Dreamshade
“Music, eh?” said Lilac, casting a quick sidelong glance at the stallholders.
“Well, a noise,” said the boy. “Can’t you hear it?”
“Nope,” said the lady. “Never.”
“Oh.”
“What does it sound like?”
Benjamin shrugged. “I don't know. It seems kind of far away. It changes, though.”
One of the stallholders - the one with the itchy spark at the side of his nose - grunted at Lilac, who responded with an abrupt and strident stream of babble. It was obviously some sort of language, but one which Benjamin had never heard before; Lilac uttered it angrily, as though she were spitting poison darts, and it wasn’t long before the stallholder began to reply in kind. The lady, however, was clearly not prepared to put up with much argument. She hushed the flustered atulphi with a raised hand, and made a show of her complete indifference to him by looking back at Benjamin and smiling sweetly.
She lifted her satchel and shook it a little. “He wants our prize - the silf,” she said, cocking her head dismissively at the stallholder. “Thinks it should be worth the number of emberquick I need to replenish my stocks. Hah!”
“Don't you have any money?” asked Benjamin, not that he was really bothered by the situation: his only concern, at that moment, was what had happened with the emberquick. Would it work with all of them? he asked himself, his gaze sweeping across all the other crystals on display as he placed the emberquick back upon the table. Though he would have liked to have kept it, something about the mood of the stallholders told him that it would perhaps be better if he didn’t hang on to an as yet unpaid-for item any longer than was appropriate.
“Plenty,” said Lilac, in response to the question. “Florins, Talents, Caps, Porlans; everything. But these nonnads here have now decided that they’ll only deal with Chilicks, Drine, or bartered goods. I swear, they only do it to be fashionable.”
“Couldn’t you, um, use the official currency?” said Benjamin, mildly pleased that he’d managed to employ a genuinely adult term like ‘official currency’ without stumbling over his words too much.
Lilac smiled. “No such thing here, my child. It’s all unofficial. No-one can decide what money we use because there’s no-one there to decide for us. We just take our chances with whatever happens to be floating around at the time.”
“But what about your politicians?” the boy asked, oddly offended by the idea that a society could be so blasé about not having any real money. It made no sense, not even in a place like this. “Don't they tell you what to use?”
She shook her head. “They try,” she said. “But you’ve seen enough of us atulphi to know that we’re...well, individualistic. Okay, so every now and then a few dumbelinas will get together and try to impose some sort of coherent government, but it never lasts. They always end up arguing with each other, and then they fall apart. It’s rather funny, and we just let them get on with it. Prevents them from doing any real harm, you see.”
“Don’t you even vote?” asked the boy, surprised enough by Lilac’s reply to even forget the emberquick for a second or two. “I mean, how do you manage with no-one in charge?”
“Vote?” said Lilac. “Absolutely not. The last thing we’d want is those flegs getting ideas of legitimacy. As far as any of us here are concerned, if someone says something we like, then we do it. If not, we don’t. And does it work? Sure, okay, maybe not that well - but it wouldn’t be that much different even if we did vote, and I have to say-”
But the lady was again interrupted by the spark-nosed stallholder, whose words, though foreign, were undoubtedly those of someone thoroughly fed-up with being ignored. He even went so far as to punctuate his tirade with the occasional jabbing finger, an act which was liable to make Lilac explode, in Benjamin’s estimation. The lady, however, did not explode. She merely smiled sweetly, spoke soothingly to the irate atulphi, and, in a little while, a more peaceable atmosphere was established. Rummaging in her satchel, she then produced a handful of coins, which the now amenable stallholder took in exchange for a small amount of carefully selected crystals. Muttering what were presumably some words of thanks to both the vendors, she flicked one of the crystals at Benjamin, who surprised himself by actually managing to catch it. Once it was firmly in his grasp there again came that strange, distant ringing.
“Good ruse, eh?” said the lady, once they’d rejoined the milling, mulling ranks of the passers-by.
“Hm?”
She gave a slight nod towards the place where she’d so recently done business. “That pair. Prentiss and Voldok. Seems that my Talents were of some value after all; it was just a case of stalling long enough to get Prentiss’ hair flitting. He hates it when people talk politics around him, especially when he can’t understand the language.”
“Stalling. Like it,” said Benjamin, more interested in his new emberquick than the conversation at hand.
“Eh?”
“Stalling. It was a joke, right?”
“Oh yes,” replied Lilac, briefly putting a hand to her mouth as though she’d just said something embarrassing. “Stalling. Not bad. Pity it was more out of habit than deliberation - I never had a chance to savour it before saying it. Ah well.”
Benjamin only nodded, content merely to let himself be led, quietly, to marvels new, with the wonder of the wonderful upon him, and the faraway chimes of the crystal playing gently on his mind.
10
Benjamin did not remain entirely spellbound by the emberquick while walking to Lilac’s place; in this world, there were just too many curiosities at hand to merit much in the way of single-mindedness. Niamago, in fact, was a symphony - a cacophony - of distraction: let one wonder catch the eye and in moments it would be enchanted by ten more.
They passed buildings of brick and wood and something soft to the touch. And an edifice made of mosaic, where atulphi in hanging wicker baskets worked the tiles as though in the process of solving a giant picture puzzle. Then a dome formed of steps, upon which tall, priestly figures meandered round and round. They went through a claustrophobic alleyway of lanterns and signs, a place that could have been straight out of a postcard from Hong Kong had it not been for the creatures there; afterwards, they climbed to a nest of dizzying, stratospheric flyovers with no earthly equivalent. He saw shops, and wares both familiar to him and not so (and lots of radios, he noticed - especially the old-fashioned kind that he’d seen in television programmes about the second world war), and road-going vehicles of such design that it was sometimes hard to tell where the vehicle ended and the driver began. Eventually, he saw the children. Atulphi children. A troop of six, as distinct in shape and size from each other as the rest of the population, but so full of squealing immaturity that they couldn’t be anything but children. They were being led, in reins, by a stick-thin, crystal-seamed adult who appeared rather unimpressed by the behaviour of her - or possibly his, as it was hard to tell - young charges. Even though there was no logical reason for it, Benjamin found himself surprised at seeing children here. In a blurt, he asked Lilac about them.
“What, you think we spring out as fully formed grownups when your sort dream us into being?” she responded, clearly amused at Benjamin’s naivety. “Don’t forget, children only want other children as playmates. And as they get older, then so do their atulphi offspring.”
“But how did they get here? Who looks after them?”
“Oh, they find a route somehow. It’s in their - our - nature to yearn for the Amar Imaga when our human counterparts begin to relinquish us. Once here, they’ll either be fostered out to someone, apprenticed - like me - or get taken in by a charity. Some end up as foundlings, but it does them no harm. Some, I expect, never reach our shores at all.”
“What happens to them? The ones who are stranded, I mean. Do they die?”
“I don't know,” said Lilac. Despite the morbid turn of the conversation, her tone and demeanour remained rather sunny. “Maybe they survive. And get seen, occ
asionally. Just a glimmer, a presence; but enough to make a human suspect that someone was there. And - hey, you want to know what I think?”
“What?”
“That your people might consider them ghosts a lot of the time.”
Benjamin recalled the wood near his home, and what was rumoured to haunt it. Then he remembered the clown - the warpclown - and something clicked into place. In some ways it was nonsensical; there was, after all, a world of difference between that painted monstrosity and the sombre spectre of local legend. Nevertheless, he was sure that there must be a connection somewhere. Trouble was, it was difficult to put into words, and with so many new and marvellous distractions assailing his senses, the inspiration was lost long before he was capable of making a coherent enquiry about it.
He didn’t forget, however. Not completely.
***
They came to another walkway - high, as usual, and ornately gothic in style - and there Lilac paused. Leaning over the parapet, she pointed out a structure which didn’t appear all that notable when compared to the rest, and requested that the boy study it for a while.
“What is it?” he asked.
“See if you can figure it out,” said the lady.
It wasn’t located very far from them, though it resided at a level well below the walkway. Overall, it appeared to be some sort of industrial complex, a fairly unglamorous agglomeration of corrugated metal and chimneys. He noticed that there were open bunkers situated about the compound, all heaped with a dark flinty material, and a number of large, steam-belching trucks and containers as well. But the most enthralling aspect was just outside, at what he took to be the entrance to the place. It was a long line of atulphi, most of whom were either carrying a silf, or brandishing one as if it might be the banner of a victorious army.
“Distillation,” said Benjamin. “Is that right? You said something about silfs needing to be distilled before you can use them. Is this where they do it?”
“Correct!” said Lilac. “Got it in one. And this is just one of many. You bring your silf here, you get money, and with a clever combination of spagyrics, good faith and emberquick filtering, the fellows in there make all sorts of useful things. This is what our entire -”
“Emberquick filtering? What’s that?” Benjamin interrupted, fishing for - and finding - the stone in his dressing-gown pocket. Once more, there came that jangling, faraway music.
Lilac, apparently unperturbed at being cut off for the second time in so many hours, indicated the bunkers that Benjamin had noticed earlier. “You see those rocks in there? That’s raw, freshly mined emberquick. They get crushed down, electrified, and are then employed to leech the crude potentials out of the silfs. Smaller lumps are what we use for hunting; the bigger ones go to places like these. But that’s as much as I know, I’m afraid; most archimy is lost on me.”
Benjamin, turning the small nugget over and over in his hand, stared at the large deposits of crystal down below. The emberquick attracts the silfs, he thought, unaware that the queue outside the factory was beginning to show signs of some consternation. The emberquick changes the silfs as well. The distant ringing became louder, more insistent. I can do the same. He lifted the crystal in his hand, so that he might study it again, but was cut short by a fierce tapping at his shoulder.
It was Lilac, naturally. Without a word, she nodded in the general direction of the atulphi below, who were now in considerable disarray. The problem, apparently, lay with the silfs. They had become quite agitated, and the sight of such outlandish personages wrestling with what appeared to be a collection of squirming scarfs and ebullient ribbons was more than comical enough to snap the boy out of his contemplations. “What’s happening?” he asked.
“You,” said Lilac. “You’re thinking too much, and the silfs are reacting.” She patted the side of her satchel. “Our little friend in here is so lively, anyone would think that my luggage was trying to escape me. Try not to concentrate so hard on whatever it is you’re concentrating about, okay?”
“Oh,” said Benjamin, as if it was all the most natural thing in the world. “Sure.” He returned his emberquick to his pocket, and did his best to occupy himself with more prosaic things - which was no easy task in a place like this.
“They’re calming,” mused Lilac, again watching out over the compound. Benjamin followed her gaze and saw that the silfs there had indeed settled somewhat, though their attendant atulphi were still visibly rattled. “Call me an as yet unfinished upper storey if you like,” the lady continued, “but I think we’re attracting stares. Which would make it a good time to leave, yes?”
“Okay,” mumbled Benjamin, unaware that he was rubbing at his lower eyelids. His legs felt a little shaky, and he was sure that he’d suddenly become even more tired. Perhaps, if he’d felt the need to rationalise it, he might say that he had overdosed on wonder; but all he wanted now was to get to Lilac’s place and take some rest there.
***
Lilac, as it turned out, lived not in a house, but an apartment located upon the fifth floor of a tall, faintly Mediterranean tenement that occupied one corner of a narrow, bustling crossroads. It was unremarkable in that it was just as remarkable of any other building in the vicinity, with its elegant, wrought-iron balconies filigreed extensively by a sweep of lush, tumbling, yet entirely albino plants. Unfortunately, it appeared as if its character was only skin deep. Inside, the foyer was gloomy and dishevelled, and had a distinct air of neglect about it. There was no lift, only a dank, badly lit stairwell; when Lilac, ascending, ran her fingers along the bannister, flecks of paint fell like leprous dandruff. Benjamin, quite frankly, didn’t want to touch anything here, and he followed with his hands set resolutely in his pockets. His heart sank when he finally reached Lilac’s door; the squalor, without a doubt, would surely be just as bad in her small quarter of this slum as it was everywhere else.
But no. It was fresh, in sight and smell, clean, and charmingly haphazard. The first thing that caught Benjamin’s eye, as he was ushered in to the lounge, was what he initially believed to be a chandelier; one squint later, and he discovered that it was in fact a very large and intricate wind-chime. Lilac, it appeared, had a thing for them, for it wasn’t the only one in the room: tinkling, glimmering elaborations hung like bejewelled stalactites from just about every spare inch of the ceiling, as well as any available window-arch and recess. Underneath all this, a magpie collection of furniture - chairs old and older, a coffee-table framed of ebony and topped with glass, sagging shelves laden with books and ornate trinkets - rested on a patchwork floor of numerous, overlapping rugs. True to Lilac’s style, there was much of the orient on show also, with Chinese block-prints of misty waterfalls and austere cranes decorating the walls, and willow-pattern vases adorning the odd tabletop and window sill. A long, black, gold-inscribed cabinet stood against the furthest wall of the room; according to the boy’s brief appraisal, it looked like just the sort of thing a stage-magician might use to make his accomplice disappear.
As was his habit whenever he entered someone else’s house, Benjamin stood frozen to the spot, half-afraid that even the slightest movement would lead to a slapstick catastrophe of crashing ornaments and broken furniture. Lilac, brisk in observing the niceties of receiving company, indicated a chair, and the boy took it readily. It may well have been threadbare, and probably on the verge of collapse, but it was extremely comfortable. And best of all, it meant that the possibility of tripping-up and causing a disaster was now nothing to worry about - as long as he remained seated, of course.
It felt good to finally take the load off his feet. He hadn’t altogether realised the extent of his aches until he was at rest, and his muscles seemed to almost groan with the relief of it. He reclined into the warm softness with a sigh that made Lilac smile; his forearms fell against the rests like toppling trees. And again, he was made aware of that buzz he’d felt when he’d first ventured into the bird-borne cage; that sensation of knowing and not-knowing, as
occurs when you get a word stuck on the tip of your tongue.
“Feeling quite at home already, eh?” said Lilac, as she plonked her blunderbuss and satchel down beside the empty chair opposite. Rather than take the seat herself, she instead fussed at the coffee table for a bit, hastily rearranging the impedimenta there as though embarrassed by the original layout. “You must understand,” she went on, “that I wasn’t expecting any guests today. Especially ones of your stature. So please indulge me while I flit pointlessly about the place awhile. What do you think, by the way, of chez Zhenrei? Do you like it?”
“Oh - fine,” said Benjamin, when it dawned on him that Lilac was referring to her home. “Really nice.” Amazingly, he yawned. “Better than the rest of this...well, the stairs and that. The outside looks good though.”
The lady, done with flapping around like an inconvenienced housewife, perched herself on an arm of the chair opposite, crossed her legs, and folded her arms. “I happen to think,” she said, smiling demurely, “that a lot of this building has much to say in terms of derelict chic. It impresses my friends most deeply, you know.”
Benjamin, less than impressed, could only nod politely.
“But saying that -” she held a finger aloft, as if struck by a sudden insight “- it could be that my friends are merely trying to humour me. It wouldn’t be the first time, what with charming lies lying so much more sweetly than bitter truths, and all that. Would you like a drink?”
“Um,” responded Benjamin, who was a little startled at having a question come at him so out of the blue. He also found himself wondering if she’d meant something alcoholic. “No, it’s okay. Thanks anyway,” he said, deeming it the safest reply given the situation.
“Some food then?”
“Um-”
“Excellent!” she declared, making sure to interrupt before her guest could offer another nothankyou. “I have some Nash’s Blossoms in the cupboard. And some Crips’ Tattleflit Poppers, I think. Freshly baked - well, freshly baked two days ago - from Azadeurs.” She sprang up and made for a door to Benjamin’s right. “You’ll know nothing about them, which is a good thing: surprise always flavours the Garibaldi, or so the saying goes,” she said, before disappearing into the room beyond. “They’re biscuits, my child,” she called, to the tune of what sounded like rattling tins and creaking hinges. “Just so you don't get any funny ideas. Okay?”