The earth was spooky white, clay yellow, dust brown not like anything in Efica. It was the landscape of the stories Irma had recited, the landscape my ancestors, landing on the Pietr Groot Pietr Groot from the Netherlands in 135 from the Netherlands in 135 BE BE,* had travelled through. It was alien. It was in my blood, in my dreams. It appeared and reappeared at every bend and cutting real, not real, familiar, foreign. had travelled through. It was alien. It was in my blood, in my dreams. It appeared and reappeared at every bend and cutting real, not real, familiar, foreign.

The distances were vast, far greater than anything we were accustomed to. So even the famous cactus forest at Neu Zwolfe, which we entered early in the journey, quickly became tedious to our eyes. Likewise in the Poorlands which followed after the little blue churches, the stone roadside shrines with newspaper-wrapped offerings to the Hairy Man were soon bleached of novelty.

We had no money. We were unprotected. My breathing became shallow. I began to dwell on the circ.u.mstances in which our security had been lost. It would never have happened if only Wally had been calm about the flower.

I do not mean to blame my guardian for everything that happened, but just the same he lost me my money, my power, all because he panicked about some girl with a flower. That girl had nice strong calves, it is true. She was kind. She had large dark liquid eyes and she saw that I was a human underneath my horror. I would have chopped my hand off if it meant she might really care for me. I do not mean it poetically. I mean really chop an axe, the danger. But chopping, cutting, mutilation none of this would change the bitter truth. I was who I was. She was kind, that's all. She gave me a flower with a thick pulpy stem like a Nez Noir thistle. I was not going to slash my wrists, for G.o.d's sake. I was not going to slash my wrists, for G.o.d's sake.

If Wally had not panicked, we would have driven driven to the tunnel and arrived rested, cool, cuc.u.mbers. There would have been no conflict with Aziz, no robbery. We would have driven on to Saarlim in the expectation of security and comfort. to the tunnel and arrived rested, cool, cuc.u.mbers. There would have been no conflict with Aziz, no robbery. We would have driven on to Saarlim in the expectation of security and comfort.

But Wally did not even seem to have noticed what he had done. Indeed, the moment my fortune disappeared, he began to shine, and neither travel nor sleeplessness seemed to diminish his good humour.

'It's the challenge, son,' he said to me as dawn arrived a streaky melancholy grey and yellow sky over wide valleys dotted with very high pillars of yellow rock. 'And Oncle Wal is the right man for the job.'

'Ask ... her ... what ... they ... do ... with ... thieves ... in ... Voorstand.'

'Mollo-mollo,' Wally said. 'There won't be any thieving.' He smiled, sat back. He crossed his legs and began rolling a cigarette of rank Morean tobacco.

'That's a willow,' Leona said. I could see her eyes, creased, tired, in the rear-view mirror. 'See a willow, maybe there's a stream.'

'We have willows,' Jacques said, stretching. 'But not like that.'

'That's a spit-weed.'

'We don't have them.'

That's a creosote bush. That's a see-saw. Beside a dry creek bed a little below the road, she showed us a twenty-foot long shoe and a leg carved out of rock. The leg rose maybe forty feet into the air and then stopped. It was trousered, cuffed, had a neat pleat up its front, and careful wrinkles, all carved from the yellow rock.

'It's laser art?' Jacques said. 'What is it?'

'Not laser. Real.'

'What is it?'

'It's a shoe,' Leona said.

It was a shoe, but, size apart, it was not normal. It had an excessively wide toe and a high lump on the toe cap a clown's shoe.

'You know whose shoe that is?'

'Bruder ... Dog's ... shoe,' I said.

'That is the Dog's shoe,' Leona said. 'Honey, it a mystery. mystery. How were they going to build the rest? It one of the How were they going to build the rest? It one of the mysteries of the desert. mysteries of the desert.* Ain't that something. Now you look over there you see it. The wire lead from the shoe to that there cabin with the machinery out its back. That was going to be an avocado farm. All those dead trees them are what we call avocados. It a kind of vegetable. Why is that wire there? You tell me, Wink. The answer is to get the energy from the Dog and give it to the avocado trees. That is what I figure, but no one knows. Would have been an avocado farm if they'd ever found the water. They planted the trees, never found the water. Then they tried to get the energy from the Dog, but they couldn't get the Bruder built up in time.' Ain't that something. Now you look over there you see it. The wire lead from the shoe to that there cabin with the machinery out its back. That was going to be an avocado farm. All those dead trees them are what we call avocados. It a kind of vegetable. Why is that wire there? You tell me, Wink. The answer is to get the energy from the Dog and give it to the avocado trees. That is what I figure, but no one knows. Would have been an avocado farm if they'd ever found the water. They planted the trees, never found the water. Then they tried to get the energy from the Dog, but they couldn't get the Bruder built up in time.'

'We're going to do fine here,' Wally whispered. 'Don't you worry.'

'What happened to him, Mr Avocado? Maybe he figured out how to do some other thing. Maybe he was the one went drove down the road and blasted the guts out of the cabin there. Now look at that.'

She pulled the car up. We wound our windows down. There was a cabin with its insides blown away by gunfire. Its insulation hung out of gaping wounds.

'We're going to do fine,' Wally said, but when I looked at him he looked away. 'Mollo mollo,' he said. 'We're going to do fine.'

'This is the land of Sirkus,' the facilitator said. 'No one will tell you not to try. Some countries, they have rules, regulations, government telling the people how to live their lives. Say you was j.a.panese, Chinese put you in jail for making a statue of Bruder Dog. Here, you take the risk, you get the reward. You walk the high wire, you die or you get the silver cup.'

'Can I ask you, sweets,' said Wally. 'How much money did you have when you arrived in Voorstand?'

Leona began a long story about her arrival. Wally leaned forward and rested his arms on the back of the driver's seat. I looked out the window, behind his curving spine. There, on the right, on a cutting, a three-foot high Mouse was running beside the car.

I said nothing, but I could not take my eyes off the hateful thing. Its white scarf was gone. Its bright blue waistcoat was hanging from one shoulder. Its soft grey limbs were torn, covered in clay dust. Its eyes were fierce and wide, its teeth small and pointed. It was running badly, tripping itself on its own large white boots, stumbling, standing, falling. Its arms were loose and slightly boneless in appearance. I was reminded of a blow-fly dying.

The cutting led us to a view over a wide khaki-coloured plain. A single line of highway cut right across its centre, and one could see the thin chalk line of road, our road, leading into it. At any moment the car would begin its descent and we would leave these nightmare visions behind us.

'Wink sees it,' Leona said.

'Meneer Mouse,' whispered Jacques. 'G.o.d d.a.m.n.'

'Where you folks from?' Leona said.

'Stop the car,' Jacques said.

'You ain't never heard of Bruder Mouse.'

'Let's get it,' Jacques said. I looked at him. He was so alert, so handsome. His colour was high, his eye-white a l.u.s.trous greyish white.

'Bruder Mouse is something we have here,' Leona said.

'We know the Mouse,' Jacques said. '"One mo nothing. Next mo there he was, solid as a miller's wheel." We know it, really. It's, like, it's our Mouse too. We know it, really. It's, like, it's our Mouse too. "His black ears were sharp. His teeth were white. His eyes as bright as an angel of the lord."' "His black ears were sharp. His teeth were white. His eyes as bright as an angel of the lord."'

'That's the words of a song, right?' Leona asked.

'Tales of Bruder Mouse,' said Jacques. 'Badberg Edition.'

But Leona, it was obvious, had not heard of the Badberg Edition. 'The Mouse is something we have from the Sirkus,' she said. 'But not like this old fellow this one is a machine, a Simulacrum. This old mouse, he's older than me, believe it. He's an old old model. model.* Hey, Wink, you Hey, Wink, you seeing seeing this? Just watch that Simi go. This must be the last Simi left in Voorstand. You guys don't appreciate how lucky you are.' this? Just watch that Simi go. This must be the last Simi left in Voorstand. You guys don't appreciate how lucky you are.'

The Mouse, coming closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, had stumbled and fallen in front of the car. Now, like a rabbit that you've wounded but not killed, it picked itself up and began its wild, unco-ordinated run down the road which now, as Leona followed, began a steep descent towards the plain.

'You want a souvenir?' she said.

Jacques smiled. He did not even speak. He sat back in his seat, and I could see his will, his alarming, shining will through the lashes of his slightly narrowed eyes.

'No,' I said. I hated that Mouse. I hated its face. I hated what it stood for in my life, my history, that I was ever fool enough to hide behind its face.

'Twenty mile an hour,' Leona said. 'Look it go.' go.'

Black legs flying. A cloud of dust.

'You want it?' Wally asked me.

'You ... know ... I ... don't.'

There was a thump, a b.u.mp. The car stopped. 'Got it,' said Leona. 'Got the little sucker.'

She stopped, jumped out. A second later she held the back door open. She threw the Simulacrum on to the floor. It was still smoking. Cotton wadding grew like bloom from its elbow. It gave off the smell of burning rubber, like a dishwasher about to catch fire.

* BE. BE. Before Efica, dating from Captain Girard's landfall at what is now Melcarth. Before Efica, dating from Captain Girard's landfall at what is now Melcarth.*The Voorstand reader will be aware that Leona was misinformed, and that the abandoned statue of Bruder Dog, far from being the product of modern Sirkus-style capitalism, marks the site of a well-doc.u.mented Free Dutch Church community dating from 65 BE. BE. These remains are known as the Dry Creek Dog. For more information, see These remains are known as the Dry Creek Dog. For more information, see Heretical Christian Art in the New World Heretical Christian Art in the New World (Thames & Hudson, London). (Thames & Hudson, London).*'The original Sirkus Mouse was like six feet tall. You see these early Bruders in the paintings, Dogs, Ducks, Mice, all as big as football players. In the beginning, of course, it was very religious. All G.o.d's creatures, all that sort ofthing. Maybe they was priests at one time but as long as I remember they were krakers, swartzers, thieves of one sort or another. Those Bruders did some awful stuff murder, rape, terrible things. So now we have the Creature Control Act no Bruder in a public place can be over three foot six inches. And so there are none.' For more details of these forgotten Simulacrum Mark 3S, see see Chapter 28 Chapter 28.

17.

My nurse sat beside me like a woman newly pregnant, her hands resting on her stomach, her feet astride the stinking Bruder Mouse.

I thought she was my employee, my man. It never occurred to me that I might be her her man, man, her her invention, but that was what the situation was this slight, attractive woman with size five shoes had made me into a terrorist. invention, but that was what the situation was this slight, attractive woman with size five shoes had made me into a terrorist.

She had found a timid wretch living in a dank, dark hole. He had skin like a baby and pearly inoffensive eyes, but while he slept she had transformed him into something potent still ugly, yes, but venomous, a spider in the dark of the Voorstandish subconscious.

She had not meant me harm. She had not meant me anything. She wanted something for herself and I was a member of a proscribed group. She therefore falsified three fax IDs to 'prove' that I, Tristan Smith, was a terrorist in touch with Mohammedan cells inside Voorstand. If it had not been for this, she would have been sent back to her grey metal desk in POLIT. She felt she had no choice but to go forward she linked me with Zawba'a* and now she was an operative accompanying a terrorist to a possible meeting with other terrorists. and now she was an operative accompanying a terrorist to a possible meeting with other terrorists.

She connected me with Zawba'a because she had translated their manifesto and knew they had connections inside Voorstand. She was a beginner, an ice-skater. She only had access to level 7 information, and therefore had no idea that Zawba'a were currently under intense scrutiny from the VIA.

There were eight other cells she could have chosen, and all of them would have left her stranded back in the dusty tedium of POLIT. But she chose the one group which had all of Operations suddenly dedicating themselves to her.

They had only one anxiety not that she had faked some fax numbers, but that she was inexperienced and would therefore make them look bad with their opposite numbers in Voorstand. They took her to their bosoms. They coaxed her, cradled her, pushed her. They had her doing crunches and push-ups. They gave her intensive weapons training, then halted it when they found her attempting Sirkus tricks with her fifteen-shot semiautomatic Glock.

'What happens if someone shoots at me?'

'Believe me, Jacqui, you're safer without a gun.'

They took back the handsome Glock and spent the last week teaching her how to talk to the VIA. At this, she excelled. When she boarded the John Kay John Kay she was a candidate well-prepared for examination. she was a candidate well-prepared for examination.

I was the centre of her fiction. Yet as we travelled down the El 695 with Bruder Mouse, I was as unaware of all this as I was unaware of the honey-coloured b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath her three poplin shirts. I was the baby, the mark, the monkey. I fretted about the stinking Simi, money, privacy, the revulsion I might occasion at a gas stop, the humiliation of eating in the public gaze. Panic flitted like a bat across the periphery of my consciousness as we journeyed deeper and deeper into Voorstand. I had no idea of the risk my sleeping nurse had taken to make this trip, the cynical lies she had told to get there, or the looming consequences she had successfully obliterated from her consciousness.

*Arabic: lit., whirlwind.

18.

When Jacqui woke it was evening and the shadows were long and the colours soft and the highway was sweeping around the edges of one more lake. When she opened her eyes she saw, in the mirror, Leona's yellow bloodshot eyes looking straight at her.

It was only then the possibility occurred to her.

Could Leona be the operative she had expected to meet in Saarlim?

Whatever Leona had said when she had emerged from the tunnel, Jacqui had not really paid attention. She had not expected the operative until Saarlim. Perhaps Leona said the ID line and Jacqui had not heard.

Now, twelve hours later, Jacqui recited her ID tag: 'It's a nice night.'

And Leona said her line: 'Nice night to be in Saarlim City.'

'How many miles is it?' Jacqui said, feeling the blood rushing up her neck and flooding into her ears and cheeks.

'Tsk,' Leona said, and shook her head.

A different person might have been embarra.s.sed. Jacqui would not be. She learned that very early at the DoS. Never show weakness. The 'meet' was meant to be in Saarlim. She stared right back at Leona and crossed her hands in her lap. f.u.c.k you f.u.c.k you, she thought. This is not my fault.

I was sitting right beside her when this exchange took place. I saw the recklessness which was beginning to shine, to glow through the dull brown paint of our nurse's dutifulness. It was powerful, palpable. I felt the need to stop it.

'Throw ... the ... thing ... out,' I said, and nudged her leg with my foot.

'Whatsit say?' Leona asked.

'He wants you to throw the Bruder out,' said 'Jacques', and smiled at me, not insolently. It was the look you see on monks a calm and luminous neutrality.

'You want me to footsack Bruder Mouse, Wink?' Leona brought the car round a large banked curve and came on to a high wide bridge, below which you could see one more ribbon of highway: transports carrying carrying their spherical gases, cylindrical liquids, bright sanserif type on their shining silver surfaces. their spherical gases, cylindrical liquids, bright sanserif type on their shining silver surfaces.

'I might footsack you first,' she said. She flicked on her super-charger in accordance with a highway sign. 'This here Bruder Mouse is like a Saint to us,' she said. 'He ain't just the Sirkus. He means stuff to us.'

'It ... means ... stuff ... to ... us ... too ... we ... suffered ... from ... that stuff ... already.'

'What does he say?'

'He'd rather not have the Bruder in the car.'

'f.u.c.k ... the ... Mouse ... f.u.c.k ... the ... Voorstand ... Hegemony.'

'What's he say?'

'He ... says ... it ... makes ... him ... sick.'

I turned to Wally, who had his bent old spine propped in the corner. 'You ... want ... this ... stinky ... thing ... in ... the ... car?'

'It's their country,' Wally said, and closed his eyes, pretending that he was sleeping. 'We should respect their customs.'

Jacqui crossed the Simi's arms across its chest, and gently pushed down on its snout and up on its chin, so just the faintest trace of white tooth was protruding.

'"One mo nothing,'" she recited, "'next mo there he was, b.u.t.tons gleaming, cane tapping, as solid as a yellow oak on a Tuesday morning."' "'next mo there he was, b.u.t.tons gleaming, cane tapping, as solid as a yellow oak on a Tuesday morning."'