The Golden City

29

Lying on the bed in Hollis Wilson’s rented room in Camden Town, Maya nibbled on tea biscuits and stared up at the crack in the ceiling. Like a mechanic checking a race car, she stretched her body and evaluated its current strengths and weaknesses.

She had grown up seeing ads of pregnant women advertising everything from vitamins to bank loans. Once she had spent a rainy afternoon at the National Gallery contemplating Renaissance paintings of the pregnant Virgin Mary. Now she realized that both the painters and the magazine photographers had it all wrong; she certainly didn’t feel like standing around with her hands on her belly and a mysterious smile on her face. Her fatigue had disappeared and her leg wound had finally started to heal. She felt strong, aggressive, ready for battle.

Her mobile rang and she picked it up off the floor. “Good morning,” Simon Lumbroso said. “Remember the package we lost at Euston Station?”

“Is there any new information?”

“Apparently our young friends have tracked it down. They want to hold a sales conference at their business office. Is twelve noon a good time for you?”

“I’ll be there,” Maya said, and switched off the phone.

The “young friends” Simon had mentioned were Jugger and the other Free Runners. The “business office” was their apartment in Cheswick and Alice Chen was the “lost package.” Maya wondered if Alice was still alive. Killing a child in a public place would have drawn attention from both the London police and the media; it was a better idea to take Alice off the train. The Tabula could question her-and execute her-in a secret location.

As Maya got dressed and ate a bowl of cold cereal, she wondered how to present the problem to Linden. Her thoughts weren’t focused that morning, and her mind wandered in painful directions. The fact that the Tabula had captured the little girl reminded Maya of her own captivity in the First Realm. She could see the gas flares wavering back and forth, the wolves with their clubs and spears, and Pickering ’s body swinging from a rope. Can the baby feel that? she wondered. Are all these memories trapped within my body?

Linden didn’t care about anything unless it directly involved the Traveler. She knew what the Harlequin would say when she mentioned Alice Chen: the child was dead-or not important. It was logical to forget about this person and move on.

But Gabriel had shown her a different way to look at reality. What was supposed to be logical was not always what was fair, right or inevitable. Fighting the Tabula was not particularly logical, and yet people all over the world were joining the Resistance. And what about this child growing within her? Was there anything logical about bringing a new life into this chaotic world? She shouldn’t keep it, wouldn’t keep it, absolutely can’t keep it. But yes, she thought. Yes. I’m going to do it anyway.

With the sword case hanging from her shoulder, she strolled over to the drum shop in Camden Market. Her first objective was to get Linden ’s permission. That wasn’t going to be easy.

The French Harlequin was sitting in the kitchen of the secret apartment when she came through the door. The room smelled of spilled wine and the sugary odor of the French Harlequin’s handmade cigarettes.

“How is the Traveler?”

“No change.”

“I’ll check on the body.”

Maya walked to the room where Gabriel’s body lay on a narrow bed. She closed the door so that Linden wouldn’t surprise her and then touched Gabriel’s face with the palm of her hand. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “What do you think of that?”

The Light had left his body, and Maya knew Gabriel couldn’t hear her. She leaned forward, kissed his forehead, and then returned to the kitchen. “Still alive,” she told Linden. Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact, as if they were talking about an article in the newspaper.

Linden got up from the table and turned on the gas burner. “Coffee?”

“Yes.” Maya took the sword carrier off her shoulder and hung it on the back of her chair. “I got a call from Simon this morning. The Free Runners know where the Tabula took Alice Chen.”

“I’m sure that she’s already dead.”

“We don’t know that.”

“It’s the logical conclusion.”

“I think we need to consider every possibility.”

Linden opened up a tin and began scooping out teaspoons of ground coffee. “If she’s dead, there’s nothing to be done. If she’s alive, we’re not going to waste our resources finding her.”

“When I was growing up, my father lectured me about the tensions between Travelers and Harlequins. They don’t like us. Not really.”

“I do not give a damn what they think,” Linden said. “Soldiers go to war even though they may disagree with certain political parties within their country. We Harlequins defend a difficult group of people. But we have accepted that obligation.”

“If we do nothing to help Alice and she dies, Gabriel will walk away from our protection. You know him, Linden. You know that’s true. If we don’t save the child, we lose the Traveler.”

The kettle started whistling and Linden poured boiling water into a French press. He waited a minute, then pushed the plunger down. “You might be right.”

“I’ll handle the problem,” Maya said, and tried not to smile.

Linden gave her a cup filled with a coffee so thick that it reminded her of chocolate cake frosting. Maya resisted the temptation to add sugar and took a sip of the black sludge.

“Too strong?” Linden asked.

“Just right.”

She left Camden Market, waved down a taxi, and told the driver to take her to suburban Chiswick. During the journey, she counted every surveillance camera the taxi passed on the street. Some of them simply recorded images, but others used sophisticated face-scanning programs. A few of the citizens noticed there were more cameras-yes, they just put up that new one in the square-but the walls of the new prison were invisible. In Britain, the plan to centralize all databases was called Transformational Government, an innocuous phrase that implied that this sort of change was both positive and necessary. These changes were being made For Your Protection, For Efficiency and Modernization. They were Styrofoam words-light and unsubstantial, packing materials to blunt the sharp edges.

When the taxi reached Chiswick, she got out near a school, and then walked three blocks to a street lined with tidy row houses. There was a faded Harlequin lute chalked on the pavement in front of the second house from the corner. The Free Runners had been living in the ground floor flat for the last few months.

Simon Lumbroso had already arrived and was sitting gingerly on a saggy couch in the living room. He seemed out-of-place amidst the cast-off furniture and the rubbish bins overflowing with crushed beer cans and fast-food cartons.

The only neat and organized area was a long work table with three monitors attached to a homemade computer. One monitor showed cars driving past the entrance to Wellspring Manor-the country estate owned by the Brethren. Another showed the entrance to the Evergreen Foundation office building near Ludgate Circus. The third was the main page of a secret website set up by the Polish Free Runners; their Internet team had accessed the security cameras near other properties owned by the Foundation. Six small boxes on the monitor displayed street scenes in four different countries.

Roland, the quiet young man from Yorkshire, sat at the table answering email while Jugger bustled about the room. His appearance hadn’t changed since joining the Resistance; his T-shirt was too small and revealed a patch of his flabby stomach.

“Tea?” he asked everyone. “How about a nice cup of tea?”

“Not right now.” Maya sat down on the couch. “Tell me what you’ve learned about Alice Chen.”

“Yesterday afternoon, I talked to the nun who was traveling with Alice,” Simon said. “Apparently, a man and a woman got on the train at Crewe and entered the compartment. They injected the nun with a powerful sedative right before they arrived in London The man wore a tweed suit and had a Welsh accent. They were carrying a large rolling suitcase.”

Jugger scratched his stomach. “After Simon gave us that description, we searched through the images taken by one of the City of London traffic cameras near the Evergreen Foundation office. Go ahead, Roland. Show Maya what we found.”

Black and white images appeared on the screen along with a time stamp at the bottom right hand corner. The city-owned camera took a photograph every five seconds, but most the images only showed the street and the entrance to the Foundation building. As Roland searched through the images, Maya noticed that several of the foundation employees had been tagged with nicknames and other information. “Susie Secretary arrives at 8:20hrs. Friends with Mr. Bald Head.”

“This is the feed two days ago when the little girl was kidnapped,” Roland said. “I remember these people because of their suitcase.”

The image on the monitor showed that a London taxi had stopped in front of the entrance. A middle-aged woman wearing a rain hat stood on the curb watching a man lift a black suitcase out of the trunk.

“I recognize them,” Maya said. “When I arrived at the station, they had just left the train with the other passengers.”

In the next five images, the couple maneuvered the rolling suitcase onto the sidewalk and pushed it into the building.

“Return to the third image,” Maya said. “No-the one after that.”

The monitor showed the man using two hands to pull the suitcase onto the curb.

“See that? It’s heavy because Alice is inside. That’s how they got her out of the train.”

“We’re fairly sure that she’s still in the building,” Jugger said. “None of the subsequent images show either a child or a large container being removed from the area.”

“Where’s Nathan Boone?” Maya asked.

“We hacked into the computer of the woman who handles travel arrangements for the Evergreen Foundation,” Roland said. “Boone traveled to Thailand on a commercial flight six days ago.”

“Boone wants to question the child,” Maya said. “They’ll keep her alive until he returns to London.”

“So what are you going to do?” Jugger asked. “Ever since the attack in Berlin, the Tabula have increased their security. Even at night there are at least four armed guards in the Foundation building.”

“Alice Chen is the only surviving witness to what happened at New Harmony,” Maya said. “But there is a larger issue. When Gabriel met the Nighthawk, he said that the Resistance is more than just destroying the Vast Machine. We need to believe that each individual life has value and meaning.”

Jugger nodded. “Sure. I think that’s right.”

“ Alice ’s life has value and meaning, and that means we’re going to save her. I’ll need your help to break into the Foundation building.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about Harlequin business,” Jugger said. “We don’t go around fighting people.”

“I saved your life, Jugger. I pulled you and Roland and your friend Sebastian out of a burning house.”

“Yes, and we-we appreciate that,” he stammered.

“You have an obligation.”

“We’re grateful, Maya. Everybody’s grateful. All I’m saying is that we’re not like you and Linden. I’ll go on the Internet and organize people, paint slogans on walls-things like that. But I’m not going to be part of an attack on a Foundation building. That could bloody well get us killed.”

The anger she had felt all morning surged through her body and she jumped up from the couch. The heels of her boots clicked across the floor as she approached Jugger and pointed her finger at his face.

“I just said something. But I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“I’m-I’m listening.”

“Good. Because when a Harlequin says ‘you have obligation,’ that does not mean that there’s a choice. I’m not wishing for your help. I’m not hoping for some benevolent impulse. I’m expecting your help now.”

“Right. No problem. Glad to be helpful.” Jugger was sweating. “But it’s going to be difficult to get into the building with a weapon. After you pass through the door, there’s an L-shaped hallway that leads to the security desk. I’m sure they do a backscatter scan of all their visitors.”

“If we can’t go in the front door, then we’ll have to break in from the top, the bottom or the sides.”

“The walls are too thick,” Simon said. “And we would have to gain access to a nearby building.”

“What about a hot air balloon?” Jugger seemed desperate to offer a solution. “You could float across the Thames and land on the roof.”

“Underground?” Maya asked Simon.

“Possibly. This is an old city-like Rome.”

“Hold it! Wait! I know what you need!” Jugger said. “You need an incredible disguise.”

“A few months ago, this old lady was at the Hope Pub,” Roland said with a solemn voice.

Jugger looked annoyed. “We don’t want to hear about some old lady. We’re trying to solve a problem here.”

“She was handing out pamphlets-about freeing the rivers.”

“What rivers are you talking about?” Simon asked gently.

“The lost rivers. The ones that flow under the streets.”

“So where are they?” Maya asked. “Any underneath Ludgate Circus?”

Roland shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t tell you that. And I won’t say something that’s not true.”

“We called her Crazy Nora,” Jugger said. “She had maps…”

A quick Internet search gave them an address in Finchley, and a few hours later Maya and Simon were walking past the cricket grounds on Waterfall Road. There appeared to be a great many parks and playing fields in Finchley. Jamaican nannies with phone headsets pushed baby carriages while schoolboys kicked a ball. But the largest space in the neighborhood was taken up by the weeping angels and mausoleums of the Great Northern Cemetery. Maya had a vision of thousands of dead Victorians traveling on a ghost train to this final resting place.

Simon turned the corner on to Brookdale Street and stopped under a flowering cherry tree. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Just a little tired. That’s all.”

“You were harsh with Jugger and Roland. Usually, it is better to be gentle with your friends-delicato. The Free Runners want to be helpful, but they are frightened.”

“I don’t have the time to be diplomatic.”

“Anger can also waste time,” Simon said. “You have always been like your father, careful and deliberate. But lately-not so much.”

“I’m worried about Alice Chen. She’s the same age I was when a lot of bad things happened.”

“Would you like to talk about that?”

“No.”

“Is there anything else you would like to talk about? I’m sure it troubles you that Gabriel has crossed over…”

For a moment, she wanted to break down, embrace her father’s old friend, and tell him about the pregnancy. No tears, she told herself. Tears won’t save Alice or Gabriel or anyone else in this world. As Simon watched, she rearranged her sword carrier and stood a little straighter.

“I’m alright. Let’s find this woman and see if she has any underground maps.”

They continued down the street until they reached number fifty one-a two-story brick house that had once displayed grand pretensions. Greek columns created a portico leading to the front door and a Doric façade ran around the edge of the roof. Signs had been placed among the weeds and brambles of what had once been a front lawn. FREE THE RIVERS. Inquire Within.

Maya and Simon walked up a flagstone pathway and knocked on the door. Almost immediately they heard a woman’s voice coming from a distant part of the house. “I’m here!” The woman kept shouting as she passed through different rooms. “Here! I’m here!”

Maya glanced at Simon and saw that he was smiling. “Someone dwells within,” he said pleasantly.

The door was flung open and they faced a small woman in her seventies. Her long gray hair went off in every direction, and she wore a T-shirt that displayed the slogan: Break Your Chains.

“Good afternoon, madam. I am Dr. Pannelli, and this is my friend, Judith Strand. We were walking to the park and saw your signs. Ms. Strand is curious about your organization. If you are not busy, perhaps you could tell us a bit more.”

“No!” the woman said with a big smile. “Not busy. Not busy at all. Come in, Mister… I didn’t hear the name.”

“Dr. Pannelli. And this is my friend, Ms. Strand.”

They followed the woman into what had once been the front parlor. All the chairs and tables were covered with stacks of pamphlets, books and yellowing newspapers. There were plastic pails filled with smooth river stones and glass jars sealed with red wax and marked with cryptic labels.

“Just push away the clutter and find someplace to sit.” The woman took a stack of books off a wicker chair and dumped them onto a folding cot. “I’m Nora Griggs, the Chairwoman and chief recording secretary of Free the Rivers.”

“An honor to meet you,” Simon said smoothly. “So what exactly does your organization do?”

“It’s all rather simple, Dr. Pannelli. Free the Rivers describes our vision and our goal. I could have called it ‘Free the London Rivers,’ but once we’re done here, we’ll move on to the rest of the world.”

“Is the Thames not free?” Simon asked.

“We’re talking about all the other rivers that used to run through London, like the Westbourne, the Tyburn and the Walbrook. Now they’re covered up with brick and concrete.”

“And your organization wants to-”

“Blow up the concrete and let the rivers run free. Imagine a London where pensioners can fish in their neighborhood trout stream. A city where children play and lovers stroll along the banks of a babbling brook.”

“A charming vision,” Simon said in a soothing voice.

“It’s more than charming, Dr. Pannelli. A society that frees its rivers can take the first step toward freeing their minds. Children need to realize that rivers don’t follow straight lines.”

Maya glanced at Simon-this is going nowhere-but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I work near Ludgate Circus,” he said. “Is there a river in that area?”

“Yes. The River Fleet. It starts in Hampstead, and then runs beneath Camden Town, Smithfield Market and Ludgate Circus.”

“And you’re sure it’s still there?” Maya asked.

“Of course it’s there! You can cover up the rivers, dam them and fill them with rubbish, but they will always fight back. In time, all the skyscrapers and office buildings will fall down, but the rivers will remain.”

“Brava, Ms. Griggs! This sounds like an outstanding organization.” Simon reached into his coat pocket and took out his wallet. He hesitated and then-very deliberately-put the wallet away. “You speak with such passion and sincerity that it feels indelicate to ask any question.”

“Be my guest,” Nora said. “Ask away!”

“Do you have any proof of your statement? Do you have photographs or maps of these rivers.”

“Maps? I’ve got plenty of those.” Nora pulled out a cardboard box, and everything fell onto the floor. Quickly, she knelt down and began scooping up pamphlets.

“Do you have a map of the River Fleet? Ms. Strand and I enjoy exploring London. It would be most educational to the follow the course of the Fleet through the city.”

“The Fleet starts up on Hampstead Heath and empties out of a nasty little drainage pipe beneath Blackfriars Bridge. The rest of the time, it’s underground, flowing beneath our madness and confusion.”

“I see. But you know where it goes.”

Nora finished picking up the pamphlets and made a sly smile. “And you would, too-if you become members.”

Once again, Simon took out his wallet. “Do we pay dues? Sign a petition? What’s the procedure?”

“Five pounds apiece and you get membership cards, although I might have misplaced the cards.”

Looking flustered, Nora hurried off into what had once been the dining room and began to rummage through boxes and paper sacks.

Maya leaned forward spoke quietly to Simon. “Do you believe any of this?”

“That the River Fleet is still there? There’s no question of that. And ten pounds is a fair price for a good map.”

“Here we are!” Looking triumphant, Nora Griggs stood in the doorway and waved her treasure. “Membership cards!”