CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sunlight carries many of the qualities of living flame. Thanaturgic light, however, produced by the burning of ghost stone, lays the soul most bare.
—Thomas Blood,Amplitude of Light and Shadow
In the dimlight of the Lord Ashcroft Gallery, I stared back at Emaline, my mind racing with songs of protest and war, music that had changed attitudes and beliefs and set the stage for bigger changes, like peace . . .and tyranny.
Brach had waltzed into the Iron Horse, asked me to try to put an end to certain kinds of songs, and talked about the types of songs he approved of—common truths.
“Son of a bitch,” I said. “How does Brach intend to use music for his war?” “He hasn’t told us much,” said Emaline. “But he knows that new perspectives usually come to people first by way of music.”
“Brach fed us a load of crap about the degenerate behaviors inspired by topside music. But he also told us about a songHenry wrote for his daughter who’d died. He seemed to thinkthatwas the right kind of song.”
Emaline glanced at the dolls in the glass case. “Have you heard about the Kindertransports?”
“Yeah.” The Kindertransport had been a rescue effort to bring Jewish children out of German-occupied territory into Britain just ahead of
World War II. Parliament waived visa requirements, and the kids were placed in foster homes.
“There was a shy young woman in the home secretary’s office,” Emaline continued, “whose job it was to receive the fifty pounds from would-be adopters and place them on a list. But she became worried about the flood of applicants, so she spent her evenings calling on every candidate, and disqualifying industrial opportunists who wanted child labor for their workhouses. She saved thousands of children from a hellish life, even death. Would you happen also to know her name?”
“You’re going to tell me she was Brach’s daughter who died, aren’t you?” “Yes, and her name was Camilla Westbrook.” Emaline drew smoke. “Lost to history, she began to languish in the Strata. Your Mr. Wilkinson wrote that song, hoping to memorialize her for your world and refresh her existence below. But there are a hundred thousand songs uploaded to your music services every day . . . Camilla’s strong, beautiful spirit and important memory were neglected by topsiders and she faded away.” “I guess I’d be pissed, too.”
“Brach loved her deeply.”
I sighed. “So it sounds like Brach objects not just to the songs we write, but to the fact that our ‘bad’ songs make it impossible for the ‘right’ songs to be heard.”
“He’d call it ‘unregulated.’ Which is why he’ll look to replace it all with music for his movement.”
I knew such songs. “ ‘La Marseillaise’ was the cry of freedom in the French Revolution. Shostakovich wrote rhythms and dissonances to drive Stalinism. Hell, even Bob Dylan, the singer of his generation, stirred the hippies up into a war against the war with tunes like ‘Blowin’ in the Wind.’ ”
“Brach will start by abolishing the songs of your world that change the stories of who we are.” Emaline took a drag from her cigarillo. “And he will give the people of the Strata the opportunity to hold history’s revisionists accountable. But Brach is not only concerned with accountability. He also wants control.”
“Of London?”
She nodded. “For a start.”
“Damn . . . that’s ten million people. Not to mention London’s global influence. And it’s a violation of the Enigma Covenant, isn’t it, to interfere with the lives of humans?”
Emaline tapped her ashes onto the polished floor. “Someone’s been studying. But Brach’s already shown that he won’t be bound by Precedent Law, hasn’t he?”
“By ordering the hit on Henry, a thanatist,” I said.
“Precisely. And more importantly, half the Strata Chancery supports Brach’s revolution.”
I’d read a little about the Strata Chancery. One representative from every layer of the Strata names its chancellor. I pulled out the field manual and flipped to the section on the chancery. Emaline smoked while I read. “It says the chancery is supposed to help the Convocation schisms uphold Precedent Law. So, how could half of them support Brach?” “Because they’re also charged with the safety of everyone in the Strata.
And some of the chancellors believe, as Brach does, that to secure the Strata requires securing the world above, since whenyour world ignores or forgets or misrepresents the people of the Strata, they are changed or diminished.”
I stared, trying to recall anything more from my reading.
She drew more smoke. “Do you know who John Lilburne was?” Felt like a test, but I had no idea.
“His ‘Agreement of the People’ was an important influence on your US Constitution. How about Robin Hood?”
I started to speak but she held up her cigarillo to silence me. “If such a man existed at all, he was likely an outlaw who kept his spoils, and certainly didn’t share them with the peasant class. Yet, these days the myth has him prancing around in tights as a benefactor to the downtrodden.”
“Okay, I get it. History is selective. Written by the victors.”
