The Palace of Dreams (22 page)

“Yes, yes …”

“I told you—this delay’s a bad sign. It’s clear there won’t be any congratulations now. Let’s hope there aren’t any …”

“Any what?” asked Mark-Alem in a choked voice.

“Punishments.”

“But why … why should there be any punishments?”

He felt a faint stirring of hope revive deep down inside him. But his face was ashen, and he looked as if he might faint.

“How should I know?” answered the other. “It’s completely beyond me.”

The fellow was getting more and more edgy. The idea that something was going on that he didn’t know about was more than he could bear. He kept looking impatiently either at the inner door, or at the one through which their boss had disappeared, or at the one that opened on to the corridor.

“There’s something going on… .’’he muttered. “No doubt about it. It’s awful, awful… .”

He was showing his exasperation quite openly now, but it was impossible to tell whether what was awful was what was happening or the fact that he couldn’t find out anything about it.

Mark-Alem had never wished so fervently that his neighbor’s words might be true. He who until now had shuddered at the news that something was going on now prayed with all his heart that something really might be happening. If the congratulations for the wretched dream still hadn’t arrived, and they really were expecting to be reprimanded, this might mean the situation had been reversed at the last minute.

… Out of superstition he dismissed such optimistic conjectures, in case merely thinking of them prevented them from coming true. It certainly would be a miracle… .

“It’s as plain as a pikestaff—you’d have to be blind not to see it… .” his neighbor hissed angrily, as if it were Mark-Alem who was preventing his theories from proving correct.

Here and there at their desks the clerks were whispering among themselves. Those who were near the windows craned their necks to see outside. Apparently repercussions of what was going on had managed to reach as far as there.

Mark-Alem thought of the carriages with the letter Q on them driving about wildly through the darkness, and for the first time he was really sure something further must have happened since last night. The Vizier wouldn’t have just stood there doing nothing. The way he had controlled his fury when he left the fatal room; the way he had gone upstairs like a sleepwalker—all this suggested he might hit back. And what about the carriage that had driven off into the night, and those his mother and he had seen in the darkness without knowing where they were going to or where they were coming from … ? God, if only it was true!

“I can’t stand it any longer,” said his neighbor. “I’m off to find out what’s what. If anyone asks for me, say I’ve gone down to the Archives.”

He slipped out as quietly as a shadow. As he watched him, Mark-Alem felt a surge of relief. At least he was going to find out something now.

He sat for some time staring at his file, unable to make out a word. He was anxious to hear the latest news, but if his neighbor didn’t come back at once, it must be because he was collecting lots of information. But Mark-Alem made superhuman efforts to stifle unfounded hopes. He knew that another disappointment would finish him off.

Now not only those near the windows kept looking out, but—and this had never happened before—other clerks from nearby tables crowded around to look out, too. There was no denying it; something out of the ordinary was in the air. Mark-Alem looked alternately at the windows, and at the door through which he expected his neighbor to reappear. Could the Sovereign have sent back the Master-Dream as if it were a young bride who turned out not to be a virgin?

He didn’t want to be too hopeful, but what was happening now was simply inconceivable. All the clerks, not only those in the middle of the room but also those on the far side, were crowding around the windows. He saw people get up and go over to look out who had never stirred from their places before, who had seemed to be riveted to their desks, and who not only had never dreamed of going and looking out of the windows, but had probably never even realized that the room they worked in actually
had
windows.

Mark-Alem was consumed with impatience. He waited and waited, and then did what an hour before would have struck him as ridiculous. He crossed the room and joined the others at one of the windows.

His heart couldn’t have beaten faster if he’d been standing on the brink of an abyss. As a matter of fact, that was what the darkness outside suggested. Various clerks leaned on the window ledges, peering out.

“What’s happening?” whispered Mark-Alem.

Someone turned around and looked at him in amazement.

“Can’t you see what’s going on down in the courtyard?”

Mark-Alem looked where the other was looking. For the first time he realized that these windows looked out on one of the inner courtyards of the Palace of Dreams. The courtyard was swarming with soldiers. From above they looked foreshortened and thin, but their helmets glinted dangerously.

“I can see some soldiers,” said Mark-Alem.

The other didn’t answer.

“But what are they there for?” asked Mark-Alem.

But the other had disappeared.

Mark-Alem glanced down again at the armed men, who looked as if they were made of lead. He was dazed, and thought confusedly of the carriages with the letter Q carved on the doors, which for some reason always made him think of night birds. Because of this confusion he found himself thinking of them sometimes as vehicles and sometimes as owls winging through the dark.

“What’s the matter?” said a voice nearby, in a brief respite between asthmatic wheezings.

“Can’t you see—down in the courtyard?” Mark-Alem answered.

The other man’s breath was making the icy windowpanes mist over. Mark-Alem’s mind seemed to drift away for a moment; then the cold cleared the glass again, and Mark-Alem’s thoughts too. He went slowly back to his desk. His neighbor had returned.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked Mark-Alem. “I’ve been waiting ages for you.”

Mark-Alem nodded toward the window.

“Nonsense! How can you find anything out from up here? But wait till you hear
my
news. Sensational! They say some of the staff of Interpretation are going to be arrested. Starting with the head of the section.”

Mark-Alem swallowed painfully.

“The courtyard’s swarming with soldiers,” he muttered.

“Yes, but they’re there for something else. It seems that even some of the high-ups in the Tabir are going to be arrested. ”

“My God—what can it mean?”

“The Quprilis have struck back. It was only to be expected.”

“Struck back?” stammered Mark-Alien. “Who? How? Against whom?”

“Hold on—don’t be in such a hurry! I’m just going to explain. Only come a bit closer—we don’t want to end up like them! … The whole of the Tabir Sarrail is in a turmoil. Last night, or early this morning rather, something very strange happened …”

The carriages that seemed like owls … thought Mark-Alem. He also remembered there was a bird, the eagle owl, known as the grand duke… .

“After the blow fell on them, the Quprilis didn’t just sit idly by. They acted at once, during the night, and in some way neither you nor I nor anyone else can guess at, at least for the moment. It was apparently at dawn that they managed to carry out their plan. But as I say, it’s still all shrouded in mystery. Some confrontation, some secret and terrible exchange of blows has taken place in the darkest depths of the State. We’ve felt only the surface repercussions, as you do in an earthquake with a very deep hypocenter… . So, as I was saying, during the night a terrible clash took place between the two rival groups, the two forces that counterbalance one another within the State. The entire capital is in an uproar, but no one knows anything definite. After all, even we, who’re at the very source of the mystery, are still in the dark.”

Mark-Alem was tempted to say he had handled the beastly dream twice himself, but a moment’s reflection was enough to remind him that this would be folly.

“Even before daybreak,” his neighbor prattled on, “carriages were seen coming and going between the embassies and the Foreign Ministry. But that’s not all. Apparently the Empire’s leading banks and the big copper mines are implicated too. There’s even talk of devaluation.”

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Mark-Alem.

“So that’s how things are. Very confused, and very different from what they appear. As if they were taking place down a bottomless pit … And as I said, all we have to guide us is a handful of dreams, a few scraps of cloud… .”

* * *

A
11 that day
the Palace of Dreams was racked by deep anxiety. Early in the afternoon the head of Interpretation and a number of the Tabir’s other senior officials were indeed arrested. Other arrests were expected to follow immediately. But evening came without any further developments.

Mark-Alem went home, eager to tell his mother all he knew. He was surprised that she didn’t look more delighted.

They sent someone to the Vizier’s house, hoping he might bring back some good news about Kurt, but the messenger returned saying no one knew anything about him.

Although he’d had very little rest the previous night, Mark-Alem couldn’t sleep a wink. At one point he thought he was about to drop off, but a noise in the distance brought him wide awake. He got up and went to the window, but couldn’t see anything. Then he noticed a faint red glow on the horizon, and he thought in a flash, What if the Palace of Dreams is on fire? But he soon realized the fire lay in a completely different direction. Back in bed, he tossed and turned for a long time before falling asleep. He woke before dawn, got up straightaway, shaved carefully, and prepared, much earlier than usual, to set off for the Tabir Sarrail.

*
Promise

THE COMING OF SPRING

vii.

No one was ever to know
what really happened that night. As the days went by, the fog that had enveloped not only the details but also the very nature of the event, instead of dispersing, only grew denser.

The arrests in the Palace of Dreams went on for a whole week. The brunt of the blow fell on the Master-Dream officers. Those who escaped prison were transferred to Selection or Reception or even to the copyists’ department. Conversely, some of the staff in Selection and Interpretation were sent to fill the spaces left in the Master-Dream section. Mark-Alem was among the first to be moved in this way. Two days later, before he had got over the excitement of the move, he was sent for by head office, which had been decimated by the arrests, and the Director-General in person told him he was being made head of the Master-Dream section.

He was staggered. Such a huge leap forward in his career was almost unthinkable. The Quprilis were obviously getting their own back.

Meanwhile, there was no news of Kurt. The Vizier was always busy. Mark-Alem couldn’t understand why his uncle, when he’d been powerful enough to shake the foundations of the State, couldn’t manage to get his own brother out of prison. But perhaps he had his own reasons for taking his time. Or perhaps he thought things were best left as they were.

Mark-Alem himself was overwhelmed with work and hadn’t time to indulge in long reflections. The section had to be reorganized from top to bottom. Unexamined files were piling up. And it would soon be Friday, the day when the Master-Dream was sent to the Sovereign.