Read Online Dream Paris by Tony Ballantyne - Free Book Online Page A

They’d sold off London to the Dream World. At the end they destroyed the Contract Floor, and all those assets reverted to their original owners. But some of the assets remained unaccounted for… I looked at the canal.
    “Who owns the water?”
    “What?”
    “The trail is in the water. Look, the flotsam is no longer there.”
    “We should go back to the other side of the tunnel.”
    Now I’d solved the problem he was quick with his suggestions. Men don’t like it when you know more than they do. We turned round and retraced our steps. Now that I was no longer holding my breath I had time to notice the source of the bluish glow. Nothing more than blue lamps, mood lighting for canals.
    We emerged from the tunnel once more.
    “It’s here,” said Francis, standing right on the edge of the footpath. I felt it, too. A muzzy, dreamy feeling, like the lift you get if you inhale from a glass of wine. Francis began, with some difficulty, to take off his backpack, the great weight defying even his build. He lurched this way and that as he slipped one arm from the loop, staggered as he brought it in front of himself then bent his knees to lay it on the ground. He unfastened a pocket at the top and pulled out a length of wire.
    “What’s that?” I asked.
    “The path back home. They use this wire to guide missiles to their target. I’ve got several kilometres’ worth packed in here. Hopefully we can use it to leave a trail.”
    Only several kilometres’ worth? How far away did he think Dream Paris was?
    He opened another pocket in the backpack and pulled out a tube of epoxy, then he lay on his stomach, leaned over the edge of the towpath and fixed the wire to the brickwork, just above waterline. Finally, he pulled a little box from his pocket and fixed it to the end of the wire.
    He pulled on his backpack again, the wire now trailing behind him like a tail.
    “Okay,” he said. “Here we go.”
    I realised what he was going to do.
    “You’re going to swim up the canal?”
    “Wade, I hope. I can’t swim with this pack on. Besides, I’m not a good swimmer. How about you?”
    I’m a superb swimmer. I’d represented my school at the backstroke, before the changes. But I didn’t say that.
    “I’m okay,” I said.
    Now he was sitting on the edge of the towpath, ready to push himself forward and to drop in the water.
    “What if it’s too deep?” I shouted.
    Too late. Francis dropped into the canal. The water came up to his chest.
    “ Fuck! ” he gasped “It’s cold!”
    “There’s got to be an easier way…” I muttered, climbing in after him. And then I couldn’t speak for the shock of the cold water. What did we expect? It was winter. For a few moments I could do nothing but gasp whilst I tried to catch my breath. I held my hands above my head, keeping them out of the icy water.
    “ Fucking hell! ” shouted Francis. I’d have done the same myself if I could have caught my breath. Gasping, I began to edge forward. The canal bed was slippery beneath my feet. My foot caught a stone and I almost fell over, face first, into the filthy, freezing water.
    “Be careful!” said Francis.
    “ What a stupid thing to say! ” I snapped. I’d found my voice at last.
    “Sorry!”
    We walked forward.
    “There could be rats in here. We could catch Weil’s disease.”
    We passed beneath the entrance into the dim blue light of the tunnel, Francis slightly ahead of me again. He always had to lead the way, always watching out for the little lady.
    “Do you feel that?” he said urgently.
    “No, I …” And then, I did. “I can feel cobblestones beneath my feet. And I think the water is getting warmer.”
    Actually, there was no doubt that the water was getting warmer. The contrast to the freezing cold was as welcome as it was sudden.
    “It’s coming,” I said. “It’s coming…”
    I felt sick with fear. Francis didn’t know it then, Francis never knew it, but I turned around, I made to walk back down the