Kindling (Flame of Evil)

by Mick Farren

  After her trial by firehose, her two-man escort had announced, “We take you to the women,” and by that, she discovered, they had meant the pavilion and the cage. Cordelia had taken one look at the place and the assembled females, and she had stopped all protest and complaint and resolved not to say a further word until absolutely compelled to speak. In the meantime, she would be quite happy to let them think she was retarded or did not speak their language. The less these broads knew about her, the better. These camp followers had seen it all and done it all and could spot a phoney a mile off. This marquee of velvet-choker servitude was definitely not the place to reveal that she was not only an enemy, but an enemy aristocrat. Although now playing mute, Cordelia still constituted something of a novelty in the big tent. How much did Mosul bedwarmers and cocksuckers, with their bangles and garters, have to laugh at or look down on anyway? A tall, dark, full-bodied woman who seemingly went by the name of Ravenna had stared at her for some time, with such open evaluation that Cordelia had decided she could only be a snitch or a lesbian, or maybe both. In the police state of the Zhaithan, all could be turned informant if enough pressure was applied. The irritatingly infantile twin blondes had been more openly amused by her predicament, and, breaking off from painting blue streaks in each other’s white-gold hair, had made playground jokes about natural red hair that Cordelia had heard during her third year in Goddess school. A small Hispanic woman had actually wanted to poke Cordelia with a stick, but Ravenna had warned her off. The pecking order in the brothels of a religious police state was something Cordelia was going to have to learn.

  Cordelia might not have paid any attention to the honey-colored girl had she not tried so hard to conceal her surprise. That she had then consulted the paperwork that had come with Cordelia had made her interest even more plain, as did the subsequent swiftness of her exit, and that all the time she had been keeping a wary eye on Ravenna. Once the girl had left, Cordelia had to assume someone elsewhere was being informed or warned, and she could only wonder if the honey-colored girl’s hurry to get away had been official or personal. It took fifteen or twenty minutes for Cordelia to learn that it had been personal. That was the time it took for her return with another woman who looked so much like her that the two of them could have been cousins, if not sisters. As they entered the pavilion and advanced determinedly in the direction of the cage, the dark one called Ravenna moved to intercept them. Cordelia could not hear the conversation, but it went backwards and forwards between Ravenna and the second honey-colored girl, and on two occasions it became quite heated. Gestures were constantly being made in the direction of Cordelia and the cage, so she knew she was the center of attention. At one point, the paperwork that had come with her was again brought out and examined closely. The second honey-colored girl had pulled out some papers of her own, and documents were compared. In the end, some kind of compromise was reached and a short brunette was dispatched from the pavilion in a way that seemed to suggest that a person of greater authority was being summoned.

  Cordelia, having spent much of her young life at least pretending to be a person of greater authority, was not altogether happy about this until she saw that the person of higher authority was a junior lieutenant, a worried young Teuton little more than a pink-faced boy who had hardly begun to shave. She almost smiled at how the women of the tent seemed to know exactly what they were doing. He was precisely the kind a shrewd crew of slatterns could manipulate to their will without him even being aware of it. Presumably the junior lieutenant had some kind of responsibility for the running of this tent of women, although he seemed awkward and ill at ease among the inhabitants. He could only be new at the task, and this was more than confirmed when he listened in turn to Ravenna and the second honey-colored girl, inspected the paperwork, and even paid some attention to a few other women who gathered around to put in their dinar’s worth. An older, more seasoned officer would have never allowed the women to waste so much of his time. After some thought, and summoning all of his none-too-secure air of command, he gave the two honey-colored girls a key and waved them to the cage while he talked some more to Ravenna, as though explaining his decision to her.

  The second honey-colored girl unlocked the cage and spoke to Cordelia with quiet urgency. “Do exactly as I tell you, and please don’t make any fuss or we’ll all be in the very deepest shit.”

  The first honey-colored girl was not looking too happy about what appeared to be happening. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “You’re going to have to trust me on this, girl.”

  “If anything goes wrong, it’ll be a whipping or worse for all three of us.”

  The second girl was tense. “Nothing’s going to go wrong unless you stand here for another ten minutes arguing instead of fetching her some clothes and getting out of here.”

  “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “Just get the clothes, okay?”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Once the first girl was out of earshot, the second looked hard at Cordelia. “I understand you’ve not been saying anything, and that was probably smart, but I know a great deal about you, and I’ve come to get you out of here, because the Zhaithan may be looking for you, and you need the direct protection of my colonel.”

  Cordelia was dumbfounded. At first glance the honey-colored girl seemed a premium dollymop, yet she rapped out her instructions like a veteran guard sergeant. Only closer examination revealed the intelligence in her pretty painted face. Cordelia knew she had to trust her, not only because she seemed to have everything under control and actually appeared to be rescuing her for reasons she could only suppose would be revealed later, but also because, from the second Cordelia had first set eyes on the girl, she had been gripped by a strange déjà vu, as though she had known the second honey-colored girl all her life, or maybe in another. Before she could reply or ask any kind of question, the first girl was back with a bundle of clothes that she thrust at Cordelia. She did not say anything, but her expression and body language clearly demonstrated that she still believed she was involved in an outbreak of a bad madness, that she had only gone this far out of friendship and was rapidly approaching her limits. Cordelia ducked out of the cage and dressed hurriedly. The donated clothes were an odd and hastily grabbed mixture: a cotton shift, a man’s work shirt, a pair of sandals, and some very lewd knickers that contrasted oddly with the utilitarian drabness of the other garments. Except for the knickers, it was hardly an outfit for vamping, but at least Cordelia was out of the cage with her nakedness clothed, and according to her self-imposed policy of one minute at a time, it had to be an improvement.

  The second honey-colored girl gripped her arm and steered Cordelia through the pavilion. “Okay, so let’s get out of here. My name’s Jesamine, by the way.”

  “Jesamine? That’s a pretty name.”

  “Let’s just concentrate on making our exit, okay?”

  Without looking left or right, and ignoring the curious stares of the other women, Ravenna’s clear resentment, and the very possible chance that the junior lieutenant might change his mind and reverse his decision, Cordelia allowed herself to be led in the direction of the wood-framed double doors that constituted their way out and passed through them with a considerable sense of relief even though she had no idea what was happening to her or what might present itself next. As she stepped out into the night with Jesamine beside her and the first honey-colored girl, who had yet to introduce herself, bringing up the rear, Cordelia assumed their troubles of the moment were over. Unfortunately, the worried young officer took it into his head to follow them outside.

  “Jesamine?”

  The girl called Jesamine cursed under her breath and turned, quickly tilting one hip and turning on a professionally seductive smile.

  “Something else, Lieutenant Kemper?”

  The boy lieutenant was uneasy, fearing that he had done the wrong thing. “I’m trusting you in this matter, Jesamine.”

&nbs
p; Cordelia was quite familiar with his kind. She had encountered them even before the war. They came from military families and were raised in fearsome cadet schools that left them knowing very little beyond war, sodomy, and career politics, and certainly nothing about women, or any world beyond their own narrow perspectives. The ones she had met in Albany had been hopeless enough, but she could well imagine the Teutons were ten times worse with all their religious complications and having the Mosul as overlords.

  Jesamine made her voice deliberately sexy. “I know, Lieutenant. I am very grateful, and I’m sure Colonel Phaall will be even more grateful when he returns.”

  Kemper moved towards the three women. “If she escapes, you do know how much trouble you’ll be in?”

  Cordelia decided it was time she let Jesamine and her friend know that she was not completely helpless. She followed Jesamine’s lead and regarded Kemper as though he was the most desirable male she had ever encountered. “I’m not going to try to escape, Lieutenant. I mean, where would I go? I’m a spoil of war. I’m happy to be alive.”

  Kemper took them both completely seriously and smiled a gauche and idiotic smile that he probably imagined made him look like a man of wit and experience. “I may have to come and check on you girls later.”

  Jesamine acted as though the idea left her breathless. “You’d really do that?”

  “Indeed I would. I know my duty.”

  “Then please, Lieutenant, do your duty. We’d like that, so much. It’d make us feel so very safe, and you know we’ve got nothing to hide from you.”

  The boy puffed up before their very eyes. “Of course, other responsibilities may call.”

  Cordelia played her part almost without thinking. “Oh, no. Don’t say that.”

  “I fear it’s the price of conquest, but you never know. Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t. We’ll see, won’t we?”

  As the lieutenant turned and walked away, Cordelia almost had to clap a hand to her mouth to stop herself laughing. That the fool should feel the need to impress a couple of camp followers was bad enough, but that he felt the need to do it with such a display of junior pomposity was even worse. After he strutted back the way he had come for a few paces, Jesamine called after him. “Lieutenant, can I ask you something?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you know how long the colonel’s going to be away? How long he’s going to be leaving us all on our own, sir?”

  “I think you should be prepared for him to be gone at least a week. The tone of the telegraphs he sends back to division imply that he’s having a fine time down in the woods.”

  As soon as Kemper had walked past the pavilion and out of sight, Cordelia and Jesamine both succumbed to a sudden fit of giggles, a release of fear and tension that they were oddly able to share even though they knew nothing about each other. Jesamine had to lean on Cordelia’s shoulder to catch her breath. “He’s going to come and check on us for sure, and we’re going to have to fuck him to keep him distracted.”

  That started them giggling again, until they noticed that the other woman stood tense and stone-faced. Jesamine straightened up and wiped her eyes. “What’s up with you, Kahfla, girl?”

  The one whose name was Kahfla shook her head, and her voice was hard and tense. “You two are going to have to fuck him on your own. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’ve gone far enough.”

  Cordelia took a step back. Too much was suddenly in play, and she knew nothing about it. All she could be was an object again. This was not her fight. Jesamine tried to make light of what was going on. “What’s your problem, girl? Our officers are gone. We’re just having a bit of fun, drinking the colonel’s schnapps and sleeping in his bed and getting away with it.”

  “This is more than a bit of fun. You’re up to something. Don’t try to con me, Jesamine. I thought we went deeper than that.”

  Jesamine’s face hardened. “I thought I asked you to trust me.”

  Kahfla pointed to Cordelia. “Why her? She’s not about schnapps and getting away with it.”

  “I asked you to trust me on that.”

  Kahfla was shaking her head. She was not going to be won round. “I’m sorry, but now you’re going to have to trust me.” Jesamine started to protest, but Kahfla stopped her. “Oh, you don’t have to worry. I won’t say a word. You know I’d never rat you out, but I get off the ride right here. You feel like you’re self-destructing, Jesamine. It happens. I’ve seen it happen. Women get crazy, like they don’t care any more, and I don’t want to be around it.”

  Kahfla suddenly turned and fled for the pavilion, leaving her friend staring after her. Cordelia decided to remain absolutely silent until Jesamine was ready to share her next move. Finally she sighed and took Cordelia’s arm. “We go this way.”

  They walked in silence for a while past rows of officers’ tents and huts that were largely silent with most of the regiment away in the south. Jesamine was silent and hard to read, and, in the end, Cordelia felt she had to venture a question. “Her name’s Kahfla?”

  “Yes.”

  “She seemed, how can I put this tactfully? Jealous of me?”

  Jesamine was suddenly angry. “You’re asking if we took some comfort in each other? Even though it’s a flogging if the Teutons catch you at it and maybe a hanging if the Zhaithan get in on it? Unless you happen to be doing it on the floor of the mess like the twins, and then it’s free drinks and a round of applause? Is that what you’re asking me?”

  Cordelia made firm eye contact with Jesamine, telling herself that the woman was only scared. “I’m really in no position to ask anything, now am I?”

  “You’re from Albany, right?”

  “I’d be a fool to answer that, now wouldn’t I?” Cordelia maintained eye contact. It seemed to be working. Jesamine was calming down but still had some pressure of anger left. “I meant what I said about having to fuck that baby, Kemper.”

  Cordelia did not respond, and Jesamine treated her to a look that was both withered and withering. “Please don’t tell me you have a problem with that.”

  Cordelia shrugged in her borrowed rags. “I have to admit a lack of professional experience, but I learn fast. I fully intend to do everything that’s needed in order to survive.”

  She put enough implied threat into the statement to warn Jesamine that, although she was in no way a seasoned whore, she was far from innocent, and, if she was from Albany, she was still a belligerent.

  RAPHAEL

  “So you lads had a Mamaluke as a gunnery instructor?”

  The four from the squad who were following Melchior across the city nodded. “That’s right, Underofficer. He was called Gunnery Instructor Y’assir.”

  “Mad fuckers, them Mamalukes. One time in Sebastopol I saw one walk into an inn carrying a severed head.”

  Pascal, who had probably been selected for the expedition so Melchior could keep an eye on him after his talk of deserting, made the necessary astonished response. “A severed head?”

  “That’s right, boy, a severed head. I swear to the Twins. He’s holding it by the hair and there’s blood dripping all over the place. The thing couldn’t have been dead for more than a few minutes, a half hour tops. He bangs it down on the counter and starts yelling at the innkeeper to give his friend a drink.”

  Melchior had been given some drinks himself. The squad had found a bivouac in the vast, sprawling camp, but no rations had been forthcoming, and, resorting to time-honored initiative, the veteran underofficer had taken a party out to scavenge for supplies that consisted of Raphael, Pascal, a Teuton called Sheg, and Raoul, who had first spotted the airship. Food had proved hard, but alcohol was easy. As they moved along the muddy thoroughfares of the apparently endless canvas city, drunk men in dirty uniforms were stumbling with one- and two-gallon jugs under their arms, charging half a dinar in imperial scrip for a swallow. Melchior had taken five or six swallows before he launched into the story of the Mamaluke with the severed head.

/>   “So the innkeeper very rightly figures his head’s going to be on the counter, too, if he doesn’t find a way to keep this Mamaluke satisfied, but he makes the mistake of using logic on a Mamaluke who’s been drunk for the best part of a week. He tries to explain to him that his friend the head is irrevocably dead, and the very last thing he needs is a drink, in this world, at any rate.”

  Drunk or sober, Melchior seemed to know his way through the strange and temporary world of the camp by the Potomac. Raphael and the other three from the squad who’d been chosen for the foraging mission followed him as he made his way between Mosul urrts and conical Teuton field tents, past bunkers and around dugouts and hooches. Through a swamp night of drifting mist lit by gas lights and the occasional electric globe, plus torches and flaming braziers made from old petrol drums that added a mix of acrid smoke to the fog from the river, they crossed lakes of viscous mud on creaking wooden walkways and slipped through the mighty shadows of silently parked, armor-plated battle tanks that stood silent and waiting for their guns to be uncovered and their cold steam boilers fired up for the eventual push into Albany. The camp was certainly the largest human assembly that Raphael had ever seen, far bigger than any of the towns of his childhood, but with that strange air of military impermanence, the sense that it, and its hundred thousand or more inhabitants, could, at any moment, be uprooted and moved elsewhere, leaving only scarred earth, abandoned refuse, ditches, and old latrines as evidence of their having been there.