Expatria: The Box Set (15 page)

Chapter 17

Lunch with the Lord Salvo was not Kasimir Sukui's greatest desire, but he could not refuse. The Prime was in a sensitive frame of mind.

Heading for the Capitol, Sukui had just turned off Ruby Way when he heard the voice.

He paused to listen.

Ever since Siggy Axelmeyer had started to cause trouble, the boldness of the street entertainers had grown, particularly in back-street Soho. Wherever a space was to be found, it was a juggler, a musician, a dancer, who found it.

But this one was different.

For a moment Sukui could not put a face to the voice. Then he remembered and wished he had not.

He stood like a rock in a stream, people pushing past him this side and that, nudging him, jostling him, dragging at him, but he would not shift. A face was floating in his mind, framed with drifting, blue-black hair.

Mono had come to Alabama City.

Sukui started to walk again, heading for the voice. He didn't recognise the tune, a complexity of half and quarter tones, words that were bland and mostly indistinguishable. Sukui had never been keen on music, it was too indefinable. You could write down the notes, calculate the timing intervals and still there was something more. It was like the sea, and the behaviour of crowds: too much for a single mind, too much for a mere bureaucrat.

Closer to Mono, the crowd was impenetrable. Sukui considered moving on.

He had an appointment at the Capitol.

But suddenly that did not seem so important. He was listening to Mono's voice and it stirred up a curious mix of emotions in him. Even a day or so before, Sukui would have fought the feelings, pretended they did not exist. But now he could see that if he did so, he would be denying a part of himself. He remembered lying by Mono's side, in her claustrophobic room in Orlyons's Gentian Quarter. He remembered wanting to bring her back to Alabama City.

And now she was here and he was standing alone in a tightly packed crowd, listening to her, unable to see any but the nearest heads and bodies and a swathe of grey sky.

He realised he did not want her any more. Not in the way he had. The very thought made him feel dirty, self-abused. He shook himself, tried to snap himself into a more rational frame of mind. He had an appointment at the Capitol but a strange torpor had overcome him and he could not move.

Mono's song finally wound itself down into a faint, repeated groan, and the crowd stirred and began to shift. Sukui pushed his way forward, desperate to catch her before she vanished. Someone cursed him and thumped him on the back, but he continued. The populace of Alabama City had become more aggressive recently—Sukui had recorded numerous examples in his diaries—a trend for internal conflict which had easily replaced the national antipathy towards Olfarssen-Hanrahan and his northern territories. As the congestion thinned, Sukui's progress became easier.

When he found her she was sitting on a sack of grain, shoulders against a wall, scanning the faces of the dispersing crowd. She saw him and smiled as if she knew he would be there. 'Sukui-san.' She nodded her head.

'Mono,' he said, crouching down in front of her. 'You have moved south.'

She was hugging herself, her skin dimpled. 'It's colder down here,' she said. 'Nobody told me that.'

'We are farther from the equator and so closer to the icecaps,' said Sukui. 'You should have asked a scientist.' That made her smile and Sukui felt a little better. 'Why have you come?'

'Last time in Orlyons, Matt asked me to come here with him. I said no. I was stupid.' She paused, searching Sukui's eyes.

'Go on,' he said. Talk of her relationship with Hanrahan did not affect him now.

'Orlyons is full of Newest Delhi militia, now,' she continued. 'They say it's part of some treaty and they're there to stay. They've banned gatherings on the streets. No more than four together at a time, they say. Shit, that made the 'tones illegal for the first. You sing on the Patterdois—even alone—and more than four people stop to listen and the troops are in there, boots and fists first. I lost three teeth one time. I think maybe soldier-boy lost more than me though.' She smiled.

It was true. The Treaty of Accord had stated that current occupations marked the new official boundaries. Alabama City had gained part of the Massif Gris and a twenty-kilometre coastal strip. Newest Delhi had gained all of the island of Clermont. 'Do you have accommodation?' asked Sukui.

'That's why I'm singing: I've just arrived in Alabama but I know people here. People only stay in Orlyons to fight Newest Delhi. Rather than search a strange city I thought people could come find me, so I sang and you found me. Where's Matt living? I thought maybe he'd have some room for me, if he's still interested.'

She knew nothing. Sukui looked at her, wondered how to tell her.

'So it's true,' she said, studying his face. 'I heard it in Orlyons but it was only a rumour an' there's lots of rumours. They've got him, right? In Newest Delhi, right? He's still alive, isn't he?'

Sukui swore never to underestimate Mono again. He admired her self-control and stopped himself making a mental note. 'Yes, it is true,' he said. 'Come along, let's, walk—I have an appointment.'

He didn't know how to explain. 'It was part of the Treaty of Accord: peace, as long as Mathias returned to Newest Delhi for trial. I have used whatever influence I have to ensure that the trial will be fair, but the odds of that are poor, to say the minimum.'

'Why did he go?'

'There is a Project here in Alabama City, of which I am the nominal head. It was important to Mathias. He saw that the troubles would disrupt it and he sacrificed himself in order to secure peace for the Project.'

'And you let him go.' Her voice was toneless.

'Yes, Mono. I let him go. It was Mathias's choice, but I could have stopped him. Blame me, if you wish.'

'When is the trial?' asked Mono. 'Or... has it already been done?'

'My best information puts it at two weeks hence, but delays are probable.' They stopped outside the Capitol gates. 'You can stay in my apartment,' said Sukui. 'There is a guest suite. I would be honoured.'

Mono shook her head. 'I don't think so, Sukui-san. I'll find something.'

'Then go to Merchant Chapel—the Traders' Gallery. Chet Alpha has taken over an entire length with his so-called Pageant of the Holy Charities. Alya Kik is said to be there. She will take care of you. Good luck.' He kissed her on the forehead and nodded to the guard. From the other side of the gates he glanced back, but Mono had already disappeared into the crowd.

~

Passing through the seemingly endless corridors of the Capitol, Sukui knew that this was finally the time to inform the Prime of what was happening on Dixie Hill.

He had already left it for too long.

It must be handled carefully—he could not let the Prime know that so much had occurred behind his back. More by his side, than behind his back; that was the phrasing Sukui would use if Prime Salvo challenged him on the matter. Hopefully, it would not come to that. He would simply explain that he had news of great importance. A message had been received. There were people living in orbit. He would have to ensure that these people would not appear as a threat. He would inform the Prime that they could not land. Maybe he should leave the GenGen ship out of it, at this stage. The Prime would not react positively to an outside threat of such proportions.

Sukui knocked on the door of the White Suite, the room where Mathias had first been introduced to the Prime. A bellow came from within and he entered.

Seated at the table was the usual Primal coterie. Rampraketh Osk, his face painted and his long, bangled hair trailing into his bowl of food; Pom-Pom MacGrew, picking daintily at her loaded plate; Andrei Klowski, Naomi Klowski-Hill and Chop Hill, all rolling about in the heaped cushions scattered beyond the far end of the table, Chop giggling and clutching at his bodice.

The Prime sat at the head of the table, glaring at his companions. 'Pom-Pom,' he growled. 'You're not enjoying yourself.'

'Oh, I am. I
am
,' she said, forcing laughter and tossing a grape at Osk in what she evidently hoped would appear a playful manner.

'Get out,' growled Prime Salvo. 'You're lying.' He raised his voice for the benefit of the others. 'You hear? You're here for
fun
. Now
laugh!
' He turned to Sukui, as Pom-Pom MacGrew ran tearfully from the room. 'You're not laughing, Kasimir. Should you leave too?'

'Sir, I fear I came in part-way through the amusements. I am sure I would have been entertained if I had been here earlier.' Sukui bowed his head. For the first time in his life he was angry with the Prime. How could he sit there, insisting people have 'fun' when his empire was crumbling all around him?

Prime Salvo accepted Sukui's explanation and gestured for him to sit in Pom-Pom's vacated chair. Sukui diplomatically filled a bowl with food and ate a little.

'I'll smash him,' said the Prime. 'And I'll hang him from Merchant Chapel for all to see.'

'Siggy Axelmeyer?'

'He's no cousin of mine. Do you know he burst into Merchant Chapel and climbed to the roof? He stood there and pissed on the crowd, then he played that damned mouth-organ of his. When they called for more he managed another piss. And do you know what, Kasimir? He's even applied for an ents licence.'

Sukui had heard something of Axelmeyer's games and they irritated him intensely. What annoyed him most was the way Siggy had managed to carve disorder out of the most promising opportunity for peace that had occurred in decades.

'He thinks he can overthrow me,' said the Prime. 'He thinks that by causing mayhem on the streets he can push me into making mistakes.' The Prime leaned forward in his seat. 'The only mistake I ever made was allowing him the chance to work for your Project. It gave him time to plot against me. Nobody does that, Kasimir. Nobody works behind my back. I hope you are listening, Kasimir: I will smash anyone who conspires against me.'

Prime Salvo took a handful of cashew nuts and crunched them one by one in his mouth. 'You're not laughing, Kasimir. You're not having fun. Leave. Go and do your business. And remember what I said.'

Sukui left.

~

'Alya Kik! So it is true.' After his lunchtime encounter with the Prime, Sukui was relieved to see a friendly face.

She was standing on a Soho street corner, studying the people passing by. Wrapped in a pale green robe with a silk sash around her waist, she looked different, somehow: smaller and more fragile, not the coarse old street-trader he knew from Orlyons. A youth, dressed in a matching wraparound, stood vigilantly nearby—a bodyguard, a sad reminder of the city's new turbulence.

'What is it that you say's true
now
, then? Which of the rumours?' Alya looked as if she had been expecting him.

'That Chet Alpha has shown you the light,' said Sukui. 'That you have been converted.'

'You make me sound like some rich kid's house. "Been converted", hah!' She punched him lightly on the chest. 'You old rogue,' she said. 'You look good. I haven't seen you since you brought me on that big boat of yours. Not good enough, eh?'

'You must have been hiding if you haven't seen me, Alya. Or your eyes have gone the way of your teeth. Or have you found other diversions?' He nodded at the bodyguard and smiled. 'Tell me, Alya: what do you make of Chet Alpha's Pageant of the Holy Charities? Do you think he's sincere? He's involving a lot of people—they might not like it if they find that he is not genuine.'

'Kasimir, come with me. See for yourself. That's why I'm here anyway: Lucilla wants to see you.' She took his arm and began to lead him back through the streets of Soho towards Merchant Chapel. 'But let me tell you, too. I've known Chet since he was that much of his daddy'—she held her hand so there was a tiny gap between thumb and forefinger—'and a bit more of his mamma. He started out on the streets of Orlyons before he went up to Newest Delhi with that Peep Show of his. He's a drifter, never known what he wanted. I tell him so many times. "Chet," I say. "You got no direction. You got to have something to live for." I tell him again and again, but always he drifted. Now, Kasimir, I tell
you
: he believes in that dream of his. Chet Alpha, he's never had a purpose in life until he had that dream. Now he's different, it's changed him. And anyway,' she shrugged, 'you get Chet, you get the Holy Charities, you get some bottles and some bits to eat and you got the finest damn party you could hope for.' Alya Kik bustled on, cackling away, and Sukui followed, smiling.

Their guard melted away as they climbed the wide steps at the front of Merchant Chapel and passed between the columns of the entrance. This part of the gallery was the same as ever, packed with stalls and traders, the air full of spices and calls and the unchanging murmur of the crowd. But the western gallery had been transformed. The stalls had gone and the floor was covered with flower petals and streamers and empty bottles. Chet Alpha's little caravan was standing on wooden blocks partway down the gallery; its wheels had been removed to be strung from the wall by ribbons. Elsewhere there were tents and simple little huts, as if the place had been overrun with refugees. The inner wall was covered with streamers and ribbons and bright splurges of paint and chalk, some of it in abstract patterns, other areas depicting people and animals in crude, bold strokes, as if drawn by a genius or a child. The open side had yet more streamers and ribbons, wrapped around the white columns and strung between. The gallery appeared more spacious than when it had held traders and their stalls, but still there was a multitude of people sitting, standing, swirling. Many wore the pastel robes of the Pageant, many more looked as if they had been dragged in off the streets or as if they had arrived by mistake, still expecting the gallery to be full of market-stalls.

Sukui was stunned by the scale of Chet Alpha's takeover. It was only a matter of days since be had brought his Pageant to Alabama City and already it had grown into
this
.

'Come on, come on,' said Alya. 'We're missing the party.' She left him in front of a small tent. 'In there,' she said, and then she was off among the crowd, seizing a bottle from a nearby man and then seizing the man as well.