The Abyss Beyond Dreams (81 page)

‘It brings out your optimistic streak,’ Coulan had told him one night, snuggled up in his embrace. ‘I like that.’

Now Javier looked down on the mattress with its wrinkled sheets where they’d spent so many nights together, just talking quietly about their plans and hopes or thrashing round in sexual
bliss, and there was no optimism left any more. Like the rooms, he was empty.

He sat on the mattress, and for all his bulk and strength he couldn’t hold back the exhaustion any more. ‘Where are you?’ he asked the bare walls.

Coulan wouldn’t abandon him, especially not in this dark desperate hour when he needed him more than ever. They loved each other. They were one. All he could think of was that Slvasta had
sent an assassin for Coulan; that one by one he was wiping out anybody who opposed him.

‘You idiot,’ he told himself, and rested his eyes for a moment.

*

‘Wake up.’

Javier opened his eyes. Bethaneve was staring down at him. There were dark fatigue circles round her eyes, and her cheeks were blotchy from crying. Hair hung lankly round her face.

‘You look terrible,’ he said, smiling to ease the slur. He could only have been asleep minutes, for he was still absurdly tired. But somehow the sun was now low in the sky.

‘It’s Slvasta,’ she said in a fragile voice.

‘I know. I’m sorry. We were both stupid. Uracus, I hadn’t slept for days – I still haven’t. I was so tense, so angry. There were fights, terrible fights against the
sheriffs and Marines, and . . . The streets were bad places to be for a while. But I had to be out there, had to lead our comrades. I’d like to talk to him.’

Bethaneve shook her head, struggling against fresh tears. ‘He’s got worse. He’s . . . He doesn’t trust anyone any more. He thinks there are conspiracies
everywhere.’

‘You as well?’

She nodded miserably.

‘Giu! What did you do?’

‘He thinks I’m scheming with Nigel.’

‘Nigel? Nigel that supplied us with all the weapons?’

‘Yes.’

‘But he’s the only one of us who knows Nigel.’ He studied Bethaneve’s dead expression, sensed the seething emotions so thinly obscured by her shell. ‘All right. We
have to put a stop to this. I need to find Coulan. He’ll know what to do.’

‘I know where he is.’

‘Where?’ It came out a lot more urgently than he intended.

‘The National Council building. Javier, he’s meeting with senior comrades, making deals, organizing them. I think he might be putting his own faction together.’

He thought it was the cold that made his muscles so difficult to move, but in the end he had to admit it was shock. ‘No. No, you’re wrong.’

‘I hope so. I do, really. But my informants aren’t close enough to be included in the deals. I don’t know what he’s actually arranging.’

‘Coulan would never betray us. We planned this with him for years; I know exactly what he thinks on any subject. He wants social justice just like we do.’

‘I know.’ She gave her feet a sheepish glance. ‘I remember, too. He saved me. He was going to save everyone.’

‘Then we must believe in him. We can’t allow Slvasta’s paranoia to contaminate us. That’s one of the principles we were going to install, remember? Everyone is innocent
until proven guilty.’

‘He came up with that.’

‘Yeah. Then, until we find out what’s going on, we follow that principle.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’ll do that.’

Javier lumbered to his feet. It was an effort, and for a moment he felt dizzy. ‘I should have been helping our comrades with the railway nationalization this afternoon.’

‘Do you even know how to nationalize a railway company?’

‘Sort of like taking it into new management, like I did with Coughlin’s stall at the Wellfield market.’

‘You need to scale up your thinking.’ She paused, allowing her troubled thoughts to show through her shell. ‘I meant what I said about not knowing what to do next. Do you think
that’s strange?’

‘Listen, we’re both tired like nothing we’ve experienced before. Of course we’re going to make mistakes and forget things. Go easy on yourself. Look at the screw-up
I’ve made of today.’

‘No. It’s more than that. We could always think of something before. How to organize the cells, political objectives, how to achieve our goals, strategies to manipulate public
opinion. We sat down together and these ideas just kept coming. Fabulous ideas. Ideas that worked. Now we’ve won, and there’s nothing. We can’t figure out how to capitalize on
what we’ve got. The city’s falling apart; there’s precious little food, the markets are closed, the water’s still not running in half the boroughs, people are fleeing. We
broke it, cleverly and carefully. Why don’t we know how to put it all back together? We wanted this to be a decent fair society, so how come we had nothing ready to implement? Why no strategy
to rebuild the rail bridges? Why not issue guarantees about life and liberty to reassure the professional classes that do the actual work?’

‘The People’s Interim Congress—’

‘Is a farce.’

‘That’s a bit harsh.’ He squirmed under her gaze. ‘Okay, they’re a bunch of idiots. But some of them are useful idiots. They mean well.’

‘That’s a magnificent epitaph. If we’re not careful, we’ll be singing it all the way to Giu.’

‘What do you want, Bethaneve?’

‘I don’t know. I’m just saying it’s strange. Strange that it didn’t bother me before, either. It’s as if we’ve suddenly used up every idea.
Why?’

‘All right. This is how it’s going to go. You and I are going to find Coulan. Then the three of us are going to sit down like we did in the good old days of an entire week and a half
ago, and think how to calm Slvasta down and get everything back on track. When we’ve done that, the four of us will brainstorm how to make the city work again; there may even be beer and
sitting around in a pub involved. How’s that sound?’

‘Sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.’

There was a cab waiting for them outside Tarleton Gardens. Javier smiled as he helped Bethaneve inside. ‘See? You do know how to keep some things working.’

She was deadly serious when she looked back and said: ‘But this was something we knew we’d need before.’

Javier gave up.

The cab set off, moving quickly through the semi-deserted streets.

‘He’s moving,’ Bethaneve announced after ten minutes. ‘Leaving the National Congress building. There’s a cab – not one on our list.’

‘I’m going to ’path him,’ Javier announced. He focused his mind, reaching over the rooftops towards First Night Square. ‘Coulan. Coulan, my love, talk to me,
please. I know you’re there. I need you so much.’

‘Uracus,’ Bethaneve grunted. ‘What did you say?’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘He just fuzzed that cab good and hard. My agent’s ex-sight can’t perceive it at all.’

‘Why is he doing this?’ Javier couldn’t keep the hurt distress from his voice. ‘What have I done?’

‘Hang on,’ Bethaneve settled back into the cab’s leather bench seat. ‘I’m going to activate all the cells around First Night Square. The comrades are still loyal,
at least for now; they’ll watch out for him. Fuzz can defeat ex-sight, but he can’t hide the cab from good old-fashioned eyeball contact.’

A minute later someone saw the cab turn into Fletton Road. Then Coulan got out and hurried into the Tonsly shopping arcade. ‘Uracus, there are twenty entrances to that place,’
Bethaneve said. ‘I wish we had Andricea’s mod-bird.’

‘She’s one of Slvasta’s loyalists.’

A single eye opened to give him a disapproving stare. ‘That’s wrong-thinking.’

‘Sorry.’ He followed the gifting Bethaneve sent him. Marvelling at the way she coordinated ’paths from dozens of cell members seemingly simultaneously. Images of streets and
arcade halls flashed before him at bewildering speed.

‘There!’

Fleeting glimpse of his beloved’s pale skin and sandy hair disappearing fast down Makins Alley. Short sharp instructions flicked out to cell members. They changed direction, sped up,
slowed down, hovered at road junctions.

Coulan called a cab on Lichester Road. Fuzzed it. A cab from the list turned onto the road behind him, three cell members hopped on.

There were three more changes of cab. A confusing run on foot through the maze of crooked alleys and tiny dark lanes of Saxby.

‘Uracus,’ Javier murmured admiringly as Bethaneve constantly shuffled the cell members about, interpreted images, anticipated moves. ‘You own this city.’

She smiled, eyes still tight shut.

Coulan slipped into the Reynolds Hotel, emerging from a side door. A cell member, one of Bethaneve’s elites, was lounging casually at the end of the alley. The last cab dropped him off
along Breamer Street, where there were a lot of people milling round at the end, shuffling slowly forwards towards the Colbal. He merged into them.

‘Only one reason for him to be there,’ Bethaneve said in satisfaction.

‘Cabby,’ Javier called loudly. ‘Quayside, and fast.’

*

For seventeen years Philious Brandt had been Captain of Bienvenido; a proud lineage, defending the world, maintaining order, regulating its economy, upholding the law, keeping
politicians in line. The world belonged to him. And now it didn’t.

It had been a day of sheer terror for him and his family. One moment he’d been ’pathing frantically with Trevene and the First Speaker and the captain of the Palace Guard; the next
moment gunshots had rippled around the palace. A mob had appeared, and some kind of well-organized and trained military force had stormed the walls and railings. Hidden gunmen had shot the Palace
Guard. Staff panicked – some running for freedom, a heartening number rushing to the private apartments to shelter and protect the family.

Philious had ’pathed and ’pathed for help: the Marines, the sheriffs, the regiment officers stationed in Varlan. But they too were under siege. And one by one their minds vanished
from his perception.

Then came the gunfire in the palace corridors themselves. Twice he heard explosions, the screams of the dying. Souls of dead guards drifted through the innermost apartments, apologetic as they
drifted up, starting their long flight towards Giu.

The family had retreated to the central drawing room, with its crystal chandeliers and priceless furniture and polished floor, with tall windows looking out over the manicured gardens. Seven of
his children were huddled round him (Dionene was out somewhere, thank Giu, but he had a pretty good idea of Aothori’s fate: his eldest son wasn’t popular at the best of times), the
younger ones crying, the older two brittlely defiant. Little granddaughter asleep, cradled in her petrified mother’s arms. His wife stood beside him, stiff backed, showing courage for the
children, her shell strong, but he knew the fear in her mind. Courtiers formed a protective picket around them, trying not to let their dread bloom.

Then the ’path had come. Coulan, offering terms of surrender. The life of everyone in the palace in exchange for taking the family into custody.

Philious agreed; he knew all about Coulan from Trevene’s long briefings on Slvasta and his cronies. Coulan was the level-headed one. Even so, he half-expected to be shot as soon as the
doors opened; the horror of the
Lanuux
and
Alfreed
was still fresh in his mind. But Coulan kept his word, and his militia were efficient and disciplined.

They were escorted down to a covered wagon and fuzzed as they were driven through the streets. The ride went on for a long time, but it finished at a small hotel in the Nalani borough. There
they waited, guarded by Coulan’s militia, while the mobs fought the authorities for control of the city.

Something about the militia members was eerily wrong. They wouldn’t speak to the family, they kept a perfect guard on their prisoners, they didn’t misbehave, nor threaten. The hotel
was kept under an impervious teekay shell that must have been difficult to maintain, but it never wavered in all the time they were imprisoned. Philious half-suspected they were Fallers.

All they could do was wait. He forbade the children to discuss what their fate might be, but he knew speculation was gnawing at their minds. They might not be able to ’path through the
militia’s shell, but the sounds of fighting were clear enough, and the upper rooms gave them a glimpse out over the rooftops, where smoke was visible across the city.

Philious endured as best he could, never quite understanding how this had come to pass.

Then on the third day of captivity, a man called Yannrith appeared and ordered Philious to accompany him.

‘No!’ his wife cried. ‘They’ll kill you, they’re animals, worse than Fallers! Don’t go.’

‘It’s not us who are the animals,’ Yannrith spat back at her. ‘I saw what’s inside the Research Institute. So did Aothori, a real close-up look.’

‘Bastard! Murdering bastard.’

Philious held up his hand, anxious not to annoy this imposing man. ‘I’ll go.’ He kissed his wife, very aware it was probably the last time he’d ever see her.
‘You’re not to worry. Be brave, for the children.’

There was an odd moment at the hotel’s entrance. Two militiamen stood guard there, staring blankly ahead.

‘Stand aside,’ Yannrith ordered.

They didn’t move.

‘By order of the People’s Interim Congress, which is this world’s legitimate government, you will stand aside so I may conduct our prime minister’s authorized
business.’

It took a long moment, but the guards stepped aside. There were three cabs outside with armed comrades riding in them. Yannrith led Philious into the middle one, and fuzzed it heavily. Philious
eyed the man, who was obviously regiment trained, and wondered again what had turned people like this against him.

‘I’m curious,’ Philious said. ‘What exactly have you done to those poor militia people? I thought they might be Fallers at first, but they’re not, are
they?’

‘Shut up,’ Yannrith said.

‘Threads perhaps, in their brains?’

‘Last time: shut the crud up.’

Philious smiled at his small victory. He wasn’t entirely surprised when after forty minutes of travelling they arrived back at the palace. But when they did finally step out into the inner
courtyard and he sent his ex-sight probing round, he was immediately demoralized by what he perceived. ‘Where is everything?’ he demanded. ‘What have you done with all— Oh,
no! No!’