The Golden City

4

The next morning, Hollis woke up in his rented room on Camden High Street. He felt like the last man alive as he started his daily routine: two hundred push-ups and an equal number of sit-ups on the stained rug, followed by a series of martial arts exercises. When his T-shirt was soaked with sweat, he took a shower and cooked a pot of oatmeal on the hot plate near the bathroom sink. After cleaning up and leaving no visible sign of his presence, he went downstairs.

Only a few people were out, mostly shopkeepers receiving morning deliveries and sweeping their little patches of sidewalk. Hollis strolled up the High Street, crossed Regent’s Canal and entered the maze of shops and food stands that occupied the area around Camden Lock. It was Saturday-which meant the market would start to get crowded around ten or eleven o’clock. People would come to the market to get tribal tattoos while their friends bought black leather pants and Tibetan prayer bowls.

The “catacombs” were a system of tunnels built beneath the elevated railway tracks that ran through the market. In the nineteenth century, the tunnels had been used as stables for canal horses, but now this underground area was occupied by stores and artists’ studios. Halfway down one of the tunnels, Hollis found Winston Abosa’s drum shop. The West African was standing at a back table in the main room, pouring some evaporated milk into a large cup of coffee.

When Winston saw Hollis, he retreated behind a sculpture of a pregnant woman with ivory teeth. “Good morning, Mr. Hollis. I hope all is well.”

“I’m leaving the country, Winston. But I wanted to say goodbye to Gabriel.”

“Yes, of course. He’s in the falafel shop meeting people.”

Because the Tabula was searching for him, Gabriel had to spend most of his time in the hidden apartment attached to the drum shop. If members of the Resistance wanted to meet, he would talk to them at a second location. A Lebanese family ran a falafel shop in a market building that overlooked the canal. For a modest payment, they let Gabriel use their upstairs storage room.

In the falafel shop, Hollis stepped around a sullen girl chopping parsley and passed through a doorway concealed behind a beaded curtain. When he climbed the stairs to the storage room, he was surprised to see how many people were waiting. Gabriel was over by the window, talking to a nun wearing the black robes of the Poor Claires. Linden stood guard near the door with his massive arms folded over his chest. The moment he saw Hollis, his hands returned to his overcoat pockets.

“I thought we had an agreement,” Linden said.

“We do. But I wanted to say goodbye to my friend.”

Linden considered the request and then motioned to one of the chairs. “Wait your turn.”

Hollis sat in the back of the room and checked out the rest of the crowd. People were speaking Polish, German and Spanish. The only people he recognized were a pair of British Free Runners-a pudgy young man named Jugger and his quiet friend, Roland. It was clear that people all over the world had heard about the Traveler.

Back in Los Angeles, Gabriel had long brown hair and wore a stained leather jacket. He had been quick to smile or show anger, a combination of home-schooled innocence and cowboy swagger. During their time in New York City, Hollis had helped Gabriel cook spaghetti and listened to him sing off-key at a karaoke bar. Now everything had changed. These days, Gabriel looked like shipwreck survivor. His face was gaunt, and his shirt hung loosely on his body. There was something strange about his eyes-they were clear and very intense.

After each person had spoken to Gabriel, Linden guided them out of the room and pointed to whoever was next. Gabriel would rise to shake hands, then sit down and listen, focusing on the faces of his followers. After everyone had a chance to express their views, he would lean forward and speak quietly-almost a whisper. When the meeting was over, he would touch hands a second time, look directly in their eyes and say “thank you” in their own language.

The two British Free Runners were the last group to meet the Traveler and Hollis could hear every word of conversation. Apparently, someone named Sebastian had traveled to France to organize resistance to the Tabula, and Jugger felt that he wasn’t following orders.

“When we started this movement, we came up with a few rules. Not a lot of them…”

“Six, exactly,” Roland said.

“That’s right. Six rules. And one of them was that each crew would plan their own strategy. My friends in Paris say that Sebastian is talking about organizing a steering committee…”

Gabriel kept quiet until Jugger had finished his oration. Once again, the Traveler spoke with such a soft voice that the two Free Runners had to lean forward to hear every word. Gradually, they began to relax, and they both nodded their heads.

“So we all agree?” Gabriel asked.

“I guess so.” Jugger glanced at his friend. “You got anything to say, Roland?”

The big man shrugged a shoulder. “No worries.”

The Free Runners stood up like chastened schoolboys and shook Gabriel’s hand. When they left the room, Linden jerked his head in Hollis’s direction. Your turn. Then he clomped down the staircase to the falafel shop.

Hollis threaded his way through the tables and sat down opposite Gabriel. “I came here to say goodbye.”

“Yes. Linden told me what happened.”

“You’re still my friend, Gabe. I would never do anything to put you in danger.”

“I realize that.”

“But someone has to be punished for Vicki’s death. I can’t forget what they did to her. I found her body and dug the grave.”

The Traveler got up from the table, walked over to the window and gazed down at the canal. “When we act like our enemies, we run the risk of becoming just like them.”

“I’m not here for a lecture. Understand?”

“I’m talking about the Resistance, Hollis. Did you see those two women from Seattle? They’ve accessed all the surveillance cameras that are outside the buildings used by the Evergreen Foundation. For the first time, we’re using the Vast Machine to watch the Vast Machine. It’s a well-organized plan that doesn’t put anyone in danger, but it still bothers me. It feels like I’m building a house, but I don’t know what it’s going to look like when it’s finished.”

“Is that nun also part of the Resistance?”

“Not really. That’s a different problem. The Poor Claires on Skellig Columba think that Alice Chen is turning into a wild child-completely out of control. In the next few weeks, they’re going to bring her to London, and we have to find a safe place for her to live. I wish Maya was here. She’d know what to do.”

“Can Maya ever return to our world?”

Gabriel returned to the table and poured himself a cup of tea. “I could cross over again to the First Realm, but I wouldn’t be able to bring her back. Simon Lumbroso is searching through old manuscripts and history books. He needs to find another access point-a place where an ordinary person can cross over and then return. Thousands of years ago, people knew where these sites were. They built temples around them. Now that knowledge is lost.”

“And what happens if Simon finds one of these access points?”

“Then I’ll go find her.”

“Linden won’t like it-and your new followers won’t be too happy either.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Those people you just talked to are taking risks and changing their lives because of you. If you go back to the First Realm, you’re basically telling them: ‘The Resistance isn’t that important. I’m going to put this one person above your problems and maybe I’ll never come back.’”

“It’s a particular person, Hollis.”

“Maya wouldn’t want you to take the risk. You’re a Traveler, Gabe. You have a larger responsibility.”

“I need her.” Gabriel’s voice was filled with emotion. “When you first met me in Los Angeles, I didn’t know who I was or what I was supposed to do with my life. Now I’ve crossed the barriers and visited two realms. Those places are as real as this table and this room. When you’ve had experiences like that, it changes you. Nowadays it doesn’t feel like I have a connection to anything. Maya is a cord tied to my heart. Without her, I’d float away.”

“You think your brother has the same problem?”

“I doubt if Michael worries about anyone else. All he can think about is power and control.”

“There’s nothing wrong with power,” Hollis said. “Our only problem is that we don’t have the power to destroy the Tabula.”

“We can’t just destroy our enemy. We need to an offer an alternative. Linden said you’ve been crawling around rooftops with a sniper rifle.”

“That’s my choice.”

“I’m just trying to understand your actions.”

“You don’t have the right to judge me. You’ve been protected by the Harlequins for the last year. They’ll kill anyone.”

“You’ve studied The Way of the Sword. The Harlequins are controlled and disciplined. They only defend themselves and the Travelers. They’re not looking for revenge.”

“I’m not a Harlequin, so I don’t follow their rules. The Tabula killed Vicki, and I’m going to destroy every last one of them.”

“You still care about her?”

“Of course!”

“And you remember what kind of person she was?”

“Yeah…”

“Do you really think she’d want you to do this?”

Gabriel raised his eyes and Hollis was sensed the full power of the Traveler. He felt like child at that moment. Embrace me. Comfort me. But then he remembered the stone inside his body and he covered his chest with his arms.

“There isn’t a single thing you can say that will make me change my mind.”

“All right. Don’t listen to me. But why don’t you ask Vicki? What if you could speak to her one last time?”

Hollis felt as if Gabriel had leaned forward and slapped him. Was this possible? Could a Traveler make this happen? Of course not. Furious, he slammed his fist on the table. “I don’t want to hear any of that spiritual shit. Vicki is dead. I buried her on the island. She’s not coming back.”

“I didn’t say she was coming back. When a person dies, the Light leaves their body forever. But in certain circumstances-a suicide, a violent death-the Light remains for awhile in this world. A small group of people have the ability to channel this energy. In the past, they’ve been called shamans or mediums.”

“I know what you’re talking about. Ghosts and goblins. Gypsies and crystal balls. It’s all fake.”

“Most of the time, you’re right. But some people really can speak to the dead.”

“You?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No. I don’t have that gift. But Simon Lumbroso told me about another possibility. When Sparrow was the last Harlequin left in Japan, Maya’s father visited Tokyo to see him. Sparrow took Thorn to see a traditional spirit reader who lived on the northern coast of the main island. Thorn said that the woman was very powerful-the real thing.”

“It was probably some kind of trick.”

“You no longer have a home, Hollis. You can’t go back to Los Angeles. If you’re leaving London, then why not fly to Tokyo?”

“You’re manipulating me…”

“I’m offering you a different kind of journey. Any one of us can dedicate our lives to hate. It happens every day. This is your moment to consider an alternative. Go to Japan. Look for this spirit woman. Perhaps you wouldn’t find her. Maybe you’ll come back and tell me: ‘We’ve got to be like our enemies if we want to defeat them.’ If you say that, if you believe that, I’ll listen to you.”

Footsteps on the stairs. Hollis glanced over his shoulder and saw Linden return to the room with a cup of coffee in his massive hand.

“I’ll think it over,” Hollis said. “But I still don’t believe you can talk to the dead.”