The Golden City Page 13

  “Everyone has the power to make certain decisions in their life. If you think you’re better than the others, then prove it. Maybe your actions will free you when everyone is destroyed and the cycle starts again.”

  “Do you think that possible? Really?”

  “I need to find Maya, Mr. Kelso. If you want to be a good person, you can start by helping me.”

  Kelso’s mouth twitched as if it was painful to standing there without the veil covering his face. “I heard the wolves talking. They’ve trapped the demon in what used to be the library. They’ve probably killed her by now.”

  “Take me there.”

  “As you wish.” Kelso lowered the veil over his face and started down the stairs. “You remind me of your father, Gabriel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t lie to me.”

  15

  M aya had once seen her life as a story with a beginning, middle and end. That chronological way of thinking had vanished during her time on the island. Although she hid in the rubble and fought in the streets, none of these events were connected to her past. Maya felt as if she were rowing a boat through a swamp where an immense battle had taken place. Sometimes a person’s body would float to the surface, and she could see a face, recall a name—and then the boat lurched forward and the face would sink back into the mud and weeds.

  The past was fading away, but the present moment was entirely clear. She was trapped at the top of a pillar—a three-story fragment made of bricks and stone in the middle of the half-destroyed library. Her world was very small: a wooden table, a patch of tile floor, and a storage room where black cardboard boxes were filled with prints and drawings of angels. During the beginning of her captivity, she had searched through all these illustrations and discovered that each image was unique. There were smiling, benevolent angels as well as righteous angels smiting sinners with whips and swords.

  If the wolves had caught Pickering while on patrol, they would have killed him immediately, but the former ladies’ tailor used his betrayal of Maya to win some measure of protection. He remained in what was left of the third floor reading room, sleeping beneath the wooden tables and warming up cans of food on one of the gas lamps. Whenever anyone new appeared in the library, he rushed over to describe the cleverness of his plan and the fact that he still hadn’t received his reward. With his encouragement, the wolves stood in the reading room and hurled bricks and chunks of concrete at the pillar. Maya retreated to the storage area for protection; whenever a projectile hit the metal door, the men cheered like football fans celebrating a goal.

  She was resting in the storage room when she heard something heavy slam down on the platform. Peering through a crack in the door, she saw that the wolves had lowered a length of railing between the pillar and the reading room. A bearded man armed with an eight-foot pike stepped onto this improvised bridge and moved cautiously toward her. In order to protect his face and upper body, he had punched holes in pieces of blackened sheet metal and tied them together with twine. With each step, this improvised armor made a clanking sound.

  Keeping her sword in its scabbard, Maya left the storage area and sauntered over to the edge of the pillar. The man with the sheet metal mask shouted threats and jabbed the pike in her direction. He took one step forward, wobbling a bit, as Maya watched his eyes. When he finally entered her attack perimeter, she feinted to the right, ducked down and grabbed the pike in a twisting motion that made the tall man lose his balance and fall off the bridge. He had a few seconds to scream as he fell sixty feet to the rubble below. The wolves in the reading room stopped cheering, and that gave her a moment of pleasure. She kicked the edge of the railing off the pillar and it made a clattering noise when it hit the ground.

  * * *

  No one on the island buried the dead. The bearded man’s body was still lying face-down on a pile of half-burned floor boards. This example of her fighting skill seemed to deter attacks for awhile, but now a more ambitious plan was being organized. A leader had appeared in the library—an older man wearing a blond lady’s wig. His thin, reedy voice could be heard in every part of the library.

  Three towers were being built with soot-covered wood retrieved from the ruins. The men spent a great deal of time cutting off the charred ends of roof beams and straightening bent nails with hammers. The towers were ungainly looking structures with props and buttresses added on to keep them from collapsing. Slowly, they grew higher until they were about ten feet below her refuge on the pillar. Once each tower had a flat platform at the top, the wolves began building wooden ladders.

  Another group of men carried bricks and stones to the reading room and dumped them on the floor. It wasn’t difficult to figure out the plan for the assault: the stone throwers would force her back into the storage room while three groups of attackers scrambled up the ladders. Feeling tired and passive, she sat on the pillar with the sword on her lap and watched the preparations.

  After the ladders were built and the stones were ready, the wolves carried the railing back up to the third floor and placed sections of wood on the rungs to make a narrow bridge. The men used ropes to lower the edge of the bridge down onto the pillar, but this time Maya didn’t kick it away. If they wanted to fight, she was ready.

  The man wearing the wig appeared in the reading room, dressed a billowy black gown that touched the tops of his boots. Maya wondered if this was some kind of religious costume, but everything became clear when the man took a few steps across the bridge. Wearing the wig and the black gown, he resembled a cartoon version of a British judge.

  “Several of my men think that you’re a demon,” the man said. “But now that I’ve had a good look at you, I don’t see any horns on your head or stubby little wings.”

  Maya remained silent. The man took a step forward and adjusted his wig. “I’m the Judge, the new ruler of this island. Thank you for killing the Commissioner of Patrols. That solved a great many problems.”

  “How can you be a judge?” she asked. “There aren’t any laws here.”

  “Not so! We do have one law. Everyone follows it: Any person or group who has power can kill or enslave those with less power.” The Judge gazed down at his followers. “Even the most foolish person here understands that law. In fact, they comprehend it better than the clever ones.”

  “And why are you explaining it to me?”

  “Right now, I’m the most powerful person on the island. That means I’m the only person who can save your life.”

  “Is that why you’re building towers and piling up stones?”

  “Killing you is the alternative plan. I’d much rather have you as an ally. Our enemies in the port area have slaughtered two of my patrols. A small group of traitors shouldn’t be a problem for a demon that destroys everyone she meets. You won’t have to swear an oath of loyalty—it wouldn’t mean anything. Just show the others that you accept my authority. Walk across this bridge and give me your weapon.”

  “And then you’ll betray me.”

  The Judge chuckled when he heard her comment. “You’re not very clever for a demon. Of course I’ll betray you—eventually. But you have the chance to organize the others and betray me. I accept that possibility.”

  “And what if I refuse your offer?”

  “You’ll be killed here in the library. Your death has certain advantages. It shows that I can destroy anything, even a demon.”

  The Judge took another step forward and extended his hand as if she’d already offered her sword. “Hurry up, now. Don’t waste my time. You won’t have to trust me, but the two of us can still have an arrangement. One of the most remarkable aspects of this world is that we can work with the people we hate.”

  “I like where I am right now. Why should I leave?”

  “You’ll be given food and shelter and other benefits along the way. Let me give you an example.”

  The Judge wiggled his fingers like a diner in a restaurant requesting his check. Two of his followers left the reading room area and disappeared down the staircase. They returned a minute lat
er, dragging a prisoner between the tables. It was Pickering.

  Someone had gagged the little man’s mouth with a strip of white cloth, but he was still trying to talk. Pickering raised his eyebrows and jerked his head back and forth. He didn’t look angry, just desperate to explain his point of view.

  “This cockroach betrayed you and boasted about it,” the Judge said. “I’m sure that angered you, but what could you do about it?”

  A rope was tied around one of the tables and looped around Pickering’s neck. The Judge didn’t see the need to say the prisoner’s name or announce his punishment; he simply nodded his head, and the guards tossed Pickering off the edge of the platform. The body struggled for a few seconds, swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

  “There you are,” the Judge said. “See this as a goodwill gesture. Now come across the bridge and give me your weapon.”

  Maya looked down at the scrap of flesh and rags that dangled at the end of the rope. The Judge was wrong about one thing; she had become a ghost, not a demon. Her lungs still breathed and her eyes still blinked, but she was hollow inside. The only emotion she could feel was pride. Pride called to her like a faraway voice—difficult to hear, but making its demands. Never bow to the wicked. Never obey the command of someone who is unworthy.

  Feeling calm and ready for battle, she drew her sword from its scabbard. The Judge saw the change in her eyes. Frightened, he stumbled backward, almost tripping on the hem of his gown. “Attack!” he screamed. “Start the attack! Now!”

  The bridge was pulled back to the reading room as bricks and stones rained down on the pillar. A stone struck her shoulder and another grazed the side of her head. Maya crouched down, covered her face, and ran back into the storeroom. A stone struck her left hand as she pulled the door shut.

  Kneeling on the tile floor, surrounded by drawings of angels, she listened to the different sounds of each projectile. Stones bounced off the door while bricks and concrete shattered into pieces. Men were shouting, but she couldn’t make out the words. She knew they were coming for her in different directions—raising the wooden ladders and propping them up against the pillar.

  A proud death. Who had used those words? Her father. And then a memory came to her of a fight in a London tube station. She was alone, and three men were running toward her. Where’s my father? She thought. Why did he abandon me? A stone hit the storage room door with a boom. Reaching out in the darkness, she felt a handle in the middle of the door. Go out and face them.

  Maya grabbed the handle and ripped the door off its hinges. With the sword in her right hand and the door held up like a shield, she stepped out of the room and began to inch forward. The wolves on the other side of the gap aimed at the door, but their stones bounced off its metal surface. A chunk of concrete hit the floor, exploding like a bomb, and pieces skittered across the floor.

  She shifted to the right and saw the top rungs of a ladder. A big man with braided hair was climbing up to the platform with a homemade sword in his hand. She jumped high as a sword blade flashed beneath her feet. When she came down, she darted forward and stabbed her attacker in the throat.

  Turn to the left. Another ladder. Maya took a step and suddenly felt intense pain in her left leg. A man standing on a ladder had jabbed upward with a spear and cut into the muscle a few inches above her knee. Blood spurted from the wound and she found it difficult to remain on her feet. More pikes and spears were thrust her direction and she had to retreat toward the storage room.

  Silence. The stones stopped falling and the faces of her attackers disappeared. Maya peered around the corner of her shield. The men on the other side of the gap stood mute as a burning piece of fabric drifted down from the ceiling. It took her a moment to realize that the library was on fire. When she cocked her head back, she saw smoke leaking out of the walls. The smell reminded her of wet wood burning in the middle of a field.

  “Fire!” A voice shouted. Other voices repeated the warning. “Watch out! There’s a fire!”

  The Judge paced across the checkerboard floor of the reading room. He stopped near the edge of the platform and shouted to his followers. “Take the ladders and pull back! She’ll burn to death when the ceiling collapses!”

  Maya lowered her shield and let it drop onto the floor. Standing on the edge of the platform, she watched the men carry the ladders through the ruins. They stumbled through a pile of rubble, swore at each other and vanished out the door. The men she despised, the ones she fought and killed, were actually proof that she existed in this dark world. Without her enemies, she would fade away.

  She knelt down and then fell onto her side. Blood flowed from the wound in her leg. She felt as if the Light was leaving her body. Smoke drifted across the empty space like a malevolent spirit and gradually moved downward. Bits of flame appeared on the walls like orange poppies clinging to the side of a mountain. These flames grew larger; they wavered and reached toward her, and she wanted to embrace their bright clarity.

  Darkness appeared on the outer edges of her vision. Maya closed her eyes for awhile and when she opened them again two figures had appeared in the reading room. A man wearing rags pulled back his veil and revealed a pale, frightened face. He turned and said something as younger man emerged from the smoke carrying a burning stick of wood. The face looked familiar, but Maya resisted a conclusion. Was it really Gabriel or just a creation of her mind?

  The Traveler hurried to the edge of the platform, shouting her name and waving his arms, but the darkness absorbed her again. She was floating on a pond of murky water, sinking beneath the surface. It felt as if she was thrashing her arms and legs to return to the light. When she regained consciousness, Gabriel was kneeling beside her. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her across an improvised bridge. The smoke made her cough, and she saw bursts of flame as the ragged man guided them down a staircase to the street.

  “Try to stay awake,” Gabriel told her. “We’re going to the passageway.”

  “Passageway—in—the river,” she said slowly.

  “This is another access point. We can go together.”

  If felt as if the spear were still jabbing her leg as Gabriel carried her through the ruins of a burnt-out building. The ragged man kept glancing over his shoulder.

  “There’s a patrol. See them? Near the end of the street.”

  They started running. Men were chasing them, and she was too weak to fight and protect the Traveler.

  “They saw us,” the ragged man. “Go this way, Gabriel. No. This way.”

  “It’s too far,” Gabriel said. “We’re not going to make it.”

  “I’ll stay here and trick them,” the ragged man said. “Remember me. That’s all I want from you. Remember my name.”

  And then she was very cold, falling down a long tunnel while Gabriel embraced her. She held him tightly, hearing his heart beat and feeling the warmth of his skin.

  “Can you hear me?” Gabriel asked. “We’re safe. Back in our world.

  Open your eyes, Maya. Open your eyes ”

  16

  T he night air was cold when Hollis left the love hotel and hiked down the hill to the high-rise office buildings that overlooked the Shibuya train station. The adrenalin that had surged though his body during the fight had faded away. He felt as slight and insubstantial as a dead leaf blown through the streets.

  The Chinese-made automatic was tucked into the waistband near the small of his back. Hollis couldn’t ignore its heavy presence—the feel of the barrel and trigger guard touching his skin. It was dangerous to check into a hotel or return to the airport. Not knowing what to do, he walked parallel to the Shuto Expressway. The sodium safety lights made his shadow look black and distinct as it glided across the asphalt.

  A few miles north of the train station, he passed a glass and steel building filled with retail shops that were closed for the night. A neon sign announced—in Japanese and English—that the Gran Cyber Café was on the second floor.

  Internet cafes were all over the world; they were usually large, well-l
it rooms where everyone sat close to each other typing on computer keyboards. The Gran Café had been designed for a very different experience. Hollis entered a windowless room that was kept in constant twilight—like a chapel or a gambling casino—and the customers were hidden in white cubicles. The café smelled like cigarette smoke and the curry dinner that the desk clerk had just heated up in a microwave.

  The clerk was a young Japanese woman with studs through her nose, ears and tongue. Speaking in English, she advised Hollis to buy a “night pack” which would allow him to stay in a cubicle until morning. Hollis walked through the maze of cubicles to number 8-J and went inside. There was a padded leatherette chair, a computer, a television set, a DVD player and a hand control for computer games.

  Hollis stared at the monitor and tried to figure out who could help him. Gabriel and Simon were somewhere in Egypt. His friends and relatives in Los Angeles thought that he was dead or in a third world prison. When he left the United States he had thrown away his driver’s license and credit cards. A bank had seized his house, and Hollis assumed it was sold at a public auction. Although the Vast Machine tracked your movements and monitored your life, it also verified that you were alive.

  He returned to the front desk and bought a fruit smoothie, a cup of hot ramen noodles and a toothbrush. Hollis saw two other customers in the café’s library picking through the extensive collection of graphic novels and magazines. Neither of them more than glanced at the foreigner. The Gran Café was not a place to meet people in physical reality.

  Back in the cubicle he removed the gun from his waistband and placed it in the shoulder bag. Within the gray space of the café, his visual memory of the three dead men began to lose its power. Hollis decided that the café was part of the Vast Machine, but also a temporarily refuge from its power. In the past, people fled from the authorities to the forest or to a church, but even these places were beginning to install surveillance cameras. At the Gran Café, the customers could lose themselves in various fantasies or pretend to be different people on the Internet. You were truly yourself—and nothing—at the same time. All this revealed the power of the Vast Machine: even your sanctuary was a controlled commercial enterprise.