Chapter 15

On awakening, the alley in which we had been sleeping seemed if anything rather less inviting in the early morning light. I looked over to Beta who was still sleeping. Clearly she was rather less accustomed to the comfort of modern mattresses, duvets and electric blankets than me, and even without clothes to wrap around her had succeeded in slumbering through the chill night air and the now rather more insistent, if distant, roar of traffic. We were far from alone: a family of horse-shoe crabs was dozing fairly close to our elbows even though I had been totally unaware of their presence until then. A scrawny goat was wandering down the alleyway towards us, poking his muzzle into the waste bins and pulling out unappetising items of food and chewed them in his mouth with little discretion and less relish. I watched as the goat gradually approached us, and nudged Beta to wake up.

She stared at me through a bleary film of sleep and smiled sadly. "The second night of sleeping rough!" She remarked. "We mustn't make this too much of a habit."

"Indeed not," I agreed, standing up and helping her to her feet. "What we need now is breakfast."

Beta yawned, blinking her sleep-swollen eyes. "That would be very welcome!" She glanced up and down the alley, where the goat was now joined by a ewe with a pronounced limp and a rolled cigarette dangling from her mouth. The two of them nuzzled through the dustbins and black plastic rubbish bags. "Where shall we go?"

I didn't know any better than Beta, but we followed the trail of narrow back-roads past others who were waking up from a night of uncomfortable rest. I had never before seen such a sorry collection of ragged sleeping bags and unravelling blankets, any one of which, nonetheless, would have been extremely welcome when I was trying to sleep. Eventually, we emerged into an area of much wider and busier roads. However, it was apparent that we were in a quite different part of the City than the one where we'd arrived the previous day.

What had most impressed us when we had come off the train was the grandeur, scale and opulence of the City. Everything was so shining, bright and modern. Here, however, the atmosphere was noted more for its poverty and dereliction. Although the roads were busy, this was mainly of vehicles drawn by sheep or goats or ancient bicycles. The cacophony of bicycle bells and occasional klaxon swamped the roar of car engines which in any case belonged to vehicles that were very old, rusted and barely roadworthy. The uneven pavement was constructed of badly cracked flagstones and potholed by menacing holes where black water festered from past rain showers. Along the kerb were the occasional lamp-posts, some standing at peculiar angles to the horizontal and many with wires dangling loose from vandalised lamps.

The buildings shared the same general air of dereliction. Many shops had boards covering the windows or were rimmed by sharp icicles of glass. Those windows that were still intact were protected from vandalism by panels. The places where people lived were equally as unwelcoming and decrepit. The buildings were not nearly as tall as most of those we'd seen the day before, but still much taller than any to be found in the Suburbs.

All the walls were luridly decorated by aerosol graffiti which in imaginative graphic letters and interesting flourishes said nothing either comprehensible or pertinent. RamRods. Claw Killer. Pretty as Sugar. Some graffiti were more understandable and complemented the faded Election posters for the Red, Black and Illicit Parties. Reds Roger. Blacks Suck. Cats Out. Rivers of Black. Every inch of wall underneath and between the thickening and peeling coat of posters was splattered with aerosol paint, and most posters were obscenely defaced.

"I don't feel very welcome here," shivered Beta, huddling up close to me. "I don't like the way people are looking at me."

The goats balanced above our head on unsteady scaffolding, the small crabs in overalls scattering by my feet and the chimpanzee sitting idly on the stairs all appeared more intent on their own thoughts than on us, but now that Beta had put the thought into my mind it did seem to me that we were followed by suspicious eyes as we walked along. A gang of baboons in black leather outfits and motor-cycle helmets blocked the way as they strode slowly along. As we overtook them one scowled extremely menacingly at me, sending a bolt of static through my cheeks.

We stopped for breakfast at a ramshackle van parked beside the remains of a demolished building enclosed by a ring of high electric wire and boards warning people not to enter the site. More ominously were the silhouetted illustrations of a figure being hit by lightening and the unsubtle warning Danger of Death. Two or three vultures ignored the signs and perched on top of what had once been the main entrance to a large building, where they were smoking some exceedingly long cigarettes and playing idly with flick knives.

Breakfast was cheaper than we had become accustomed to. We each had coffee in paper cups which were difficult to hold without spilling some of the hot tasteless liquid and scalding our fingers. We shared a couple of white bread sandwiches stuffed with brown sauce, onions and a very fine sliver of cheese. The whole breakfast came to just over fifteen guineas.

We surveyed the district from the corner of the demolition site, across a road junction controlled by a very busy octopus in a police uniform, to the distant sight of the taller and grander buildings of the City. Although they were clearly within sight, they seemed very distant and remote. Peeling Election posters were everywhere, some blown by the wind across the grimy unwashed streets against doorways and into the alleyways which led off the main streets at regular intervals. A collection of lambs and kids were gathered outside a school, wearing baseball caps put on back to front and words ornately shaved into their fleeces. A small square of grass was locked in behind railings in which a few sparrows had gathered around a statue of an eminent hadrosaur and idly played cards near a hamster in a threadbare overcoat slumped in a puddle of vomit and urine.

Beta pointed at the tall buildings in the distance, while chewing at a mouthful of obdurate dough. "It's incredible to think that the City has such great variety! There's so much wealth over there while here everything is squalid and rundown."

"I hope you're not putting down the flipping City?" abruptly interjected a large raven with a flat cap on his head. "You blinking yokels, you come from the blooming Country and all you can flipping well do is flipping complain. I'm City born and bred, me! And I'm proud of it. There's nowhere in the world as good as what the City is!"

"I wasn't saying that I didn't like the City..." protested Beta looking down at the match stick protruding from the corner of raven's beak.

"Yes, you was! I heard you! Blinking ingrates, you Country people. If it wasn't for us in the City working hard and making money all you Country people would know it. You don't bring sweet fanny adams into the realm. How can you? Everything in the Country is just so blinking cheap. Cheap in price and cheap in quality. It's us what bring in the wealth with all our banks and business and things."

"I was just saying that it was strange how much wealthier that part of the City is compared to this part."

"Whyn't you say? That's different. A totally different bowl of lard, as they say. Yeah, over there is where the nobs live. They're the ones with all the blinking money. And what do they leave us, the workers? Not fanny adams, that's what! They've got all that money and all those blinking tall buildings and snooty shops and we're left with all the slums. Well, now we've got the Reds in government at long last and those blinking nobs had better look out. We'll get their hundred thousand guinea carpets, their million guinea clothes, their ten million guinea houses. It's all for the blinking workers now, ain't it!"

"That ain't quite what the Red Party said they'd do in their manifesto, John," remarked a billy goat in an ill-fitting sports tracksuit and large soled running shoes. "That ain't what they said they'd do. It might be what you want them to do, but it ain't what they said they'd do. But God in Heaven, I wouldn't mind it if it was, you know what I mean? I wouldn't say no to some of the other slice of the pie, me. I work hard all me life, you know what I mean, and I never ain't got nothing for it. And there are those like Her blinking Maphrodite what do nothing and get loads of dosh. I'd like some of the action, I can tell you."

We left the goat and raven debating and walked along the road in the general direction of the tall buildings, looking forward to the return to the relative comfort of the more touristic City. We passed a pack of hyenas who were feasting on some rotting meat, left outside a butcher's shop which had suffered from very severe vandalism. The more literate graffiti Meat Is Murder was sprayed around it, an opinion not shared by the hyenas. One raised his head from the antelope carcass he was feasting on, blood coursing down his jowls, and glared at us malevolently. Although it was unlikely that either Beta or I would consider challenging him for a taste of the red and pink raw flesh, he appeared to be warning us off just in case.

We passed by the steps of a tall apartment block even more derelict than most but not boarded up or chicken-wired. Most windows had lost their glass but several people were idly leaning out, regarding the world going by. A babble of audio systems resonated from inside, broadcasting very aggressive songs in which no shortage of profane or obscene words were expressing a philosophy of hatred towards women and police officers, and a worship of drugs and guns. Several people lay in the sun on the steps staring blankly into space and making no effort to converse with each other.

We walked on looking for somewhere to sit down and rest, preferably without spending any money. There were none of the benches or parks that had been around the previous day, although more people were sitting about; but they did so on the pavement or on the steps leading up to their homes.

There suddenly erupted an outburst of noise that didn't emanate from an audio system, although it echoed the same aggressive sentiments. I couldn't see the source of the shouting until Beta prodded me and pointed several storeys up a metal fire-escape that wound perilously around the steep walls. A black ram with magnificent horns and RAIDERS shaved into his fleece was facing up to a group of coyotes in baseball jackets and sharp knives. There was no actual violence, but a great deal of shouting, much peppered with sexual allusion.

We hastened on down the road, past women of all species languorously strolling along with no apparent purpose. They wore a thick coating of makeup, revealed much of their breasts, legs and genitals, and on occasion got into or emerged from the car doors of remarkably slow drivers. One car slowed down near us, and the man driving it stuck his head out of the window and yelled at Beta.

"How much, lovie? What's your rate?"

"What do you mean?" asked Beta automatically, not slowing her stride.

"What d'you do? 'O' do you? D'you do 'A'? 'F&S' at all?"

"I don't know what you mean?"

"Don't come the old C.T. with me, lovie! I just want to know what you're offering."

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" gasped Beta, suddenly understanding him and grabbing my hand in a gesture of attachment. "I'm not offering anything to anyone!"

The driver sneered, and drove forward to another woman, dressed in nothing but black stockings and a woollen scarf. This woman immediately responded to his enquiries by leaning her arms on the window of the car door and negotiating with him.

"We walk with a swagger. And we walk with a grin. If there's any flipping trouble, we're the first ones in!" chanted some young people marching towards us carrying banners. "We Are The Illicit Boot Boys!"

The banners carried signs with such single word slogans as Rupert, Truth and Illicit. Some more elaborate signs depicted characters with blood streaming from recently demolished faces over such slogans as Smash The Reds! and Reds May Rule But They Haven't Won! Their cries and shouting broke their doggerel rhythm into a chaos of shouts in which the words Truth and Rupert were most prominent. It briefly came together with the chant: "Tee. Ah. You. Tee. Aitch. We need the Truth and the Truth needs us!"

"It's those horrid Illicit Party people again!" Beta remarked fearfully. "But what is this about the Truth?"

I told Beta about my visit to the town of Rupert and the President Chairman's speech where he urged the Illicit Party to seek the Truth. While I was explaining, the procession came ever closer. We stood to one side and let the march go by - partly from fascination and partly because groups of individuals were detaching themselves from the main body and harangued anyone who appeared fair game for their attention. From windows above our heads, some individuals were chanting anti-Illicit Party slogans, though it was not possible to ascertain from which political bias. This criticism earned the culprits a hail of beer cans and stones which in some cases hit their targets and smashed the windows of the rooms where the cries had come from and more often quite different ones.

Not all those observing the parade were opposed to it, however. Some cries were demonstrably in support.

"This Rupert seems rather popular with some people," Beta commented thoughtfully.

"Illicit Worker!" shouted a large ram carrying a pile of newspapers with one held up to display the image of President Chairman Rupert underneath the banner headline: Election Tragedy. Illicit Party Cheated of Near Victory. "Read how the Red Party fiddled the Election. Find out how the Red Government will bring this nation to crisis."

"No thank you," said Beta politely.

"And why not?" challenged the ram, who had the face of the koala shaved into his fleece and a plethora of Illicit Party buttons pinned all over. "Don't you want to find out the truth of the Election? Don't you want to hear how the President Chairman will lead us all to the ultimate Truth?"

"Well... ," hesitated Beta, perhaps considering the Truth. "No, not really!"

"You don't believe all the Red propaganda do you? Only the Illicit Party can save this country. Or save the world for that matter? Only the Illicit Party has a truly radical and workable solution to the problems of the City's budget crisis. A policy tried and tested in the Illiberal Socialist Republics. A solution which by wresting control from the factionalism of Red, Black, Blue and White and centralising it in one single non-political authority under the ideological guidance of central government would solve at a stroke the indecisiveness and waste that characterise the City. A solution which would distribute the wealth from the richer parts of the City and spread it amongst the poorer districts. Do you think the Red Government with its policy of even greater decentralisation of local government decision-making could really solve the problems that exist?"

"I don't really know..."

"It's all in the Illicit Worker! How Rupert will wrest control of the financial market from the chaos, anarchy and greed of the City institutions and establish a single unitarian authority. How Rupert is encouraging all supporters to pursue the Truth and how that will resolve - at a stroke - all the world's great problems. How education will become focused like a laser beam in an overall strategy involving the cooperation of the media and the libraries. How the Religious fundamentalists, and their liberal sympathisers and apologists, who threaten to drag this nation back to the dark ages will be proscribed for the greater harmony. How abuse of sexual rights and freedoms will be countered by a moral and ethical crusade to bring back order to the relationships between ram and ewe, billy and nanny, man and woman. How the nation will become unified into the greater glory of the Illiberal Socialist Republics, eventually to become part of the United Illiberal Socialist Empire under the President Chairman's sole authority. Aren't you interested in the Truth or Justice? Only ten guineas a copy."

"We can't afford it," I argued.

"Five guineas, then. Two guineas? Here have it for nothing!"

The ram handed us a copy and marched onto a group of crabs cowering timidly under the shadow of a large poster for hoof cleanser. Beta took the newspaper, which was printed on very thin paper and the ink of which already splodging her hands.

She turned the pages of the Illicit Worker, while the parade finally passed by drawn up in the rear by a large mass of sheep bleating Rupert's name insistently and monotonously, with single letters of his name shaved in sequence in their fleece. This would have been more impressive had the sheep stayed in more rigid order, but they were instead proclaiming RUPRTE, THRUT and ILILCIT. The newspaper featured many illustrations of the President Chairman and rather fewer of any one else. These others looked either nondescript or rather aggressive, and were all proclaimed as either heroes or martyrs of the Illiberal Socialist cause.

Most of the articles were directed against the other political parties and had rather more to say about what was wrong with their opinions, views and manifestos than on what was right about the Illiberal Socialist Party's. It was difficult to believe that the Red Government was really advocating universal castration as part of a policy of male emasculation. The Blue Party also seemed unlikely to be quite as enthusiastic in reintroducing slavery as the paper claimed. I particularly found bizarre the notion that the White Party was arming secret militias in the Suburbs for the planned overthrow of the state. Although there was a great deal about why the true Illicit Party supporter should join the crusade for the Truth, spearheaded in his historic speeches by the President Chairman himself, there was rather less about what it might be or where it may be found. It also seemed to gloss over what it was the Illicit Party intended to do with the Truth were it ever found.

Beta looked at the black ink that had thoroughly stained her hands. "Uuurrgghh!" she gasped. "Can you look after the paper? Perhaps we can read it later somewhere."

I nodded, took the paper, folded it up and put in my pocket. The parade was now out of sight and the street had returned to its earlier calm, leaving a debris of stones, beer cans and broken glass amongst the other litter along the kerbside.

It was at that moment I noticed the Gryphon whom I had met at the borough of Rupert hiding in the shadows of a doorway on the other side of the road. He saw me, raised his eagle eyebrows in surprise and strolled across the road towards us.

"I take it you saw that dreadful rabble of Illicit Party followers, young man," commented the Gryphon flapping his ears vigorously. He nodded at Beta. "Hello, m'dear. I hope you don't mind my speaking to the both of you so unintroduced. I met your good friend at a bus station recently. I am really quite disturbed by the fanaticism and intolerance shown by these ill-bred youths. I thought behaviour like that had died out many years ago. What do you think?"