The Book of Dave (58 page)

The evidence of flying was overwhelming, not merely against the accused but also the Lawyer of Blunt. If he had been hoping
to escape the censure of the Public Carriage Office by reason of his status or connections, then he was rudely mistaken. To
the accompaniment of loud didduloodoos double doors were opened into the inspection pit and a cab was lugged in. Carl gasped,
for through its barred windows he could see a sharp, commanding profile, a pendant earring, a clawed hand and a bloody gash
where an eye should be. It was the Exile – the Luvvie Joolee Blunt herself. Seeing his wife so arraigned, the Lawyer made haste
to quit the gallery. Sturdy chaps seized him and the few remaining members of his circle. The Chief Examiner's voice boomed
out over the forecourt:

– No daddy or mummy may defy the Changeover! He gestured at the cab: The evidence of this contemptible wretch has been extracted
under torture. All over London – he rose and his mirror flashed – the members of your chellish conspiracy are at this very
moment being arrested! Take these flyers to the Tower!

Once the Blunts and their followers had been removed the Chief Examiner turned his attention on Carl and Antonë. He pushed
his mirror away from his face and confronted them with his sweaty and distorted sneer. Judgement was nigh:

– Az 2 U 2 – the harsh Mokni consonants cut like knives through the thickening atmosphere of the forecourt – U lì, U cheet,
U R trayters, U R fliars. U raze up ve toyist an drag dahn ve dävyn! He drew a scrap of black cloth from a fold of his robe
and slapped it on to his bald wig. He parted his robe so that the sign of the Wheel was clearly visible on the sweaty breast
of his T-shirt. He drew himself up to his full height and pronounced terrifying anathema on them:

– U wil B taykun bakk 2 ve Towa an brökun on ve Weel. Yaw tungs wil B cú aht. U wil B brandid an ung aht 2 dye inna box! Tayk
em dahn! Ware2, guv? he bellowed.

– 2 Nú Lundun, the forecourt responded in a subdued fashion.

When the sweatbox door was yanked open, booze reek surged into its boiling confines. It was only the middle of the second
tariff, but the warders at the Tower were already mullered. They left Böm chained in the sweatbox, then lashed and kicked
Carl along narrow brick corridors and up spiral stone staircases, until they reached a cell high up in the white keep. There
they taunted him while swigging their jack. Yaw juss annuva lyttul mummy, cried the ringleader, a burly bloke with thick,
black stubble, an thass wy Eyem gonna fukk U up ve garri. He grabbed Carl's mop of hair and banged his head against the wall.

Oodoo U luv, mummy?! he yelled. Oodoo U luv?!

Carl, through blood and tears, screamed back, Dave, Eye luv Dave!

Mercifully, by the time the third warder stepped forward and undid the heavy wheel-shaped buckle of his belt, Carl Dévúsh
had lost consciousness.

He regained it to the sound of a peculiar neighing sound. Looking up from where he lay on the stinking straw, he saw Antonë's
bare, bulbous chin trembling in the gloom. The teacher was sobbing. Seeing that Carl was awake, he crawled over to him, his
fetters chinking, and, taking the lad's battered head, cradled it against his tank. They stayed like that for a long while,
Carl drifting in and out of the hateful present. He was a toddler once more, beneath him was the broad, bristly back of old
Gorj rising and falling as they bumbled through the woodlands of beloved Ham.

Midway through the third tariff the heavy bolt rasped and the cell door was yanked open. Looking up, Carl and Antonë saw familiar
foxy features nose into the cell – it was Terri. Blymee, he exclaimed, seeing them huddled on the floor, dishevelled and filthy,
U R fukkedup orlrì! He had a bottle of jack, and, even though the fumes made Carl retch, Terri forced him to take a swig.
Then he did vomit. O Dave! Terri cried, ees onlì gon an lunged up, iss gonna stink in ere! Böm glanced nervously towards the
open door. Noticing this, Terri gave a bitter laugh:

– Vat Ió? Veyv ad vair legovah an nah vair sleepin.

– But what if we were to –

– Escayp? Terri laughed again. Ardlee lyklee – ware woodjoo go 2? U R gafferless, U av no Lawd aw Dryva, no estayt aw manna
aw Shelta. Evree standard an decco in ve ole cittee as yer böts on í – ware woodjoo scayp 2?

Pulling himself to his feet and brushing the soiled straw from his clothes, Antonë confronted the sinister little dad:

– Who are you? he demanded. Just tell us, who are you?

–
Oo am Eye? Terri cackled again. Oo am Eye? Thass gúd, thass veri gúd. Eyl tel U oo Eye am – tel U in pertikular. He fixed
his gaze on Carl. C viss? He pulled a thong from his T-shirt. From it dangled a Davework identical to the toyist one that
Salli Brudi had found by the giant's house on Ham. It spun in the dim light that came from the cell door. Eym yaw öl mans
fare, thass oo Eye am. Terri's eyes shone. Eym ve Geezers bloke 100%. Eye woz wivvim ere, Eye sayvd im from ve Weel az long az Eye cúd, an wen … an wen … he said, faltering, wen vay tookim Eye kepp ve fayf.

– But why? Böm expostulated. Why, dad? Why did you tell us none of this until now? He stepped forward threateningly, but Carl's
croaky voice stopped him:

– U, U say vey tookim, Terri – tookim ware, ware2, guv?

– Wy oam, ovcaws, oam 2 iz manna. To Terri it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Bak 2 Am, thass ware vey tookim.

Carl and Antonë looked at each other first in shock, then in wonderment and finally in shameful despair. The pathetic figure
with his matted hair clambering over the rocks of Nimar to get a cuddle from the motos. The red cave of mouth, the stump of
tongue struggling to form the most significant of words.

– Ve Beestlimun! Carl gasped. Í woz ve Beestlimun awl ve tym, an we woz rì vare wivvim … an vey, ve dads, vey nú, vey awlways
nú!

– Caws vey nú! Terri snorted. Caws vey nú, vey ad ve powa, mì sun, an powa iz nolidj.

Now Böm did advance and grab the potman's arm:

– The Book, Terri, the Book given to Symun Dévúsh by Dave, the Book he called over – the Book he said Dave took back. Do you
know of it? Do you think it ever existed, did you see it? Tell us, dad, tell us!

Terri shook himself free and said:

– Eyel tel yer, ee ad a chaynjyngbag, yaw dad, ee awlways kepp í wivvim – sepp 4 iz peerunces, ven Eye kepp í 4 im.

– Did you look in it?

–
Nah, nah, Eye nevah did, coz í wurnt abaht ve Buk, í woz abaht im. Ee woz a grayt bloak, yaw dad, ee ad reel bottul. Ee nevah
Btrayd no 1, nó eevun wen vey … wen vey ad im on ve Weel… The tough old cockney couldn't go on; he took a slug of
jack to mask his intense emotion, for he was crying.

Carl was crying as well. Eyel nevah av ve bottul ee did – Eye no vat. Eym skard, Eym skard uv ve Weel – ítul brayk me . .
.

Terri shuffled through the straw and laid an arm on the lad's shoulders:

– Doan U wurri abaht vat, mì sun, he said. U aynt gonna B on no bluddë Weel. Eyev gó í awl sawtid – yaw goin oam inall.

– Simma dahn! he said, raising his hands. Eyev payd ve scroos, Eyev payd ve seeseeteevee men, Eyev payd ve gaffer uv a privateer
inall. Ees layin off Tilbury 2nyt an ee sayls fer ve Swizz mayne at furst foglamp wivva commishun from ve King imself, 2 ava
crakk at vair traydin pedalos. Eel ava cuppuluv xtra passinjas on bawd, a cuppuluv Inspektahs wiv a mös unUshul creetyur –

– Tyga! Carl cried. Cannit B tnú?

It was. Terri had sought out the warden at Bedlam and paid him generously for the freakish beast.

– Yaw dad, he explained to Carl, ee toll me abaht ve motos, an ee sed vey eld ve kë. Ee sed vey woz dävyn creetyurs, appi
an surcúre lyke kiddees wúd av bin wivaht ve Braykup an ve Chaynjova. Ee sed wotevah Ls appened, az longaz vair wur motos
on Am vair woz stil oap fur ve wurld.

As he struggled out of the filthy cloakyfing and into the Inspector's robes Terri presented him with, Carl began to sob again.
He was cursing himself for a fool, thinking of how he had travelled all this way to find a father who had been there all the
time. There all the time, on the far side of the sound, looking towards Ham. Perhaps even in his shattered mind Symun Dévúsh
had been seeking for the son he'd never even known he'd had, while Carl, even when he'd come face to face with his dad, had
failed to recognize him.

Böm's thoughts were upon other things, for even in the midst of flight his speculative mind had got the better of him and
he was drifting inside of himself to where he could hear the second Book screaming from the rocks of Nimar. If it's still
there … Böm was thinking … if it's still there it might yet have the power to shake the PCO to the very core. It might
explain us to ourselves … Ingland – even the world entire … For in these turbulent times is there not a rabid curiosity
for such things, and would not even the most dävine Dävists be forced thereby into a novel apperception of history? A second
Book could prove beyond any doubt that Ham was the cradle of our faith … Undermine the pretended claims of the dävidic
line … Circumscribe the very turning circle of the PCO itself…

At South Dock, under the blank face of No. 1 Canada Square, there was a pedalo waiting for them. The posse formed a protective
circle around the fugitives, who exchanged hurried embraces with their saviour.

– Wot wil appen 2 U? Carl asked, but the wily cockney only laughed:

– Nevah U mynd, Eyev lastid viss long in Lundun, Eye rekkun Eyel stä ve disstunce.

– Fanks 4 evryfyng! Carl called across the widening watery gulf – but he could not have said whether Terri heard him, for
the ebb tide had already caught the frail craft and they were being swept around the Greenwich peninsula beneath the massive
curved walls of the Millennium Dome. Within units the Barrier was in sight and the pedalo, like the common shag flying close
to the swell that Carl had seen upon his arrival in London, shot between the two central pontoons and out into the Thames
estuary. Ahead the foglamp was switching on, its beam dabbing the racing waters with bloody smears, while behind New London
– with all its madness and cruelty – sank in their wake.

The
Fairway
was a three-masted ferry built for speed with long, clean lines. It was armed with twenty shooters for the cut and run of
combat on the high seas. The crew were the usual band of rapscallions – chavs, pikeys, coloureds and gafferless dads. Mercifully
many of them had been snipped, so even if they could mouth off among themselves, they were prevented from asking the odd pair
of Inspectors awkward questions. The gaffer, a hard-faced dad with a wooden leg and long jet-black hair, played along with
Carl and Antonë's imposture. He's a freebooter, Böm explained when they were alone in their cabin, he owes no more fealty
to the King than you or I.