The Book of Levi (3 page)

Whatever the case, in whatever kind of world this message finds you, the information in it should be of some assistance. As a consul from the ranks of the Intelligentsia you have been given information additional to the other consul. These are drawings, charts and schematics that might help you in your quest for technological advancement. If it is within your power to use this information for the good of the city, do so. But beware of those who would use this information to further self-interest at the expense of others.

As one of the two consuls, you will be asked to give advice to the president and to make important and sometimes highly difficult decisions. At times the president and your fellow consul will not agree with you and your fervent wishes may be overturned. There is no cabinet or committee to fall back upon. Remember, the president has the final right of pass or veto. Such is the nature of this centralised democracy. But you must respect the process, whether or not any one particular argument you have made has won the day.

Good fortune, consul.

C.D.

Leslie ran his tongue over his lips in anticipation. He turned over the page and to his delight there were notes and snippets from past thinkers and from Dunnett himself on the general precepts of good government and on the legislative apparatus that his triumvirate had established and put in place a century ago. He had thoughtfully compiled whatever information he had at his disposal in this booklet. Snatches from the Communist Manifesto by Marx (approach with caution); notes on the free market economy (approach with equal caution); some passages from Mein Kampf (disregard completely) and a plethora of chapters from philosophical and political writings from Plato to Aristotle; from Descartes to Russell; from Machiavelli to Onslow and from Churchill to Ghandi. Anything, it seemed that Dunnett could get his hands on that seemed worthy of note for a would-be governor.

But it was with tremulous fingers that he turned to the back portion of the book which contained the scientific and technical information which he so craved. He turned expectantly to the last portion of the book and found . . .

Nothing.

The outside margins were intact but someone had taken to the pages with a knife and meticulously cut out the entire contents. What remained was an ignorant hole mocked by equally ignorant borders. A neatly cut out square chasm revealed the inside of the back hardcover of the book an inch or so below. Glued onto that surface was a printed note stating: ‘The offending material has been removed’.

Leslie rose all in one movement from the bed. He found himself standing beside it as if awakening from a bad dream. His breath was short and his eyes wide. What did this mean? What had become of Dunnett’s notes? Who was responsible for this ghastly act? He must find out. It could not wait until tomorrow. He must find out – now.

*

Fifteen minutes later, it was a rather wet Leslie who entered the foyer of the AWA building in York Street. He buzzed on the intercom, carefully watched by two burly security guards, and was soon a dozen floors up, walking into Nicholas Brand’s apartment, apologising for the water he was recklessly depositing out of his raincoat and onto Brand’s carpet.

‘Why didn’t you bring an umbrella?’ asked Nicholas.

‘I did,’ Leslie replied, reaching behind him and holding up the brolly he had rested in the corridor before entering. ‘It’s raining cats and dogs out there.’

‘Come in,’ said Nicholas with a grin. ‘Leave your coat on the stand.’

A young man, in his late teens, popped his head around the corner. ‘You alright, Dad?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine, son. Come and meet my fellow consul,’ Nicholas replied. ‘Leslie, this is Edgar.’

‘Hi.’ Edgar greeted him politely with a handshake. He was thinner than his father and taller. He had brown hair and dark eyes like his Dad, but he appeared to be more the strong, athletic type.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Nicholas with a laugh. ‘He does take more after his mother. Please, sit down.’

Soon all the pleasantries were done, Edgar had returned to his room and Leslie was sipping thoughtfully on a cup of tea.

‘So?’ asked Nicholas.

In response, Leslie abandoned his tea and foraged under his thick woollen jumper. He produced the book and placed it on the table. It was unscathed and dry.

‘Do you think it’s such a good idea to carry state secrets around with you?’ Nicholas asked. ‘Especially in this weather?’

‘Take a look at the book,’ said Leslie. ‘Do you notice anything about it?’

Nicholas picked it up. ‘It’s thicker than the one I got,’ he noted as he weighed it in his hand.

‘Take a look inside,’ said Leslie with a nod.

‘But it would be, wouldn’t it?’ Nicholas mused, ‘You have all that other scientific stuff to deal with as well.’ As he spoke he thumbed through the pages. He soon discovered the loss.

He screwed up his face into a small ball of disdain, as if he had just eaten a bad oyster. ‘What in blazes?’

‘What do you make of it?’ asked Leslie with a quick, nervous sip of his tea. He looked carefully for Nicholas’ response.

Nicholas’ eyes widened. ‘My father warned me about this sort of thing. He used to say that censorship was the death of the human spirit.’ He looked again at the note: ‘Offending material,’ he muttered.

‘What do you suggest we do?’ asked Leslie, at least convinced for the moment that Nicholas was as surprised as he was at the vandalism.

‘I say we meet with President Dawson first thing tomorrow,’ he replied.

‘Surely this could only have been done by a former office holder?’ suggested Leslie. ‘Who else could gain access?’

‘That’s what we need to find out,’ replied Nicholas.

‘My money’s on the last woman we saw in the presentation. She sounded like a likely candidate.’

‘Hold your horses there, Les,’ Nicholas replied, jarring Leslie with the liberty of this familiarity, ‘we don’t know anything yet.’

‘We simply must find those papers,’ said Leslie, dejectedly.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll find them,’ Nicholas reassured him with a quick pat on the back.

But Leslie wasn’t so sure.

*

As he entered his apartment in the World Square skyscraper in George Street, Damien was in a foul temper. He wasn’t sure why, he was just in a bad mood. He noticed that he often was when the moon was full. In fact, he wasn’t even sure that the moon was full. He hadn’t seen it for a month, courtesy of this ridiculous weather. But he felt that it must be full because when it was, he always felt like he had an itchiness inside him that he couldn’t scratch. Violently, he shook out his raincoat in the hall.

He shooed a cat out of the way as he entered his penthouse. How the hell any cats had survived the days after the bombs, God only knew. But somehow they had. Some rich people had obviously bred cats in their scraper apartments after the war and managed to hide them from the post-war city long enough for them not to get eaten. Probably lots of people had, because now, somehow, there were thousands of the feline menaces creeping through the scrapers. You never saw any in the streets though, he mused. They were obviously pretty good eating.

He shut the door to his apartment, threw his raincoat recklessly towards a coat stand, knocking it over, and made his way towards the drinks cabinet. He downed a quick beer and opened another, before he settled down enough to look around his room.

Languidly he made his way towards the window. He looked out towards the west, but the night was glum and the view unrewarding. He kicked a coffee table without vigour and sat at his desk. He flicked, without purpose, through a cheap street-produced porn magazine and then stared out of the window for a while. He felt bored and he felt lonely.

He pulled out Elizabeth Dawson’s card from his pocket and looked at it. He thought about her pretty face and a faraway look washed across his face. He had met her once when he was a little boy. He remembered her apartment. It was a rich person’s apartment – high up in the clouds. Her father was a very important man. He was the president at the time. She was very rich and she was very pretty in a bright blue frock and matching ribbons. He had a few memories of that day. They all revolved around Elizabeth. He remembered that she teased him about having sandy coloured hair and being too skinny. The usual kids’ stuff. But there was something else; something else on the edge of his memory he couldn’t quite excavate. His father was there on some kind of business, he remembered. But it was something to do with Elizabeth. No. It wouldn’t come. The memory would not dislodge.

He looked back at her card and idly turned it over so that its back was exposed. There was a message on it: Meet me at my office - tomorrow midday.

Nicholas and Leslie entered the same room in which Robert had first met Jeremiah over a century before. The room was redecorated in pastels and the walls adorned with paintings. The décor was chunkier in the late twenty second century style but it was the same room – work table to the left, lounge and coffee table to the right; a spectacular view of the city scrapers all around.

Elizabeth rose to meet them. The three shook hands and together they sat on, almost in, the soft leather couch.

‘So we’re straight to work, I see?’ She smiled, but that smile begged a question. Why are you here at this hour - nine am on our first Monday in office?

‘Sorry to turn up so suddenly,’ Nicholas apologised, ‘but Leslie’s discovered a problem with his notes.’

‘A problem?’

‘Yes,’ Nicholas qualified. ‘He hasn’t got any.’

‘Leslie?’ she questioned.

‘Yes,’ he stammered, once again struck by Elizabeth’s beauty. ‘I’m very worried.’

He handed her the book and soon the quizzical expression that had spread across Nicholas’ face the night before, washed across hers.

‘This can’t be right,’ she mumbled. She reached for the phone. ‘Get Stefan,’ she ordered.

In the several minutes between command and compliance Nicholas and Elizabeth chatted. They apparently had known one another for some time. From their conversation Leslie learned that Elizabeth had been educated in Scraper 8 at a time when Nicholas had been teaching there. He also heard how Elizabeth’s family was very wealthy and that her family had already produced several consuls and one president over the last century. Elizabeth had an impeccable pedigree. Leslie was thinking about how lovely her voice was, when, unexpectedly, she asked him, ‘So, Consul Woodford, what do you make out of all of this?’

He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he was very disturbed by it, as he told her. Both Nicholas and Elizabeth nodded grave agreement. This was unprecedented, she told him, but she felt quite sure that everything would be sorted out.

Before long, a young man with thinning, but long sandy-blond hair, fine chiselled bird-like features, a small craggy nose and close-set eyes, entered carrying a suitcase. He wore a beautifully cut, beige suit and was efficiently effeminate in his movements.

‘This is Stefan,’ Elizabeth explained. ‘He is my personal secretary and our accounts man. He accounts for everything from how much money we have in our coffers, to matters of missing laundry.’

Elizabeth patted Stefan’s hand. The two shared an esoteric laugh and let the mystery lie there.

Leslie noted the familiarity and was jealous, without reason.

Stefan looked at the book and his expression showed great surprise. ‘I’ll have the police look into how this happened,’ he said with concern. ‘I apologise, Consul Woodford, for the great inconvenience. Fortunately the original document is housed in the great vault in Macquarie Street. I’ll have it copied and sent to you later today.’

Leslie was greatly relieved and pleased. He told the young man so. Soon the efficient, sandy-haired young man was on his way.

‘I’m busy today, consuls,’ said Elizabeth, as they parted. ‘I’m sure that you have offices to set up and staff to meet? I remember what my first weeks in office were like. We’re scheduled to meet for our first policy meeting tomorrow in the government buildings. So I’ll see you both then.’ She turned to Leslie, ‘Once you’ve had a chance to read your manuscript.’

She smiled and with a handshake and a closing door, she was gone.

‘You should make it a little more obvious next time,’ said Nicholas as they descended in the elevator.

Leslie did a slight double take but he did not remonstrate. He realised that his affection for Elizabeth was transparent. He had always been a terrible dissembler and a worse liar. He simply accepted the gentle rebuke as it was intended – a friendly barb. But he was also aware that Nicholas was making an important point in a friendly manner: his connection with both Nicholas and Elizabeth was a work arrangement and an important one at that. He must control his feelings.

The two parted and made their separate ways to their offices above Macquarie Street. Leslie was ill at ease on two counts. One, he couldn’t imagine how he was going to spend six years in the company of Elizabeth Dawson without, at some stage, expressing his devotion to her and probably making a fool of himself in the process and two, he was very worried about who had cut the heart out of such an important document as the green book and how on Earth they were able to do so without some complicity with others. If there was a conspiracy then . . . but no, he didn’t believe in conspiracy theories. 99.9% of the time they were populist nonsense and the other 0.1% they were simply nonsense. Everything would be alright. The police would catch the fanatic who had ripped the pages out of his book and they would be brought to justice. They would be punished.

That was how the world worked.

*

Damien was in a much better frame of mind, than he had been the night before, when he walked into Elizabeth Dawson’s office. He was let in before she arrived and sauntered around the room looking into boxes of photographs and memorabilia that were soon to adorn the walls. He moved with the simple grace of a country boy, which must have come from some genetic throwback because there hadn’t been such a species for a long, long while. He was peering inquisitively at a pile of books on the consul’s desk when a voice came from behind him.