Will Self - The Book of Dave

The Öl Glöb stood isolated in the strange wilderness of Stepney Green, among deeply rutted roadways lined with two-storey-high hoardings upon which had been painted crude murals of the terraces described in the Book. There were also a few points — the Royal London Hospital, Queen Mary College — likenesses of which had been daubed on to still larger hoardings. The aim of the PCO's Knowledge Boys had been to anticipate the emergent New London: shiny, three-dimensional, every facade commercially artful. The hoardings and their murals had, however, been completed in the reign of the first King David, and since that time there had been little attempt to fill in the Knowledge of this tumbledown part of the East End. Behind the wooden walls there were expanses of open ground where the ruderals grew both dense and high.

As soon as they were settled in the Öl Glöb and Böm had ensured Carl was provided for, he began to absent himself. He left the boozer early in the first tariff and did not return until after lampoff. Carl kept to the garret during daddytime, for if he did venture downstairs Terri, the old potman, had a way of cornering him and putting to him the most disturbing and intrusive questions: Oo R U? Ware R U from? Y R U ear? Terri was foxy-faced and ginger-haired, his arms twisted and his legs bent. He leered — yet Missus Edjez dismissed Carl's concerns. Im? U doan wanna wurri abaht im, eez an ol lag, bin broak on ve Weel.

At Changeover the mummies and kids who hung out in the bars of the ol Glöb departed and in their stead came a rough crowd. Dads who worked at the docks, cabbies and puddlers from the steelyard by the Tower. They brought their opares with them — loose girls, little more than common prostitutes, whom the drunken dads openly fondled.

Feeling abandoned and worried, Carl eventually confronted Böm. Why did he go abroad each day? Had he forgotten their revelations on Ham? For was it not a risky business? What news was there from the Lawyer of Blunt? How long would they have to remain cooped up here? And what tried the lad most severely — what about Symun Dévúsh, what about their mission to discover the Geezer's fate? Antonë was both emollient and placatory. He soothed Carl and stroked his hair. Do not worry, I have no position or place and the city is large. I pay no moto tax nor keep any chav, while this tattered robe insulates me from prying eyes. I have been about my old haunts, and I have discovered that there are forces for change at work in London. It reminds me of the months before my exile, when your dad's followers were in the ascendant. This time the revolt against the King and the PCO is an affair of reason and thought conducted by lawds and even luvvies. It is not for us to impose ourselves on my Lawyer of Blunt — we can only hope that he will contact us.

That night Carl dreamed of Ham. He wandered the woods and orchards beneath the moto wallows. The soft breeze filled the air with fluttering blossom, and Runti was resurrected by his side. The moto gently butted Carl's tank with his moist muzzle and slooshed terms of endearment. In sleep Carl groaned as he stroked and rubbed the bristly flanks of the one he loved.

The Lawyer of Blunt's fony came for them the very next day, not long past first tariff. Having gobbled down his starbuck, Carl emerged from the boozer to find four pairs of jeejees, their bridles chinking as they bent their heads to crop the meagre turf. A light mizzle suffused the air, and the jeejees' coats were a sheen of moisture. Still reeling from his homesick reveries, Carl addressed the lead jeejee tenderly and insinuated his hand where its jonckheeres should have been. The jeejee snapped at him and Carl recoiled. The big fony and Antonë laughed heartily. It's not a moto, Carl, Böm said, but a mere toyist beast! Carl took a seat in the limmo, while Böm fetched their changingbags from the garret. As he climbed in, Missus Edjez and Terri, the weaselly potman, appeared at the back door. The Taffy cabbie cracked his whip, and the limmo jolted out of the yard and turned to the right, rattling along the Whitechapel Road towards the towers of the City.

Soon, however, the limmo slowed to walking pace and joined the queue of artics lumbering in from the forbidden zones to the east of the city. These were drawn by large teams of burgerkine, and overloaded with brick, yok and irony for the ever-hungry developers who laboured by day — and when the headlight was on full beam by night as well — to raise New London. Sorrë, guv! the Taffy cried out. Vares taylbaks on ve Wessway — aw so vaysay. Traffiks jammedup cleerfroo tahn. Then, seeing a gap in the traffic heading into Houndsditch, he cracked his whip and the limmo lurched forward again.

Mindful of his instruction Antonë pointed out to Carl the crowds clustered beside the door to the Royal Exchange waiting for the day's trading to commence. Dosh tossed down in the City, he said, the King's maxed-out credit cards bought and sold in an unseemly scrabble. He gestured towards a group of dads wearing peculiar blue robes. See them gathered there, the blokes in the odd robes? The Swizz League. All the land between here and the river is granted to them by the King. They live apart, eat their own curry, worship in their own Shelter. They have the right to trade free from the moto tax to which the Guilds are subject — their presence here in London is a sore affront to native daddies. See the screwing out they're getting from the Inglish getters. I am told that not a day passes without an affray on the floor of the 'change.

As the limmo rattled on along Cheapside, the enormous green walls of St Paul's Shelter rose up before them, towering above the surrounding gaffs. Antonë could not forbear from pedagogy: My dear Carl, think on this, the tea urn is the biggest in the entire known world, the gingham curtains took a thousand mummies to sew, the Shelter can hold five thousand daddies at a time, it was burned down in the reign of the first King David and then rebuilt. The meter on its roof is the largest in Ing … But Carl wasn't listening: his attention was caught by the press of Drivers who were swarming out from the elaborately carved doors. Drivers tall and short, thin and fat. All were richly caparisoned, the peaks of their caps embroidered in silver, their trainers bright white and barred with the colours of their orders. All of them bore the sign of the Wheel worked into their breasts with gold thread, and all of them were calling over. Their massed recitation broke against the gaff fronts in wave after wave of dävine incantation, carrying with it the transcendent Knowledge of the once and future city. As the Drivers moved into the packed streets, they began to move faster and faster until they were almost running. Guided by the pure radiance of their Faredar, their eyes alighted on guilty opares, backsliding daddies and uppity mummies. In their rearview were craven fares, frantically making the sign of the Wheel.

The cabbie gave a blast on the horn and the Lawyer of Blunt's limmo parted the throng on the Strand and sped into the courtyard of Somerset House. Mechanics sprang to the jeejees' bridles. Standing at the top of a wide flight of stairs, waiting to greet them as they clambered out, was a figure at once outlandish and familiar to Antonë and Carl. She was very tall for a mummy. Her barnet was a tight and glossy helmet around her pasty white face. Her mouth was a perfect, carmine oval, and her eyes two black eyeholes. Tinfoil earrings dangled beside the taut tendons of her neck, her black nails were as long as talons, and when she parted her lips her teeth were blood-stained. Her legs were clad in woolly hose and a wispy shawl was around her shoulders.

— W-where to, Luv? Carl uneasily saluted her.

— To New London, she replied, then continued, So Carl Dévúsh, you are with us at last, a Hamster in the Wheel. My sister, the Luvvie Joolee, has sent me lettuce concerning you and your companion — she turned to Böm, who made obeisance. She acknowledged him then, saying, I am the Luvvie Sarona and you are welcome in Somerset House. Now follow me, for there are mummies and daddies who fain would meet with you.