Chapter 7
Mathias had misjudged Kasimir Sukui's reaction to defeat. He'd offered him money—he knew what it was like to be penniless and foreign in the port of Orlyons—but that had been a bad move. He knew that he should have read the situation more accurately, but he was tired, it had been a long MidNight. Too much concentration always did this to Mathias, left him feeling fuzzy and slow. Sukui shouldn't have kept on playing as he had. Still, Mathias felt guilty; Mono was fond of the old scientist, he should have been easier on him.
What he had said was true, though. Sukui was too stiff. He'd spent the night writing notes and missing half of the action; Mathias had even thrown him a few chances—for Mono—but it had been no good. Sukui was a moderate player, he probably broke even more often than not but he would never be a grandmaster, like Ilya Borosche or Françime Boucher. Françime had taught Mathias most of what he knew; she had said he was a good learner, he had a feel for the game. Sukui did not have the feel.
Mathias turned away from Salomo's and headed for the room he kept by the docks. He didn't like confrontations, they unsettled him. He hunched his shoulders and walked.
'Winning again, eh, Matt?' It was Vera-Lynne Perse.
Mathias turned. 'Please, Vera-Lynne. I'm tired. You know my answer and I still think you have a nice face, OK?'
'You're cute too, Mathias. Or too cute. No, I just saw you and we're walking in the same direction.' She fell into step by his side.
When Mathias had fled Newest Delhi the barge captain had clearly felt his obligation was over as soon as they docked in Orlyons. Mathias had known no one until he met Vera-Lynne.
His first night in Orlyons had been a MidNight, something he had never heard of before. That night, he had wandered through the maze of streets, confused yet excited by the currents of energy that flowed through the town. There had been people everywhere, drunk and high and laughing and shouting, every single one of them a part of this thing called MidNight. Mathias's spirits had lifted themselves and eventually he'd stopped by a huge street fire and felt that maybe he was a small part of what was happening.
Vera-Lynne Perse had found him by that street fire. She had warmed her hands on his chest and then engulfed him in a piercing kiss. He had never been so close to a woman before and he had been stunned, too slow to react. Then she had paused and drawn her face away from his. 'Ooh!' she had squeaked. 'I thought you were...' Then she had kissed him again. She had taught him a great deal in the ensuing weeks. He had learnt the ways of the world from Vera-Lynne, and also the ways of some of its inhabitants.
Since those first weeks they had drifted. They had learnt more about each other and more about themselves and finally Mathias had moved into his small room in Westward Street. 'It's closer to the fishing,' he had told her. She had agreed that it was the best thing. For his fishing, of course.
The woman beside him, as they walked through Orlyons, had changed. She was more controlled now, less given to partying. She had become involved with politics, what she called the musical underground. 'We're free to play our instruments,' she would say, 'but only in the streets.' 'We play our tunes,' she would say, 'but only on this island of Clermont.' 'We sing our songs,' she would say, 'but we don't have a voice.' The underground wanted to play wherever there was an audience, but wherever they played they stirred up trouble. The bars and clubs simply didn't want them. The underground wanted to get on to Clermont's collective council, too, they wanted street politics to run all of the island, not just the port of Orlyons.
Vera-Lynne Perse wanted to change the world, and instantly, but Mathias had never been quite sure how. He doubted whether Vera-Lynne did either; she was just kissing a stranger at MidNight and hoping she could muddle her way through, as she always had.
'You won at the cards, did you?'
She had tried this angle before. Next she would mention Françime.
'You were taught by the best,' she continued. 'Françime Boucher was unbeatable at one time. I opposed her only once. She took everything. One learns, like that.'
'No, Vera-Lynne. Not me.'
She looked at him with her hurt expression. Once, he had found that attractive—she wanted only to be 'won over'—but now his response was a mere echo of what he had once felt.
'Look, Vera, I know Françime is on the collective council. I know she has sympathies with people like us, from when she was one of us. And yes, I know I still see her occasionally. But she reached where she is by ignoring outside pressures, by putting herself forwards. I can't influence her, Vera. You should know that.' He shrugged. 'And anyway, I've left all that behind. I don't want to get involved, it doesn't do any good. That's one thing Orlyons has taught me: whatever the people at the top may think, they don't run things, life goes on whatever they decide. You're wasting your time, Vera-Lynne. Why don't you just enjoy life? I didn't see you at MidNight.'
'You could at least try,' said Vera-Lynne. 'Everybody should have the chance to hear the new music. It feeds the soul. You do have influence, Matt, you just don't want to use it. You were scared of it in Newest Delhi—I've heard your stories, Matt, I can make my own interpretations—and now you're scared of it in Orlyons. You haven't changed one bit, Matt. Not where it matters. You're still the same irresponsible boy you were.'
Vera-Lynne hurried away.
Mathias didn't understand. She had no reason to let go at him like that. She must know that he could do nothing; what made her think he had any influence in Orlyons? That sort of thing was far behind him, now.
He didn't know what to think. He decided to look for Mono; at least she would not confront him.
'Hey, Slide!' He had spotted a friend standing in the mouth of a narrow alley. Slide was the best trombonist on the island, good with the mouth-organ, too. 'Have you seen Mono? I'm looking for her.'
Slide shook his head. 'Guess she's somewhere in Gentian Quarter, hawking vee, I guess.' Slide was spaced out; MidNight had clearly been a good one for him. Mathias set off for the Gentian Quarter, hoping Mono hadn't found a client yet. He wanted to talk.
~
Mathias had met Mono soon after his arrival in Orlyons. When Vera-Lynne had still been into partying Mono had been one of the group she mixed with. The two women were musicians and when they weren't jamming or partying they were arguing about the blues and the new music and why the clubs wouldn't let them play.
Mono had always blamed the underground. Songs like Paragon of the Dead and Killing Mothers is Fun (Parts I and III) were what put people off; singers saying 'If you believe in yourself wreck something' were the problem. Now, even traditional music was banished to the streets. Vera-Lynne always said she was missing the point, but she never seemed to say what the point was. Mono just wanted to play her stately old Gibson Semi-A, and sing a few soulful phrases. Vera-Lynne wanted to fight, her saxophone was a weapon and she screamed through it at anyone who would listen.
Mono was a real artiste, she had a natural gift for her music, she could make that old Gibson sing, she could make it weep, she could make it tell any story she wanted. She would spend every spare moment crouched over her guitar, working at an awkward phrase, testing new combinations, rearranging the old. Always, she was extending her range, broadening her grasp. One evening in her room in the Gentian Quarter, when Mathias was almost drunk and Mono was bending the strings wildly, trying to perfect a difficult interchange, Mathias had told her he could never work at something like that, he just couldn't. Mono had taken a swig from his mug of vodka-dry and said, 'No, you couldn't, could you?' Mathias had gone back to his drink and Mono to her practising.
Vera-Lynne had pushed them together. Not long after Mathias had found his room by the docks, she had accused him of becoming a recluse. 'You're too good to waste,' she had told him.
Mono had turned up at his room that night. 'Can I come in?' she had asked. Mathias knew her from Vera-Lynne's parties but he had been surprised to see her there. He let her in and pretty soon she went to work on him. Then she stopped. 'It's no good,' she said. Then she explained that Vera-Lynne had paid her the union rate—Mathias knew Mono's line of work:
she needed to support her music—and asked her to seduce Mathias. Mono was upset but Mathias found it hilarious and resolved to hire a call-boy for Vera-Lynne the very next day.
When Mono had stopped crying on his chest Mathias had asked her why she hadn't carried on. Wasn't it her job?
'I will, if you want,' she had said. 'But you're a friend, it's different. It shouldn't be like that. If we fucked you'd just be like all the others. Or maybe not, maybe you'd be more than all the others. Then where would I be?' She seemed desperate. 'Will you give me some space? I like you too much, I don't want to complicate things.'
Of course he had given her the space. They had grown closer, but never in a physical sense. Under Mono's restrictions, Mathias felt different to all the others. He didn't resent her clients, not even the ones like Sukui, whom Mono tried especially hard for. He had known of Sukui long before the card game; Mono said he was like her father had been, starched and withdrawn but, beneath it all, vulnerable.
Mono had taught Mathias to play the slap drums and soon he had constructed his own set of oversized bongos from a pair of gin-shells and some pigskin from a stall on the Patterdois. She told him his rhythm was good but his concentration poor, he would have to work at it. He never did, but he was good enough to back Mono's loose affiliation of buskers, the Monotones.
Passing through Greene Gardens, Mathias heard the familiar sound. Flute, sax and, as he drew closer, the gentle whisper of Mono's guitar. 'Mama gonna sell my soul,' she sang, breaking in on a saxophone improvisation and sounding almost as if it was an accident; Mathias knew how long they had practised the timing of that passage. 'But my papa done sold it before.' They were well into the third movement of the song, one of the longest in the current set. 'Mama gon' sell my so-oul.' There was a crowd of twenty or so passers-by; others looked but didn't pause. They were enjoying it, Mathias could tell by their faces and by the pile of coins and fruit in the Monotones' collecting hat.
Mono spotted Mathias and smiled. This was the music, this was what life was about. Mathias settled back to listen, the morning's confrontations behind him.
When the song finally wound down, Mathias kept his eyes closed a moment or two longer, just to let the buzz run itself down in his head, the music was that good. 'Matt, Matt!' Mono was kissing his eyelids, tugging at his folded hands. 'Matt, we've got a gig. Salomo says we can play next MidNight in his club. He says he knows we're worth it, he says he's doing it just so he doesn't have to come out on the streets to hear us. Matt, we've got ourselves a gig!'
There was no containing Mono when she was this excited. She pulled Mathias to his feet and led him running across to Milly and Katsushita, flute and sax, and said, 'I've told him, Milly, Kats. I've told him and he says...' She paused and looked at Mathias, then her face broke and she laughed with him.
'He hasn't said a word because you haven't shut up since Sal said "Yes,"' finished Milly. 'You free for the rhythm section, Matt? We want a solid sound—Mono'll need holding back if she's any like this.'
'Yeah, right.' Mathias was surprised to be asked; he hadn't thought he was that good, and anyway his mind had been off in another direction. 'Mono,' he said. 'I've been thinking over what you said about the Semi-A, about it needing more guts. I don't want to mess with the body, it's too good.' Neither did Mono, but she wanted more sound from her guitar, it was too often drowned out by the 'tones and Mono fronted the band because she wanted to front the band; she didn't want drowning out. 'There's a guy with some books I checked up, down on San Clemente. I found out some interesting stuff and I think we can rig your guitar with some kind of electronic amplification. I've ... experimented with something similar before and I've tracked down the parts through Alya Kik. I think it's what you're looking for.'
Mono's face was all the answer he needed. 'We'll try it,' she said. 'Yes, we'll try it.' Then her expression changed. 'Hey, Matt. There was somebody looking for you. Asking questions. Slide said they had northern accents and they called you Mathias, not just Matt. He said they were probably friends'—Mono's expression faltered—'but you'd better go easy, Matt: they might not be.'
~
On his arrival in Orlyons, Mathias had found that he had to feed himself for the first time in his life. He had no masked servants to tend to him, no kitchens of top-class chefs to feed him, no Home Secretary to organise his domestic routine. He had only himself.
He was smart, though, he could mend things and make things and sell them from stalls, he could fake terran artefacts along with the best of them; with Vera-Lynne's help he had established himself easily. It was his days in the Mondata fishing boats that proved most useful, however. In Orlyons there was a steady demand for anyone who could handle a boat or a line or, best of all, the trawlers' vast purse-seine nets. Mathias could do all three and had never been short of work.
That afternoon, after Mono told him of the Monotones' impending gig, Mathias skippered one of the big cats out of Orlyons for a night's fishing. The sea was calm, as ever, but the undercurrent had backed and was bringing cold waters up along the coast from the south. The fish were less abundant, but the cooler waters favoured the terran introductions and it was these that were the most valuable.
Repeatedly, they lay the purse-seine in a wide circle, winched its bottom closed and then hauled it up between the cat's twin hulls; since Mathias had introduced catamarans to the local fisherpeople there had been a large reduction in the capsizes that had been common before. That afternoon the catch was moderate, lots of blue bass—Idi would have been proud—lots of doggies and a few mawfish. Then, as night drew in around the boat, Mathias set his halogen lanterns over the water and wired them into the cat's power-cells, charged during the day by the motion of the waves. The catch was good, that night. The profit would be high, after the boat-owner and docking dues had been paid.
Sitting with his feet over the edge of the port hull, Mathias watched the sun climb slowly from the sea. It was morning and they were not long from docking at Orlyons. Mathias tried to estimate how long it would take them but gave up; it was too much work. Staring at the waves, he wondered if he would ever see his old friends again. At one time it had mattered to him, they were all he had, but the years had faded his memories. He had a new life now.
Mono had been worried by the stories of people asking around Orlyons about him. She thought they might be agents of the Hanrahan clan, out to seize him and take him back. At one time he would have agreed, but not now.
Back when Mathias had been under close arrest, Idi had been right. The new authorities did not know how to handle the situation. Edward had known that he couldn't allow a trial—they had no evidence—and he couldn't simply keep Mathias locked away while he stole the Primacy.
So he had been allowed to escape.
Sala, in her efforts to keep Newest Delhi from falling into chaos, had gone along; maybe it had even been her idea—it would smooth the transition and, at the same time, ensure that Mathias could escape to some sort of freedom.
From the security of Orlyons, Mathias could see how neat the plot to let him flee had been. To any outsider, it would be apparent that he was the guilty party. Why else would he run? At the time, there had been no other option, but now, even Mathias saw that it had cast him in an unfair light. He could never return to Newest Delhi.
Presently, he could make out the docks. He stood and stretched. Other skippers would be hurrying about at this stage, but Mathias was not like that. His crew was experienced—the best fisherpeople in Orlyons queued up to work under Mathias—and he preferred to let them do their own thing. He had never had any problems working this way, so he joined the crew, sorting the ice-boxes ready for unloading.
Sukui was on the docks, watching Mathias unload his boat and sign chitties for a number of traders. Mathias did what he could to occupy some more time but Sukui waited patiently, writing the occasional note in his small book.
'Sukui-san,' said Mathias, finally, clambering out of the cat. 'I hope your visit has been successful.'
Sukui nodded slowly. 'I am told that you designed these twin-hulled vessels. Your talents have been noted.'
Mathias didn't know quite what to make of Sukui's genial approach. 'Thanks,' he said. 'They're a lot more stable than the old ones. You need that when you have a catch like this.' He gestured at the remaining crates of iced fish waiting to be wheeled away from the docks. 'The sea was generous this time.'
'You have an affinity with the sea.' Sukui nodded and visibly stopped himself from opening his diary to make a note. 'That is not a characteristic we share.'
'The sea's always helped me think.' They began to walk. 'I used to spend a lot of time by the sea, when I was in Newest Delhi. If I ever wanted to get away I just made for the cliffs.' He sighed. 'That's a long way back, now.'
Sukui gave Mathias a quizzical look.
'I know,' said Mathias. 'Everyone who knows who I am eventually asks me the same question. No, I didn't kill my father. The Primacy didn't matter that much to me. I...' He faltered. 'The stories aren't true.'
'In Alabama City we have a Project,' said Sukui. 'There are many people of a certain type. We are scientists. We have the favour of the Lord Salvo Andric, Prime of Alabama City. We work in many fields but our main goal is to restore understanding of the ancient technologies.' He stopped and smiled at Mathias. 'Let me be succinct, Hanrahan. You are lazy and unscrupulous—I have investigated you thoroughly—and your history is tainted with dishonesty'—he raised his hands to silence Mathias—'but you also have a vestigial talent. At some level you are gifted. There is a place for you in Alabama City. You must think about it. Talent must not go to waste.'
Mathias was surprised by the offer. Sukui didn't like him, and it was clear that he did not trust him either. 'No,' he said, grinning, happy to overlook Sukui's insults. 'You're too generous.'
'Think about it,' said Sukui. 'You may wish to reconsider.' The scientist started to walk away.
At least Mathias had an explanation for why someone had been asking about him: it was Sukui, as crude with people as he was with the cards.
Then the scientist stopped and turned to Mathias. 'I am growing old,' he said. 'I almost forgot: there is someone looking for you. She is, apparently, very keen that she should meet you again. She said something about a debt?'
'Who?' asked Mathias, suddenly wishing he had not asked.
'Her name was... it began with an L.' Sukui opened his diary and scanned a few pages. 'Ah,' he said, 'this is it: Lucilla Ngota. Apparently she is quite eager to renew your acquaintance.'
~
Mathias spent the hour before MidNight wiring Mono's Gibson Semi-A into a makeshift PA system at Salomo's.
He tried to put thoughts of Lucilla Ngota out of his head.
She was the wild card he had not even considered. He remembered her reaction to March's death, the look of hatred in her eyes.
And now she had found him in Orlyons. He tried not to think about it.
The materials weren't as good as those he had used in the market-place at Newest Delhi, but they were the best Alya Kik had been able to locate. The amplifier and speaker were a single unit; from the tuning dial Mathias guessed it had been some kind of radio apparatus at one time. Now it was powered by a newly charged cell that Salomo had lent to the Monotones for the night.
Mathias's wiring was crude. He had no soldering pen, so the connections were just twisted together, but it worked, after a fashion. The speaker's size limited and distorted the range and tones and there were a lot of buzzes from the bad connections; it wasn't very loud, either, but Mathias guessed that it would give the guitar the sort of guts Mono was looking for.
Mono came in and kissed Mathias. She was dressed the same as usual, leggings and a short kimono. The 'tones were about music, not looks, she always said. 'Ready to try?' he asked.
Mono nodded, then picked up her guitar and looped the strap casually around her neck.
'Mind the cable,' said Mathias, but Mono wasn't listening.
The Semi-A had hummed when she lifted it, and she studied it curiously. She formed a chord and strummed once with the back of a fingernail. The chord was fuzzy and distorted but she smiled and played the chord again, adding a sixth. 'Yeah,' she said, and Mathias knew she was pleased.
As Mono explored the new dynamics of her old Semi-A, Mathias began to see what she was doing, how she was using the distortion to add to the sound. It drew the notes out, made the guitar really wail. It gave a chunkiness to the power chords, too, filling gaps in Mono's playing he had never even noticed before.
Gradually the rest of the Monotones turned up. Unpacking their instruments, they stared at Mono as she practised, then they joined in, adding to the wall of sound. It was a good turnout for the 'tones, Mathias counted nine of them, plus himself. They had a good puffer's section, fronted by Slide and Milly. Belugi was there, hands too fast to follow across the keys of his piano-accordion, and last of all there was Mabella with her banjo, pulling it from its plastic bag and joining in to a pulled-about twelve-bar blues.
Aisha Lucas was slapping away at her free-standing drums, trying to hold the whole thing together, and she shouted across to Mathias, 'You merely spectatin'?' Mathias was so used to being the onlooker that he bad forgotten to join in. He scouted around for his drums, found them, picked up the beat.
'What's the row?' yelled Salomo, a short time later. 'Will you wait till we're at least open, huh? I want them at least to buy their drinks before you drive them out!' Someone threw an orange at him but the Monotones wound down. The sound check was complete.
The streets outside were already alive with the energy of MidNight. The group waited in the bar at first, watching the people passing by. Then Salomo opened up and told them to move out back so the paying customers didn't have to look at their ugly faces. Not for a while, anyway.
Mathias was glad to be out of the way. He stood in the doorway of the room where Salomo held his card schools and watched the faces of the people who were rapidly filling the bar. He recognised no one from his past, only faces familiar from Orlyons. But then he wouldn't expect Lucilla to bring along anyone he might recognise. He considered pulling out of the gig, but the bug had reached him: something special was happening tonight—he had heard the beginnings of it in the warm-up—and he wanted to be involved, he wanted to be a part of Mono's triumph.
Salomo headed for the back-room and Mathias stepped clear. The big man's head poked through the doorway and he said, 'If you're going to do it, then you might as well be doing it now.'
The Monotones stirred, then Mono took the lead and headed for the small stage where their instruments awaited them. 'OK,' she called to the packed club. 'We're gonna play some music.' She hit a chord straight away and those who had reached their instruments joined in on a loose blues medley.
At first Mathias didn't like the response. The talking grew louder and there were a few hecklers at the back. But Mono started to make her guitar do unbelievable things and pretty soon the feeling that this was a one-off event had spread around drinkers and musicians alike. Steadily, the background noise died down and the music took its place.
Sitting with his gin-shell drums in his lap, Mathias felt both participant and spectator. He knew he was contributing to the event but he was on the outside, too, watching it happen. He wondered if the others felt like that, watching Mono hit that guitar, hearing that amplified Semi-A scream and so-gently-murmur its message to the world.
They finished the set on 'Mama Gonna Sell My Soul', and that guitar was crying, weeping tears of sound to contrast the grit in Mono's voice. The room was silent when the last chord finally died. The crowd caught its breath and murmured approval, then it roared and bayed and Mathias was thankful they had set up close to the back-room door and sanctuary.
Mono was buzzing when they dragged her through that door.
'This is it!' she cried. 'This is it!' Through the closed door the crowd was chanting for more.
Salomo appeared for a time. 'Give us a few minutes for them to buy their drinks, at least, will you? Then keep it short. Those fuckers didn't buy a thing while you made that row. Not a goddamned thing.' Salomo was smiling like Mathias had never seen him smile before. 'God-damn,' he muttered, as he closed the door and returned to the bar.
They gave Salomo his selling time, then they filtered back into the main room. Mono and Mathias were last out. As they reached the doorway Vera-Lynne Perse appeared before them, a stranger by her side. 'Hi,' she said. 'They liked it, traditionalists that they are.'
Mathias pushed Mono forward and said, 'Go on, Mono, they want you. I'll be up soon.' To his relief, she went. He didn't want her to be a part of this.
The stranger stepped into the back-room and Vera-Lynne followed. 'Matt,' she said. Her voice was faltering. She appeared to have noticed that something was amiss. 'This man... he said he was an old friend of yours.'
The man was wearing a thick leather coat, his hands buried deep in its pockets. 'Miz Ngota sends her regards,' he said, and suddenly Mathias placed him: an officer with the Guard, Andras MacLeugh. 'And she asked me to give you this.'
His hand jerked out of his coat and Mathias saw a flash of metal, a knife.
MacLeugh was close, but Mathias had been ready for him. As the knife swung up towards his belly, he caught MacLeugh's wrist and spun him with his own momentum. He cracked the man's hand against the open door and the knife flew into the crowded bar. MacLeugh countered with a head-butt to the body, winding Mathias, pushing him back into the room and then Vera-Lynne finally screamed.
Staggering to his feet, breathing deeply, Mathias barged his opponent, the force of his charge carrying them both past the flapping Vera-Lynne and into the main room of Salomo's club.
Mathias broke free and immediately he lost MacLeugh in the crowd. People were yelling and shouting, but Mathias just kept his head down, forcing his way to the door and out into the bustling street. As he ran, listening for sounds of pursuit, he tried to make a plan, but instead, all he could do was ask himself why a member of the Primal Guard had tried to kill him. Until then, he had assumed that it was only Lucilla, that it was only a matter of revenge. Now an alternative loomed: secure, at last, in the Primacy, Edward had decided that it was time Mathias was silenced.
He slowed to a trot and then a fast walk. They might have Mono's room under surveillance so he couldn't go there. But she was his only chance. He would just have to stay low and try to find her.
He jerked around at a sudden sound, but it was only a gang of adolescents, chasing through the streets. Lie low, lie low, was all he could think as he headed for Greene Gardens, hoping desperately that Mono would be the first to find him.