The Demi-Monde: Summer (52 page)

‘It’s a GunBoat,’ announced LieutenantFemme Lai Choi San.

‘What does it carry?’

‘Twin four-inch guns; nothing to worry us. It could pound away all day and we’d barely feel it. The Captain must be suicidal.’

Trixie eyed the sleek GunBoat suspiciously. There was something almost arrogant about how it was being handled and she certainly didn’t like the way it was manoeuvring for a beam attack. Although she was no sailor, she understood enough to know that a lightly gunned ship like the GunBoat would usually content itself with snapping at the heels of a more powerful adversary, hoping to score a lucky hit on the rudder. It wouldn’t come within striking distance of a broadside. There was something not quite right here.

‘Steer closer to the shore and prepare starboard batteries to engage.’

‘Set mortar bomb fuses for thirty seconds. Prepare to fire.’

Gunnery Lieutenant Burns decided that tonight was his lucky night. The target had cleared the Anichkov Bridge and was now steaming directly towards him. He made a quick calculation using his slide rule, a calculation involving the ship’s speed and the time of flight of the mortar shell, and then picked his spot. As soon as the ship reached that, he would fire. He wouldn’t even have to hit the bloody thing; the force of the explosion would swamp any ship within fifty metres.

Hardly able to breathe for excitement, he waited impatiently for the ship to come into range.

Then …

‘Fire!’

‘Full steam ahead!’ yelled Makarov. ‘Torpedo crew, prepare to fire. Set run-depth at five feet. We’re going to have to do this quick, lads, before that bastard has a chance to lay her guns on us, so all of you look sharp.’

The deck under Makarov’s feet began to vibrate as the engine room poured on the power and the boat sliced through the water. He loved these moments, loved the feeling of speed, the feeling of power. Riding aboard the
Molnya
was akin to riding a thoroughbred racehorse. It was exhilarating. The
Molnya
had never gone this fast …
nothing
had ever gone this fast! With the tide behind him – he was making the attack with the Hub at his stern – and the steam engines wide open he guessed that he was doing more than 20 m.p.h. He was travelling faster than anything had ever gone in the Demi-Monde.

He watched through eyes half-closed against the river spray slashing into his face as the dark, brooding bulk of the WarJunk came across his water-streaked windscreen. Hardly daring to breathe, he waited until it filled his sights.

Now!

‘Fire torpedo!’ he screamed.

Horrified, Trixie watched the white wake of the torpedo streak towards the
Wu
. She knew what it was. Her father had been involved in the river trials of the Whitehead torpedo and he had described its destructive power to her.

‘Torpedo attack!’ she screamed. ‘Prepare for impact.’

For seemingly endless seconds she waited for the explosion, but none came, just a dull thud as the torpedo smacked into the side of the WarJunk.

It was a dud!

Lieutenant Makarov watched as … nothing happened. The torpedo was a dud.

‘
Yo moyo!
’

They were the last words he ever uttered. The mortar shell fired from Gun Emplacement Fourteen exploded directly over the GunBoat
Molnya
. Such was the force of the explosion that the GunBoat was lifted twenty-five metres into the air and thrown fifty metres in the direction of Rangoon. Makarov and his crew were dead long before the charred remnants of the
Molnya
smashed back down onto the river.

Immensely satisfied that he had so efficiently carried out his strange orders, Burns was just supervising Bombardier Danny Smith as he painted a white ring around the barrel of the mortar to signify the destruction of the enemy GunBoat – well, if he’d been ordered to destroy it, it had to have been an ‘enemy’, now didn’t it? – when three SS StormTroopers barged their way into the gun emplacement and arrested him and his crew for treason and acts of sabotage against the ForthRight.

As he was handcuffed, Burns realised two things: that Crowley was a vicious, evil, manipulative bastard and that the family’s haberdashery business would now be passing to his younger brother.

Trixie watched stupefied as the GunBoat exploded in a huge, night-searing fireball. But even though she was shaken by what had happened, her instincts as a commander still kicked in.

‘Batten down all hatches. Close all watertight doors.’

The tsunami that followed the detonation of the mortar bomb would have swamped most other ships, but the
Wu
was so big and so heavy that she rode out the huge waves. They
cleared St Petersburg with no further mishaps, and as she set course for Venice, Trixie decided that this had been the luckiest night of her life.

Aleister Crowley sat at his desk writing his report by candlelight. He could have waited until the morning – Heydrich, to whom the report was addressed, would be asleep now – but he was gripped by such a feeling of elation that he had been unable to resist recording his triumph. The whole pantomime of the stealing of the WarJunk had gone wonderfully well. There had been just the right amount of opposition to convince Trixie Dashwood that she had stolen the
Wu
in the face of fierce resistance but not enough to ever endanger the vessel. Of course, the
pièce de résistance
had been the sacrifice of the GunBoat but that he judged was a small price to pay to secure the Column.

The Column … that was the prize.

And it was so great a prize that he had decided to overcome his distaste for ships and to personally supervise the taking of it from Trixie Dashwood.

He sealed the report and placed it in his out tray. Then he rang for his steward. It was time for him to take his berth aboard the FSS
Heydrich
.

Copy of PigeonGram message sent by Su Xiaoxiao on 89th day of Summer, 1005

‘Hello Nikolai.’

Kondratieff started so suddenly that he spilt Solution from the glass he was holding. After his meeting with Grand Vizier Selim the Grim, his nerves were shot and the last thing he needed was dead men coming at him from out of the shadows.

‘Vanka Maykov! I heard you were dead.’

That, at least, was what had been reported in the newspapers: that Vanka Maykov, enemy of Venice, had been killed by a HimPeril agent in the JAD. But he had to admit that Vanka didn’t look the least bit dead, that is unless corpses had taken to walking around with a very cocksure smile on their face and a very mischievous twinkle in their eyes.

‘Not dead, Nikolai,’ answered Vanka, in the same breezy manner Kondratieff remembered so well. ‘That was just a story
put around by the Code Noir so that the HimPeril would lay off hunting me.’

Kondratieff smiled. ‘Well, it would appear, Vanka, that you are making a poor fist of
staying
undead. The last place where you should be seen is here in Venice; even with the fall of Doge IMmanual you are still
persona non grata
in this neck of the woods.’

Vanka eased his long frame down into a chair and lit a cigarette. ‘Needs must when Loki drives, Nikolai. But before we get down to business I could use a drink. It’s hot work evading the Signori di Notte.’

Kondratieff served his guest with a glass of Solution and then sat down in the chair opposite him. ‘So we have to talk business, eh, Vanka? I should have guessed that this wasn’t a social call. Could it be that your return to Venice is somehow connected with the Lady IMmanual?’

‘Are my motives that predictable?’ Vanka laughed at his own comment. ‘But then, I suppose, to the Demi-Monde’s greatest expert on Future History
everything
is predictable.’

‘Not
quite
everything, Vanka. As I believe I explained to you before, there are certain InDeterminate factors – things which by their perverse nature are inherently unpredictable – which compromise the accuracy of my HyperOpia 4Telling program, and you are one of those.’ He took a moment to refresh Vanka’s glass. ‘But though you are infuriatingly InDeterminate in most respects, with regard to the Lady IMmanual your actions are wholly predictable. Am I to presume that you are now intent on saving her from the clutches of her brother?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh my. That, I think, will be a daunting task. Word is that she is being held in the Temple of Lilith which is now very securely guarded by the HimPeril. Penetrating their security will be an impossible task.’

Vanka gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. ‘Not impossible, Nikolai, merely difficult. Josephine Baker tells me that four hundred people will be gathering at the Temple on Lammas Eve.’

‘So what? Only those with invitations will be afforded entry—’ Kondratieff smiled. ‘I see … you want my invitation.’

Vanka raised his glass in salute to Kondratieff’s perspicacity. ‘Got it in one, Nikolai. We’re both Blanks and both tall so at night I think there’s a good chance of my being able to pass myself off as the great Nikolai Kondratieff. If I can get into the Temple during the ceremony that will give me a chance to rescue Ella.’

Kondratieff shook his head. ‘Much as I applaud your courage and your determination, Vanka, I think there is something I should apprise you of … something which will doom your rescue mission to failure.’ And for the next five minutes Kondratieff explained about the bomb hidden inside the Column and his plan that it would detonate at midnight on Lammas Eve.

‘How powerful is the bomb?’

‘Very. It is designed to kill all those attending the ceremony.’

‘Four hundred people.’

‘Regrettable, but Doge William is the brother of Lilith … he is Lucifer come again and must be destroyed. The deaths of four hundred people will be a tragedy, the deaths of four million at the hands of Lucifer would be a disaster.’

‘But as you would be attending the ceremony, presumably you would be numbered amongst the dead.’

Kondratieff shrugged. ‘Again, regrettable, but as I was the man who organised the transporting of the Column from Venice to the Temple I was judged important enough to be given an invitation to attend the ceremony. If I was to be absent on such an important occasion that would raise suspicions. Grand
Vizier Selim is a very astute individual and I would do nothing to fuel any doubts he might have regarding the Column. I had a very close shave only yesterday when he was inspecting the thing.’

Vanka sat silently sipping his Solution for a few moments as he pondered what Kondratieff had said. ‘Nikolai, I hear what you say, but I’ve got to try to save Ella. She’s the girl I love.’

‘And I suppose even if I refuse to give you my invitation you will still attempt to rescue her?’

‘Of course.’

Kondratieff sighed. ‘The unfortunate thing, Vanka, with you being an InDeterminate entity is that your interference during the Ceremony of Awakening could lead to the bomb
not
detonating. Therefore you must give me your word that in rescuing Ella you will do nothing to prevent the detonation of the bomb. Duke William
must
be destroyed.’

‘You have my word.’

‘Then I suppose I have no choice.’ Kondratieff stood up, crossed to the bureau standing at the side of the room and took the heavily embossed pasteboard from a drawer. He handed it over to Vanka. ‘Take it with all my best wishes, but there is something else I must give you.’ From out of his pocket he drew a silver chain with a large crucifix hanging from it. ‘I want you to have this, Vanka.’

Vanka took it reluctantly. ‘I’m not a great one for religion, Nikolai.’

‘Listen,’ said Kondratieff. ‘By inclination I am a cautious man, one who is prone to wear both belt and braces. This crucifix is my insurance policy,’ and then he explained its true purpose.

Vanka nodded his understanding. ‘Thank you, Nikolai, but, believe me, I’ll do my level best not to need it.’ With that he stood up and shook hands with Kondratieff. ‘I’ll always remember you as a true friend, Nikolai.’

And you
, mused Kondratieff as he watched Vanka disappear back into the night,
are the final piece in this little puzzle
. It had been a rare honour, he decided, to have shaken the hand of PaPa Legba … to have shaken hands with ABBA himself.