Honour be Damned

by David Bishop

  "Is that telling us to wait?" Dante asked.

  The message is probably more literal, the Crest replied. The sled's hover-engines are preparing for take-off. I'd advise you to get a grip on something solid.

  Penelope had already grabbed the nearest handrail, but Dante was not so quick. Suddenly the sled flung itself back into the sky, throwing him off his feet. Only the handcuffs binding him to Penelope saved Dante from flying off the sled and tumbling to his death. One of the droids pushed Dante across to the nearest handrail, which he gratefully gasped. "Bojemoi!" he gasped after finding his footing again. "You don't get much warning on this thing, do you?"

  Penelope glared at him. "It's a wonder you've stayed alive as long as you have, considering how little intelligence you display."

  If only she knew how right she is, the Crest sighed.

  "I like to lull my enemies into a false sense of security," Dante replied.

  "Try not to lose yourself in the role," Penelope advised.

  The sky-sled skimmed over a glorious patchwork of fields and hedgerows, streams and thickets. It was still mid-morning, but the sun was already baking the countryside below. A stately home appeared in the distance, rapidly getting closer.

  That must be Fforbes-Lamington House, the Crest observed. A most remarkable building, the last great example of rococo architecture in Britannia. The marble interiors were imported from Italy, while each pane of glass was ground by hand to match the prescription of the Fforbes-Lamington patriarch, so he wouldn't have to wear glasses indoors. The entire structure was relocated here seven hundred years ago to avoid demolition work for a bypass. The task took a thousand craftsmen more than twenty-seven months.

  Dante frowned as the sky-sled landed outside the front entrance on the gravel courtyard. "Looks like the world's ugliest wedding cake to me."

  Must you always act the philistine?

  "Who said I was acting?"

  Penelope sighed theatrically to the security droids. "You see what I have to put up with? This fool talks to himself constantly. He took me captive, forced me on board that coach."

  Dante arched an eyebrow at her. "What are you doing?"

  "Don't listen to a word he says," she continued. "He claims I'm his accomplice, but I had never seen him before he abducted me yesterday." The mechanoids stepped off the sky-sled, dragging Penelope and Dante with them towards the stately home's huge double doors.

  "They're not buying your little Miss Innocent act," Dante commented. "I guess your powers of seduction only work on creatures of flesh and blood."

  "Actually, no," another voice replied. "Ms Goodnight has had some success with robots that possess emotion circuits. Alas, my security droids do not, so her charms are lost on them."

  Penelope looked at the woman who had emerged from the double doors. "You! You're Audrey Fforbes-Lamington?"

  The mistress of the estate laughed. "But of course! Who were you expecting?" The middle-aged woman was dressed in a dowdy tweed skirt and cream woollen top. Her face was haughty and severe, framed by sandy brown hair cut in an unforgiving bob. Everything about her screamed asexual harridan to Dante.

  "I'm guessing you two know each other," he quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

  "Quite so," Fforbes-Lamington replied. "But young Penelope here knows me by another name. Within Britannia Intelligence I am simply called F. I am Agent Goodnight's commander."

  "That explains the perverts!" Dante exclaimed.

  "Sorry?" Penelope and F said in unison.

  "It's traditional for the head of Britannia Intelligence also to be leader of the Cadre's Britannia chapter. That's why you had a coach-load of sex freaks coming to visit. You're holding the annual Sabbat here."

  F applauded his powers of deduction. "Precisely. Now, since you've so kindly presented yourselves at my door, why don't you come inside - if you'll pardon the expression."

  After they parked the Capri, Dobie and Boyle sauntered into Nottingham's train station. All looked normal except the entrance to Platform Five. A dozen men in black cloaks and top hats were guarding the gate, while the sound of frenzied activity was audible beyond them. "Do you see what I see?" Boyle asked his partner quietly.

  Dobie nodded. "Rippers. The Flying Scotsman must be on that platform. Sounds like they're going over it with a fine tooth comb."

  "Being Rippers, they're probably using a stiletto - but the principle's the same. Know what I like most about the Rippers?"

  "Not their fashion sense. Don't they know black is out this season?"

  "No," Boyle said impatiently. "Their lack of imagination. Somebody told them Dante is on that train, so they'll keep searching till they find him."

  "But if he isn't on the train..."

  "He must be nearby."

  Dobie smiled. "Time to find some answers. Meet you back here in ten minutes?"

  His partner nodded. "See you soon." The pair strolled away in opposite directions.

  F escorted Penelope and Dante through her stately home to a huge, empty room facing the back of the estate. The floor was a checkerboard of black and white marble, while tall picture windows afforded a magnificent view of sculpted gardens outside. The other walls were given over to row upon row of bookshelves, all of them barren of volumes. There were only three pieces of furniture in the cavernous space - an elaborate throne of silver and blue, and a pair of old dentist's chairs. Each of these was augmented with several leather restraint straps and both stood on a dais of thick, black rubber.

  "This was the library for several centuries," F said grandly, "but I sold all the old books to the Britannia National Library. Nobody ever read the bloody things, they were a nightmare to dust and the money paid to restore the house to its former glory after my second husband's timely demise." She gestured towards the dentist chairs. "Would you like to take a seat?"

  "I prefer to stand," Penelope replied tersely.

  "Perhaps I did not make myself clear," F said. She gestured to the four corners of the ceiling, where small laser cannons appeared among the rococo ornamentation, their terse snouts taking aim at her guests. "Take a seat, both of you, or else my interior security system will incinerate you. It's a simple choice."

  "Well, since you put it like that," Dante smiled and jumped into the nearest chair. "Penelope, come and join me."

  "First, use the leather restraints to tie him down," F commanded. "I want to avoid any unpleasantness. Young Nikolai does have quite a reputation for causing mayhem and chaos."

  "Vastly exaggerated," he said as Penelope bound him in place, strapped his arms and legs into position. She sat in the other dentist's chair, securing both her legs and an arm in place.

  "That will do," F said, easing herself into the imposing throne opposite them. "I think we can trust the laser cannons to dissuade you from taking any direct action. Unlike Dante, you do not have the advantage of enhanced healing abilities." F smiled at her guests. "I must say it's quite a coincidence, you two appearing at my door! If I believed in such nonsense, I might call it fate."

  "Bad luck would be a better description," Penelope said sourly.

  "Whichever makes you feel better, my dear. Tell me, how did you evade the Rippers?"

  "You sent them! I should have known... Why?"

  "My code breakers intercepted a transmission between you and Princess Marie-Anne. It was obvious she had turned you in, no doubt with some lofty promise to appeal to your vanity and ambition. Did she offer you my job, perhaps?" Penelope did not answer, but her silence was eloquent enough. F nodded. "I thought as much. Beware her royal highness, Agent Goodnight - she cares for nobody but herself, as I'm sure Dante here can confirm."

  "That bitch and I have had our moments," he conceded.

  "Twice you've succeeded in thwarting her plans and having the princess confined to a cell inside the Tower of London. I'm surprised you're still alive, frankly."

  "I'm too cool to kill."

  "Take care," F warned him. "One day that could become your epitaph."


  "Not if I can help it," he replied. "My half-sister Lulu is leader of the Cadre Infernale. That makes you her underling. Shouldn't you check with her first before engineering my execution?"

  "I've always hated that bitch," F snapped. "She uses our members for her own twisted ends, to further her crusade against the Tsar. She abuses her rank and its privileges!"

  "I thought that was the whole point of your little perverts' club: twisting members and acting the bitch. You're like the Freemasons, but with more ball gags and fewer aprons."

  "The Cadre Infernale is a sexual release for its membership, not a political powerbase. Yes, if one of us needs help when in trouble, we do what we can for them. The acquisition and retention of power is not what drives the Cadre, what puts fire in our bellies or a thrill in our loins. We value perversity, in all forms, above everything else. Nothing is more important to us."

  "So, you're just a bunch of sick, sex-obsessed losers trying to get your rocks off?" Dante asked. "In that case I'm glad I never accepted Lulu's offer to join - I get all the action I want without having to dress in rubber or beg for a spanking."

  "You're not a begging man?" F asked. When Dante nodded, she pressed a button built into the left arm of her throne. The effect was startling. Electricity surged through the two dentist chairs, passing back and forth across the prisoners' bodies, making them jerk and thrash like rag dolls in the grip of an angry child. Dante and Penelope screamed in agony, blue sparks escaping from their chattering teeth. After a full five seconds of this treatment, F removed her finger from the button and the electrocution ceased. She waited until they had recovered before speaking. "Now, what were you saying?"

  A few bribes, some vague threats and careful questions soon secured Boyle and Dobie all the facts they needed. Dante and Penelope were last seen boarding a hover-bus bound for the Forbes-Lamington estate on the outskirts of Nottingham, with a bus full of sexual deviants. Dobie smiled to himself. "Sounds like our kind of party, Ray."

  "That's what I was thinking." Boyle looked down at his taut jeans, knit shirt and plaid bomber jacket. "But I feel overdressed for a weekend of bondage and discipline."

  "Well, let's find something more suitable for the occasion. I'm sure we can always whip ourselves into shape in no time."

  The Capri was gone in sixty seconds, a puff of blue smoke and rubber burn marks on the roadside the only signs it had even been there.

  F took her finger off the button, having administered a third, brutal dose of shock treatment to her prisoners. Dante gasped for air while Penelope spat a mouthful of abuse at her commander. "Such language!" F replied haughtily. "Not very ladylike, I must say - not very ladylike at all." She gave both of them another jolt, letting her finger linger on the button slightly longer this time. When she had finished, Dante gave a low, throaty chuckle. "May I ask what is so amusing?"

  "You are."

  "Please elucidate," F prompted but got no reply.

  She wants you to explain, the Crest told Dante.

  "Oh. Right. I knew that," he muttered. "I was laughing because I've met your kind before. You get your kicks by hurting and tormenting others - not from their actual pain, but from wielding the sort of power you have over us at present."

  "Is that a fact?"

  "He's right," Penelope agreed. "I've seen how you operate at headquarters, the way you deliberately humiliate the operatives - your hands start to quiver with excitement. You start sweating too, the skin between your nose and your top lip gets all moist. It's disgusting."

  "It's probably not the only area getting moist," Dante added.

  Another stab at the button, and a fresh jolt of electricity shot across the prisoners' torsos. F let them dance about inside their restraints for a full minute before stopping the torture.

  "I'll bet every time you touch that button, we're not the only ones getting the juice," Dante snarled, his lips pulled back from his teeth in an animal grimace of pain. F sent another jolt of power through them, then another and another. When she finally sat back in her chair, the head of Britannia Intelligence could not disguise her lustful panting.

  "You sick, twisted bitch," Penelope said, shaking her head.

  "Yes, I am," F agreed, "but you don't become mistress of the Cadre Infernale without having a few kinks in your system. Now that I've enjoyed myself, it's time for you to answer a few questions. Dante, why did you try to assassinate the king? Before this visit you were his greatest supporter. Why turn on him when he needed you most?"

  "Bojemoi, when will somebody believe me?" Dante protested. "I had nothing to do with the attack on the king, nor the murder of his mother. Henry brought me here to protect him from an assassination attempt. All I feel guilty about is failing to stop the hit happening."

  F pondered this. "That would fit with your previous pattern of behaviour-"

  "At last! Somebody who can see the truth!" he rejoiced.

  "But your reputation as a liar and a scoundrel makes anything you say difficult to trust," F concluded with a small smile. "Convince me. If you weren't responsible, who was?"

  "I don't know," Dante conceded. "Why? Could you intervene on my behalf?"

  "I could, but I'm not going to," she said. "You make a convenient scapegoat. The attack on the king's life is a useful catalyst for change. Had someone else not perpetrated this crime, I might have been forced to commission it myself."

  "How can you play god with people's lives like this?" Penelope demanded.

  "Please, don't lecture me on morality, Agent Goodnight. You've destroyed plenty of lives with your bedroom antics for Britannia. I've never noticed any qualms from you in the past."

  "That was different. I was doing my job."

  "Just following orders, is that your defence?" Penelope spat more curses at her commander. "You've been spending too long with Dante," F said, "judging by your vocabulary's rapid descent into the gutter. I'd expect such obscenities from a low-born wretch like him, but not a cultured, highly trained agent of Britannia Intelligence."

  "Who are you calling a wretch?" Dante protested, but F ignored him.

  "I know Princess Marie-Anne wanted young Nikolai delivered to her alive but, alas, I cannot permit that to happen. Far better for him to die a guilty man than survive and prove his innocence - assuming, of course, he is innocent. As for your duplicity, Agent Goodnight, I'm afraid there can be but one punishment for such a blatant show of insubordination to my direct orders."

  "Let me guess," Dante interjected. "You're giving her a severe reprimand and a bare bottom spanking. I'd be happy to administer the second half of that punishment if you'd like."

  "Silence!" F snapped, her voice echoing around the empty library. "Since my Rippers singularly failed to do their job, I've decided to let my associates in the Cadre Infernale have that rare pleasure instead. You will be taken from this place by my security droids and released on the grounds of the estate. Ten minutes later my all too eager members will be let loose with orders to hunt both of you down like dogs. Who ever catches you first has permission to perform whatever acts of depravity upon you they see fit. Afterwards, when you are begging to be released from this purgatory of punishment and perversity, I may deign to grant your wish. I advise against attempting to leave the estate - my automated security system is quite ruthless. Any questions?"

  "Are you sure we can't go with Dante's suggestion?" Penelope asked.

  F gave them a last dose of shock treatment as retaliation for that comment. When both prisoners had lost consciousness completely, she released the button and summoned her security droids. "Put homing beacons on them," she commanded brusquely. "We don't want the hunt dragging on all day, do we?"

  NINE

  "What is born a wolf cannot become a fox."

  - Russian proverb

  "Blood sports such as hunting have been a countryside tradition in Britannia for more than a millennium. An attempt was made to outlaw hunting with hounds in the early Twenty-First century on the grounds of animal cru
elty, but ultimately this failed due to the royal family's continued support for the sport. To this day gangs of aristocrats can be seen racing across the countryside in hunting pink jackets - a curious name since the garment in question is actually warm red in colour. In the past such events were held on horseback, but the equine plague of 2626 put paid to that."

  - Extract from The Smirnoff Almanac of Fascinating Facts, 2673 edition

  Having been incarcerated, manacled and interrogated, Spatchcock and Flintlock were beginning to give up hope. Shortly after midday the two prisoners were marched from their basement cell to the open courtyard in the centre of the Tower of London. Flintlock was convinced their execution had been brought forward, a fear that grew worse when he and Spatchcock were shoved against a wall, facing a line of armed guards. The prisoners' hands were tied behind their backs and both men were offered blindfolds, which they refused.

  "Spatch, old boy, I think this is it for us," Flintlock whispered.

  "So much for waiting until next week," the rancid runt complained. "What about our final requests? Even a last meal for the condemned men would have been nice. I don't want to die on an empty stomach, I'll be all grumpy when I get to the next life."