The splendid city, p.1
The Splendid City, page 1
PRAISE FOR KAREN HEULER
“Heuler continues to delight with her thoughtful brand of modern surrealism/magic realism – a criminally underrated writer.”
Jeff VanderMeer, New York Times bestselling author
“Karen Heuler’s The Splendid City is a wonderful fabulation, both humorous and contemplative, about the desperate state of US politics and society.”
Jeffrey Ford, author of Big Dark Hole
“A thoroughly original and quirky novel. You’ll find witches, cats, animatronic politicians and much more besides – plus sinister undertones combined with laugh-out-loud surrealism.”
Liz Williams, author of Comet Weather
“Karen Heuler’s soaring imagination is matched only by her integrity of vision and humanity. She’s always a must read.”
Paul Tremblay, author of The Cabin at the End of the World
“Satirical, and yet somehow more than just a satire, the joy of The Splendid City lies in the quirky and all-embracing exuberance of Heuler’s imagination.”
Brian Evenson, author of Song for the Unraveling of the World
“The Splendid City is a splendid read indeed! How can anyone resist talking cats? I know I can’t. This novel is so much fun and yet there is a deeper, darker story here… Heuler’s excellent imagination and biting humor brings it all together.
Ann VanderMeer, Award Winning Editor of The Big Book of Modern Fantasy
“Whimsical, satiric, and bursting with imagination, The Splendid City is the novel we’ve all been waiting for from Karen Heuler.”
Nicholas Kaufmann, bestselling author of The Hungry Earth
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Forgetting,
The Inner City
The Clockworm: And Other Strange Stories
In Search of Lost Time
Other Places
Glorious Plague
The Inner City
The Made-up Man
Journey to Bom Goody
The Soft Room
The Other Door
ANGRY ROBOT
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An Angry Robot paperback original, 2022
Copyright © Karen Heuler 2022
Cover by Kate Cromwell
Edited by Gemma Creffield and Claire Rushbrook
Set in Meridien
All rights reserved. Karen Heuler asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN 978 0 85766 985 8
Ebook ISBN 978 0 85766 986 5
Printed and bound in the United Kingdom by TJ Books Ltd.
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
“Well, as everyone knows, once witchcraft gets started, there’s no stopping it.”
– The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
CONTENTS
Part One
Chapter 1: Liberty
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part Two
Chapter 7: New York, Election and Secession
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Part Three
Chapter 14: Liberty
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Acknowledgments
Why, Ludger Sylbaris, Why?
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
Liberty
Betsy Bunderoo was used to seeing cats, but not ones who walked upright or spoke. She was standing at the bus stop, reading the notice that said the bus had been cancelled, permanently. Why? she wondered. Why don’t they say? But these were the times – indefinite suspensions, removals, reversals, etc. Things suddenly were, and then just as suddenly, were not.
The structure is breaking down, she thought, and no surprise there. She felt a sort of grim satisfaction in it. So much had already changed since the election, why not this, too? Why should anything work when none of it made sense? The president did not want buses to run anywhere near the palace, and that was necessary, she supposed. She understood. But the larger problem was that the world was going crazy. No one could tolerate anyone who didn’t agree with them.
“It’s true,” the big black cat said, nodding wisely. Ah! She had been muttering again, a bad habit that was growing on her.
The cat was wearing a bowtie and a fanny pack. “I’m finding it very hard to have a reasonable conversation these days. Everyone shouts sound bites and no one shouts facts.”
“I wonder if there are any facts left,” she said with a sigh. “I mean, everything is endlessly manipulated.” If she’d had time, she would have wondered why she was having a conversation with a cat, but right then and there she felt it was best to be polite, because he was such a very large cat. And he sounded irritated.
“Things would be so much better if there were no internet,” the cat said moodily. “Because it spreads everything too fast. People see crap, believe it, and act on it before there’s a chance to respond. And there’s never just one response. It branches out. Have you heard about those mushrooms whose underground roots spread out for miles in all directions? That’s the internet for you.”
“But mushroom roots aren’t right or wrong,” she said, frowning. “I don’t think you’ve got quite the right kind of analogy there.”
“Really?” he asked with a nasty, hissing kind of snarl, pulling off his fanny pack and rummaging through it quickly to pull out a gun. “Really?” he asked again. And shot her.
She clutched her upper arm. Blood ran through her clothes. The cat put the gun back in his pack and ran off.
Eleanor was going to be mad. A happy growl rose in his throat.
“How was your day?” Eleanor asked the cat when he walked in the door. She could see that he was miffed. He was always miffed.
“I shot someone again,” he said, sighing. He had to agree it was becoming a nasty habit. “I do regret it.”
“You always regret it.” It was very hard not pointing out the cat’s failures. She tried to make sure her face was neutral; it wasn’t easy. She had pale skin, medium length brown hair, hazel eyes, and a face that gave away everything.
“Well, that just tells you about my character. I’m not actually the kind of person who goes around shooting people.”
“And yet you do,” she said. “Let’s consider the circumstances. No doubt they said something to annoy you. What was it?”
He frowned and shrugged his shoulders. “She contradicted my theory about the internet being like that huge mushroom root.”
“Stan,” Eleanor said firmly. “It’s a bad analogy. Now, do you want to shoot me?”
Stan scowled. “I do.” Of course he wanted to shoot her. Shooting people made him feel better, for a while. And it was certainly true that she could benefit from being put in her place every so often. She was bossy. Opinionated. He was the way he was because of her.
“Why not talk it out instead? You have the power of speech, so why not talk about things instead? Gloria will blame me if you continue to go around shooting people.”
“I never kill them, you know,” he said, his hairs rising.
“Try to be the kind of cat who never shoots them in the first place,” she said. “You’re just drawing attention to yourself.”
The cat shrugged. “Who’ll believe a cat shooting a woman anyway?”
“They’re a nation of believers here,” she said in disgust. “Read a newspaper once in a while.”
Of course, his hands twitched at that. But he only allowed himself one shot a day.
They were walking down the street when a bell rang out, a familiar sound in the city, though it roved from district to district around the palace. People stopped and turned, waiting to see the messenger approach. The message could be good or bad. Once, a van had stopped a woman and then gave her the car that pulled up behind her. Then there was the time when a bunch of men got out of the van and grabbed a young man – a Latino, by the looks of him – and pulled him inside. An older man ran towards the van, but he was too late. They were gone.
The messengers were often on the news and were the most popular part of it, after the reported disasters in the rest of the country, and any attempts to overthrow the republic. Then the weather, updates about the president’s latest triumph, and finally on to the messengers. People loved the giveaways and ignored the disappearances, which were generally explained as reunions. They were also fond of the whipped cream pies that hit people identified as tourists from the north.
< br /> “They’d better not hit me,” Stan muttered. “I’ve got a gun.”
Eleanor snorted. “Everyone here has a gun.”
“My gun is better,” he said with satisfaction. Eleanor could see no point in challenging that. Besides, she often carried a can of whipped cream with her in case anyone threw a pie. She might not be able to prevent it, but she was all for revenge.
Finally, Stan said, “There have been fewer messengers this week.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Maybe. I was hoping they’d stop for me and give me a car.”
“You can’t drive a car.”
“Why not?”
She scowled. “You’re a cat.” There were times when she thought that he just couldn’t see himself as he was – but really, when had he ever?
“Which could change at any point, you know. All I have to do is hang in, and all you have to do is learn to be nice.” He circled around himself in agitation for a moment. “But that’s the flaw in my plan!” he growled.
“We’re here because you were a jerk,” Eleanor snapped. He always did it – he always had to bring things up, and bring things up!
“And yet you’re here, too,” he purred.
What could she say? He was right. They were each other’s punishment. She couldn’t get rid of him until she redeemed herself with Gloria. She hated to admit it, but she was shackled to the cat. “I’m here to find out what happened to Daria,” she said. Gloria hadn’t given him a mission, and she liked to point that out.
“You know that’s not completely true,” he said smoothly. “Gloria wanted to get rid of you before she heard about Daria. You went too far. You always go too far.”
She wouldn’t dignify that with an answer. She knew perfectly well that she and the cat were bound together until Gloria decided they’d learned their lessons. Luckily, she was also there to help find a missing witch, and that at least made it seem like Gloria respected her.
“I make the decisions,” she said finally. “You’re in charge of nothing.”
The cat dropped to the floor in an elegant way and circled around her, pumping his tail up. “But to continue,” he said, “I can say with all modesty that I do deserve a car. A convertible. Deep blue, I think.”
“I suspect the van would decide to take you away instead,” she scoffed. “And since no one cares what happens to the disappeared, I wouldn’t care either.” It wasn’t a good look, she thought, saying things like that. But the cat was so annoying!
“I bet it’s some kind of parking problem,” the cat said philosophically. “Like getting towed.”
“They don’t tow people, they tow the cars.”
“In other places, yes. But this makes more sense.” He got a little jaunty, swaggering and swishing his tail.
He was like that, completely indifferent to what happened to others.
The bell was getting closer. She was determined to see what it was this time, to see up close. She and the cat had been in the city for three weeks now, adjusting and observing. Everyone had explanations for everything, but she wasn’t going to fall for it. She would keep her New York City smarts for as long as she could. There could hardly be a good explanation for people being taken away.
A large tan van with side and rear doors rounded the corner. There was a cheerful logo on the body, a smiling chicken with a frying pan. How typical, she thought: pretending animals were delighted to be killed and cooked. The van began to slow down, and some people stood still, watching, their heads swiveling as their anticipation built. Others, mostly Latinx, took corners, vanished into stores or up the stairs. And still the van moved along, ringing its merry bell.
In another era, it might be a siren, Eleanor thought, but it didn’t matter. It was never ignored; everyone had their eyes on it. And then they could all see where it was heading – a young man, turning to stand and face it down, his legs spread out firm against the ground, his arms crossed, his head high, his eyes relentlessly watching it approach him, closer and closer.
How fierce he was! She could feel the tension rising in the air. Everyone contributed to it, as if they were a massed beating heart. The van’s door opened, two arms reached out, grabbed him, and he was gone.
“Ooh, that was good,” Stan said. “Neat and clean.”
They heard a second bell, and almost immediately a car with the same logo came rushing down the street. This one had a sunroof, and a woman’s torso stuck out of the roof and shouted, “They found my husband! They found my husband!” and she threw nougats at the crowd, who began to relax and grin.
These nougats were particularly popular right now. There were scarcities in a lot of items – milk, cheese, water, toilet paper – but nougats were everywhere and very cheap. Stan loved them, though Eleanor felt that he said this, and ate them, merely to irritate her. Cats didn’t eat candy.
All around them, people were bending and picking up nougats, laughing and pointing out locations to other people. Some stuck them in their pockets and looked for more, others unwrapped them, threw the papers in the street, and began to chew blissfully. Some with open mouths, Eleanor noted in disgust. And the litter – these nougats were a disgrace.
“Put down that nougat,” she said to the cat.
He popped it in his mouth and began to chew. “Leave him alone,” a woman said. “Everyone likes nougat and why not enjoy it? We earned it.”
“We did not earn nougats,” Eleanor said through clenched teeth and the cat laughed.
“I have to put up with a lot!” he said. “This is my reward.”
“As if you deserve a reward,” she said. “You’re arrogant and selfish.”
The cat licked his paw once. “The problem is, you can’t handle me. That’s why we’re both here. You’ve got a nasty temper.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I respond to you; that’s the problem. You set me off.”
“Everything sets you off.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Well then, everyone.”
“That’s not true.”
The cat snickered. “You don’t imagine you’re good with people, do you?”
Her face twisted a little and she had a brief fight with herself to get it back in order. “No, I know that,” she said. She straightened her back and stepped forward, followed closely and carefully by the cat.
She hurried, but the car and the van had both raced down the street, making a turn onto President’s Avenue, and were heading quickly towards the palace. Trying to chase them on foot was a fool’s errand, she admitted. But tomorrow she was going to meet the local coven; perhaps they had information and could tell her what was going on. Maybe they would even give her some of her powers back. Any small amount of magic would irritate the cat, and that would be a gift.
They were only a few blocks away from what served as home, and they walked there together quickly at first. The cat soon dropped back to whack a nougat wrapper floating in the air, then rushed forward to toss it at Eleanor’s feet.
Eleanor approached an old house with a small set of wooden steps that led up to a porch and front door. Ivy had crept up to wind its way along the railings and it had spread all over the front of the building, draping it in green.
Stan trotted forward to scoot in ahead of her. Eleanor was looking forward to some tea and maybe a piece of cake. Nothing for the cat though, who’d just had candy after all.
And he was getting fat.
But she believed he liked it.
She got the tea kettle and turned on the tap. Nothing happened. She turned it off and on again, even though that was ridiculous. Doing something twice wasn’t magic. She sighed, thinking.
“It’s Tuesday, isn’t it?” she asked the cat, who was busy licking his tail.
“It is,” the cat answered.
“Didn’t we pay to have water on Tuesday? Did you forget to send the payment?”
The cat was offended and stroked his paw in annoyance. “You see why it makes no sense to put me in charge of paperwork? I have a philosophical indifference. It is not in my nature to be diligent. I am a free spirit! If there is no water, we will drink champagne!”
Typical behavior! That cat never got over his airs. It wouldn’t really matter what kind of creature he was turned into, he’d always be lazy and selfish. She could see him as a boastful snake, a snide bird, a swaggering toad. He’d manage to turn it to his advantage no matter what. It was better to just ignore his moments of grandiosity because he got too much pleasure out of her annoyance. She had to admit she was annoyed too often.
