The Dark River

“But Free Runners aren’t frightened. Some of us try to live off the Grid. Others make small gestures of rebellion. Tonight I’m asking you for a larger commitment. I believe that the Tabula are planning a decisive step forward in the creation of their electronic prison. This isn’t just a few more surveillance cameras or a modification of a scanner program. It’s the final evolution of their plan.

“And what is that plan? That’s the question. I’m asking you to sort through the rumors and see what’s real. I need people who can talk to their friends, explore the Internet-listen to the voices carried by the wind.” Gabriel pointed to Sebastian. “This man has designed the first of several underground Web sites. Send your information there and we’ll begin to organize resistance.

“Remember that all of you can still make a choice. You don’t need to accept this new system of control and fear. We have the power to say no. We have the right to be free. Thank you.”

No one applauded or cheered, but they seemed to support the Traveler as he left the room. People touched Gabriel’s hand as he walked past them.

It was cold out on the street. Mother Blessing motioned to Brian, the Irish mercenary who was waiting on the sidewalk. “He’s done. Let’s go.”

They got into the back of a delivery van while Brian slid into the driver’s seat. A few seconds later the van was moving slowly, passing through the fog on Langley Lane.

Mother Blessing turned her head and stared at Gabriel. For the first time since he had met the Harlequin, she didn’t treat him with complete contempt. “Are you going to make any more speeches?” she asked.

I’m still going to search for my father, Gabriel thought, but he kept that plan to himself. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You remind me of your father,” Mother Blessing said. “Before we went to Ireland, I heard him speak a few times to groups in Portugal and Spain.”

“Did he ever mention his family?”

“He told me that you and your brother met Thorn when you were little boys.”

“And that’s it? You guarded my father for several months and he never said anything else?”

Mother Blessing gazed out the window as they took a bridge across the river. “He said that both Harlequins and Travelers were on a long road, and sometimes it was difficult to see the light in the distance.”

Camden Market was where Maya, Vicki, and Alice had stepped off the canal boat and entered London. In the Victorian era it had been used as a loading point for the coal and lumber carried on the boats. The warehouses and shipping yards had been converted into a sprawling market filled with little clothing shops and food stalls. It was a place to buy pottery and pastry, antique jewelry and army surplus uniforms.

Brian dropped them off on Chalk Farm Road, and Mother Blessing led Gabriel into the market. The immigrants who ran the food stalls were stacking up chairs and dumping chicken curry into bin bags. A few colored lights left over from Christmas swayed back and forth, but the edges of the market were dark, and rats scurried through the shadows.

Mother Blessing knew the location of every surveillance camera in the area, but occasionally she stopped and used a camera detector-a handheld device about the size of a mobile phone. Powerful diodes in the device emitted infrared light that was invisible to the human eye. The lens of a surveillance camera reflected this narrow-spectrum light so that it glowed like a miniature full moon in the device’s viewing port. Gabriel was impressed by how quickly the Irish Harlequin was able to detect a hidden camera and then move out of its range.

The east end of the market was filled with old brick buildings that had once been used as stables for the horses that dragged carts and omnibuses through the streets of London. More old stables were in tunnels called the catacombs that ran beneath the elevated railroad tracks. Mother Blessing led Gabriel through a brick archway into the catacombs and they hurried past locked shops and artists’ studios. For twenty feet, the tunnel walls were painted pink. In another area the walls were covered with aluminum foil. Finally, they reached the entrance to Winston Abosa’s shop. The West African was sitting on the concrete floor stitching an animal skin to the top of a wooden drum.

Winston got to his feet and nodded to his guests. “Welcome back. I hope the speech was successful.”

“Any customers?” Mother Blessing asked.

“No, madam. It was a very quiet evening.”