Continuing to descend

"Continuing to descend"

"Good morning, "said October heartily to his new friend, "My, it's
frosty out here. "

Deane blinked a little, still not used to being up at this hour. The
events of the last month were all very confusing and his mind had not
yet had time to settle. He had been sitting at home, listening to music
and when two middle-aged gentlemen had come into the room.
Specifically, he had been listening to "Stan" and singing the chorus in
a strained high-pitched voice, badly.

* * *

The two men waited outside the door, the one with long hair and keen
eyes waiting for instructions from the other, who was elegant and
precise, with well groomed hair. This wasn't supposed to have happened.
The details of Anthony's handover had been calculated. The chosen
selector had been waiting, ready to assume her duties. Nobody had
expected that when they dragged Anthony back out of the tunnel, that
his hands would be as lumps of coal, charred black lumps, no use to
anyone. November had cursed Anthony March, even as he lay dying before
him.

Tracing spells were fairly simple, child's play for men as experienced
as November and January. They had been led to this flat and knew that
their new man was inside. He probably didn't even know it yet, but he
would learn. November had been in favour of killing him, returning to
the old plan, but January would have none of it.

January placed his hands on the door and pushed. But rather than the
door resisting, he just melted through it and November did
likewise.

Once inside, they had important things to tell the young man with
bleached white hair. News about his new position and the Company and
the Wonder.

* * *

All sorts of memories had been coming to him over the last weeks,
memories that should have been no part of him. They were real and
vivid, but they weren't things he had ever done or places he had ever
been. He found that his thoughts were permanently racing, spending
every minute of the day in that fierce concentration that usually
occurs in small bursts in exams or when examining a balance printout
from a cash machine and wondering what you spent ?18.42 on six days
ago. It was rather painful.

Actually, it was more painful than anything else Deane had experienced,
but after a while, his brain had stopped saying every few seconds 'this
hurts, this really hurts' and just got on with things quietly.

Some of the memories involved the two respectable men who had then
taken him away to a park in London that he didn't recognise and later
couldn't find on any map; a park that he later remembered vividly in
someone else's memories that happened now to be stored alongside his
own.

* * *

"I am Edward January, " the elegant man told him with grave solemnity,
leading him into what seemed like a Gentleman's Club, "You have much to
think about. Welcome to the Company. "

Deane wasn't at all sure about the other man, who he felt disliked him
from the first moment they had met. He seemed to have a permanent
glower attached to him. Edward had shown Deane a room that he felt
utterly comfortable in. A study, crammed with books and jars and
charts. It was predominantly green, a deep relaxing green colour. Deane
could feel himself becoming more intelligent as he looked around the
room. It felt part of him.

"This is your study, " January said, "I'm sure most of it will come
back to you in a few days. I'm sorry to have to rush you through the
tour, but the Committee are meeting this afternoon and they will all be
keen to meet you. "

"Ah, January, this is all getting a bit weird. Maybe I'll just say
goodbye now."

January handed him a printout, a bank statement. It was his own bank
account, he could recognise the Switch payments for pizzas, the direct
debits for rent and Sky television. What was more unfamiliar to Deane
was the four hundred and sixty-eight thousand pounds that had been paid
into the account.

"Your predecessor was very good with money, " January told him, with a
thin smile, "He was able to invest for the long-term. When you
inherited his position, you inherited his assets as well. I believe
there are two nice houses that now belong to you. "

Deane gaped, looking over and over again at the printout, "Well, maybe
I'll just take my inheritance and leave all this weird stuff for
someone else. "

January smiled, even more thinly this time, "Well, we need a March.
There is much to be done and we are in need of you. The only way we can
get another March is, forgive me, over your dead body. If we need to,
that IS what will happen. "

He then took part in a Committee meeting with eleven other people, all
of whom seemed fascinated by him. He had some sense of recognition with
all of them, but in a distorted way. He seemed to know exactly how he
felt about some of them, whether they were rivals or close friends or
people he didn't much care for, but had no idea of any of their names.
There were large oil paintings on the wall of each of them and one
painting of a man who wasn't there.

Deane had recognised this man as Anthony, a regular client. At the
meeting, he seemed to understand with some part of his mind what was
being said, although the part that was still Deane could not grasp it
at all.

It was too much like travelling on a bus in deep fog - through the
windows shapes loomed which could have been familiar landmarks, but it
was hard to tell exactly where you were. Deane surprised himself by
contributing quite a lot to the meeting, some of it his own thoughts
about modern technology and how it could benefit the Company, others
were thoughts of another man and seemed incomprehensible.

Over the weeks, more and more had come back, but it was very odd. He
had no idea how much more was to come; he had no idea whether the
feeling of his mind being like a shared house would fade or stay.

The gist of what these thoughts of other people told him seemed to be
that the Company was a group of people who had gained powers and
knowledge and were custodians of a strange world which co-existed with
the everyday.

Deane became aware that he had gained access to this secret world by
virtue of being the last person to touch Anthony's palm before he died;
although it wasn't at all clear what Anthony had died of. Whenever
Deane tried to access these thoughts of Anthony's last moments, he
became very nauseated and giddy and soon had to turn his mind to other
things.

* * *

"Confusing, isn't it? "said October in a kind voice, being well aware
what Deane was thinking about.

"You know? "

October gave a low laugh, "Oh yes Deane. I haven't always been a member
of the Company. I inherited such small knowledge as I have from another
man and I remember how acquiring the learning made me feel. Rather like
being on a small boat in a bad storm. Seasick, you know. "

Deane agreed, this seemed to sum up what he was feeling, "You called me
Deane. Everyone else calls me March. "

"I will too, if you would prefer. But it struck me that you have been
Deane all your life and March only for a few weeks. I have been October
far longer than I have been Bernard, so that seems more natural. I
suppose the other reason is that I had known the old March for a very
long time, so I still find it a little sad to think of him. "

They stopped walking for a moment as October knelt down to tie his
shoelace, "Oh, I understand that you've installed a computer at Saffron
Park. I expect that ruffled some feathers. "

Deane laughed, "Yes, January and August were muttering a bit when I
carried the box upstairs. I just thought it would help with things.
Somehow I knew the sorts of things to look for on the net. "

October finished tying his shoelace and stood up, "And what have you
found?"

"Well, lots of odd stuff. I mean, everything has been odd in the last
month, all this for example. But odder than that. Stuff that seems odd
to the new parts of me too. Last Tuesday, Glasgow and Edinburgh swapped
places for eighty seconds. Hardly anyone noticed, only a few people who
were driving in and out of the cities at the time, but some of them
told people in e-mails. At the same time, all of the fish in the London
Aquarium became transparent and then returned to normal. "

"Interesting, "said October, smoothing his beard and starting to walk
down the street once more, "I've no doubt that you had lots of other
odd things registered on the site, but you've picked out two that are
significant. Traces of the old March recognised their importance.
"

"If they're significant, "Deane said slowly, "What is it they
signify?"

"Well, as omens go, they aren't good ones. "

It was obvious that October was not going to say any more on the
subject, but Deane could see that he was troubled. Deane instead asked
another question that had been troubling him, "I know that Anthony
handed on his... well, whatever it was he had, but I can also feel him,
sort of. In my head. And more distantly, other people too. "

"There have been many other Marches, "October told him, "And each time,
a trace of the old March is passed to the new. They fade as they get
older. In time, you will know everything that Anthony knew and be able
to perform his duties. I think, perhaps a little better than he did.
Some of Anthony's personality will stay with you, blend with your own.
"

Deane felt in his pockets for a cigarette, but he had none with him. He
felt a little sick at the idea of other people living in his head, even
as memories.

"I'm not sure I want to only have a half-share in my personality. I
mean, I LIKE my personality. Hardly anyone else liked it, but it was
fine for me. Jesus. What was Anthony like? What am I going to be
like?"

"We're all different, "said October, passing him a cigarette, although
October never smoked, "All of us have different fields and we all have
different fears and desires. For example, April likes to organise,
January likes to be in charge of things and I like to make people
happy. "

"And March?"

"March likes to know things."

* * *

Deane lit his cigarette, not at all sure what to make of all this. He
took a deep drag on it and wondered how he had got himself into this
situation. The two men had paused outside Russell Square tube station.
October paid for two tickets and they went through, heading for the
escalators.

"Don't get off, "October said to Deane March quietly, as he gently
tugged at Deane's sleeve, "When we get to the bottom, just don't get
off. "

Of course, Deane wondered what October was talking about, but he did as
instructed and as they reached the bottom and people in front of them
began walking towards the trains, Deane and October continued to
descend, the escalator steps solid beneath their feet, but they
themselves becoming insubstantial and descending through the floor to a
vast cavity beneath.

"The underground system, "remarked October, "Inspired by the Company,
years ago. I must say that January worked very hard on that one,
lunching with all the right people, coming up with the finances and
government backing. It did make it a lot easier to get around. "

Deane looked around in astonishment, the escalator continued to descend
below them, stretching on for what seemed like a quarter of a mile, far
longer than any escalator he had ever seen. Above them, the ceiling
seemed as solid as any other. Deane could hear the whoosh of trains,
both above and more worryingly, below.

"How could January be responsible for the London underground? That was
built, like, in Victorian times. "

"True enough, "said October, holding tightly to the handrail, for he
was more than a little afraid of heights, "The London Underground was
made in the nineteenth century. But so were January and I, and many of
the others. Time moves differently for the Committee. I generally
celebrate one birthday every twelve years. The City beneath the City
has been here as long as London itself, perhaps longer. The dual
Underground is just a better way of travelling from piece to piece.
"

They reached the bottom of the escalator and made their way through a
yellow-tiled tunnel towards a platform and train-tracks. There was a
map pasted along the platform walls.

Deane read along the line on the map; Grudge, Russell Square, Softness,
Hasty Decision, Wringing, Lost Property, Misfortune, Fooled By Lust,
Collision. The last one didn't sound too promising and he very much
hoped that they would be getting off before that stop.

The train pulled in and the doors sighed open. Deane and October
boarded and found leather straps to hang from. Deane was puzzled at how
many people were already aboard the train and asked October why the
train had so many people on it.

"They all work for the Company, "said October, "Although they don't
realise it. They are not real people, they are shades of real people.
Men and women who are mad, or daydreaming, or intoxicated or
unconscious, or in comas. While they are not using their brains, we
borrow them to do the Company's work, and they never know of it.
"

"Like how your computer can link with others to solve complex equations
in the downtime when you're not actually using it? "

"Exactly, " October told him, "I can't say I'm entirely happy with this
as an ethical consideration. It always smacks a little of slavery to
me, but that is the way it's always been. All the Company has done is
harness the workforce of shades in a different way, more organised.
"

Some people got off at the first stop, Softness and Deane and October
were able to take a seat.

"Now, we'll be getting off in a few stops. There are some rules and
some basic protections. Be very careful with the shades. Somehow,
unconsciously, they know of the rules and of the Committee. Each of
them would love to leave their menial work behind and sit on the
Committee instead. Exchange places with you. "

"How would they do that? "asked Deane, in some fear as he inched away
from the shades that were sitting near him.

"Two ways, "said October, "If they can induce you to touch their tools
or their work, they will be free and you will be enslaved to carry out
their task. But the second is worse. You know that the last person to
touch a Committee member's hand before they die acquires their powers
and position. "

"Yes, "said Deane, slowly, "I wanted to tell you something about that.
"

"Perhaps later. Well, if one of the shades can manage to touch your
naked palm, they will kill you instantly. Without hesitation. It is a
dream opportunity for them. "

October carefully removed some objects from his pockets, four playing
cards and four elastic bands, "Give me your hands."

He placed a playing card on the palm of Deane's right hand and then
slipped the elastic band over it tightly, then did the same with the
left hand. Deane noticed that October was very careful not to actually
touch Deane's skin. October then did the same with his own hands, a
procedure which should have been a little fiddly, but October did it
with practised ease.

"The playing cards are charmed, but they also serve as a reminder to
you not to be careless with your hands. A good lesson in general in the
world you now walk in. "

"I need to tell you, or someone at least, "said Deane awkwardly,
"Anthony and I, we weren't friends or anything. He was just someone I
sold drugs to. He didn't choose me or anything. I just sold him some
stuff. "

October nodded, "That doesn't surprise me. Anthony, as I have said, was
very interested in knowledge. People think the mind gathers information
for us, but in reality it is a valve, a filter, shutting out 95\% of
what it collects, to feed us a thin stream of things, so that we can
cope. Some say that drugs close down that filter, so that we can see
how things really are, rather than how our brains feel we can best
cope. Anthony would have been interested in learning more, perhaps in
seeing the Wonder as it really is, not just the thin slice our brain
permits us to experience. "

Deane rubbed his chin, this was all getting too strange for him, "But,
aren't you bothered that I've got into your Committee and I'm just a
drug-dealer? "

* * *

It is eight o'clock at night, the streets are slick with rain and a
young woman with a pretty face kneels giddily in the road, her car keys
still dangling limply from her hand. Why had she drunk that extra glass
of wine?

The man is laid out on the road, just a bundle of moans and clothes, he
had fairly bounced off her car before she had slammed the brakes on.
There isn't much blood coming out of him, but she can see that things
aren't looking good for him; his bones are at unnatural angles.

He makes some sort of gurgling noise and she bends closer to hear what
he is trying to tell her.

"Please, " he says, "Hold my hand."

* * *

The doctor has never seen anything like this before. He draws a green
curtain around the bed. The man in the bed came in two hours before,
complaining that his legs felt heavy, chalky. It had taken three nurses
to lift him into the bed, his legs seeming to be far too heavy.

As time had gone on, the doctor had examined the patient, who only gave
the name of August. His skin seemed to be hardening, from the ankles up
and becoming whiteish grey in colour.

The doctor tries all sorts of things, but his thoughts are
predominantly on the fame that this case might bring him. It seemed as
though his patient were slowly petrifying. The patient has all sorts of
odd requests, but none of these strike the doctor as being worth
trying. The patient struggles to get out of the bed, with his heavy
legs, but the doctor pushes him back and injects him with a sedative.
It is against all the rules, but the doctor is curious to see how this
case will develop. This is the case that will make his career.

Later, the man is dead. He is marble, so heavy that the mattress sags
and buckles beneath his statuesque form. His eyes are blank and his
skin is white and hard. The doctor himself feels strange, as though he
knows hundreds of new things and a little bit as though he is outside
his own body, looking at his body on the bed, although that can't be
right.

* * *

In the 'real world', the world above the surface, Matthew is drunk on
cheap sherry. He has been living on the streets for a few months now
and keeps a knife for protection. He hunkers down by the Thames, liking
to be near the river.

Downstairs, beneath, under, his shade is working for the Company,
harvesting the Wonder, doing its bidding. A man sweeps past, wearing a
dark cloak, fastened at the neck with a silver badge. He seems to be of
an age long gone, a Victorian mill-owner.

Matthew's shade doesn't even think, he is on the man in an instant,
plunging a thin knife into his heart, pressing his hand against the
other's palm while the life floods out of him.

* * *

"So, that's April, August and September, " said October, "You are
hardly the worst of the recent successors. And that is leaving aside
the sordid matter of how the rest of us gained our positions. "

There was something in October's eyes that Deane was slightly troubled
by, without knowing why.

"Tell me about the Wonder, " Deane asked.

October told him, as much as he should know at this early stage, "The
Wonder is a force of nature. Like gravity, or friction. But more
powerful than any of these things. The best description is that it is a
source of power and magic. But it needs to be managed carefully, things
have to be done for it. "

"And that's why the Company took shape?"

"Exactly. Nobody really knows how long the Company has been going. My
researches tell me that Kit Marlowe was a member and I think it goes
back even before him. When you read Faustus, you can tell that he had
seen things other men had not. But, there is another side to the
Wonder. Some of us call it the Terror. But we are very childish, with
our secrets and names and meetings. Whatever it is, it is powerful and
we should be wary of it. "

"My own theory is that improper use of magic fuels the Terror. Magic
for selfish ends, like materialising through doors rather than
knocking, like using suicides matches to conjure banquets - all of this
makes the Terror grow strongly. "

"Rubbish, " said Deane, instantly in a voice that was not his
own.

"Hello Anthony, " said October, "So, we're still arguing on this point.
Anthony thinks that he can sense the Truth when he hears it. On some
matters Deane, I think he is wrong. "

Deane scowled, "I've had enough of all this. My usual plans would be -
get up late, can of Red Bull, slice of cold pizza, few games of Tony
Hawks 2, listen to some music. Suddenly I'm supposed to be a player in
a battle between good and evil. I never wanted to be Luke Skywalker,
you know. I'm more of a Han Solo myself, just get the reward and go.
January said there was no way to resign this position - is that
right?"

October looked at him with sad eyes, "It is simple to leave. All you
need do is shake someones hand and then get yourself killed. Nothing
could be easier. "

"Not really an option, " said Deane, grudgingly, "I guess I'm here for
a while then. "

"A few whiles, " said October, "If you're careful. This is our stop, I
think. "