Dream London (40 page)

We plunged forwards into the park, a disorganised rabble that was slowly becoming an army...

SIXTEEN

THE PARK

I
T FELT DIFFERENT
inside the park. The air was colder and fresher, there was no smell of human breath upon it, no scent of 14,000 years of human civilisation. Plunging through the gate I was suddenly breathing air untainted by coal smoke or petrol fumes. Air that had never been scented with baking bread or the sweet smell of human shit. At first glance the parks seemed so familiar... but the feeling quickly passed. There was something
other
about everything there, something shifting and impermanent. The silver sun seemed to shine down from many directions at once. What seemed like paths shifted underfoot. They were gravel rivers, flowing from one place to another. What seemed like lines of trees ran along like lampposts seen through the window of a moving car.

The sound of the brass band seemed alien in that place. Mechanical order was out of place in this wild machine. The grass beneath my feet was soft and neatly clipped, but there was an energy about it, something in its green smell, that suggested that it hadn’t been tamed by human gardeners, but had rather spread its way here from some wild steppe in some distant land. The music seemed to empty itself in that air. The players were losing heart, you could hear it in their tone.

Movement.

Statues rose up on the plinths, sliding upwards from beneath the ground. Some of the children stopped playing. I saw a young boy begin to cry, but, and I think this is possibly the bravest thing I have ever seen, he raised his cornet back to his lips.

“Drop your instruments!” I cupped my hands over my mouth to shout. “Drop your instruments! You’ve made your point! Look at my army! Why carry on playing now?”

The music faded away as the band saw the crowd of people that were pushing their way through the gates. An army of men in scarlet and silver and brown and cream, an army of women in short skirts or petticoats.

The statues were moving towards the band. I saw Anna hold up her hand, I saw her gently place her cornet upon the ground. One by one, the rest of the band did the same.

The crowd held their breath as the statues paused, then turned and climbed back on their plinths.

“What are those statues?” I asked. The cold figures stood on their plinths, watching my army. Seen from this side of the gates they no longer looked as if they were made of stone.

“Those are not statues, Mister James. Those aren’t statues at all.”

“Then what are they?”

“Workers. They’re made of mercury. They are owned by the people out West by the mercury seas. They take on the shape that the job requires. They have no thoughts, Mister James. They are just there to process.”

“Process what?”

“Whatever.”

“How do we fight them, Mister Monagan?”

“You can’t. They are as strong as three men, Mister James.”

“Then we will fight them four men at a time.”

“If we need to. The statues are standing still. For the moment.”

I looked around. He was right. For the moment.

“This place isn’t still, Mister Monagan,” I said. What looked like a trench dug out from the ground, ready to be planted with a line of roses or tulips, turned out to be a moving stream of mud. It was travelling in the opposite direction to the gravel of the paths.

“Everything moves, Mister James. Everything moves to other worlds.”

“Sir!”

The sergeant of the Dream Londoners stood at my side. He pulled off a smart salute.

“We’re here now, sir! What would you have us do?”

Something glinted, just beyond the closest line of trees.“Sir! Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” I said, putting my hand to my face. “Sorry, I was distracted. Listen, Sergeant, I want you to organise a group of men to hold the entrance to the park. Don’t let anyone else through. Specifically, don’t let any more people from the workhouses through.”

“Very good, sir. And how about you? What will you do?”

“We’re going to fetch those that we can back home to safety.”

Mister Monagan was hopping from foot to foot at my side.

“But sir, they don’t want to come.”

“That was then,” I said. “I think I know how to change their minds.”

W
E TROTTED ACROSS
the park, over shifting rivers of gravel under a silver sky. The world here was so much bigger, it bent around us, it seemed to go on for ever. We ran past waiting overseers, the people from the other lands, watching and wondering if the stream of grey labour would resume from the gates. We ran past silver statues, waiting on their plinths, still as stone.

Ahead of us we saw the end of a grey crocodile of workers, making its way to the portal by the white and gold towers of the new Buckingham Palace. Dark slits were set in the walls of the castle, and I wondered what could be looking out at this scene.

Mister Monagan flapped along at my left. Someone was running at my right.

“Anna,” I said. “You’ve done your bit. Go back home.”

“You go home,” she said.

I didn’t bother arguing.

We reached the tail end of the crocodile of workers, we raced past grey-suited men and women who looked at us as we went by. On and on, past lines and lines of people, until we came to the head of the line. Two women in leather jerkins walked at the front. I pushed my way before them and halted, staring up at them. They were both at least a foot taller than me, seven feet at least. They had a strong, cold beauty about them that would have scared the hell out of my former clients.

They certainly frightened me.

The pair looked down at me. Behind them, the gold and white towers of Buckingham Palace reached into the air.

“Move out of the way,” said one of them.

Mister Monagan and Anna took their places at my side.

“In a moment,” I said. Again, something glinted in my eye, a flash that came from beyond one of the lines of trees.

“In a moment,” I repeated. “I want to ask you a question first.”

“What?” said one of the blonde giants.

I put my hand in my pocket.

“Don’t pull out your gun, Mister James,” hissed Mister Monagan. “That might annoy them.”

“I wasn’t going for my gun,” I said. I pulled my hand from my pocket and passed something across to one of the giants.

“Read this,” I said.

They both looked down at the Truth Script. I crossed my fingers. Surely it would work on these two?

“Where are you taking these people?” I asked.

“The Icefields of Lower Stark,” said one of the women.

“And what awaits them there?”

“A slow death. This is a Truth Script. You tricked us.”

“How terrible of me. How will these people die a slow death?”

“We will feed them enough to keep them alive for around six months whilst they work on the construction of the Transworld railway.”

“Only six months? Why not longer?”

“It has been worked out. The cost of the workers plus food against the labour they can expend in their lifetime. This is the most efficient use of our investment.”

The workers heard that. Finally, it was enough to shake them from their torpor. A murmur ran down the lines. It became a roar. The workers broke ranks, they became a crowd, they surged forward and engulfed the two blonde women.

And that was that. The rest of the Dream London army was arriving now. It had followed us here and it was ready to fight.

“You did it, Mister James!” called Mister Monagan, dancing with joy. “You did it!”

I passed Anna the Truth Script.

“You know what to do,” I said. “Go after the others.”

She took the script and looked at me. She looked as if she was about to say something.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing,” she said and turned and ran off down the path. Some of the grey workers ran after her, off to help spread the word.

“You did it!” repeated Mister Monagan. “But what now? Look, the statues are moving.”

Sure enough they were, climbing down from their plinths.

“Ignore them, Mister Monagan. My army can take care of them. We’ve got other things to do...”

There was that glint again, coming from the trees that lined the path.

“But where are we going?”

“Follow me, Mister Monagan.”

We worked our way towards the trees, stepping aside for the statues as they ran across the grass, heading towards the army. Mister Monagan was right. The statues were as strong as three people. But I was right too. Four people could defeat them. Four football fans could hold an arm or leg each. A fifth could put the boot in. Brutal, but effective.

“We should help them!” insisted Mister Monagan.

I dived between the line of trees, reached around behind the trunk of one. The man hiding there gave a yelp as I seized him by his coat.

“What are you doing, spying on me?” I said. The man cringed, as if I was about to hit him. The mood I was in at the time, he wasn’t far wrong.

“If you touch me you’ll regret it,” he said. He waggled a finger at me, his face blushing a beetroot shade as he did so.

“No,” I said. “No, no, no! That’s not how you make a threat. You’ve got to mean it. All you’ve done is irritate me further. I’m more likely to hit you now.”

The man let out another yelp. He was an odd looking man. Very tall and thin. Stretched out. His skin was pale, as though he spent all of his time indoors. He wore a pair of leather trousers and a jerkin on which were hung all sorts of strange devices. Clockwork and lenses and all sorts of things. The pair of goggles he wore on his head was equally complex. I saw myself in them, reflected in red. I looked mean. I looked more than mean, I looked like a killer.

“Why are you spying on me?” I asked.

“I’m not spying specifically on you,” he said. “I’m here to observe this new gateway and then report back to the leaders.”

“Which leaders?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but I silenced him with a wave of my hand.

“Never mind,” I said. “They’re all the same. Give me those.”

He flinched as I snatched the goggles from his head. They were made of brass and polished glass. They weighed heavy in my hands. I saw the word Zeiss engraved on the side. I pulled them on and looked through them at the man.

“What are these for?” I asked, gazing at his pale features. “Things look exactly the same.”

“Look into the distance,” he whimpered.

I turned around and looked across the park, and gasped.

I could see forever.

The green grass of the park rolled away and away. Up and down as it travelled across hundreds of miles – the goggles let me see it all.

“I can see everything,” I said.

“Be careful,” said the man. “People can get lost. Their minds can’t find your way back to their bodies.”

There was a black line amongst the never ending grass and I focused on it. A line of coloured ants, just like those at the top of Angel Tower, making their way across the grassy plain. I followed it back to its source. An area of mud and water and abandoned ant mounds. The land there was stripped of all vegetation. The ants were seeking a new home.

There were switches built into the frame of the goggles. I pressed one. I felt the goggles turning my head to see something. My vision swept away from the ants, across hills and fields dotted with great cities filled with towers, just like Dream London. The goggles drew my vision on to one city in particular.

“You’re looking at my city,” said the man. “That’s how I find my way home when my job is done.”

The city was brightly coloured and filled with towers. One of the towers, the one at the centre of the city, was taller than all the others. It reached up into the sky. I thought I recognised it. This was the city I looked down at from the the bottom of the Spiral with Bill. Had that been only yesterday? I gazed at the city in awe. Seen from here it must be thousands of miles away, yet the Spiral must be barely three miles from Snakes and Ladders Square.

“Mister James, we’re wasting time here. This man cannot help us.”

He was right.

“The workers are saved. We need to return to Dream London. Perhaps now we can defeat Angel Tower.”

Angel Tower. The Contract Floor. Of course. I pulled the goggles from my head.

“I’m keeping these,” I said to the man, thrusting them in his face.

“But how will I get home?” he asked. He began to cry.