The Abyss Beyond Dreams (56 page)

‘I wonder what it’s like living there?’ Kysandra mused wistfully.

‘Pretty awful. I’ve lived in mansions this size myself. Ninety-five per cent of it is given over to staff and offices. You spend so much time mediating their internal politics, you
get distracted from the real job. And it’s no place for a family. I wound up with some pretty screwed-up kids at one point. Five of them still aren’t talking to me.’

‘You lived . . .’ Kysandra’s hand gave the palace a limp wave.

‘Oh, yeah. Won’t make that mistake again. This Sun King monstrosity tells me all I need to know about how wealth and power is consolidated on this planet. My guess is that the court
here will exercise absolute power. And to do that you have to have a political system that doesn’t permit dissent. Give the people the illusion of democracy, with a few elected councils
that’ve been given power over local trivia, while you control anything that really matters directly through the economy. He who pays the piper calls the tune; then, now, and forever. The
Treasury will be the true seat of power on this world, trust me. And somewhere in the Captain’s multitude of honourable titles will be something like: Chancellor of the Exchequer, or Lord of
the Treasury, or Governor of the National Bank or Chief Revenue Officer. That’s how it’s done.’

She looked from Nigel to the palace and back again. ‘You know all that by how big and gaudy the palace is?’

‘Yeah. Pretty much. I’ve seen it enough times to know what I’m facing.’

‘But we have elections.’

‘I wasn’t criticizing. Given the Faller threat, you’ve got a pretty good arrangement here. Government is always a balance between liberty and restriction. Back in the outside
universe, political systems evolved as technology and understanding grew, and that generally brought a liberalizing democracy with it. The problem here is a near-perfect status quo – though
perfect isn’t quite the right word for it – and all the Shanties are a new development that can’t be helping the economy or the crime rates. The Fallers aren’t ever going to
stop Falling. If anything, they have the advantage. Your society is probably stagnating in a lot of subtle ways that’ll start to mount up, and with that comes decadence and corruption. The
Fallers only have to wait until your vigilance falters.’ He pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Then again, fear keeps you on your toes, and you have kept society going for three thousand
years.’

‘You think the Fallers will win in the end?’

‘Time and human nature is on their side. But only because the Void restricts us. If we could get up there to the Forest and deploy some decent Commonwealth technology, it would be a very
different story.’

‘Us?’ she taunted. ‘So you do consider yourself human, then? I was wondering.’

Nigel grinned back. ‘Occasionally.’

‘Anything else you’ve decided just from looking?’

‘Not really.’ He turned back to stare at the palace, sending his ex-sight to examine it closely. As expected, the whole structure was fuzzed. ‘You said this is where the ship
landed?’

‘Yes. They built the palace around it.’

Nigel studied the façade closely, then turned three hundred and sixty degrees. ‘Around and over, I’d guess. Especially if they came down anything like the way I did. You see
this landscape? The palace is two thirds of the way up an incline; those big gardens at the back slope up. And this last mile of Walton Boulevard itself is actually a shallow valley, see, running
up a slope? Unlikely in nature. No, I’d say the ship hit somewhere down where our hotel is and kept on going, ploughing a groove through the earth until it came to rest here. So once it was
down, the ship would be Cornelius’s headquarters. It also contained all the resources; those ships carried everything you needed to start a new society on a fresh world. A lot of it
wouldn’t work here, but there was enough, clearly, and the metal from the superstructure would have been valuable back in the early days. And Cornelius had control over it. The start of the
Captain’s economic authority. He wouldn’t have moved away from that. No. He secured it. Built walls around it, buried it, closed it off to everyone else.’ Nigel licked his lips
and frowned. ‘I wonder what happened to everything they didn’t use. Is it still here? I mean, why move it?’

‘You think bits of the ship are still here?’

‘Could be. We need to get inside to see for sure. But not today.’

‘Shame. I’d like to go inside.’

‘Come on. Let’s go check out something else.’

‘Okay. What?’

‘I thought the courts; I’d like to observe a trial. Then the Treasury. I’d say the security sheriffs, too, but I don’t think any public sheriff station is going to be the
kind I need to know about.’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘Government always has its own special police. The kind who really don’t like people sniffing round in places they shouldn’t. The kind who make sure that anyone complaining
about life and saying,
Something should be done
, are quietly dealt with.’

‘The Captain has his own police squad separate from the sheriffs,’ Kysandra said, trying to remember details from Mrs Brewster’s history lessons. ‘They’re mostly
ceremonial bodyguards.’

‘Ceremony my ass. They’ll be the ones.’

It was a ten-minute walk to the central justice courts, back down Walton Boulevard to the junction with Struzaburg Avenue. Nigel stood admiring the Landing Plane statue for a while. ‘I
remember those brutes; they made them on Oaktier. Cargo capacity about two hundred and fifty tonnes. Aerodynamic flight only, no ingrav propulsion. The Brandts were lucky to have them in the Void.
If they had any sense, they’d have ferried their people down in them before they tried to land the big colony ships themselves.’

Kysandra walked on, shaking her head in bemusement. Nigel claimed to know about or be connected to absolutely everything. It was a weird quirk.

*

The courts were another grandiose government block, with narrow windows running up the whole six storeys. The front was classical architecture with heavily stylized columns
running along the front. A green copper dome dominated the roofs of its various wings, the apex supporting a fluted pillar where gold scales stood on the top. ‘Pretty standard,’ Nigel
proclaimed.

The trials listed beside the main entrance were all fairly minor ones. They sat in the public gallery of a dispute between a merchant and a rail freight company over the price of grain. The
merchant claimed the grain was low quality, the rail company lawyer said the quality wasn’t their responsibility. But it was the rail company’s agent who had secured the load, the
merchant’s lawyer protested.

‘Nothing ever changes,’ Nigel muttered with a sad smile.

They went back to Walton Boulevard, past the plane monument. Before they reached the Treasury at the end of Wahren Street, Nigel stopped outside the looming granite wall that fronted the
National Tax Office. Kysandra sensed his ex-sight probing. He walked to the far end of the vast building and looked down the tiny alley running up the side. Several high enclosed pedestrian bridges
connected it to the stolid office block next door.

‘No wonder the government can afford to build the way it does, as well as fund the county regiments,’ he said. ‘I’m impressed. That is one big mother of a tax
office.’

‘They say that the Captain has an agreement with the Skylords, that if you haven’t settled your taxes when you seek Guidance, the Skylords will take you to Uracus instead of
Giu.’

‘Interesting.’

‘I don’t think it’s true, Nigel.’

‘Not that. Both Bienvenido and Querencia have the same myths about those two nebulas. Uracus is the doorway to hell, Giu is the route to paradise. That has to come from the Skylords.
They’re the only connection.’

‘Did the Skylords Guide the people from Querencia as well?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it’s not so strange.’

‘Good point.’ He gave the Tax Office one last disapproving look and headed off towards the Treasury.

That night they visited the Grand Metropolitan Theatre to see
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.

‘What’s the matter?’ Kysandra asked afterwards as they sat in a corner booth of the Rasheeda’s lounge bar for a nightcap. Half of the booths had their black velvet
curtains drawn, their occupants fuzzing themselves effectively.

‘The play has changed slightly, that’s all,’ Nigel muttered.

‘How could it change?’ She closed her eyes, summoning up the memory. ‘“The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on.”’

‘Very good. But somebody else’s finger has written over the top, believe me. There were no vampires in the original
Midsummer Night’s Dream
.’

‘I liked the vampires.’

‘They’re a metaphor for the temptation of refusing a spiritual afterlife in exchange for flawed physical immortality.’

‘Can’t you ever just kick back and enjoy things? You always analyse stuff to death.’

He grinned and his retinas zoomed in on the labels of the long line of bottles arranged behind the mirrored bar. ‘I’m going to get a drink. What would you like?’

‘Double bourbon. Neat. No ice.’

‘Okay. One white wine spritzer coming up.’

Kysandra pulled a face at him. She settled down in the booth, a small smile elevating her lips. Life was pretty much perfect right now. A girl, probably twenty years old, left one of the
curtained-off booths, and walked over to the bar. Kysandra instantly knew her. It wasn’t the dress, which was an elegant tight-fitting burgundy silk gown with a big rose-knot at the base of
her spine. Not the long auburn hair, styled in waves at the back to leave delicate curls framing her cheeks. Nor even the broad features of her face, emphasized by too much mascara. No, it was the
brittle determination which propelled her across the floor that Kysandra could sense without any ex-sight at all. Exactly the same as her mother’s. Determination to get the next shot, no
matter what the cost.

She watched the girl sit on the stool next to Nigel in a slinky movement that was akin to a snake flowing into its nest. Long fake eyelashes were flapped slowly. Small inquisitive smile. Toss of
the head. A few words spoken.

‘Well, hi there,’ Kysandra mocked facetiously. ‘Do you come here often? Why, yes. Oh, good, so do I. Can I buy you a drink? That would be nice, until my friends turn up.’
She lowered her voice to a growl. ‘Well, pretty thing, I hope they don’t. Perhaps we could wait in my room? That would be simply splendid, I used to wait in rooms all over the
Commonwealth, you know.’ Open mouth wide and poke a finger in, making a retching sound.

At which moment Nigel turned round, holding a crystal brandy tumbler and a wine glass. Kysandra frantically turned the gesture into rubbing the side of her lips. Too late. Nigel’s eyebrows
had risen in that irritatingly disdainful put-down he’d clearly spent centuries perfecting.

‘Who’s your new friend?’ Kysandra asked as he sat back down in their booth, what with offence being the best defence, and all.

‘Why? Jealous?’

‘Sure, if you like narnik whores,’ spoken just a little too loudly.

Nigel’s teekay slid the booth curtains shut smoothly. ‘I think you’re being a little judgemental, don’t you?’

‘Sorry.’

‘Your mother’s going to be fine. The domination variant I used just compelled her to straighten her act out, not turn into one of my cronies.’

‘I know,’ Kysandra said in a small voice. The whole domination technique both fascinated and repelled her. Ma’s entire family and organization had flipped in that one dark
rainy night, becoming Nigel’s unquestioning acolytes. They talked the same, walked the same, but he owned them now, sure as if they were a batch of mods. They actually had a rivalry going
among themselves to be the best, the fastest to perform his bidding.

It creeped her out. Ma Ulvon’s ex-madam, Madeline, might be her maid for the trip, but Kysandra avoided talking to her as much as possible. She was afraid she’d blurt out something
like: ‘Don’t you remember what you were like, what you and Ma were going to do with me?’ which might be enough to shatter the spell.

‘Aren’t you worried about that?’ she asked.

‘About what?’

‘Nobody on this world has ever cured narnik addiction before. Someone might get suspicious about Mum overcoming her problem.’

‘Someone in Adeone is a qualified psychologist?’

Kysandra sipped her spritzer sheepishly. ‘All right, smartarse.’

‘I’m sure people have turned their lives around, even here. If you’re determined enough you can achieve miracles. Family support is a big help, too. And I’ll bet rich
people have sanatoriums that take in wrecked younger members to—’

‘All right! Uracus, you know everything always. I get it. I’m just saying it’s not so common in Adeone.’

He settled back, looking thoughtful. ‘I appreciate that, but don’t worry about your mother. If anyone does start asking questions, then Demitri will steer them off topic. Frankly,
I’m more concerned about the Tax Office.’

‘What?’

‘The Tax Office. Even Kafka would envy the size of the place we saw today. And they’ll have regional offices, I imagine. I may have been spending a little too freely.’ His grin
was knowing. ‘After all, taxes is how they got Al Capone in the end.’

‘Again: nonsense words. Stop it.’

‘Sorry. The point is, all the locals in Adeone are happy to accept me as a rich newcomer, especially the ones I spend so many of my counterfeit coins with. To the town, I’m obviously
throwing family money around. But when the Tax Office comes calling, the bureaucrats will want to know where that money came from. And I’m not in their existing records.’

‘Just dominate the tax inspector. Simple.’

‘Yes and no. We need to get politically strategic.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I’ve slightly underestimated this society. That can be corrected by a presence here in Varlan.’

‘What sort of presence?’

‘I’m going to leave one of the ANAdroids here to embed himself.’

‘What will he do?’

‘To start with, I’d like to know what’s inside the palace. If there’s anything left of the ship’s network, we might just be able to access some of the flight logs.
Unlikely after three thousand years, but you never know. Then a few people working for me in the Tax Office would be advantageous. And it’s always good to have political contacts . .
.’