The Demi-Monde: Winter (59 page)

Unfortunately the sentry whom Cassidy tripped over was young, overeager and one of the few men in his company who wasn’t drunk. The boy had been cowering away from the blizzard in the lee of a water tower when Cassidy, frozen and not in a very accommodating mood, fell over him. The conversation that ensued was brief and noisy.

‘Who goes there?’ said the boy through chattering teeth.

‘Someone who’s not as stupid as you are, that’s for sure,’ snarled Cassidy as he hauled himself out of the snowdrift he’d been tumbled into. ‘Spirits damn it, boy, what are you doing hiding away like that?’

The boy, with a terrified look on his face, did his best to face Cassidy down. ‘I-I-I s-s-said who goes there?’

‘Why-why-why,’ Cassidy mimicked a little unkindly, ‘should I tell a f-f-fucking idiot like you anything?’

‘Be-be-because I’m guarding this water tower.’

‘Well, P-P-Private, I’m Sergeant B-B-Bob Cassidy of the First Anglo Rangers and me and my f-f-friends have been ordered to get our a-a-asses over to Hub Bridge Number Two to help with the attack there.’

Cassidy was betrayed by the want of a button. If his ragged greatcoat still had had some of its buttons it wouldn’t have
flapped open in the wind to display his blue jacket, the one he had worn when he had been fighting on the Royalist side during the Troubles. The boy saw the jacket, his eyes boggled and then he made what would prove to be a fatal mistake.

‘Royalists!’ he screamed. ‘We’re under attack by Royalists!’ And then to compound his mistake, he fired his rifle. By the time Cassidy had smashed his rifle butt into the boy’s head the damage had been done. The alert rippled around the ForthRight troops stationed along the railway line.

‘Royalists to me,’ screamed the Baron. ‘Captain Crockett, we’re to advance at the double, due south.’

The look he got from Crockett was very articulate. He knew as well as the Baron what lay to the south.

‘That’s the direction where there are the fewest enemy,’ the Baron shouted by way of explanation. ‘We’ll get to the Wheel River and then …’

It was lucky for the Baron that the shooting began when it did, otherwise he would have been forced to explain to Crockett just what he did plan to do. And if he had explained he doubted that Crockett or indeed any of his regiment would have followed him. But by his estimation a probable death was preferable to a certain one and, after all, someone, sometime had to survive Terror Incognita. He just hoped it would be him.

Fortunately for the balloonists, the blizzard eased and the wind shifted back, driving them to the east and blowing them – unnoticed in the snow-filled darkness – a hundred feet over the campfires that marked the SS cordon around ExterSteine. When the wounded balloon finally expired, they came to rest, by Vanka’s estimation, about a half-mile to the west of ExterSteine. The landing was what Ella described as a ‘soft crash’: the basket hit the ground with a considerable bump but as the ground
was covered with a thick layer of snow the impact was cushioned. The three of them emerged from the tangle of ropes and wreckage and pronounced themselves grateful that none had any broken limbs. Barely pausing for breath, they set off towards the five stone columns that made up ExterSteine and which could be seen glinting ahead of them in the dawn’s half-light.

Dawn.

As Ella looked to the east, she could see the unmistakable smudge of red light on the horizon signalling that dawn was imminent.

‘How long before sunup, Vanka?’ she whispered – sound travelled easily in the Hub – as she slid and slipped over the pristine snow of the Hubland.

‘Half an hour at the most.’

‘Not enough time.’

‘Maybe not to rescue Norma but maybe enough to stop the Rite of Transference.’

‘How do you figure that?’

‘I remember an article in The Stormer that described the rites Crowley performed to welcome the beginning of Spring. It said something about there being a window cut in the roof of the cavern set at the top of the tallest ExterSteine column and that it was through this window that the first light of the first day of Spring was directed. According to Crowley, this first light of Spring had great occult significance. Maybe if we can block the window we can stop the rite.’

They ran as hard as they could through the swirling snow and the faltering darkness, guided by the shimmering Mantle-ite columns, and as they came closer the other-worldliness of the structure became more apparent. ExterSteine was made up of five gigantic columns that stabbed like rigid fingers out from the middle of the flat, snow-dressed grassland that was the
Hub, the Mantle-ite columns luminous in the darkness. Ella guessed the tallest column of the five – Lilith’s Column – stood over two hundred foot tall and was about a hundred foot in girth. Lights flickered at the summit.

A strange, eerie feeling washed over her.

She’d been here before. ‘

That’s where the Rite of Transference must be taking place,’ she called out. ‘That must be where Crowley conducts his rituals.’

Vanka pointed to a staircase that wound around the column. ‘And that’s the way up.’

Ella could only think that the rite being performed by Crowley was so secret that he wanted as few people to witness it as possible and that was why there were no SS StormTroopers guarding the staircase. Indeed, all the Hubland stretching out around ExterSteine seemed deserted, the snow untarnished by footprints or steamer tracks.

Climbing the column was tough: the stairs were steep, the steps slippery with ice and snow, and the savage wind buffeted them every step of the way, but there was no time to pause for breath. As she climbed she couldn’t resist the temptation to drift her fingers over the runic inscriptions etched over the surface of the Mantle-ite column. And though the runes were written in the untranslatable Pre-Folk A and though even PINC couldn’t provide her with an interpretation of what the inscriptions said, she knew what was written there … knew that once she had spoken this strange language.

In Lilith | I, Loki, was reborn.

And reborn | Lilith scorned

ABBA’s harmony. | Through Lilith’s

sorcery | the harmony

was destroyed.

Harmony she said | is the iced touch

of the ideal. | The dead hand

the frozen soul | the unvoiced idea

the unfurling | of the flower

never blossoming.

To build | anew

Lilith | in her quiet fury

razed. | This is the first truth.

To build | you must first destroy.

The ruined perfection of the Vanir erased.

She had no time to ponder on what was written: the dawn light that with every passing minute advanced over the eastern horizon urged her on. Time was short. Desperately she pushed her protesting body up the stairs until she arrived, breathless, panting and dizzy from her exertions, at the flat, circular top of the column that tilted towards the rising sun. She found herself standing on the summit of the world.

Ella hated heights and she had never been anywhere where her feeling of vertigo was so intense. The Demi-Monde stretching out below her seemed a very long way down and she was made to feel even more vulnerable by the way the wind whistled around her as she struggled to keep her footing on the slick Mantle-ite.

‘Over there,’ Vanka shouted over the howling gusts. ‘To the east. The shutters must be over there.’

Leaning into the wind, they pushed their way to the eastern side of the column. Vanka was right: a pair of great wooden shutters covered that side, facing towards the rapidly rising sun. There was a huge wooden lever next to them that presumably operated the shutters.

Why aren’t they guarded?

Vanka whipped his belt from around his waist. ‘If we tie this around the handles of the shutters that’ll stop them being opened!’

His explanation was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a revolver being cocked. They looked up to see Burlesque Bandstand – a much thinner-faced Burlesque Bandstand, it had to be said – wrapped in a dublonka, sitting with his legs dangling carelessly over the side of the column, and brandishing a purposeful-looking Webley pistol in their direction. By the light of the rising sun Ella could see there was a body of a dead SS StormTrooper beside him.

He raised the pistol and took careful aim at Vanka’s forehead.

‘‘Appy First ov Spring, Wanker, you bastard.’

Empress Wu was holding court in the Shwedagon Palace which dominated East Rangoon. After the cramped hustle and bustle of the Rookeries the huge gardens that surrounded the Palace came as a surprise to Trixie: she found it difficult to believe there could be anywhere in the Demi-Monde so profligate with space. It was as though she were walking through a place that was in the Demi-Monde but not of the Demi-Monde.

Once inside the Palace she was ushered briskly along the brilliantly decorated corridors until she was brought to a halt before two vast and richly embossed doors. First Deputy Borgia turned to her. ‘This is the Hall of the Great Dragon. Beyond these doors is seated the Sacred Presence of the Great Empress Wu. You will address the Great Empress as “Your Imperial Majesty”. You will approach the Great Empress Wu with your eyes averted: under no circumstances are you to gaze on her Divine Form directly. When you reach the black line inscribed across the floor of the hall you are to genuflect …’

‘Kneel? Colonels in the WFA don’t kneel to anyone.’

‘Please, Colonel, try to understand. This is Coven protocol, it cannot be changed.’

Oh yes it can,
decided Trixie as she gave the First Deputy a nod of acceptance.

‘Under no circumstances are your knees, your hands or any other parts of your body to cross that line. You may answer the questions posed to you by Her Imperial Majesty but whilst you may answer her questions …’

‘Under no circumstances am I to address her directly,’ suggested Trixie peevishly. She was too tired for this nonsense.

‘Indeed. You may use your inferior Anglo tongue when making your replies: the Empress Wu is familiar and fluent in all of the primitive languages of the Demi-Monde.’ The First Deputy glanced disdainfully at Wysochi. ‘Your Preferred Male is not permitted to enter the Hall of the Great Dragon. Only Femmes and NoNs may gaze upon the Divine Form of the Empress.’

Instructions completed, the First Deputy made a sign to the two sentries guarding the entrance to the hall – both the guards were women, and both, Trixie noticed, were armed with brand new M4s – who hauled the doors open to reveal the vast hall beyond.

M4s …

Why would Heydrich have provided the Coven with M4s if he was about to make war on it?

Still pondering this, Trixie strode off across the beautifully inlaid teak floor towards the small woman she could see seated on a throne at the far side of the room.

By repute the Empress Wu was the most beautiful woman in the Demi-Monde, but as she was protected from any indiscreet peeking by drapes of sheer silk wafting in front of her Trixie was unable to confirm or deny the rumour.

She came to the black line the First Deputy had warned her about, and with just a moment’s hesitation dropped to her knees and bowed to the shadowed form of the Empress.

‘You are very young,’ observed a lilting, almost sing-song voice.

Trixie remained silent. In truth she didn’t quite know how to reply: she was young.

‘And very dirty.’

This too was correct. Looking down at her knees, Trixie could see that her filthy, matted trousers were leaving streaks of dirt on the immaculately polished floor.

‘But this, I suppose, is to be expected when one is confronted by a Femme so given to martial pursuits. I understand that you are a remarkably able soldier, Colonel Dashwood: is this true?’

There seemed to be little point in being modest. ‘Yes, Your Imperial Majesty, I have enjoyed some success in fighting the Anglos.’

‘But you are an Anglo yourself, are you not?’

‘I am, Your Majesty, but I have sworn to fight with the people of Warsaw against the tyranny of Reinhard Heydrich and UnFunDaMentalism.’

‘You have decidedly unForthRight views for one so young.’

‘My age does not, I believe, detract from the correctness of my opinions.’

‘Nor from the arrogance of your attitude, it would seem,’ came the testy response. ‘You should be aware that the Coven and the ForthRight are allies … friends.’

So her father had been right. Heydrich had deceived them.

Heydrich had deceived them so comprehensively that he had persuaded Trixie to lead her army into the hands of his ‘friend and ally’. She and the WFA were now at the mercy of the Coven.

A heavy silence fell on the hall. Finally the Empress spoke
again. ‘I have consulted the iChing which advises that I should avoid war with the ForthRight, that I should not seek to tweak the tiger’s tail. This I believe is good advice: violence, in my opinion, is a poor substitute for the delicate deceits of diplomacy. But the price of peace is often a heavy one in that it involves the betrayal of those who trusted us.’ Again a silence and then a soft laugh. ‘Unfortunately betrayal and duplicity are indispensable parts of statecraft, and when one rules a nation or leads an army one quickly grows calluses on the soul, calluses that deaden finer feelings and dampen the pain engendered by betrayal. It is the express wish of Leader Heydrich that, as a token of the Coven’s friendship towards the ForthRight, we execute all members of the army you brought with you to the Coven and that we deliver you, in chains, into the custody of the ForthRight.’

No, you won’t.

As surreptitiously as she could, Trixie unbuttoned her tunic. The fools hadn’t searched her thoroughly enough – she had a small Colt holstered under her armpit. ‘That, Your Imperial Majesty, will only demonstrate to Heydrich that the Coven is weak and weakness is not a trait he admires.’

More silence. Trixie’s hand closed around the butt of the Colt.