The Demi-Monde: Summer

by Rod Rees

  Rodin nodded vigorously. ‘That is true, Docteur. I have only recently fled the Medi for Venice and now I find that the evil I was trying to evade is once more snapping at my heels. The purging of non-IMmanualists in Venice has begun and the Signori di Notte are arresting those whose only crime is to not believe. Many of my friends have already been thrown into prison and I fear that it will not be long before I join them. I will do everything I can to bring justice and fair government back to the Quartier Chaud.’

  ‘Then let us be about it,’ said de Nostredame.

  Without further ado Kondratieff laid his blueprints out across Nostredame’s cluttered table, one end of the sheets secured by a bottle of Solution and the other by the Professeur’s pipe. Kondratieff coughed to clear his throat and then began. ‘We had thought that defeating the evil that threatens the Demi-Monde would simply necessitate the neutering of the power of Doge IMmanual – the Beast – but now her brother walks amongst us and by our calculations he is as great a threat to the peace of our world as his sister. It has fallen to Michel and myself to prevent him securing power in the Demi-Monde.’

  ‘How? He is guarded very closely.’

  ‘Have you heard of the Column of Loci, Auguste?’ asked Kondratieff.

  Rodin chuckled. ‘Of course. As a sculptor, I am naturally fascinated by the work of the Pre-Folk. I have visited the Galerie des Anciens to view the Column on several occasions.’

  ‘Excellent. But what you will not know is that the Column has a key role to play in the outcome of Ragnarok, in deciding who will emerge triumphant in the final struggle between good and evil. That is the message conveyed to us in the Flagellum Hominum.’ With that Kondratieff drew the copy of the book from his satchel and placed it on the table. ‘The translated Flagellum Hominum tells us that the Column of Loci possesses great power: that it is a huge conductor of occult energy … energy stored in the Temple of Lilith and in the Great Pyramid. I have been advised that the Doge IMmanual intends to take the Column to the Temple of Lilith where it will serve as a means of regenerating all of Lilith’s power. It is my intention to create an imitation Column and to substitute the fake for the original. It is this ersatz Column that I will deliver to the Temple of Lilith.’

  ‘To what end?’ asked an obviously perplexed Rodin. ‘Surely all this will do is interrupt the Ceremony of Awakening … it will do nothing to destroy the power of Doge IMmanual or of Duke William.’

  ‘The introduction of the fake into the Temple when Duke William and his supporters are gathered together gives us an unprecedented opportunity to eliminate the whole pack of them in one fell swoop.’ Kondratieff tapped a long finger on his plan. ‘The imitation Column will be one gigantic bomb designed to detonate during the ceremony to be performed on Lammas Eve.’

  It took a moment for the sculptor to appreciate the full implications of what Kondratieff was saying. ‘The papers say there will be four hundred people attending that ceremony. You wish me to abet you in their slaughter?’

  A nod from Kondratieff. ‘It is the only way. Four hundred lives sacrificed to preserve millions.’

  An ashen-faced Rodin rose unsteadily to his feet, rattling the glasses standing on the table as he did so. ‘I must have a moment … this is barbaric … I must …’ He took a gulp of Solution and then crossed the room to stand by a window. There he remained, alone and silent, for several minutes, obviously locked in confused consideration of what he was being asked to do. Finally he turned to de Nostredame. ‘Michel … we have been friends for many years … are you sure this terrible scheme proposed by Docteur Kondratieff is necessary?’

  ‘It is,’ replied de Nostredame firmly. ‘We have run our 4Telling program, HyperOpia, several times and the answer is consistent. We must destroy Duke William. Believe me, Auguste, both Nikolai and I take this step with the greatest reluctance. We are not murderers by inclination – far from it – but Fate would have us become so.’

  ‘But I am an artist, not an assassin.’

  ‘And I am a mathematician,’ said Kondratieff quietly, ‘and Nostredame here a preHistorian, but if we wish to preserve the Demi-Monde from evil we can no longer simply walk by on the other side. As Edmund Burke said: all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’

  ‘But what of Heydrich? Surely by destroying Duke William and the leaders of Venice and NoirVille we will simply make it easier for that bastard to take control of the Demi-Monde?’

  De Nostredame laughed. ‘One tyrant at a time, Auguste. We have other plans for Heydrich.’

  Rodin took a deep breath and then drained his glass. ‘Very well, I will help you.’

  A relieved Kondratieff turned back to his blueprints. ‘For our plan to be successful, the counterfeit Column must be a perfect duplicate of the real one. This is the task we would set you, Auguste, to carve the simulacrum.’

  Rodin walked over to the table and made a long and very close study of Kondratieff’s plans. Cogitations over, he ran a hand through his mane of hair and addressed the two scientists. ‘Technically, it is very straightforward, the major challenges are your requirements that the imitation must be a perfect match for the original and, of course, that it be hollow.’

  Kondratieff said nothing, waiting for the sculptor to continue.

  ‘What is the timetable? When must this imitation Column be finished?’

  ‘By the eightieth day of Summer.’

  Rodin whistled softly. ‘Difficult. If I were permitted to use my assistants—’

  ‘It is imperative that no one other than you knows about this work. If the Signori di Notte were to discover what we are about, then the punishment will be severe.’

  Rodin nodded solemnly, acknowledging what Kondratieff said made sense. ‘Very well, I will work alone in the smaller of my two studios, the one situated on the island of Murano. I will tell everyone I am engaged in a secret work commissioned in honour of the Doge IMmanual, a commission to be unveiled on Lammas Eve.’ He gave a wry chuckle. ‘That, at least, is the truth.’

  ‘There’s a harbour in Murano, is there not?’

  ‘Yes, but why …?’

  ‘We will effect the switch of the two Columns – the real for the fake – there when we are loading them into the pontoons designed to float them down the Nile.’

  ‘A pontoon?’

  ‘It’s a fancy name for a watertight steel cylinder with a keel and a rudder. The imitation Column will be sealed inside one of them so that it can be floated down the Nile to the pier on the Wheel River opposite the Temple of Lilith.’

  ‘It will be difficult to effect such a substitution without it being seen,’ mused Rodin.

  ‘Difficult, but not impossible. We will bring the real Column to Murano ostensibly to be fitted into the pontoon, and once it is there we will make the switch.’

  Again Rodin lapsed into silence, then, ‘Whilst I applaud the audacity of your scheme, Nikolai, I would be remiss if I did not point out a failing. The Column of Loci is made from Mantle-ite and, as you know, Mantle-ite emits a green glow.’

  De Nostredame laughed. ‘Have no fear, Auguste, Nikolai here has thought of everything. Inspired by the illusions perpetrated by a man called Vanka Maykov, he has found the solution to this little dilemma in the use of matches.’

  De Nostredame’s second guest arrived an hour after the departure of Rodin. In contrast to the refined and thoughtful sculptor, Peter Nearchus was uncouth and unpleasant. Big and overweight, the sets of cheek scars he wore – which announced to the world that he was a HimPerialist … a Blank HimPerialist – making him look uglier than he was. Kondratieff disliked him on sight … disliked him, but needed him. He was the man who had to be persuaded to build the second pontoon. Nearchus was the greatest shipbuilder in the whole of the Demi-Monde.

  Once the introductions were complete, Nearchus was all business. ‘So, de Nostredame, what’s all this cloak-and-dagger stuff about? I hate coming over to Venice now that black bitch of yours is in charge. I
don’t care what our priests say: it’s a violation of the sacred teachings of HimPerialism that NoirVille should be cooperating with a woeMan. By rights woeMen shouldn’t be allowed to run anything bigger than a knocking shop.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘Yeah, the only time woeMen should be in a position over Men is when they’re straddling them.’

  The man, Kondratieff decided, was a pig. Listening to Nearchus, he found himself amazed that someone as disgusting as this misogynistic oaf should have been blessed by ABBA with so much talent, but ABBA was often inclined to imbue the most unworthy of Demi-Mondians with genius.

  ‘Yeah, I hate that Shade cunt with a vengeance. And by signing a pact with the witch, Shaka Zulu has insulted ABBA and slighted the Machismo of every one of us who calls himself a Man. It’s bad enough us allowing that nuJu scum to set up the JAD slap-bang in the middle of NoirVille without us cooperating with a woeMan. I don’t know what NoirVille’s coming to. Shaka’s going soft, losing his Cool. It’s time he handed over to someone like Pobedonostsev.’

  Kondratieff said nothing: he had never fully appreciated the enmity and the hatred that existed between the Blanks and the Shades in NoirVille. But even so, the thought of that madman Pobedonostsev running NoirVille made his SAE turn cold. Maybe, though, this was a division in the HimPerial ranks that they could exploit.

  De Nostredame saw the opportunity too. ‘What would you say, Peter,’ he smarmed, ‘if I was to give you a chance to rid the world of Doge IMmanual and Shaka Zulu?’

  The piggy eyes of Nearchus settled on de Nostredame. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’

  For the second time that afternoon Kondratieff pulled a set of diagrams out of his satchel. ‘We wish this built … built in secret.’

  The blueprints showed the design for the steel pontoon.

  ‘What the fuck? I’m already building one of these. The head of the Venice Armoury – a fucking idiot called John Dixon – placed an order for a pontoon identical to this one just last week.’

  ‘I know,’ said Kondratieff quietly. ‘John Dixon is the man I commissioned to design the pontoon. Now we want you to build a second one, but to do it in such a way that no one, least of all John Dixon, learns about it.’

  ‘But why?’

  And Kondratieff explained his plan to Nearchus and, as he did so, the man became more and more excited.

  ‘You’re gonna detonate this bomb of yours on Lammas Eve?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘And Doge IMmanual and Shaka Zulu will be attending.’

  ‘I know.’

  Nearchus’s eyes sparkled: the prospect of the ruler of NoirVille – the Shade ruler of NoirVille – being eliminated was obviously a tantalising prospect.

  ‘What’s going to happen to the real Column?’

  ‘We have plans for it,’ said Kondratieff carefully, ‘plans that are no concern of yours.’

  Nearchus studied the blueprints of the pontoon for a few moments. ‘Okay, I’m your man. It’s time Shaka was sent to meet his ancestors. I’ll build the pontoon in our Number Two yard, that way nobody will twig what we’re up to.’ He looked up from the plans and studied Kondratieff intently. ‘When d’you want it for?’

  ‘By the eightieth day of Summer.’

  Nearchus rolled up the plans. ‘Then I better not hang around here gassing.’

  Kondratieff watched Nearchus go. The man had performed just as the HyperOpia program had predicted he would. Now he only had one problem to solve: finding a steamship to tow the second Column to Terror Incognita. And for the solution to that puzzle he would have to turn to Su Xiaoxiao.

  It was nearly midnight when Kondratieff placed his magnifying glass to one side and spent a moment massaging the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to ease the pain that was racking his mind. He always got a headache when obliged to write in the tiny script needed for the messages to be carried by pigeons, and with a message as complex as this one, legibility was of the essence. There could be no mistakes regarding what he was asking and no misunderstanding of the importance he attached to the request he was making.

  These were without doubt the most important thirty words he had ever written.

  He laboured for over three hours to ensure that every minute letter of the message was crafted for clarity, but even so he wondered if Su Xiaoxiao and the SheTong would be able to do what he asked. The Demi-Monde was a world beset by war and hence the procuring of a steamship of sufficient power to tow a pontoon was an immensely difficult task. He had tried and failed to find one in Venice, and now that he was watched night and day by Machiavelli’s agents, it was impossible for him to sneak across to NoirVille to organise one there. Su Xiaoxiao was his last hope.

  Satisfied, Kondratieff put down his pen, opened the cage, took out the bird and deftly sealed the message ring around its leg. Then with a silent prayer he tossed the pigeon into the night and watched it wing its way towards Rangoon.

  22

  NoirVille

  Thr Demi-Monde: 14th Day of Summer, 1005

  Glorious though the reign of Shaka Zulu was, it was not without its controversies. Permitting the establishment of a nuJu homeland – the JAD – in the centre of NoirVille in exchange for the supply of Aqua Benedicta might have made the Sector one of the wealthiest in the Demi-Monde, but it created deep divisions within the ruling elite. The rapprochement with Venice might have been an astute move politically and militarily, but it outraged more conservative religious leaders for whom cooperating with the Doge – a woeMan – was a violation of the sacred tenets of HimPerialism. And finally, the decision to accept nonShade male refugees – Blanks – into NoirVille might have been necessary to replenish a population depleted by the exodus of woeMen to the Coven following the triumph there of the Femme Liberation Movement, but the racial tensions between Shades and Blanks cast a long shadow over NoirVille.

  The HisTory of NoirVille: Ibn Duraid, First NoirVillian Press

  ‘I must admit to being surprised – pleasantly surprised – to have received your message, Nearchus,’ murmured Konstantin Petrovich Pobedonostsev, HimPerial Secretary to the Court of His Majesty Shaka Zulu and tutor to Crown Prince Xolandi, as he toyed with the quail Nearchus’s chef had taken almost two days to prepare. As the man picked at his food, Nearchus was reminded of a scrawny chicken pecking away at its corn, just as Pobedonostsev’s whining, wheedling voice pecked away at his patience. But these antipathies he would keep well hidden: Pobedonostsev was a powerful and petulant man and, in Nearchus’s experience, powerful and petulant men were best placated rather than antagonised. Pobedonostsev was, after all, leader of the ultra-secret Brotherhood of a Purer SAE, the Blank supremacy party in NoirVille.

  The man placed his fork down. ‘Yes, you have always been a loyal member of the Brotherhood, Nearchus, but the intelligence you have communicated regarding the Column of Loci presents us with great – with HisToric – opportunities.’

  Time to double my price, decided Nearchus. Loyalty to the Brotherhood was one thing, but business was business.

  Pobedonostsev pushed his plate away, the quail only half consumed, then smiled at Nearchus which, contrarily, made him more repulsive than ever. He was thin to the point of gauntness, all sunken cheeks and narrow lips and eyes, his skeletal appearance emphasised by his baldness, by his tiny tortoiseshell glasses and by the excessively tight black uniform he was wearing. Nearchus couldn’t identify the uniform – probably it was that worn by members of the Elevated Order of Tight-Arses and Sycophants – but whichever it was, the uniform made Pobedonostsev look like a desiccated crow.

  The crow spoke. ‘Indeed, the import of your revelations is such that I have taken the liberty of inviting His Holiness to this meeting.’ Here Pobedonostsev nodded towards Aleister Crowley, seated to his right.

  At the sound of his name Crowley sat up a little straighter in his chair and squared his shoulders. It didn’t help: in the flesh he was a disappointment. The Supreme Head of the Church of UnFunDaMentalism might be tall and imposing and – wi
th his bright robes and outlandish jewellery – have a suitably exotic appearance, but there was an air of desperation about him. He looked to be a man under pressure, which was presumably why he had risked his neck to come to Cairo to speak with Nearchus in person. And this, in turn, indicated the importance the powers that be in the ForthRight attached to their understanding of Kondratieff’s plans.

  Maybe triple the price?

  ‘Again, I am honoured,’ Nearchus charmed as he raised his glass in salute of both Crowley and his financial good fortune.

  The three men quaffed their Solution and Nearchus took the opportunity to ponder on the amazing turn of events his meeting with Kondratieff had precipitated. As a senior member of the BrotherHood of a Purer SAE, he had known that the BrotherHood and the ForthRight had been edging – somewhat warily, it had to be admitted – towards an alliance, but he had never realised that matters had come so far. Of course, on fundamental matters of religious doctrine UnFunDaMentalists like Crowley and Blank supremacists like Pobedonostsev were in agreement – that woeMen were an inferior species; that UnderMentionables, notably nuJus and Shades, were fit only for extermination; and that the people chosen by ABBA to rule the Demi-Monde were the Blank races – but …

  But still each side’s instinctive suspicion of the other had made a formal alliance difficult. Both sides were led by very ambitious men who believed that they, and they alone, had been called by ABBA to purify the Demi-Monde and to rule in His name. It had been the emergence of the Lady IMmanual that had made them more amenable to collaboration. Now it appeared that his uncovering of Kondratieff’s plot had finally persuaded the two sides to ignore their suspicions and unite against Doge IMmanual and Shaka Zulu.

  Pobedonostsev placed his glass carefully back on the table and nodded encouragingly to Nearchus. ‘I would be grateful if you would summarise for His Holiness’s benefit the details of Kondratieff’s plans.’