The doorman’s eyes flicked from the invitation’s inscription, to Vikram’s face, to his clothes and his shoes. He turned over the card and held it up to the light, examining the watermark. At last he straightened, and opened the door. A wave of music spilled out.
“Welcome to the Red Rooms, sir,” said the doorman.
“Thank you.”
He’d passed. Hoping his relief did not show, Vikram stepped inside and found himself in a hallway lined with mirrors and roses. At the end on the right was an archway. The music pulsed from the other side of it, the floor thrummed beneath his feet. Without pausing to check his reflection or allow himself second thoughts, Vikram walked through.
He was assailed by red, smoke, bodies and chatter. There were more flowers than he had ever seen in his life, all of them roses, all of them perfectly crimson. They were everywhere. On the walls, hanging from the ceilings, twined around furniture and plants and in sprays protruding from heads and corsages. Their scent infused the air, a light but sinuous perfume. The women’s costumes were also red, and so, he realized, was all the decor. Behind the people there were plush red backless sofas, soft red rugs, red meshing screens.
Adelaide Mystik’s legendary set, the Haze, were busy with drinks and cigarettes, their lips with newly chartered gossip. The women looked like an exotic breed of bird, encased in beaded corsets, flame-coloured feather skirts, shimmering stockings and jewelled sandals. Plumes erupted from their heads, making them taller than most of the men, who were a sleek contrast in black and white. Heads swivelled; they were continually looking over each other’s shoulders to check on new arrivals. Vikram edged to a corner.
Already he could feel sweat on the back of his neck. The room was vast but it was intensely, tropically hot. There were no air vents open. Near the entrance end, several people clustered around a large piano, their glasses resting upon its shiny black lid. At the other end was a mezzanine and beyond the mezzanine he could see an open doorway, where the apartment opened into other rooms. The prospect of so much space for one person was incredible.
“Olga! Darling! Been to Ilse’s yet?”
“On Tuesday, sweetie.”
“The opening was so charming, very select.”
“Oh? I was at the Weedy Seahorse.”
“That little nook Mino found? How is she? Still dallying with the Ngozi boy? Naughty.”
He listened a little longer but it was all names; who had done this, who had been there, who had taken that new lover. Vikram recognized faces he had only ever seen on display boards. There was the acrobat Lilja Aapo, chatting to the guy who had won the biking championship. A girl with blue hair whispered to another girl wearing a tiara of thin blossom branches that she’d found messages on Jokum’s Neptune. Of course she wasn’t meant to be looking, but she was sure he was seeing another mistress and did Idunn think she should confront him? Idunn didn’t.
Adelaide Mystik was nowhere to be seen.
For a few minutes he played the old game: guessing which Old World land each guest was descended from, imagining the landscapes where their ancestors had lived. He wondered if Citizens even cared about those places, or if it no longer mattered to them.
There was a relentless, kinetic energy about the party. Near the mezzanine, people were dancing. A DJ was up there. Vikram imagined these people would die rather than allow silence to fall between them. He lit a cigarette, because everyone else was, and almost ashed in a glass bowl before he realized there were petals and a ladle in it. A few glasses with the dredges of liquid were stacked beside. He looked about for a new one. A red jacketed man appeared, refilled the bowl with a pale pink liquid, replaced the used glasses with clean ones, and retreated.
“Thanks-”
The man had already gone. Vikram took a glass and ladled himself a drink. It was strong and very sweet. Heady too, or maybe that was the rose perfume, twining about his senses.
Now armed with the two essential accessories for the party, he made his way across the room. He knew that it was important to look purposeful. All of these people were actors; they might be Citizens, but Citizens had things to hide too. He found himself looking out for cats, remembering Mikkeli’s old tales about the City. She would have gone crazy to see this.
Under the mezzanine, a couple were entwined upon a sofa. The woman’s eyes met his over the man’s shoulder, thick lashed, boldly inviting. Imperceptibly, she patted the seat. Vikram moved on.
The next room was much smaller. A table made out of shiny dark wood was in the centre, and along the wall there were shelves lined with paper books and scale mosaics. At the table, a man shook out a line of milaine.
“Hello.” He nodded easily to Vikram. His pupils were dilated.
“Hi.”
The man cut the line with an invitation card identical to Vikram’s.
There were two doors leading out of this room. Vikram tried the first. It was a bathroom. The bath was full of ice and bottles. Vikram retreated.
The man lifted his head, sniffing. “There’s another bathroom through there.”
“Thanks.”
The man frowned. “Not seen you before. What d’you do?”
“I’m a biker.”
“Ah. Probably seen you at the races. From afar.”
“Probably.”
The second door took him into a sparkling chrome kitchen. A few people were leaning against the counters, smoking and chatting. Potted herbs lined the window wall. Vikram could not imagine Adelaide as a cook.
He passed straight through into a dining area, empty this time. Vikram exhaled shakily. It was the layout of the place that was making him nervous. With each room, he took himself further away from the exit, and escape.
He forced himself to survey the room rationally. Like everything else in Adelaide’s apartment, this space was elegantly beautiful. He counted eight chairs pushed in under the glass-topped table, but it was laid, inexplicably, for two people.
There was one more door. If Vikram’s judgement was correct, he must have made almost a complete loop of the tower. Which meant there should be only one room left.
He turned the handle cautiously. It gave onto a corridor. The corridor went off to the right and bent around a corner, presumably skirting back along the rooms he had just passed. Vikram was facing yet another door. This time, he was certain he would meet with a lock.
He glanced down the hallway. It was empty. He put an ear to the door he had just closed, and then to the door facing him. He could hear the muffled sounds of the music and people shouting over it. Nothing extraneous. When he tried the door it opened easily. He held it just ajar and peered through.
Adelaide’s bedroom glowed with faint, violet lighting. He listened again, wary that she might be inside. But the room was still. He slipped through and pushed the door shut.
It felt like dusk. He waited for his eyes to adjust. A subtle scent hung in the air, not floral, something more exotic. The bed dominated the space. The wall facing it was mirrored from floor to ceiling. The window-wall was bare and black-she looked out on the open ocean, a bleak view. There were no paintings. There were no roses either.
The table beside her bed was empty except for a lamp and a bottle of medication. He read the label with little surprise; they were sleeping pills. When he put them down his arm brushed against the lampshade and the bulb lit up, making him jump.
On her dresser was a teapot in the shape of a dragon. He picked it up. A thin trickle of green powder spilled from the spout. Hastily, Vikram replaced the pot and dusted off the dresser.
There was only one photograph. He had to angle the frame under the light to see it properly. The photograph was of Adelaide and her twin, aged about twelve. Their grins and their freckles were identical. Inside her hood, Adelaide’s hair was longer than Axel’s, but otherwise it would have been difficult to tell them apart. They were on a rooftop, and it was nighttime.
The picture was out of focus. It seemed an odd choice to have framed when there must be so many of better quality, but maybe that was the point. Vikram put it carefully back on the dresser. He opened a couple of drawers. They contained cosmetics and lingerie. He shut them. He looked around again at the bed. Its covers were pulled perfectly straight. He supposed she had a cleaner to keep the place in order.
For a girl who could have bought anything in the city, it was a curiously impersonal room.
Voices the other side of the door alerted him. He crossed the room silently. Laughter sounded in the hallway outside. The handle turned. Behind the door, Vikram froze.
A rectangle of light spilled onto the pale carpet.
“Oops,” a girl giggled. “Looks like we’ve found Adelaide’s boudoir.” She rolled the last word around her tongue, loading it with innuendo.
“Not a bad pad, is it?”
“We could…”
A set of painted fingernails curled around the door frame. Vikram shrank back.
“Not if you want to be invited again.”
“Mm, maybe you’re right. Where shall we go?”
“Down here. I know the place better than you.”
The hand withdrew. Vikram’s heart was thudding. He waited for their voices to fade, then stepped outside.
“Hello.”
A girl was standing in the corridor, observing him. Her arms were folded. Her jet black hair shone almost blue and a pink feathery tail fell between two curious eyes.
“Hi.” His throat was as dry as sand.
“It’s okay. I’d want to see it too, if I hadn’t before.” When he didn’t answer, she let her lips part in a mocking smile. “What’s the matter, catfish got your tongue? I’m Jannike Ko. Adelaide’s best friend. You can call me Jan.”
Vikram tried to speak casually.
“Where is Adelaide? I haven’t seen her.”
“Oh, everyone wants to know where Adelaide is. Hiding somewhere, you know what she’s like. Forever mysterious. Wouldn’t you say?”
“I suppose so.”
She laughed. The pink feather tail bobbed up and down.
“Why don’t you come with me instead? I don’t bite you know. Actually I’m sapphic. I should say, I’m dying for your outfit. It’s so ironic. And pioneering, I don’t think anyone’s done western rag yet. You should talk to Mino. What was it you said you did again?”
“I’m a biker.”
“A biker? You must know Udur then?”
“Not really. We’re at different levels. Excuse me, I must find the bathroom,” he said quickly. “It was nice to meet you.”
He made his way back through the apartment, fuelled by an urgent desire to be near the exit.
In the main room, the noise and the scent of roses were overwhelming. He looked for Adelaide but could not see her. Now he wondered if he had missed an opportunity-could that awful girl have been his way in? Why hadn’t he gone with her?
He refilled his drink and headed back towards his original observation post. A man and two women were grouped in intense conversation around a table. A low-hanging lantern cast shadows on their faces, giving them a slightly furtive air. Vikram leaned against the wall and sipped casually at the pink stuff.
“-done well this year, hasn’t she?”
“Of course, she always does.”
“Yes, but I mean, considering the circumstances. ”
“Bound to be difficult.”
“The not knowing-”
“Yes, my dear, but the suspicion is something else again. After all, people talk.” The woman speaking looked pointedly at each of her companions and gave a little laugh. The others joined in self-consciously but then the other woman, who was younger, said in a hushed voice,
“Why, what have you heard?”
“All sorts of things. Speculation, I dare say. But one can only imagine there is a reason dear Adelaide split from the Rechnovs…”
The man unhunched his shoulders in a slight shrug. “Can’t be too big a rift if she’s living in a place like this.”
“Yes, but can you imagine the scandal if they’d cut her off? It was already bad enough with… well, you know…”
The younger woman looked at her in slight confusion, and the man mouthed something.
“Did you know him?” she whispered back. He shook his head. The older woman checked over her shoulder, before saying, “I did.”
“What was he like?”
“Oh, he was a funny one. Bright, I suppose. Almost too bright-he’d walk off right in the middle of a conversation, terribly rude. The family said it was a health issue but I was never convinced; there was something odd about the whole affair.”
“I’ve heard people say he might have-” The man made a circular motion with his hand, as if he did not want to be any more explicit. The older woman raised eyebrows elongated to the edges of her face. “You know,” he muttered. “Done it- himself. ”
The woman responded sharply. “That’s a filthy lie and you tell anyone that says so.”
“Alright, alright…”
“I heard they had fifty boats out looking for him,” the girl chirped. “Fifty! Viviana Rechnov must have pulled every string in the Reef. And that’s not all. They had entire squads of divers.”
“That may be. But we shouldn’t really talk about him at all- she doesn’t like it.”
They all shared a private smile. The young woman leaned forward to take a sip of something violet, and Vikram found himself in her line of sight. She stared at him curiously.
“Hello?”
The other two turned around.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Vikram.”
“Vikram…” The man ran the name over his tongue as though he was testing it for toxicants, then finding it clear, shook his head in bafflement.
“Vikram who?” the older woman asked. Her eyes darted all over him.
“Vikram Bai,” he said.
“And you are here for…?”
He was thrown by the question for a moment, and then wondered if she thought he was with Adelaide’s staff.
“For the party,” he said, and waved his invite, the magic talisman.
“Oh!” Her expression did not quite clear. “Adelaide’s taken you up, has she?”
“Not exactly,” Vikram said, remembering he had promised not to mention Linus’s name, and now seeing that might be problematic. “I hope she will,” he said.
“We all hope for that,” said the man fervently.
“Don’t be silly, Kristin, you’ve been on Adelaide’s list for months. Oh Tyr! I didn’t see you arrive.” The woman’s greeting, directed over Vikram’s shoulder, was suddenly girlish.
“I was here early, Gudrun.” The newcomer turned to Vikram, who saw the reason for Gudrun’s change in tone. The man was classically handsome and perfectly streamlined in features and physique. Unlike the other guests, the shirt beneath his jacket was red. He wore the clothes with easy, nonchalant grace. His eyes were a surprisingly deep shade of grey beneath hair the colour of dry sand. They travelled over Vikram, searching. Vikram knew with absolute surety that even if he had the same access to credit as one of Adelaide’s crowd, he could never look like that. The man was wet with money.
“Hi,” the newcomer said finally. “My name’s Tyr. Don’t think I’ve seen you before?”
“No. It’s Vikram.”
“Would you mind coming with me? There’s someone who wants to meet you.” Tyr slung an arm around Vikram’s shoulders and was leading him away before he had a chance to say goodbye. The group looked momentarily surprised, and then reformed as though nothing had happened.
Tyr steered Vikram expertly into the mirrored hallway. It was quiet compared to the fracas inside.
“So, this is the first time you’ve been to one of Adelaide’s parties? What do you think?”
“Good party.” Vikram stayed neutral.
Tyr laughed. “They always are. Now do tell me, Vikram. Which of the krill are you working for? Because you sure as hell don’t belong in here.”
Vikram glanced back through the archway. Two girls had climbed onto the piano and were swaying from side to side as they sung, the weight of their headpieces threatening to unbalance them completely. No-one was paying any attention to him and Tyr.
“I’m not here for any newsreel,” he said. “I’m here to see Adelaide.”
“That’s funny,” said Tyr. “Because you’re not on her guest list.”
“I know that,” Vikram said, wary now. He didn’t know Tyr’s background, but nor did he doubt a stranger’s capacity to throw a punch. He felt his own body tensing in anticipation. There was a growing part of him that would love to get in a fight. “Look,” he said. “I’m from a political reform group. Horizon. I spoke at the Council recently. I just wanted to see Adelaide. To ask if she could help us.”
Tyr stared at him as though he was crazy. “I don’t know who you are, or who you’re working for, but you’re leaving right now.”
“It’s alright, Tyr. He’ll go quietly.”
The voice was at once layered and laden, cold and charged, honey and steel. Composed as it was of so many disparate keys, it had no right to be any one thing. Vikram looked to its source and caught his first glimpse of Adelaide Mystik. She was wearing a dress the colour of clotting blood. It rippled around her body as though she was a strand of seaweed caught by the waves. In her hair were black roses and black lines ringed her green eyes, brilliant in a pale, pointed face.
“Adelaide,” he said. The words clustered on his tongue. He was ready, at that moment, to tell her everything. About Mikkeli, about Stefan, about the other people who were going to die this winter, about the fishing boats and the unremembered quarters, the coldest he’d ever been, and the way the sea sounded at night with the window open in the summer months, fierce but strangely comforting, even about the underwater cell. He was ready to tell her all of this, and despised himself for the impulse, but he could not stop. “I need to talk to you-”
“Yes,” she said, and now her voice was sanitized: stripped of all pretence at kindness. “Thank you for coming. Goodbye.”
The door opened. The doorman beckoned. Adelaide turned away. Vikram glared at the velveted figure, furious with himself, furious with Linus and Linus’s bitch of a sister. Tyr stood with a smile which Vikram could only construe as amusement. With every second that passed he felt his options dwindling. He could fight. He could rage and swear at them. He could get arrested, and spend another few months in jail underwater. He could walk away. Once again, he could walk away.
They were encouraging him towards the latter. It had been so neatly done. Extracting him from the guests, Adelaide bidding a cordial farewell. He wanted to rob them of that victory, to make a mess and a scandal, bring blood to these exquisitely papered rooms. He was longing to break Tyr’s jaw. He saw the other man’s face as a mangled pulp, and was almost shocked by the intensity of his desire to make it happen. Even that would only give them more meat to feed off. He had lost all around.
Outside, he read the gold plated sign on the closed door: Adelaide Mystik, The Red Rooms. He vented a fraction of his frustration on the wall, denting the panelled corridor. The doorman took a step away from his post.
“Don’t,” said Vikram. Something in the expression on his face halted the man, and Vikram walked away.