The Abyss Beyond Dreams (80 page)

A minute later he arrived at the Captain’s Palace, keen to get some answers from Coulan. The militia guarding the gates were reluctant to let him through. It worried him that factions were
forming, their attitudes hardening: that would be disastrous for the revolution. But once inside, the remnants of the teams assigned to the palace told him Coulan wasn’t there. They
didn’t know where he was, nor when he would be back. They knew nothing of the convoy, either.

*

The Delkeith theatre on Portnoi Street was old and shabby, but it did have thick walls to block ex-sight from outside. It specialized in fairly crude satirical comedy, which
was why Javier was familiar with it. The management had closed up as soon as the mobs hit the streets, but the caretaker was happy enough to open it for Javier.

He sat on the stage, next to the giant teacup prop, and thanked people for coming, for having the courage to walk out of the Congress with him. They were mostly union stewards, as well as the
radical stalwarts he’d known before he met Slvasta. During the time the cells had been built up, he’d carefully steered them all into positions of leadership, so now over twenty had
been appointed borough delegates to the People’s Interim Congress.

They understood the reality of life on Bienvenido, not needing any persuasion to see the injustice. They knew how vital jobs and a thriving economy were to establish the revolution as
legitimate. Once he started talking, they were with him on blocking Slvasta’s stupidity about mods and neuts.

With that agreed, they all started to discuss procedures and votes and possible allies to use in the Congress to defeat the motion. It didn’t help that the Congress was chaired by Slvasta,
so they needed tactics into shaming him and forcing him to take account of a democratic mandate.

The one person Javier really needed at the Delkeith was Coulan. Not just for the personal comfort, but because he had the best brain for this kind of stuff. Coulan would also know how to smooth
things over with Slvasta.

Now the argument was over, now the split was hugely public, Javier was feeling sheepish about the whole thing. There had been no need for either of them to get so bad tempered, nor so
stubborn.

It was tiredness, he kept telling himself. A state where the smallest frustration could trigger ludicrous amounts of adrenalin and testosterone. And he was ridiculously tired. The others had
given him the job of industrial strategy for the Interim Congress. After all the violence and desperation of the revolution’s active stage, there had been no time to rest afterwards. They had
to keep momentum going – was it Coulan who kept insisting that? Keep pushing the establishment back, keep claiming their own legitimacy through the Congress, by establishing their own
managers in strategic businesses. Don’t let up. Push and push until there simply isn’t any resistance any more. Keep going.

Coulan didn’t answer any ’paths. He was in charge of securing the palace and the Captain’s family. Tasks which had been carried out flawlessly, Javier knew; he’d
perceived reports all through the active stage, keeping anxious track of his beloved. His small militia was superbly disciplined, eradicating any opposition, and not allowing the mob following them
to run wild. If only all aspects of the revolution had been so well executed, he thought dolefully. There had been a lot of poor discipline. Too many had died or suffered. The looting was a
disgrace.

However, the palace was theirs now, as was the Captain’s family – apart from Dionene. The city was theirs. They’d won.

So why do I feel so cruddy?

Javier realized his eyes were closing. He abruptly sat back in the chair – a jerky movement which sent his elbow thudding against the ridiculous teacup. It was made from papier
mâché and wobbled about. Once he saw it wasn’t going to fall over and roll across the stage, he held up his hands. ‘I’m sorry. I really have to get some sleep. We
know what we have to do. I’ll see you all tomorrow at the morning session of Congress.’

They all wanted to congratulate him. For the success. For not forgetting them. For standing up to Slvasta. For representing genuine democracy.

He shook hands. Slapped backs. Promised long cheerful sessions in the pub. Barely recognizing them, and certainly not recalling what they’d all just said. The fatigue was so strong now,
making it hard simply to stand.

When he finally left the theatre, a cab was waiting for him. Bethaneve’s organizational magic was still working perfectly. He smiled at that as he told the cabby to take him to the palace.
Somehow he had to talk to Coulan and find out just what was really happening. He fell asleep as soon as they started to move.

*

Exhaustion had finally abolished Slvasta’s rage. His aides kept giving him coffee during the Congress, which he hated but drank anyway. Now he had a wicked headache, his
mouth tasted like crud, his bladder ached, and still the meetings went on. Essential political meetings he held in the First Speaker’s annex – a lovely hexagonal wood-panelled study
with high, lead-framed windows. Delegates he knew he could trust came and went for hours. He talked to them soothingly, apologizing for his earlier outburst. They all expressed sympathy; it had
been a tough week for everyone. And they all managed to drop in their concerns, on behalf of those they now represented, which he pledged to give them debate-time to raise. Trading favours and
hearing whispers.

As he sat in the annex, so Javier had set up in the Delkeith with his old cronies, forming a pro-neut faction. That simply couldn’t be allowed to succeed. But as the exhausting day wore
on, draining him still further, he resented not being able simply to ’path his friend and say: ‘Come on, let’s go for a beer in the Bellaview pub garden, and just talk about
it.’ The way it used to be.

It should be Javier asking him, though. He was the one at fault.

Bethaneve came in as the seventh – or eighth – group was leaving. She walked over to him as he sat behind the wide desk, sitting in his lap and resting her head against him. They
said nothing for a long moment, just relaxing, content that they were still alive, that they had each other.

‘We did it,’ she whispered finally.

‘Now we have to make sure we don’t lose.’

‘We won’t.’ She kissed him lightly, then put her fingers under his chin, raising his head so she could look straight into his eyes. ‘You’re still thinking of
Ingmar, aren’t you, sweetheart?’

He nodded meekly. ‘I’m trying not to. But . . . Uracus damn those Fallers for all eternity. And the institute, traitors to our very race, every one of them.’

‘They’re not traitors, they did what they had to so they could keep the institute going. They’re fighting the Fallers, just like us.’

‘Maybe,’ he conceded. ‘But I can’t get it out of my head.’

‘Is that why you argued with Javier?’

‘Oh crud!’ He ground his teeth together. ‘I don’t know. One second we were so pleased that we’d both survived, that we were in Congress together, that we were right
all along, and that we could finally help people; the next thing it’s like I’m looking down on these two madmen screaming at each other. I knew I had to stop, but he just wouldn’t
see reason. It’s crazy.’

‘Giu, the pair of you!’

‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. I was tired, that’s all. And still upset over Ingmar, Giu, the shock of that was unreal. I let it get out of hand. It won’t happen again. I
promise you that. You do believe me, don’t you?’

‘You’re to sit down with him and talk this through like rational people.’

‘But . . . the mods, they belong to the Fallers!’

Her whole body stiffened. ‘I know that. But you will have to find a way to make the rest of Bienvenido accept the revolution’s authority. Once you have accomplished that, then you
can sort out the mods and neuts.’ Her fingers gripped his chin again, and her stare was very intent. ‘You do understand that, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ he said as the tiredness came back in an almighty wave that made everything seem irrelevant. ‘I know. But I will not rest until this world is free of them.’

‘One step at a time, my love.’ She kissed him.

‘Thank you. I was worried.’

‘Me too, when this happened. I didn’t know what to do.’

‘You always do,’ he said. ‘That’s why I love you.’

‘Not this time. But I have some strange news.’

‘What?’

‘The Goleford bridge has been blown up. About half an hour ago. An express only just got over it. They were lucky.’

‘Where’s Goleford?’

‘Uracus, you
are
tired. It’s the bridge on the Southern City Line.’

‘What? Where in Giu’s name have they been?’

‘I don’t know. I’m trying to get our agents to find out what’s going on, but it’s difficult to get messages over the Colbal right now. Every boat is full of
refugees.’

‘We’re not tyrants,’ he snapped in annoyance. ‘We’re the opposite. Nobody needs to run away from us.’

‘I know.’

‘You have to get in touch with the sabotage team. We don’t want any more bridges blown up. As Javier said, we need to start building the economy back up.’

‘Oh, a sensible comment. I’ll put that down in my diary.’

‘Hey, I’m trying, okay?’

‘I know.’ She didn’t shift from his lap.

Slvasta’s ex-sight caught Yannrith entering the ante-room. ‘Come on in,’ he ’pathed.

‘Captain,’ Yannrith said. Anxiety was leaking through his shell.

‘What’s the matter?’ Slvasta asked wearily. He wasn’t sure he could take much more bad news right now.

‘I can’t find Coulan anywhere.’

‘He’ll be with Javier,’ Slvasta said.

‘He’s not.’

Bethaneve stood up. ‘I’ll find him. I’ll put the word out with my people.’

‘I’ve just come back from the Captain’s Palace,’ Yannrith said. ‘There’s something really strange been going on. Coulan’s militia, the ones guarding it,
they’re all acting odd.’

‘What do you mean, odd?’

Yannrith shrugged. ‘As if they’re drunk, or something. It’s difficult to get them to say anything.’

‘They’re loyal to Coulan.’

‘No, it’s more than that. And something’s been taken. I had to ask hard, but I found that much out eventually.’

‘Taken?’

‘From the palace cellars. Uracus, Slvasta, there are some really bizarre things down there. Ancient things that I’ve never seen before, things from Captain Cornelius’s ship
itself.’

Slvasta stared at him, trying to make sense of what was being said. ‘Coulan’s taken something from Cornelius’s ship?’

‘I’m not sure. But look, captain, you remember your last sweep with the regiment?’

‘I can hardly forget. What about it?’

‘We met those peculiar people we thought were narnik barons. The girl, the redhead, I forget her name, Nigel’s so-called wife. She’s here. I saw her riding one of the wagons on
Walton Boulevard. They were all heading down the hill.’

‘What wagons?’ Bethaneve blurted.

‘The wagons that took something from the palace.’

Slvasta’s headache seemed to redouble in potency as he gave Yannrith a shocked look. ‘Wait! Nigel and Kysandra are here? In Varlan?’

‘You do know them?’ an equally perturbed Yannrith asked.

‘Nigel supplied all our weapons,’ Bethaneve said. ‘But – I don’t understand. What’s he doing here?’

Through all the pain in Slvasta’s head, the elusive memory that had taunted him for days suddenly crystallized. ‘Grunts!’ he exclaimed.

Bethaneve and Yannrith frowned at him.

‘You said it,’ Slvasta accused her. ‘The night we were arming the cells, you said we can’t give a gun to every
grunt
on the streets.’

‘So?’

‘I only ever heard that word used like that once before. By Nigel! They’re soldiers or troopers, privates, sergeants, corporals, officers – comrades in our cells are activists.
But never
grunts
.’

‘Slvasta—’

‘What is going on?’ he demanded hotly. ‘Do you know Nigel?’

‘I’ve never met him in my life. You were the one that went to Adeone to meet him. You’re the one that did the deal for weapons. All I know about him is what you’ve told
me.’

‘Then why did you call our cell members grunts?’

‘Are you crazy?’ she shouted back at him. ‘It’s a crudding word!’

‘It’s
his
word.’

‘Oh for fuc—’

‘What was he doing back then, when we found him on the sweep? What did he have on those boats? Is he a narnik baron? Wait! Was he your supplier?’

She flinched as if he’d struck her. All the emotion drained out of her expression. ‘Slvasta,’ she said in an icily calm voice, ‘you need to stop this. You need to get
some sleep.’

‘Why is he here? What did he take?’

‘I want you to calm down. Lie down on this settee and—’

‘No. Something is going on. Javier’s turned against me. Is he collaborating with Nigel, too?’

‘Slvasta.’ A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘Please. No.’

‘I will find out!’ he roared. ‘By Giu, I will know what game you’re all playing behind my back! You think you can get rid of me? You think you can just waltz right into
the Captain’s Palace and rule this world? Do you? Well, you can’t! I’ll stop you. I’ll stop all of you.’ He stormed out of the annex. Tovakar and the five bodyguards
he commanded regarded him in alarm. ‘We’re going to the palace,’ he told them. ‘Sergeant, are you with me?’

Yannrith gave Bethaneve a helpless shrug, and hurried out, leaving her to sink to her knees as she started to weep.

*

There still wasn’t any real furniture in the Tarleton Gardens apartment. After Slvasta and Bethaneve had moved out, the empty rooms seemed even larger. There was nowhere
to hide in any of them.

Javier’s ex-sight had been pervading it as soon as he climbed out of the cab in the street outside. Coulan wasn’t inside. Coulan wasn’t anywhere. Not in the palace, not in the
hotel where the Captain’s family was detained, not with any of the comrades. Nowhere. Javier went upstairs to their apartment anyway. There was nowhere else for him to go. Afternoon sunlight
poured through the big bay windows. He’d always enjoyed the sensation of space he gained from the rooms. Other people’s houses and flats seemed so cluttered. They valued things; he
prized potential.