even fuck him!”

The other two laughed, and they staggered on their way towards the revelries. I stepped up my pace, impatient to be there at the end, but a great silence brought me to a halt.

A long building lay to my right, the sort of grey brick industrial construction that you could find anywhere in the streets of Dream London. Grey walls surrounding the higher buildings beyond. Frosted glass windows peering over the top of the walls. Wide, arched gates in the centre of the wall standing wide open, the emptiness beyond sucking the life from the street.

I read the words written in wrought iron that vaulted the space over the gates.

Snakes and Ladders Street Workhouse.

I walked up to the open gates and looked beyond into the empty yard. I could see the blank walls of the workhouse proper, its doors standing wide open.

“Hello?” I called. I listened to the echo of my own voice.

Standing in the workhouse yard, the sounds of Dream London faded away.

“Hello?”

The workhouse was deserted. Everyone who had inhabited the place was gone. I walked into the main building. There were offices here, furnished with fine walnut desks and leather chairs. I found a cup of tea on one desk, still lukewarm. A half written letter lay beside it, and I read the words
forty strong men and six girls, suitable for service.

“Hello?” I called again, unnecessarily.

I wandered from the offices, on through the factory floors. I passed lines of looms, strung with ochre wool. Into another room and I saw garments that resembled yellow jumpers hanging from racks. They were too long, the arms longer still, and they had holes stitched into the back of them. I unhooked one of the yellow jumpers and held it to myself and thought, and it occurred to me that if I was a monkey I might wear this garment and stick my tail through the hole at the back.