Gwyneth Jones Castles Made of Sand

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Ax s territory, Sage has the van. Shit, this is not tenable. I will have to have a
place of my own. She couldn t remember, right now, why the idea filled her with dread. But things
happen as they must . . . and drifted into oblivion, to the
murmur of those two West Country voices, the one from further west a little
deeper, a little sweeter: but really, on the edge of sleep, almost impossible to tell
them apart.
Fiorinda and Ax had fun fixing the water supply. Sage refused to take them to
Tintagel, for fear of tourists, but they visited the standing stone and the waterfall
pool, and climbed down the cliff path to the cove at the end of the track: but
couldn t take a bracing dip for masses of very unromantic stinking kelp. It s
usually like this in the summer, said the native son smugly. Keeps the tourists at
bay. (There aren t any tourists, at all: but this doesn t get through to him.) On the
last day they walked for miles along the South-West path, the sea another
country laid out in silver and turquoise beneath the cliffs, larks shouting, the turf
at their feet glowing with yellow trefoil, rustling with harebells. They came to a
headland where there had been an Iron Age fort, out to the end of the
promentory and sat among the flowers.
?I wonder what Rivermead will be like in a hundred years time, said
Fiorinda. ?If not drowned, I mean.
?Part of the city, said Sage, ?with a futuristic forcefield dome over the arena,
tent-inspired architecture and all our wild and free ephemera set in stone.
Reading will be the capital by then. London s shrinking, you know. ?That s if Ax wins his game, said
Fiorinda. ?If Ax loses, the watermeadow by
the Thames will belong to the otters and herons again, except for a few smoky
huts. Might will be right, women will be property and the peasants will be
revolting, just the natural way things ought to be.
?It doesn t have to be a choice, said Ax stubbornly. ?we can stay civilised and
stillget back to the garden . . . But I m sorry I got you into this, both of you. It s
not your fight.
?Don t be sorry, said Fiorinda. ?We re volunteers.
?We re with you, Ax.
They clasped hands and stayed there for a long time, looking into the west.
Benny Preminder missed his monthly Liaison meeting. No picture postcard for
him, nothing but a curt message, hardly civil, from Ms Marlowe, the Triumvirate
are taking a little break. At the appointed time he sat alone in his office, smarting.
The Triumvirate! Benny remembered when they hadn t even been famous.
I made them. They were C-list popstars. But no one remembers that now.
He took out the dossier from its drawer. (No big secret, why shouldn t he keep
a Triumvirate scrapbook? Doesn t everyone?) He had some beautiful pictures of
Fiorinda that he knew were fakes, but he had kept them anyway. A thrill went
through him as he glanced at the forbidden. Forbidden, but licenced by what
seemed to Benny a higher authority than the tiger or the wolf. . . And here were the notes, brief and
concise. April. (Cuitos.) Mr Preston pays lip-service to
?democratic government?, but remains in final control of law and order. May.
(Giamonos.) They are secure in power. The only threat to the Rock and Roll
Reich is the instability of the Westminster gang. What was his news this time?
June. (Samivisionos.) The Triumvirate took a holiday.
He didn t know why, but he could feel a great change.
Back at the start of this adventure, when Paul Javert was still his boss and long
before Ax Preston made himself Dictator, Benny had been directed to explore the
wilder shores of the Counterculture. They didn t all wear beads and dreadlocks,
he d found places where he could fit in. He d been told to look for dirt, but dirt
was not exactly what he had found. Nothing had come of his researches, nothing
that Paul could use; but then later Benny had found himself blessed. He could
think of no other way to describe it. He had began to know, occasionally, that
there were things he should do (like keeping this dossier). He did them, and
everything stayed sweet.
Once, he d seen himself as a kingmaker. He didn t crave the limelight, he d
planned to be guiding hand behind Ax Preston, or some other, more malleable
candidate. When he d realised he had a new master, he d imagined he could still
play that role. He knew better now: but sometimes emotional satisfaction is
worth more than power.
He would see their downfall, this had been clearly promised He knew that presence he felt was in his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Podstrony