“Sarah Heartburn,” Regina smiled. “Our favorite diva. And this lady is our conscience, Miss Priss.”
Miss Priss looked like “Alice in Wonderland” to Gretchen. Her girlie-girlie lisp seemed to be half a stammer and was most winning.
“Nice to be properly introduced, BB. I hope you’ll join us. A new person will put them on their best behavior. Their manners are shocking. And their language!”
“I’ve been known to use Guff Blurt myself,” Gretchen smiled.
“Where did you get that marvy tuta, BB?” a tall butch-type demanded. “I’ve got one not half so good. I paid a fortune, and it doesn’t fit the crotch worth a damn.”
“Please, Yenta,” Miss Priss said. “We shouldn’t use five-letter words here.”
“Six in ‘crotch,’ Priss,” Nell Gwyn said.
But Mary Mixup was doubtful. “Six?” She counted on her fingers. “C-R-O-U-C-H. You’re absolutely right, Nell.”
Regina laughed. “The tuta misfit is Yenta Calienta, BB. She’ll probably try to set you up for a swindle. And these are our twins, Oodgedye and Udgedye.”
Two identical women; jet-black hair, white, white skin, dead ringers for the beautiful Greek slave in Monte Cristo, smiled and nodded to Gretchen.
“Hi, BB. I’m Oodgedye.”
“No you’re not. You’re Udgedye. It’s my turn to be Oodgedye this week. Hi, BB.”
“They swap identities,” Nell explained to Gretchen. “I’ve got a bet on with Yenta. I say their husbands will spot the switch. Those two are look-alikes but they couldn’t be identical in bed, could they?”
“Of course not, Nell. No two women are.”
“Then I lose the bet?”
“No, it’s a standoff.”
“How do you figure that?”
“The psychodynamics of human behavior. Their men have probably spotted the swap but they’re enjoying it, too, so they keep their mouths shut. The cute question is whether the husbands have told each other, and I wouldn’t bet on that.”
Nell Gwyn looked at Gretchen with awe. “Help, Regina! I’ve gone and brung an intellect-type bee into the hive.”
“How lovely for us. Do make yourself comfortable, BB. Let’s get acquainted, Pi-girl! Coffee!” Back to Gretchen. “We’re all grateful for the introduction of someone clever. We’re running out of entertainment ideas.”
“That’s what brought her, Regina. She wants to know about one of our games.”
“Does she, Nell? Which?”
“She doesn’t know yet. I brought her along to show her.”
“This is getting complicated,” Regina laughed. “You’d best tell us yourself, BB.”
Gretchen was perplexed; whether to go along with the lie she’d told the redhead or tell the truth. She opted for the lie.
“There’s a pharm in Canker Alley called Rubor Tumor.”
“Is that dirty?” Miss Priss wanted to know.
“Why should it be dirty, Priss?” Nell inquired.
“They’re five-letter words.”
“They are suggestive, Priss,” Gretchen smiled. “Rubor and tumor are characteristics of tumescence.”
“What a brain! She’s staggering.”
“Can anyone understand the words BB’s using?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gretchen smiled. “Many times the words just pop out—I don’t know where from—and I don’t understand them either. Maybe I’ve got an unknown twin who’s switching identities when my back is turned.”
“Oh, I like her. I LIKE her. She has the soul of the true creative artiste.”
“Do you use words like that on him when my back is turned?” Oodgedye (or Udgedye) shot at Udgedye (or Oodgedye).
“Here’s our coffee,” Regina interrupted tactfully as the Pi-faced slavey wheeled in a trolley. “Serve our guest first, Pi.”
The trolley was wheeled before Gretchen who was overwhelmed by the centerpiece: a block of clear ice with a single rose frozen in it. After she had received her coffee, the trolley went to the Queen Bee, who first passed her hands gracefully over the face of the ice and then dried them with a napkin. Only then did she receive her coffee.
“A fingerbowl!” Gretchen exclaimed to herself. “This is luxury on a fantastic scale. I’m glad Blaise isn’t here. He’d be perfectly furious.”
“And now, BB dear, what’s all this mysterious, complicated business of pharmacies and games?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, Regina. Rubor Tumor told me that they’d concocted an exotic incense for your Nell Gwyn. I jumped to the conclusion that by exotic was meant erotic. I went to see her this morning to ask her about it.”
“But why, BB?”
“She thinks she has problems, Regina.”
“Erotic problems, Nell?”
“That’s what she thinks.”
“A Black Beauty like you, BB?” Yenta broke in. “I’d trade—”
“Not now, Yenta dear,” Regina interrupted. “We all have our private problems and we mustn’t intrude. What happened, BB?”
“Nell laughed and said no, the incense wasn’t intended to attract men, it was for something else but she wouldn’t say what. Then she gave me a lovely lunch and brought me here to find out for myself.”
Regina chuckled. “Raising the Devil, of course.”
“What? The Devil?”
“I told you you’d never believe me,” Nell said.
“One of the entertainments we’ve been playing, BB. Trying to raise the Devil with diabolical incantations and ceremonies. We’ve read all the wicked books and memorized the sinister spells. Nell got us all the evil smells—that incense is one of them—and we’ve tried over and over again…”
Miss Priss made a face. “The worst part was that disgusting ‘Hand of Glory,’ BB. Filthy! Obscene! The hand of an executed criminal holding a candle made from the fat of a vee-eye-are-gee-eye-en. Ugh!
“And that’s all it was, Regina? Just a game of trying to raise the Devil?”
“That’s all, BB.”
“The incense was only intended to magick him?”
“That along with all the other stage-effects.” Regina gave an amused sigh. “All the work we put in!”
“Just the eight of you?”
“That’s all, unless you count Pi, but she refused to play with us. Too frightened, I think.” Regina smiled tolerantly. “Her class still believes in the old superstitions.”
“Perhaps other guests to assist?”
“None, dear. We play our games in private.”
Gretchen grinned. “Any luck? Any sort of diabolical epiphany?”
Nellie Gwyn was awed again. “The words she uses! Will you listen to her!”
“Nothing, BB. Not a sign of Satan, although Sarah claims she felt a twinge when she was rehearsing the Invocation.”
“ ‘Twas NOT a twinge. It was a THRRRILL! A huge cloudy symbol of a high romance. John Keats.”
Gretchen hesitated, then decided to gamble. These bee-ladies were all so openly friendly toward her. She pursed her lips and shook her head judgmatically. “You know,” she said slowly, “I really can’t believe it.”
“Can’t believe what, dear?” Regina asked.
“That the ceremony had no results, exotic or erotic. The incense is elaborate and expensive enough to raise something, even if not the Devil.”
“If she means what I think she means,” Nell Gwyn began, “we can strip a man naked and—”
“And that will do, Nell,” Regina said firmly. To Gretchen, “I wish you were right. BB, but nothing happened. Nothing.”
“ALAS! Alack! Wellaway!”
“Are you sure, Regina?”
“Quite sure.”
“And so say we all.”
“Oodgedye and Udgedye not dissenting.”
Inchoate designs and constructs began to prickle Gretchen—the architechtonic instinct intruding— These eight ladies were all so adorable and amusing and friendly, but what realities lay underneath? “Newton’s Third Law, courtesy
of Blaise Shima,” she thought. “For every charm there is an equal and opposite— What?”
Aloud, she said, “D’you know, Regina, I’d like to see for myself.”
“Our wicked ritual?”
“Yes, as an observer.”
“But it’s just a fun game, BB.”
Gretchen’s tone transposed to the serious. “It may be more than just a fun game, you know.”
“Nonsense!”
“No, listen, all of you. Perhaps something is happening, but you don’t notice because you’re all too close to the ceremony. You know the old saw about not being able to see the forest for the trees? Why not let me watch?”
Miss Priss became so uncomfortable that her stammer was pronounced. “B-but we c-couldn’t let a stranger watch us, c-could we, Regina?”
“BB isn’t really a stranger, Priss. She’s our new friend… most simpatico… We all feel that and welcome her.”
“W-Well, that’s true. All r-right. But sh-she is new and she’d m-make us self-conscious.”
“ME, madame? S*A*R*A*H self-conscious?!NEVER!”
“Perhaps Priss is right, Sarah,” Regina said graciously. “All the same, BB may be right, too. We may have been too busy with the ritual to notice any results.”
Nellie Gwyn was skeptical. “But I thought the Devil wouldn’t just sneak in like a kid after-hours; I thought he’d prance in like a Regency Buck with black fire and diabolical laughter.”
Gretchen smiled. “Maybe the Devil makes an entrance in his own style, Nell.”
“BB is right, right, RIGHT. A quiet entrance is grrreat T+H+E+A+T+E+R!”
“That backwards Hebrew is enough to make anyone blind and deaf to anything,” Yenta growled.
Again, the twins joined the majority. “BB’s making sense, Regina. We’ve been too busy to notice any action. We vote to let her observe.”
“We can’t do it that way, Oodgedye.”
“I’m UD-gedye.”
“Oh, of course. Sorry dear. We must make BB a part of the ceremony so that we’ll all feel comfortable. But how? All the parts are taken.”
There was an intense pause while all the gears tried to mesh. Then Sarah Heartburn arose majestically and stood like a statue of Justice, but without the blindfold and scales. Gretchen choked back a burst of laughter and Regina winked at her.
“Ladies, mark me! Aye, MARK ME, I say…”
“Watch out for that lamp, Sarah.”
“I have the so-lieu-see-on of the D?I?L?E?M?M?A.”
“Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“And what, pray, is T+H+E+A+T+E+R without S!U!S!P!E!N!S!E? ‘Tis the divine torture. No matter. Here is my solution. Let BB hold ‘The (Ych!) Hand of Glory’ (Pfui!) Now, mesdames, what have you to say to THAT?”
There was a round of applause.
“Bravo, Sarah,” Regina laughed. “You’ve found the answer. Now come, we must all be serious and sincerely dedicated to evil. Pi-girl! Clear away the coffee things. Bring out the pentacle and the lights and smells. We’re going to raise the Devil again.”
11
“And nossing she hoppen, Gretch?”
“Nossing.”
“Damn!”
“No damnation. No demoniac laughter. No Satan.”
Shima cocked an eye at her, then bellowed, “GEWERKSCHAFTSWESEN! OZONHALTIG!”
“What the hell’s that?”
“My notion of demoniac laughter,” he grinned.
“Sounds more like a libretto in search of Richard Wagner. You didn’t really hope I’d tell you that the Devil actually appeared, did you?”
“Certainly not, but I was hoping for something realistic like goon-type geeks hanging around and cashing in. Any heavies in this Winifred Ashley’s apartment house?”
“Impossible. It’s a beautifully protected Oasis.”
“Corrupt servants, maybe?”
“The pie-faced girl’s the only servant, and she’s too timid to be suborned by anyone or anything.”
“The bee-ladies did use Salem Burne’s Promethium incense with the rest of the sorcery?”
“Yep. Nellie Gwyn… that’s your Ildefonsa Lafferty sexpot… kept shooting me funny looks and mugging and Regina was peeved because Nell wasn’t sincere and dedicated enough to Lucifer.”
“Did the bee-ladies get any vibes from the Pm stuff?”
“Nope.”
“You?”
“Nope.”
“Will you kindly tell me how that Pm got from their séance into your goon bones?”
“Easy. Our Golem carried it.”
“Was it there?”
“No.”
“How did it get it?”
“Not known.”
“How did it carry it?”
“Not known.”
“Why did it carry it?”
“Unknown.”
“Will you lucidly tell me what the Hundred-Hander-Golem thing has to do with your bee-ladies and their playtime witchcraft.”
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“Could it be sort of hanging around, out of sight?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
“Where?”
“Same answer.”
“This is frustrating, Gretch. I thought we were closing in on some kind of answer.”
Shima was so deflated and depressed by the disappointment that the words of his grandfather flashed through her mind. “Ah, le pauvre petit. He will never be able to cope with the hard knocks.”
She tried to comfort him. “Maybe we are, Blaise. Maybe it’s there, only I haven’t spotted it yet. I’m going back to the hive.”
“Will they let you?” he asked indifferently.
“They invited me. I’ve been accepted.”
“D’you actually want to waste your time?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, for two reasons—I must and I want to.”
“Must?”
“Psytech is bugging me, Blaise. My gut is sending up signals that there may be some sort of rotten construct deep down inside these women.”
Shima’s interest kindled. “As rotten as our Golem-Hundred-Hander-Thing?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. That’s what I must find out.”
“Hmmm. And you said you want to?”
“Yes. I really like them, Blaise. On the surface they’re all characters; funny, different, refreshing.”
“All except Ms. Ipanema,” he said gloomily.
“Maybe she isn’t to a schnook who used to be in love with her and keeps the memory locked in a drawer, but women see each other differently. She’s a delicious caricature.”
“Sure, of humanity.”
“No, Nellie’s human, all right; she’s just the schoolgirl’s idea of the femme fatale.” Gretchen did a lightning pastiche of Ildefonsa’s rattle-rattle undulations.
Shima laughed. “But I always thought that type had to be tall, dark, and handsome… like the Yenta Calienta number you described.”
“No way. She’s a dyke.”
“Then what about the actress-manquée? Passionate, you said, with burning blue eyes.”
“Sarah Heartburn. Strictly for laughs. You can’t be a clown and be fatal.”
“The black-and-white twins who look like a pair of succulent Greek slaves?”
“Oodgedye and Udgedye. Too cold-blooded and stubborn. They’re always dissenting and objecting and refusing and recusing.”
“And switching.”
“Miss Priss lisps and stammers. Very fetching, but the Alice in Wonderland bit is far from fatal. Mary Mixup’s just a darling dumb bunny.”
“That’s the one with fair hair like a helmet and a dancer’s bod?”
“Uh-huh. You’ve got to have a mind to make a man fall down in a dead faint.”
“Regina has a mind.”
“Too dignified and stately.”
“You said she gave you a wink.”
“Oh, she has a sense of humor but it’s evah sew
refayned. I’m not putting her down. She’s a gracious and generous queen, and she’s madly in love with Lord Nelson.”
“Lord…? Oh. The admiral.”
“Horatio, Lord Nelson. He had a wild thing with Lady Hamilton which was a scan. mag. in the seventeen-hundreds. Regina spent an hour reading me Nelson’s love letters to Emma Hamilton.”
“And the pie-faced slavey is out?”
“Absolutely. Now what is all this, Blaise? You couldn’t possibly be interested in the construct of a femme fatale.”
“Just curious about the hive, is all.”
“The hell you’re just curious. Come on, man.”
“You see through me as usual.”
“You’re transparent.”
“I was feeling out the possibility that one of the bee-ladies might have an outside connection with Guff gorills.”
“I see. Yes, one might.”
“Who? Pi?”
“No. Me.”
“You!”
“Sure. I’m a bee-lady now, and I keep pretty rotten, low-down company in my business.”
“Like me?”
“Like Mr. Wish.”
Shima took a deep breath, held it, then let it out in a grunt. “I wish you wouldn’t joke about that.”
“All right, no more funnies, but we can’t escape the fact that there’s a damned incomprehensible network that’s got us all twisted up in it; you, me, Mr. Wish, goons, Promethium, Ind’dni, the beehive, and Golem100.”
“Golem-one-hundred? Why d’you call it that?”
“Because it seems to be a polymorph and can assume a hundred different forms.”
Shima sighed. “I wish we could take off for Mars, Mother of Men.”
“If you want to run away from the hard knocks, baby, why not Venus, also a very far planet?”
“Ah, le pauvre petit? Yes, you’re right,” Shima acknowledged with a wry smile. He pulled himself together. “So what’s our plan of op.? You go back to the hive for more witchcraft, yes? And I? Ich? Moi?”
“You get cozy with Subadar Ind’dni.”
“Oh I do, do I? Like why?”
“Like for data. I want to find out whether there’s any sort of connection between the hive séances and the Golem100 atrocities. In time. In space. Even the most doubtful link. Oh, and keep that Pm jazz in your lab under lock and key. And install burglar alarms.”
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