Bandwagon

that the muse Calliope could be summoned in this manner.

  He was disturbed by a door being violently opened and a dishevelled looking creature emerging; it certainly didn’t look like a muse. Closer examination revealed it to be Ben.

  ‘Do you have to?’ Ben asked. He face was drawn and there was stubble on his chin. He wasn’t itching it, however.

  ‘I’m trying to think.’

  ‘Yes, but do you have to play Spoons whilst you’re thinking? It’s bad enough that I’ve been kept up half the night, without you playing that damn tune all morning.’

  ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

  Ben groaned visibly. ‘It’s those bloody robots,’ he said. ‘Every time someone leaves their room or anyone comes in, they pipe up with their “welcome to the Hotel Grande”.’ He spoke the last phrase in a poor impression of a robotic voice and with considerably more venom than the genuine article.

  ‘It’s not my fault. I didn’t choose the hotel.’

  Ben ignored him. ‘It wouldn’t be a problem if this was a normal hotel,’ he muttered. ‘If they didn’t let their rooms by the hour I could at least get some sleep’

  Keys looked at him, his eye-strip shining. ‘What was that phrase again?’

  Ben turned to look at robot, his face a mask of confusion. ‘Phrase? What phrase?’

  ‘You mumbled something about letting rooms.’

  ‘I said if they didn’t let their rooms by the hour- What?’

  The robot was staring fixedly into space. Ben frowned at him. ‘God. You haven’t fallen asleep now, have you?’

  Keys ignored him and started to pick out a tune on the piano. This time it wasn’t Spoons.

  25

  The van headed along the motorway under cover of darkness; the occasional streetlamp glared through the windows of the small blue van, seemingly less than impressed with the interior. The musicians, whose opinion differed little to this, sat in various uncomfortable positions and tried to sleep.

  Keys wasn’t ready for sleep, however. He looked out along the grey ribbon that stretched out endlessly before them, the glowing strips that marked its boundary casting a faint blue light over the concrete.

  On the road in the evening.

  The road was largely empty. The only other vehicle on the road appeared to be a battered pick-up truck carrying a cargo of small boxes. As Keys watched, one of the boxes tumbled onto the road and burst open, revealing a small robot that resembled a rabbit – presumably one of the alternative robotic pets that were currently out of fashion with the public but had been all the rage a few years previously.

  There’s a runaway hare.

  The rabbit, after recovering from the impact, realised that it was free and bounded across the carriageway. It leapt over the central reservation and was only a few feet from the grass verge on the opposite side when it was hit by a sports car hurtling in the other direction.

  Saw it struck by a motorcar – going on somewhere.

  There the inspiration left him. Keys shook his head and turned his attention back to his companions. It had been a good gig, all in all. His song had been a little rough around the edges, but that seemed somehow to fit the encore. Riff had provided an elegant guitar introduction and the audience had only grown in enthusiasm when the other instruments had joined in.

  The gig had ended on a high, so much so that it had taken them several minutes after getting into the van before they had realised they weren’t heading for the hotel. There had been some objection, notably from Vid - who was now snoozing with his screen displaying a field of jumping sheep and a counter – but Tony had overridden the complaints with his usual polite forcefulness and the resistance of the tired musicians had crumbled.

  The band’s van finally overtook the pick-up and Keys caught a glimpse of another robotic rabbit escaping from its cardboard packaging, its bright eyes flashing as it made its break for freedom. He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep – he was clearly too tired for any more inspiration today.

  The morning sun was reflecting from the windows of the surrounding buildings when Keys awoke the next morning.

  ‘Where are we?’ he asked.

  ‘Bowing,’ said Ben.

  ‘Another one night stand, I suspect,’ Riff added.

  Keys looked around with sleepy interest. The city was markedly different from Kidney Lake. Here the buildings were lower, more ornate, and the skyline was dominated by a fortified manor that stood on a hill in the centre. They passed through the city centre and out into the suburbs, where the scenery quickly melted into the same-old suburban morass.

  The hotel turned out to be a small affair, two storeys of tile-clad concrete with windows spaced in unimaginative proportion along the walls. The van pulled up in the semi-circle of brick-surfaced road that passed for a driveway and the group disembarked, stretching to loosen uncomfortable joints. Tony, stepping down from the driver’s side, made to approach the entrance but was stopped by a bulky robot that stepped forward to bar his way.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the robot intoned leadenly, ‘but I can’t let you pass.’

  Tony’s look of blank incomprehension could not have been blanker if it had just told him he was made entirely of cheese.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I am Tony Ombreggiati.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, sir, but I still can’t let you pass.’

  ‘Whyever not?’

  The robot nodded to the band. ‘I’m afraid you have robots in your party,’ it said.

  ‘Yes,’ Tony confirmed, his tone suggesting this was such a stupid statement it wasn’t worth a more detailed response.

  The robotic doorman flexed metal eyebrows uncomfortably and looked plaintively to Ben. Ben shrugged– he had no more idea what was going on than anyone else.

  The robot turned back to Tony. ‘We don’t allow robots,’ it said, speaking more slowly in the hope this would be more comprehensible.

  Vid, who had been following the conversation with drowsy disinterest, rolled to the front of the party. The robot put up a hand to bar his progress. Vid stopped.

  ‘You cannot pass,’ said the robot.

  ‘I heard,’ said Vid. ‘I just wondered how you had the authority to stop me. Are you human? I only ask because I’ve never seen a human with purple eyes before.’

  The robot ignored him and turned back to Tony. ‘No robots,’ he repeated.

  ‘Are your receptors on the blink?’ snapped Vid. The robot continued to ignore him.

  ‘Hello. Is there anyone at home?’

  The robot continued to look at Tony, but nodded in Vid’s direction. ‘Could you silence that?’ it said. Tony gestured to Vid, but kept his gaze on the robot in front of him. Vid, taking the hint, fell silent.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the robot.

  Tony failed to smile in response. ‘Let me get this straight,’ he said, his voice betraying no hint of emotion. ‘You’re telling me that my boys aren’t good enough for your hotel.’

  ‘They’re not boys, they’re robots.’

  Tony nodded. ‘Now, I’m no expert on robots myself,’ he said confidentially, ‘but it would appear to me that you are also a robot. Would this be the case?’

  The robot managed to look offended. ‘That is neither here nor there,’ it objected, an edge of pomposity entering its voice.

  ‘So what you’re actually saying, is that you have something against other robots and that your policy is not to admit them to your hotel.’

  The robot remained silent. Tony nodded thoughtfully. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, let me give you some free advice. You are making a very serious mistake.’

  ‘How would that be, sir?’

  ‘Because these are no ordinary robots. These just happen to be a successful band.’

  ‘That’s as may be, sir-’

  ‘Let me finish. Anyone who denies my robots access to their hotel had better make sure that their insurance is in ord
er – do you understand?’

  The robot tilted its head slightly and appeared to be considering this information. ‘Would that be by way of a threat, sir?’ it asked eventually.

  ‘Let’s just say that I know some people who assess buildings to see how much of a fire risk they are and they’re thorough, very thorough.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I have my instructions. No robots allowed.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Tony. ‘Well, don’t say that you weren’t warned.’ He turned back to the band. ‘Back in the van, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I’ve decided that this hotel doesn’t meet my expectations.’

  26

  The Bowing Plaza Hotel was a smart, brick building with a good view over the city. Here, the band received no welcoming party in the car park, and the receptionist expressed no feelings about the construction of their visitors. Indeed, she barely glanced at them as she booked them into suites on the top floor.

  ‘Now this is my idea of a hotel,’ Vid gushed, rolling along the carpeted floor from the elevator. ‘Fountains, musical elevators, glass domes over the corridors.’

  ‘No annoying robots singing at you,’ Ben added, pausing to help himself to a drink from one of the regularly spaced water coolers.

  ‘I’d prefer singing robots to musical elevators,’ muttered Riff.

  Ben ignored him and looked down through the glass dome at the water feature that dominated the reception area below; the slightly distorting glass of the dome enhanced the feeling he was looking into some kind of hive. All around the apparently spherical space, people were going about their business, some of them with suitcases scurrying obediently in their wakes. Ben’s eye was drawn briefly to a man