Saga Page 8

  Athena’s hair was down. If my hair could grow as straight as hers, I’d have done exactly as she had, in dying it raven black and growing it long. With pale makeup and her snake-eye contacts, she looked deadly, literally. Nath gave her trousers serpent coils, so that to look at her you saw a medusa: half woman, half snake.

  Considering that Milan was basically going in his usual combats, it was a long wait for him to come out of the bathroom, which now reeked of aftershave. “We set?” I asked through the door to where the lads were changing in the corridor.

  “Yeah, ready.” Milan came in, strutting, his broad shoulders held back. He didn’t have to get tattoos made for the night; his were perma-tats. Nath was dressed simply in a blue T-shirt and navy cords. But the design on his chest was a writhing scarlet-and-orange sun, which changed colors as he moved. It was very eye-catching. Those scintillating evolving designs were pretty popular with the psychedelic crowd. Over his shoulder, he had a satchel filled with cans loaded with the new Defiance tag.

  “Listen, before we go partying, what are we going to do about Jay?” I asked them.

  Milan just shrugged. “See what he has to say. But even if he did drop us in it, I say let’s just play it cool. We don’t need him, and we don’t need the grief of a fight with him.”

  “I agree,” responded Athena immediately. “That’s surprisingly wise of you, Milan.”

  “I have my moments of sanity. Let’s try to get hold of him before things get too crazy. Then we can enjoy the party!”

  Chapter 10

  PRELUDE TO A PARTY

  Left to my own devices, I was inclined to be a solitary creature. I preferred to spend my Saturday nights infiltrating a high-level government building to see if I could learn anything about my past rather than go dancing. But I made exceptions for events my friends were going to, especially events organized by the Anarcho-Punk Collective. Not that we knew much about the APC—they were very secretive—but we did know that they ran wonderful parties.

  We boarded through the cool evening air, staying low, occasionally pausing to fire a Defiance tag onto a suitably inviting wall. After an hour, we turned in to Nightingale Avenue to glide alongside the railings of the old hospital grounds. There was over a mile of disused garden between the hospital and us, but already we could make out a deep regular bass beat, pounding out into the sky: the pulse of a party, issuing its summons to those of us who lived in the nooks and crannies of the City.

  Around us now were not the usual street inhabitants. No suits and ties here, but a growing crowd of punks, street boarders, and ravers. There was an irony about this. In their effort to be different from the City, the punks dressed to shock. But there was near uniformity in their display of spiked colored hair, violent facial tattoos, black leather clothes, studs, and chains.

  “Hey!” I wanted to share the thought and glanced over my shoulder at Athena. “Wouldn’t it be more punk to come to one of these raves in a business suit?”

  Athena laughed as she put on a burst of speed to come alongside me.

  “That would be class. Next time, let’s do it. Bring clipboards and headsets, and pretend to be doing market research or something.”

  “Brilliant.” I could picture the scene. “Imagine asking: which of the following breakfast cereals do you shop for? Or, what aircar do you drive? Everyone would think we were nuts.”

  “Young man,” intoned Athena in a mock-serious voice, “we are researching the use of hair dyes for our product. Which of the following categories would you say your hair came into: dry, medium, greasy, or kick-ass fluorescent pink?”

  The flow of partygoers thickened as it reached the huge pillars of the hospital entrance. We dropped off our boards and joined a queue that moved steadily into the building; we were surrounded by a hubbub of good-humored chat.

  The building itself was pretty grim, even for a former hospital. It was built four stories high from somber, dark-gray stone, with unadorned windows set regularly into the walls. I felt it had the character of an old woman whose mind had just been taken over by the APC. Already we could see the shadowy interior coming alive. Beams of blue and red were sweeping around the third floor. A strobe was flickering somewhere inside the second, making the windows of that floor blink with surprise. And, of course, music was filling the sky above us, expelled from the great entrance like a cadenced scream from an open mouth.

  “Don’t you think the building is like a senile woman? Gone mad with all the strange activity in her head?”

  “Blood and thunder, Ghost, are you trying to freak me out already?” Milan rolled his eyes. “It’s not as if I’ve taken any psychs yet.”

  We went through the doors now, into a huge reception hall. A big black-and-red flag hung down from an upper balcony. Below it were some serious-looking heavies. Although they were smiling, the men and women holding buckets were intimidating. They were much older than everyone entering the building, with faded perma-tats and weatherworn faces, suggesting they’d been traveling and living outdoors for years. Involuntarily all the young ravers and punks fell quiet as they passed the APC equivalent of a nightclub bouncer. I threw a red chip into a bucket.

  “That’s covered us four.” I circled my friends with my finger to show them to the woman we faced. She smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening, her eyebrow piercing glittering. “Go on in, and have a good night.” She handed us a flyer with a map of the hospital on the back.

  Now we approached another loose line of men and women; beyond them was the blare of music coming from the interior of the building. Unlike the security in their dark utilitarian clothes, these people were dressed to party. I wondered what they were doing, but Milan was ahead of me.

  “Wow, this is class, no need to worry about meeting your dealers; they’ve laid it all on.”

  He was right. These were sellers.

  “Jeebies? Psychs? Rush? What would you like?” A tall guy with a long plaid shirt smiled at us. I shook my head. Jeebies were pretty harmless and it was tempting to get a couple, but maybe later when I’d got my bearings. I was confident I looked good; Athena and I were already getting interested looks from guys in the queue, but there was something unsettling about the scale of this rave. Plus I wanted to have my head together for our chat with Jay.

  “I’ll have half a dozen jeebies.” Milan looked at me with a momentary hangdog expression. “You don’t mind me using that chip?”

  “No, go ahead. It’s yours to use as you please.”

  “Sweet, thanks.” He turned back to the drugs seller.

  “What alcohol have you got?”

  “I don’t mess with that. But she’s got some.” Mr. Plaid nodded at a woman farther along the row. She was slightly older than the other sellers and, although her dyed-black hair looked good, there was something slightly sad about her. The trousers that were hitched a bit too high, perhaps, or the fact that they’d been pulled a bit too tight. It didn’t help her that her nose had been broken at some point also and was no longer straight.

  “All right?” she asked Milan.

  “Hi, what have you got?”

  “Whatever you want, honey. Wine, beer, gin, vodka, even whiskey.”

  “Wanna share a bottle of whiskey?” Milan offered us.

  “No,” replied Athena crossly. “First of all, it doesn’t mix well with those jeebies you got. Secondly, you will end up losing basic motor functions, and will tread on other people while you try to dance, and finish the night throwing up. Come on, Milan; show some sense for once.”

  She had him. That’s exactly what had happened last time.

  He rolled his eyes as if inviting the seller to laugh with him at the fact of his being nagged. But I was glad to see he bought just four cans of beer.

  We went inside, Nath and Milan swigging their beers. It suddenly dawned on me that half the story was that Milan wanted to be seen carrying banned drugs.

  The rooms of the ground-floor corridors had been converted to little emporiums fo
r the night, selling food, drink, shirts, music, books, candles, and jewelry. There was even a perma-tat stand. We glanced into them as we strolled along. All around us, merry groups of young partygoers ran amok, shouting to each other over the thunder of a distant band.

  “What are we doing?” asked Milan.

  Athena was studying the flyer we had been given on our arrival. “The ground floor has a board course. First floor is punk, second rave, and third is ambient. I’m going to check out the boarders. Coming, Ghost?”

  “Sure.”

  “Punk stage for me,” announced Milan.

  “I’ll go hit the dance floor.” Nath tore open a jeebie packet, scoffed one, and then looked at us with a grin. “I bet it’s storming up there already.”

  “All right, and if we want to hook up, let’s look for each other in the southeast corner of the third.” Athena pointed to the spot on the map so there was no confusion about which corner of the building she meant.

  “Class. Have a good time, girls.” Milan saluted and strolled off, happily eyeing up the punk chicks that he passed.

  A wide room had been converted into a pretty neat boarder area. Someone had cleverly arranged old benches and tables along the back wall in an ascending series of stacks. So the bolder riders were racing along those, touching the roof at the point where an had been sprayed, and then boarding down via the miscellaneous piles of bricks that had been thoughtfully arranged on the floor of the former ward. The room designer had also gone to the trouble of fixing a long metal pole about one meter off the ground, for a tricky grind.

  We watched for a while as the other boarders did their thing. Some of them weren’t bad, but no one could get to the end of the pole; it was badly placed to get a decent run at it. Or was it? Maybe it was meant to be hit only coming off the high drop.

  “I’m going for that full grind. See it?” I turned to Athena.

  “I think so, but it’s tough.” Then she raised her voice. “Coming through, ladies and gentlemen, the one and only, Ghost!”

  She liked to embarrass me.

  The boarders twisted and flicked their airboards out of my way to let me have a shot at the grind. I climbed fast and hard, wishing I had the board that Arnie had fixed up for me. Even so, I came off at the roof fast enough, tagging thesign with my fingers as I did so. Then I did what several of the other boarders had done, which was to use the narrow stub of a former rail fixing to get a further uphit and stay as high as I could. At this point, even the most daring of the others had cut back, trying to catch the start of the pole grind by making an S shape. But the loss of momentum with those two cuts was an insurmountable problem. I had a different idea and tipped myself over, flipping the board right over my head.

  Looping the loop outdoors is a good trick. Indoors it is completely insane, because there’s a moment when you get an unwanted push toward the ground from the roof. That kick while you are upside down will shove you off your board and give you a pretty nasty landing, with a good chance of breaking your arms, since you will be holding them out in front of you as you fall. Pretty nimble footwork is called for to work the on/off pad, especially considering you are upside down. I didn’t know any other boarder who risked it. But for me it wasn’t that dangerous. When I was on form, I felt as if the world was stopping and starting, giving me time to figure out my moves.

  Athena’s mouth was open, with amazement or concern; it’s hard to say when you are crouched with your knees above your head. Stop. The board’s polarity was off, no kick from the roof, just the momentum of my cartwheel. Start. On again, in time to catch me and set the grind in motion. Easy, really.

  At the far end of the pole, I just coasted to a stop and kicked up my board, rather shy now that the action was over. Everyone in the rest of the room was cheering and flashing fingers at me, which was a sign of approval that sort of meant awarding ten out of ten.

  “Thanks,” I said, not that anyone could have heard me over the cheers and cries. Then I ducked my head and carried the board back to Athena.

  “Nicely done.” She held out her knuckles, and I lightly slapped them with mine.

  “Class moves, Ghost, as always.” It was Carter, a big grin on his face.

  “Carter!” shrieked Athena, and then looked down, embarrassed. “I thought you’d be in jail or someplace terrible.”

  “Nah, I said I was sorry, like, to the Dark Queen herself, and she said: that’s cool dude, don’t do it again and stuff.” He swaggered, delighted with himself.

  “The Dark Queen? Incredible. What’s she like?” I was amazed but also worried. Slowly and carefully I scanned the room. I felt as though I had suddenly become the prey of an unseen hunter. Much as I was delighted to see that Carter had avoided serious grief, it troubled me that he had been brought to see the Dark Queen herself and was now walking around without a care.

  “She’s all right. A bit old for my taste. Kinda white and powdery with a big velvet dress.”

  “And she just let you walk?” Athena was surprised.

  I watched his eyes carefully. Had he done some kind of deal?

  “Yeah. It was that pirate girl they were asking about. Didn’t care much about the mall. Actually they never even asked me about it at all.”

  He was telling the truth, but I still felt nervous. Somewhere an alarm was flashing, demanding my attention. This building had hundreds, maybe thousands, of party people. One of them was a shark. With his cold, dead eyes, he was swimming through the building, searching for me. Don’t ask me how I knew; it was part of the gift that made me a master thief.

  Chapter 11

  DANGEROUS WATERS

  The stairwells were wide, but even so, you had to pick your way through the people sitting on them, talking, drinking, nodding their heads to one of the rhythms that came from deeper inside the building. Carter was gabbling nonstop to Athena. She wanted to know everything about the Dark Queen. I wanted to listen as well but was distracted by the noise and having to look at every face for my enemy.

  “What do you mean you’re living underground?”

  Milan was lounging on the stairwell with his arm draped around a young girl in a red tartan skirt, her face white with powder, something that made her purple cat’s-eye contacts even more striking. She was genuinely curious. It made me smile; Milan obviously had a new chat-up line.

  “Well, you know. Left home, hang out in a squat. Rob factories of gear for credits. That kind of thing.”

  “Milan!” Carter saw his old buddy.

  “Carter!” Milan jumped up and they did their knuckle thing. “Blood and thunder, mate—you out already?”

  “Yeah. I was talking to the Dark Queen, and I think she fancied me.”

  The tartan-skirted girl heard this and, with a shake of her head, got up. “There is so much bullshit in you punk guys. Really, why bother? I bet you live at home in your orange house, with your orange parents, doing your homework every night so your parents will let you come here and drink water out of a beer can.”

  She stormed off. Athena winked at me.

  “Really, mate, the Dark Queen?” Milan pretended to be oblivious to the girl’s departure.

  “Yeah, no lie. They were after that pirate woman. I reckon the rest of us are in the clear.”

  “Sweet. But still, living underground, man, it’s the life. You should join us. We’re entering an anarcho-punk airtank in Saturday’s race.”

  “Whoa! Count me in.” They did another knuckle slap, delighted in each other.

  “Come on, let’s find Jay and split. This place is creeping me out.” The others looked at me, surprised; they were enjoying themselves.

  “He’s not on for an hour. Maybe we should pick up Nath?” Athena was looking at the information on the handout.

  The dance room was impressive. It was a huge hall whose walls and roof had been painted to make you feel like you were floating in space. Stars, galaxies, and cascades of shooting meteorites drifted around the walls and across the roof, moving anim
ations that enfolded the whole crowd in a celestial embrace.

  “Trippy.” Carter gestured at the scene appreciatively.

  A band was just coming onstage to whistles and cheers. The lead guitarist acknowledged us with a wave. She struck a chord on her guitar and sustained it, letting the beats and resonance wash over us.

  “Feel that beautiful feedback,” she whispered into the mike.

  Boom!

  A bass beat so heavy the entire building shook.

  The room suddenly darkened. Only the floating constellations on the walls and roof gave out any light; all the windows were covered over, of course, so the mood was not undermined by the streetlamps. Here and there in the crowd, luminous designs on clothing gave a hint of aquamarine coloration to faces and bare arms. More than ever, I felt I was deep, deep, under the sea, with hidden eyes searching for me, looking out of an intensely dark cave. I drifted through the crowd, glancing at the dancers: alizarin-crimson glitter on the cheeks of a boy, chocolate lipstick on a girl, many eyes jittering with heeby-jeebie rush, mouths parted in expectation, shirts damp with sweat from the intensity of the earlier dancing. No shark. No Nathan.

  Boom!

  Heads nod. Bubbles descend from the roof, their oily rainbow colors drawing sighs of pleasure and smiles from all around. A boy’s shirt is writhing with manganese-blue coils; it makes me think of underwater fronds, and I find the association disturbing. He sees me watching and smiles, proud, thinking I am admiring him.