by Silk, Avril
Then on a podium she saw the cage. She watched in horror as Ali, emaciated, bedraggled, with dark shadows round her eyes, stood chained on a revolving stage, like a dancer in a musical box, taunted and goaded by the spectators. On the wall beside her hung Quinn, chained at the wrists and ankles. Despite clear evidence of torture, Ali’s eyes were fierce and proud.
On an opposite podium Lethe and Paul were seated on gilded thrones cushioned with scarlet velvet. They were clearly stricken by grief. King Paul wore a black armband over his tunic. Despite their horrific loss, they maintained their composure and dignity as they watched the proceedings with a regal air, occasionally deigning to wave at an acquaintance or smile at a particularly favoured courtier. Titus was seated behind them. From time to time the Queen sent a servant across to Ali’s cage to poke delicious morsels of food through the bars. Jo was glad to see that Ali refused the proffered tit-bits, although she was obviously ravenous. It’s like feeding time at the zoo, thought Jo, feeling furious.
With her resolve strengthened by Ali’s suffering, Jo looked out for the XXXIX. She concentrated on the older, affluent men; the ones dressed in floor-length ceremonial robes, radiating power and wealth. She noticed that some of them wore a discreet gold pin in their lapel, in the shape of the letters XXXIX. Now her efforts were more focussed. She was attentive without being sycophantic; she laughed sweetly; was coquettish without being cloying. She danced decorously, touching her partners lightly with a beguiling innocence that entranced rather than offended. She took care to charm the formidable wives of these influential men, and as she applied the skills she had learned from Sheraleen, Mandy and Zebo the central part of her plan began to fall into place.
She also danced with the younger men who seemed to be queuing up to partner her. Just occasionally she almost forgot her solemn purpose, enjoying the attention and the excitement. She glimpsed herself in a mirror, and marvelled at her reflection. The girl she saw was almost unrecognisable. Her gown was simply exquisite; her coiffed hair and flawless makeup subtly emphasised her youthful attractiveness, and her poise and deportment added a layer of sophistication that allowed her to pass as older than her years. As the enthralled men whirled her around, for the first time Jo sensed the power of her own beauty, and the potency thrilled her.
From time to time she caught a glimpse of Sheraleen, dancing with, among others, Lord Mandrake. Mirabel’s Molls were plying their trade enthusiastically.
The music seemed to be getting faster and Jo noticed that some of Mirabel’s girls were coping with dancing partners who were slowly becoming less courteous. Several of them were intoxicated, holding their partner tightly, breathing hot words of passion into ears that had heard it all before.
Now Sheraleen was dancing with Prince Hawk. He was pawing at her breasts, his jaw slack with desire, his eyes glassy. With fumbling fingers he tried to remove her gilded mask, but he swayed drunkenly and lost his footing. Sheraleen took the chance to try and slip out of his sweaty embrace, but he lunged for her, tightened his grip, seized her waist and started grinding her body against his. Sheraleen kept her smile fixed in place but Jo could see, and sense, the panic that swept through her. Then Lord Mandrake tapped the Prince on the shoulder, more forcefully than was usual. He gallantly steered Sheraleen away from the doubled-up drunken lout.
‘May I have the honour of this dance, Mademoiselle?’ The dry voice, scarcely more than a whisper, startled Jo. Before she knew it Lord Oleander held her in his bony embrace, and, with a decorum that was the polar opposite of his lechery when first they met, he steered her around the room as if she were made of the finest bone china. Jo observed that the desiccated desire that ‘Angelina’ inspired in him was totally absent now, in front of the Royal Family and other ruling Elite.
As soon as the dance was over, Jo excused herself. She wanted to wash away the unwelcome sensation of Lord Oleander’s hands on her skin. She went to a softly lit rest-room with sumptuously appointed toilet cubicles and wash basins with gold taps. Shelves of beautiful glass bottles of exclusive perfumes and lotions were there for all to use. Jo did her best to purge herself of Lord Oleander’s touch. She was so engrossed she didn’t hear anyone come in.
‘Smokey? What are you doing here?’
He was dressed as a royal lackey, carrying a mop and bucket.
‘I’m here to rescue Quinn and Ali. And I could ask you the same question!’
‘And you’d get the same answer! You should be in bed! You’re going to ruin everything!’ she snapped, panic setting in.
Smokey was thinking hard. ‘We can still use this to our advantage. There are other plans in motion tonight.’ But before Jo could react, Sheraleen came into the bathroom.
Smokey fell silent as he caught sight of her. She also appeared tongue tied. Jo smiled inwardly as she introduced them. They seemed unable to stop staring at each other.
The sound of footsteps broke the awkward silence. ‘Someone’s coming,’ said Jo urgently. ‘Smokey, disappear.’ But Smokey, transfixed as he was by the sight of Sheraleen, wasn’t quick enough.
The unmistakeable silhouette of Madame Mirabel blocked out the light. She didn’t waste time on pleasantries. ‘Oi, you – Romeo – scarper.’ Smokey picked up his mop and bucket and set to work in one of the cubicles. Mirabel glowered at him and then turned on the girls.
‘Don’t you go givin’ it away, Sheraleen; go back out there and earn your bleedin’ keep.’
Madame Mirabel grabbed Jo by the wrist and led her to the array of bottles and potions. She sprayed Jo and herself with the most expensive perfume she could find and said, ‘Right. Come along, dear. Let’s find an ‘andsome prince for you, not one of they common little frogs.’ She marched Jo back outside and hissed in her ear, ‘Now, Madam, get out there and act bleedin’ classy.’
While Jo had been away the mood of the revellers had darkened. The urbane, civilised masks of the dignitaries had started to slip, revealing a bestial cruelty that Jo recognised as the prelude to the blood-lust she had experienced while fighting for her life against Lucy in this same arena. People were circling the cage that held Ali, hurling crude insults, prodding her with silver-tipped canes, mocking her by offering food then snatching it away before devouring it like ravenous beasts. Throughout she ignored their jeers and taunts. Quinn just hung there, broken and motionless. Jo longed to make contact with Ali; to reassure her that help was on its way, but it was too dangerous. Not only that, she still had a task to complete.
As Jo sought out more of the XXXIX, the music suddenly stopped, and a fanfare rang out. The lights dimmed, and in the darkness, the orchestra started to play a sinister, slow tango. The air of menace was palpable. As the lights slowly came on, dark shadows were cast on the arena walls, and a procession of improbably tall young women, teetering on killer stiletto heels, scantily dressed in jet-black leather and blood-red lace, moved slowly towards the caged prisoners. They were led by a disturbing figure with an enormous head and a spindly body draped in a long, black velvet cloak. Each woman wielded a gleaming machine gun. They stood stock still in a half-circle around the cage, then as a drum roll sounded, slowly and theatrically took aim at the prisoner.
Jo was finding it hard to breathe. What about the vote? Was all her work wasted? Then the announcer declared, ‘Welcome to Sebastian and his Sultry Sirens!’ and the audience went wild, stamping their feet and baying like wolves. The drums were louder now; a throbbing, primitive vibration. A single spotlight shone on the elongated, spidery Sebastian; there was another drum roll and then firecrackers exploded all around the arena, making the watchers scream with terror.
With a dramatic flourish of his swirling cloak Sebastian was transformed into the Lord of Misrule – his face a white mask – his jester-like black and gold costume embellished with luminous, grinning skull and crossbones. As he raised his staff high above his head, a noise like thunder reverberated around the ball-room, followed by an eerie silence.
Jo was terrified. What was hap
pening? The terrible silence continued, then Sebastian banged his staff three times on the floor and gave his command. ‘Ladies of the Night! Fire!’
There was a collective gasp as everyone’s eyes turned to the terrified woman in the cage, then Sebastian’s Sirens swung round, their guns pointed at the audience, and started firing into the crowd.
It was mayhem. People stampeded for the exits; a woman standing near Jo fainted; others swooned or screamed. Then the screams turned to Bacchanalian, manic laughter as instead of the expected hail of bullets, the guns fired silver confetti. The Sirens scattered, shrieking wildly, running into the spectators, firing off round after round of tinsel.
It was then that Jo spotted Lucy, a fierce and magnificent Siren in her high heels, leather and lace. The last thing Jo wanted was to come face to face with her old enemy. She moved as far away as she possibly could.
With the sudden release of tension the mood changed again – relief caused total strangers to embrace each other, their laughter wild, their eyes dilated. Jo wished she could just run away but she had to complete her mission. She hated the dangerous atmosphere; the feeling that events were spiralling out of control.
And then Sebastian declared, ‘Silence for the King.’
Paul rose slowly to his feet. He hesitated, then spoke quietly. ‘Thank you all for coming. And thank you, Sebastian, for that wonderful spectacle. Yes.’
Sebastian bowed low.
‘You all know why we are here.’ With that Lethe locked her gaze upon Ali and her countenance was dark. ‘Our once sweet sister Alithea has done the unthinkable. She has been a viper in our midst for all these years.’ His voice started to crack. ‘Not only is she a convicted traitor to the Realm but she is also named as a co-conspirator in the slaying of our beloved daughter!’ He looked upon Ali with eyes red with rage and grief.
‘That’s a lie!’ Despite Ali’s suffering, the words rang out clear and true. Jo’s heart rejoiced at the sound of her voice and the words gave wings to her woes. ‘I would never have done anything to harm Jo! I loved her as if she were my own!’
Queen Lethe’s jaw tightened. She gestured to Sebastian who delivered Ali an almighty crunch to her ribs with his staff. The crowd roared with malicious laughter, as the furious King and Queen turned to Titus. The noise settled as he waited patiently.
‘Reports of the interrogation of detainee #73492 a.k.a. Quinn, former leader of the Rioters, has yielded a full confession, your Majesties. He admits to both the plotting and the assassination of Princess Jocasta as part of a larger plan to make her aunt, Princess Alithea, the successor to the throne. You, my Queen, were to have been his next target.’
‘I’ve heard enough,’ said Queen Lethe impatiently. Titus clearly had more to say. Lethe checked her irritation. ‘Get on with it.’
Titus continued. ‘The prisoner has refused the opportunity to plead her case, preferring to remain silent. So without further ado, the XXXIX will cast their votes.’
Lord Oleander bowed, inclining his head in agreement. A tall, slender glass drum, on a platform draped with scarlet and sable velvet, was wheeled into the centre of the room. A metal sheath, enamelled with black skulls and red peonies, was placed over the drum. Under the watchful eyes of all present, led by Lord Oleander, the XXXIX processed towards the platform, encircling it and reaching deep into the pockets of their ceremonial robes. All was silent apart from a steady drumbeat which choreographed their movements, setting a brisk pace.
Then the lights were extinguished, and in the darkness, a voice rang out. ‘Number One! Number Two! Number Three!’ As each token was deposited a bell-like sound rang out from inside the glass drum.
The process seemed interminable, but at last number thirty-nine was called and the lights came back on. There was a fanfare of trumpets, and the spotlight shone on the ballot box. Paul and Lethe stood on either side, and slowly raised the metal sheath.
For a moment there was a stunned silence. Clearly no-one was expecting the result that was revealed - a dense mass of red tokens interspersed with a sparse scattering of black marbles. A vote for mercy. Lethe looked thunderous and Paul seemed lost for words. Lord Oleander rallied magnificently however, and in ringing tones proclaimed, ‘The judges have spoken! Let the prisoner be released! Let us celebrate the compassion of your beloved King and Queen!’
Some rather half-hearted cheers rang out – everyone was wary; not quite sure which way to jump. Sebastian gestured irritably to the bandleader to start the music, and he strode towards the cage, jangling the keys as he walked. The crowd pressed forward to watch the almost unprecedented release of the prisoners.
Caught up in the throng, Jo was aware of someone pushing her hard. She turned round to remonstrate, and to her horror came face to face with Lucy.
‘You bloody bitch! Look at my sodding roots! You stole my bloody bleach and Sebastian nearly wouldn’t let me perform!’
With a cry of fury she set about Jo, kicking and punching her mercilessly and knocking her to the ground. Jo’s evening bag flew open. Dozens of black marbles, and a few spare red ones, taken from the Infirmary toy-box and carefully painted with Sheraleen’s best scarlet nail polish, flew out, rolling everywhere. There was a stunned silence as people stood stock still, transfixed.
One of the spare red marbles stopped at Titus’s feet. He bent down and picked it up and examined it closely. It was completely smooth.
But red marbles should be etched with the peony! This was how the judges were able to choose their marbles in the dark, and how Jo had managed to switch tokens whilst pickpocketing the XXXIX.
Unbeknownst to them, most of them had been carrying two red marbles; one authentic and engraved, one fake - completely smooth. In choosing the smooth marble, they thought they were voting for death.
Titus scraped at the red colouring, revealing the ordinary glass marble beneath.
Cries of ‘Fix!’ echoed around the room. Lethe looked thunderous and screamed, ‘Seize that girl!’ and then the explosion happened, right on time.
The entire Roundhouse shook as security guards converged upon Jo. Their efforts to seize her were foiled as they all fell about on the scattered marbles. Another bigger explosion, now, nearer than the first and the room was plunged into darkness.
‘Come with me,’ said Smokey to Jo, appearing out of nowhere.
‘What the hell is happening?’ she asked as he quickly led her to the shelter of the podium.
‘No time to explain. I didn’t expect you to be here causing trouble.’ He looked at her with incredulity. ‘Seriously, that was your plan? A game of marbles? Just stay here and stay quiet.’ And with that, Smokey leapt back into the chaos of the darkened ballroom.
As Titus barked orders at VMN soldiers to find out what was happening, Smokey delivered a lightning punch to Sebastian, knocking him instantly unconscious and grabbing the keys. Meanwhile the King and Queen and other dignitaries were being ushered to safety. The guests all panicked and fled the scene. Soon there were just a few unconscious bystanders and Smokey, Jo, Ali and Quinn left. Smokey ran to Quinn and began to unlock his restraints. He shifted his weight to carry his listless mentor and threw Jo the keys. She ran to Ali and put the key in the lock to the cage.
‘Stop right there!’ came the voice of the King. He strode back into the ballroom, ignoring those trying to move him to safety. Queen Lethe, Lord Oleander and his royal guards stood with him.
Paul stared through the gloom at Jo. His voice shook with anger and disbelief. ‘Can it be true? Jocasta? Not only risen but…’ His voice cracked as he struggled to go on. He made himself speak. ‘My daughter and my sister-in-law? Both traitors?’
Armed guards seized Jo and Smokey and secured Quinn back to the wall. Lethe, transfixed, stalked towards Jo and eyed her critically with eyes full of both hope and horror, until finally, her gaze fell upon Ali.
‘No, my love, our dear Jocasta is dead. It appears that we have a niece. I would have preferred a more seemly introduction.’
Queen Lethe the First paused for a moment, shaking with anger, then she turned the full glare of her wrath onto Jo.
‘Imagine, you foolish young woman, how wonderful your life would have been if I had been your benefactor. In other circumstances I would have taught you how to operate successfully in the world, showing you the possibilities and riches my sister treats with such contempt. You could have been a companion for Jocasta and Hawk. Instead you will die tonight with your treacherous mother and one of her many lovers. You have been caught red-handed trying to pervert the course of justice but your tawdry plot has failed.’
Jo managed a defiant croak. ‘This is not justice.’
‘Stay silent, dear.’ The speaker was Ali, her voice barely audible. Jo looked into her eyes, and for the first time tonight those eyes were blurred with tears. ‘Whoever you are, don’t give her the satisfaction of dignifying her dross with your gold.’
Lethe rattled the bars of the cage in rage. ‘Silence! Don’t say a word!’
Then Ali laughed. She turned to Jo. ‘You heard the lady. Don’t say a word!’ Then she painfully rasped the opening lines of an old, well-loved song.
Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,
Papa’s gonna buy you a mocking bird…
If that mocking bird don’t sing
Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring
Her voice trembling, Jo came in on the next line.
If that diamond ring is brass
Papa’s gonna buy you a looking glass
Their voices grew stronger and the two of them held their heads high, touching hands and staring down the baying mob.