Dark River (26 page)

The Irish Harlequin frowned as she touched her black metal sword case. She looked like a pagan queen who had just been insulted by a commoner. “It’s quite clear that they’re afraid of me.”

“Good. Because I’m going back to London. If you want to protect me, then you’ll have to come along.”

** CHAPTER 24

Sitting near a top-floor window in Vine House, Gabriel looked out at the small public park in the middle of Bonnington Square. It was about nine o’clock in the evening. After nightfall, a cold layer of fog had drifted off the Thames River and pushed its way through the narrow streets of South London. The streetlights around the square burned with a feeble light, like little bits of fire overcome by a colder, more pervasive power. No one was in the park, but every few minutes another small group of young men and women approached the house and knocked on the door.

Gabriel had been back in London for three days, staying at Winston Abosa’s drum shop in Camden Market. He had asked Jugger and his friends for help, and they had responded immediately. The word was out, and Free Runners from every part of the country were coming to Vine House.

Jugger knocked twice on the door before poking his head in. The Free Runner looked excited and a little nervous. Gabriel could hear the sound of voices coming from the crowd downstairs.

“A lot of people are showing up,” Jugger said. “We got crews coming in from Glasgow and Liverpool. Even your old pal Cutter came down from Manchester with his friends. Don’t know how they found out about this.”

“Is there going to be enough room?”

“Ice is acting like a games director at a holiday camp— telling people where to sit. Roland and Sebastian are stringing cable down the hallway. There’re going to be speakers all over the house.”

“Thanks, Jugger.”

The Free Runner adjusted his knit cap and gave Gabriel an embarrassed smile. “Listen, mate. We’re friends, right? We can talk about anything.”

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s that Irishwoman who’s your bodyguard. The front door was crowded with people, so Roland went around the house and climbed over the wall into the garden. We do that all the time so we can come in through the kitchen. Well, quick as a flash, that Irishwoman is pointin’ a twelve-round automatic at Roland’s skull.”

“Did she hurt him?”

“Nah. But he just about pissed in his pants. Swear to God, Gabriel. Maybe she could wait outside the house during your speech. I don’t want her killing anybody tonight.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be out of here as soon as I’m done speaking.”

“And then what?”

“I’m going to ask for some help and we’ll see what happens. I want you to be the middleman between me and the people downstairs.”

“No problem. I can handle that.”

“I’m staying in Camden Market in an underground area called the catacombs. There’s a drum shop there run by a man named Winston. He’ll know how to find me.”

“Sounds like a plan, mate.” Jugger nodded solemnly. “Everyone wants to hear you, but give us a couple more minutes. I got to move some people around a bit.”

The Free Runner left the garret and climbed back down the narrow staircase. Gabriel remained in the chair, looking out at the little garden in the middle of the square. According to Sebastian, the garden had once been a bombed-out building during World War II and then a dumping ground for trash and old cars. Gradually, the community had come together, cleaned up the site, and planted a mixture of conventional shrubs and ivy plus more exotic tropical vegetation. There were palm trees and banana plants growing right next to English tea roses. Sebastian was convinced that Bonnington Square was a distinct ecological zone with its own particular climate.

The Free Runners had planted a vegetable garden behind Vine House, and you could see bushes and trees growing on the roof of every building around the square. Although there were thousands of closed-circuit television cameras all over London, the constant desire for a garden showed that the average citizen wanted a refuge that was separate from the Vast Machine. With friends and food and a bottle of wine, even a backyard garden felt large and expansive.

A few minutes later, Jugger knocked twice and opened the door. “You ready?” he asked.

Several Free Runners sat on the staircase and others were squeezed into the hallway. Mother Blessing stood in the living room near a table with a small microphone lying at the center. One of her Irish mercenaries, a tough-looking man with a white scar on the back of his neck, was directly outside the house.

Gabriel picked up the microphone and switched it on. A cord led to a stereo receiver that was attached to different speakers. He breathed deeply and heard the sound coming from out in the hallway.

“When I was in school, we were all handed a big history text-book on the first day of classes. I remember how hard it was to shove it into my backpack every afternoon. Every historical era had a color-coded section, and the teacher encouraged us to believe that— at a certain date— everyone stopped acting medieval and decided they were in the Renaissance.

“Of course, real history isn’t like that. Different worldviews and different technologies can exist side by side. When a true innovation appears, most people aren’t even aware of its power or implications for their own lives.

“One way to see history is that it’s the story of a continual battle: a conflict between individuals with new ideas and those who want to control society. A few of you may have heard rumors about a powerful group of people called the Tabula. The Tabula have guided kings and governments toward their philosophy of control. They want to transform the world into a giant prison where the prisoner always assumes that he’s being watched. Eventually each prisoner will accept his condition as reality.

“Some people aren’t aware of what’s going on. Others choose to be blind. But everyone here is a Free Runner. The buildings that surround us don’t intimidate you. We climb the walls and jump the gaps.”

Gabriel noticed that Cutter, the head of the Manchester Free Runners, was sitting against the wall with a plaster cast on his broken arm. “I respect all of you, and especially this man, Cutter. A London cab hit him a few weeks ago when we were racing and now he’s here with his friends. A true Free Runner won’t accept the conventional boundaries and limitations. It’s not a ‘sport’ or a way to get on television. It’s a choice we’ve made in our lives. A way to express what’s in our hearts.

“Although some of us have rejected certain aspects of technology, we are all conscious of how the computer has changed the world. This truly is a new historical era: the Age of the Vast Machine. Surveillance cameras and scanners are everywhere. Soon the option of a private life will disappear. All these changes are justified by a pervasive culture of fear. The media is constantly shouting about some new threat to our lives. Our elected leaders encourage this fear as they take away our freedom.

“But Free Runners aren’t frightened. Some of us try to live off the Grid. Others make small gestures of rebellion. Tonight I’m asking you for a larger commitment. I believe that the Tabula are planning a decisive step forward in the creation of their electronic prison. This isn’t just a few more surveillance cameras or a modification of a scanner program. It’s the final evolution of their plan.

“And what is that plan? That’s the question. I’m asking you to sort through the rumors and see what’s real. I need people who can talk to their friends, explore the Internet— listen to the voices carried by the wind.” Gabriel pointed to Sebastian. “This man has designed the first of several underground Web sites. Send your information there and we’ll begin to organize resistance.

“Remember that all of you can still make a choice. You don’t need to accept this new system of control and fear. We have the power to say no. We have the right to be free. Thank you.”

No one applauded or cheered, but they seemed to support the Traveler as he left the room. People touched Gabriel’s hand as he walked past them.

It was cold out on the street. Mother Blessing motioned to Brian, the Irish mercenary who was waiting on the sidewalk. “He’s done. Let’s go.”

They got into the back of a delivery van while Brian slid into the driver’s seat. A few seconds later the van was moving slowly, passing through the fog on Langley Lane.

Mother Blessing turned her head and stared at Gabriel. For the first time since he had met the Harlequin, she didn’t treat him with complete contempt. “Are you going to make any more speeches?” she asked.

I’m still going to search for my father, Gabriel thought, but he kept that plan to himself. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You remind me of your father,” Mother Blessing said. “Before we went to Ireland, I heard him speak a few times to groups in Portugal and Spain.”

“Did he ever mention his family?”

“He told me that you and your brother met Thorn when you were little boys.”

“And that’s it? You guarded my father for several months and he never said anything else?”

Mother Blessing gazed out the window as they took a bridge across the river. “He said that both Harlequins and Travelers were on a long road, and sometimes it was difficult to see the light in the distance.”

Camden Market was where Maya, Vicki, and Alice had stepped off the canal boat and entered London. In the Victorian era it had been used as a loading point for the coal and lumber carried on the boats. The warehouses and shipping yards had been converted into a sprawling market filled with little clothing shops and food stalls. It was a place to buy pottery and pastry, antique jewelry and army surplus uniforms.

Brian dropped them off on Chalk Farm Road, and Mother Blessing led Gabriel into the market. The immigrants who ran the food stalls were stacking up chairs and dumping chicken curry into bin bags. A few colored lights left over from Christmas swayed back and forth, but the edges of the market were dark, and rats scurried through the shadows.

Mother Blessing knew the location of every surveillance camera in the area, but occasionally she stopped and used a camera detector— a handheld device about the size of a mobile phone. Powerful diodes in the device emitted infrared light that was invisible to the human eye. The lens of a surveillance camera reflected this narrow-spectrum light so that it glowed like a miniature full moon in the device’s viewing port. Gabriel was impressed by how quickly the Irish Harlequin was able to detect a hidden camera and then move out of its range.

The east end of the market was filled with old brick buildings that had once been used as stables for the horses that dragged carts and omnibuses through the streets of London. More old stables were in tunnels called the catacombs that ran beneath the elevated railroad tracks. Mother Blessing led Gabriel through a brick archway into the catacombs and they hurried past locked shops and artists’ studios. For twenty feet, the tunnel walls were painted pink. In another area the walls were covered with aluminum foil. Finally, they reached the entrance to Winston Abosa’s shop. The West African was sitting on the concrete floor stitching an animal skin to the top of a wooden drum.

Winston got to his feet and nodded to his guests. “Welcome back. I hope the speech was successful.”

“Any customers?” Mother Blessing asked.

“No, madam. It was a very quiet evening.”

They stepped around the African drums and ebony statues of tribal gods and pregnant women. Winston pushed back a cloth banner advertising a drum festival in Stonehenge, revealing a reinforced steel door set into the brick wall. He unlocked the door, and they entered an apartment of four rooms attached to a single hallway. The front room had a folding cot and two television monitors that showed images of the shop and the entrance to the catacombs. Gabriel continued down the hallway past a small kitchen and a bathroom to a windowless bedroom with a chair, desk, and cast-iron bed. This had been his home for the last three days.

Mother Blessing opened up the kitchen cabinet and took out a bottle of Irish whiskey. Winston followed Gabriel into the bedroom. “Are you hungry, Mr. Gabriel?”

“Not right now, Winston. I’ll make some tea and toast later tonight.”

“All the restaurants are still open. I could buy some take-out food.”

“Thanks. But get what you want. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

Winston shut the door, and Gabriel heard him talking to Mother Blessing. He lay down on the bed and gazed up at the single lightbulb that hung from a cord in the middle of the ceiling. The room was chilly and water oozed from a crack in the wall.

The energy Gabriel had felt during the speech had faded away. He realized that he was just like his father at this moment— both bodies were lying in a hidden room, guarded by a Harlequin. But a Traveler didn’t have to accept these limitations. Light could search for Light in a parallel world. If he crossed over, he could try to find his father in the First Realm.

Gabriel got up and sat on the edge of the bed, with his hands on his lap and his feet on the concrete floor. Relax, he told himself. In the first stage, crossing over felt like prayer or meditation. Closing his eyes, he imagined a body of Light within his physical body. He sensed its energy, tracing its outline inside his shoulders, arms, and wrists.

Breathe in. Breathe out. And suddenly, his left hand fell off his lap and flopped down on the mattress like deadweight. When he opened his eyes, he saw that a ghost arm and hand had broken out of his body. The arm was black space with little points of light like a constellation in the night sky. Concentrating on this other reality, he moved the ghost hand higher, a little higher, and then all at once the Light cracked out of his body like a chrysalis emerging from its cocoon.

** CHAPTER 25

Standing on the porch of her two-story clapboard house, Rosaleen Magan watched Captain Thomas Foley stagger down a narrow side street in Portmagee. Her father had emptied five bottles of Guinness during supper, but Rosaleen hadn’t complained about his drinking. The captain had helped raise six children, gone out fishing in every sort of weather, and had never started a fight at the village pub. If he wants another bottle let him have it, she thought. It helps him forget about his arthritis.