‘Follow me.’
With that Burlesque led the three of them back towards the staircase that spiralled around the great ExterSteine.
Norma lay on the hard, cold floor of the cavern, lost in the netherworld of exhausted sleep, her body drained by the ordeal that had been the Rite of Transference and her spirit unable to find the strength to re-engage with the world. And as she slept, she dreamed.
In the fevered imaginings of her mind, once again she found herself at bay in the tight, night-black alleyways of the Rookeries, but this time it wasn’t Archie Clement at her heels, now it was her conscience. She could hear the squabble of voices behind her, imploring her to be true to herself.
Listen to us, she heard them say, we are the whispers of the truths you have been avoiding.
But as she had done all through her young life, she ran on, refusing to listen, blocking her ears. She hated the thought of the truth and the responsibility it would bring. She ran in her dream just as she had run in life when she had tried to lose herself in her addictions and her self-inflicted immaturity.
She was, after all, just a girl, oppressed and worn down by the worries and responsibilities of a runaway world, and by the hopes of a successful father and a distant mother – a girl who had never thought herself strong enough or powerful enough to carry the load that life had placed on her.
Oh, she had always sensed she had a purpose in life, but she had been fearful of her ability to grasp the dark unknown that was her destiny. All her life this fear of failure had been her constant companion, following her like a shadow, but she had never been able to raise the courage to turn and face it. But now she knew the time for running was over.
Her destiny touched her on her shoulder, and in her dream she stopped and turned.
Now she saw the evil she would be called on to face. It looked so huge, so intractable, so monumental, as to make even the thought of defeating it feel impossible. Delinquent voices whispered to her that she was as nothing compared to the brutal force which she was being called upon to confront. That she would be foolish even to try …
She moaned in her sleep, despairing of her weakness, of her frailty, of her ignorance. More, she despaired of her loneliness, of having no one to share her burden with. But then, she’d always been alone. And as a single, desolate tear trickled down her cheek she realised that that was her destiny, to stand alone in the eye of the hurricane that would soon envelop the world.
They were about halfway down the column when they came, once more, to the wooden platform that led towards the gaping mouth of the cavern. Burlesque held a finger to his lips. ‘Quiet ’ere,’ he whispered. ‘This is where Crowley and his oppos perform their ’orrible rites and fingies. They’re probably all shagged out from their capering abart last night, but it never does to be too cocky.’
‘But this is where Norma was brought?’
Burlesque frowned as he anticipated Ella’s line of thinking. ‘Nah, don’t even fink abart it, Miss Ella. She’s a goner. Old Crowley’s probably deep-sixed her as part ov sum ’orrible pagan sacrifice, see.’
Ella gave an emphatic shake of her head. ‘No, he wouldn’t do that. He was trying to transfer the soul of Aaliz Heydrich to Norma’s body in the Real World, so the last thing he would do is risk killing her. He’ll probably need her when he wants Aaliz returned to the Demi-Monde. No, the chances are she’s still alive.’
Before either Vanka or Burlesque could stop her, Ella dodged towards the cavern’s entrance. As she stepped inside, the gloom stole the dawn’s light and she was quickly shrouded in sinister shadows and enveloped by swirling mists of smoke that reeked of decay and of fetid corruption. The stench was almost intolerable; it made Ella gag and her stomach churn in disgust, so much so that it took a real effort to force herself into the cavern’s mouth. But even more disconcerting was the feeling of déjà vu she experienced. She felt – she knew – she had been here before … in a previous life.
Ridiculous.
Ridiculous it might be, but Ella could almost see herself dressed as some pagan priestess, performing a strange ritual in this very cavern. With an angry shake of her head, she tried to dispel these stupid fantasies and redirect her efforts towards not tripping over the bodies littering the floor. Burlesque had been right, all Crowley’s acolytes were shagged out, if the twenty or so naked people stretched out unconscious on the floor were any indication. Drunk, drugged and debauched, they lay there totally lost to the world.
‘’Ave they snuffed it?’ Burlesque whispered in her ear.
‘No, they all seem to be breathing.’ Ella turned to Vanka. ‘Help me find Norma.’
The girl wasn’t difficult to find, but she proved devilishly difficult to identify. Vanka found the two naked doppelgängers, Norma and Aaliz, entwined around one another in the very centre of the cavern, lying at the foot of what Ella assumed to be an altar of some description. The problem they had was deciding which girl was which. Sure, there was one dark-haired ‘Norma’ and one blonde ‘Aaliz’, but to Ella neither of them seemed quite right.
‘That one looks like Norma Williams,’ said Vanka, pointing to the girl with the black hair and the stud in her nose. ‘But I seem to remember her tattoo being on the other shoulder.’
Ella nodded. ‘Well spotted, Vanka. I think they’ve made Aaliz Heydrich up to look like Norma, but somehow got it a little wrong. There’s one way of knowing for sure, though.’ With that Ella stooped down and took the black-haired girl’s hand in hers, allowing her Personal Implanted Nano Computer – her PINC – to confirm her identity. ‘You’re right, Vanka. This one’s Aaliz Heydrich.’ Ella let the girl’s hand drop to the ground. ‘Let’s see if we can bring the real Norma round.’
Vanka, who had never taken to Norma, brusquely shook the girl awake, and with a groan she fluttered her eyes open. Seeing Ella and Vanka looming over her, the girl shrank back, as if trying to occupy a smaller space, and it was only when she recognised Ella that she was persuaded to lever herself upright and disentangle herself from Aaliz Heydrich. She took a little longer to come to terms with waking up stark naked in a cold and very draughty cavern, and it needed a couple of long swigs from the flask of cognac Vanka offered her before she fully returned to the land of the living.
Burlesque and Rivets decided they needed a couple of swigs, too.
‘You’re too late,’ Norma announced finally, in a faraway voice. ‘Crowley completed the Rite, and Aaliz is now in the Real World.’
‘That doesn’t matter, Norma,’ said Ella quietly. ‘All that matters is that you’re safe.’
As she was hauled unsteadily to her feet, Norma pulled on the thin cotton shift she’d found discarded on the floor and then accepted the cloak Vanka offered her. Dressed, she made to move towards the cavern’s entrance, but tottered uncertainly and had to take Vanka’s arm to steady herself. She looked ghastly.
All this delay was too much for Burlesque. ‘Come on, come on,’ he urged, as he looked nervously around the cavern. ‘Best we get going. These idiots are going to start waking up soon, an’ then …’
Seeing him, Norma’s face distorted in anger. Obviously a dose of Burlesque Bandstand was as effective as smelling salts for her – but then, mused Ella, they both had a similar odour. ‘What’s this douche-bag doing here?’ she snarled. ‘He’s the one who sold me out to the Witchfinder.’
Norma’s ire was easy to understand, Witchfinder Major Matthew Hopkins was the man who had been responsible for hunting Norma down when she had first entered the Demi-Monde. She still had a busted knee to remind her of her run-in with the SS bastard.
‘Savin’ your arse, that’s wot,’ responded Burlesque sharply, ‘so keep yer knickers on … well, iffn you had any knickers to keep on, that is. I’m on your side now. An’ for the love ov ABBA, let’s get movin’.’
‘What about Aaliz?’ asked Ella. ‘Maybe we should take her with us as a hostage?’
Vanka shook his head. ‘It’ll be bad enough getting away as
it is without carrying her along too.’
‘Maybe we should off her,’ suggested Rivets. ‘That’d piss off Heydrich.’
‘No,’ said Ella firmly. ‘If we do that, Norma’s body will probably die in the Real World. Then she’d never be able to leave the Demi-Monde.’
As they exited the cavern, Vanka turned to Burlesque. ‘So what do we do now, Burlesque? Like Rivets says, we can’t just walk to the Quartier, and anyway, there’s a cordon of SS surrounding ExterSteine. We saw them when we flew over their lines last night.’
‘So it wos you in that balloon thingy? Sharp work, Wanker, but I ain’t no slouch either.’ Burlesque bustled his charges towards the entrance of the cavern. ‘So tell me, Wanker, wot vehicle never gets searched by the SS, or by anybody else for that matter?’
‘A Checkya steamer?’
‘Give the man a coconut. But I ain’t got just any old steamer, Vanka, I’ve got wun flying Beria’s very own pennant on the front, an’ that means nobody short ov Heydrich ’imself is gonna stop us … not iffn they like ’aving fingernails that is. Fuck, I could run over the ’ole of the ForthRight army an’ there wouldn’t be a peep of protest.’
3
The HubLand bordering the Thames River
The Demi-Monde:
1st and 2nd Days of Spring, 1005
The Medi District of the Quartier Chaud (comprising Paris, Rome and Barcelona) is becoming increasingly – both politically and religiously – alienated from Venice. Despite the number and vociferous nature of anti-ForthRight demonstrations within the Medi Districts (mainly orchestrated by members of the UnScrewed-Liberation Movement), there are encouraging signs that the Medi will move towards a formal adoption of UnFunDaMentalism as its official religion in the very near future. This will further isolate Venice as the only outpost of ImPuritanism in the Quartier Chaud. It is the recommendation of this Ministry that our disorganisationalist efforts within the Medi be redoubled and the political and financial support provided to Senior CitiZen Robespierre be increased.
Extract from the Confidential Briefing Document written by
the ForthRight Ministry of Propaganda and submitted for
consideration by the PolitBuro on the 89th day of Winter, 1004
And Burlesque was just the man to test the power of Beria’s pennant in rendering them immune from protest.
Their stolen Checkya steamer – delivered courtesy of the now dead Checkya captain – suddenly lumped up into the air, slammed down on its suspension, and then yawed alarmingly as it skidded on the snow-slick surface of the Hub. Burlesque sawed at the wheel, desperately trying to bring four tons of delinquent steamer back under control.
‘Gor,’ shouted an admiring Rivets, from his perch right at the back of the vehicle, ‘you ain’t ’alf made a mess ov that ’orse yous just run over, Burlesque. An’ that bloke ’oo was riding it looks fit to burst.’
‘Serves ’im right,’ snarled Burlesque, as he gave the steering wheel another yank. ‘’E shouldn’t ’ave leapt out in front ov me like that.’
‘He was grazing his horse,’ muttered Norma, as she used a cloth to wipe the last of the runes from her face.
‘Nah, ’e wasn’t. That ’orse was fucking leaping.’
‘Look, Burlesque, why don’t you let me drive?’ yelled Vanka, over the yowl of the steamer’s tortured pistons as Burlesque tried and failed to change gear.
‘Nah, I’ve always wanted to drive a steamer since I was a lad. There ain’t nuffink to it.’
As Burlesque drove the steamer over an innocent and very immobile bell tent, Ella had to look away. They had been huffing and puffing towards Hub Bridge Number Two for almost an hour, and during that time Burlesque had slaughtered any number of horses, destroyed a couple of carts, and crushed a poor unfortunate dog that had chosen the wrong time and place to relieve itself. And such was the fear instilled by Beria that not one person had had the courage to try and stop them.
It was, Ella decided, a miracle that he hadn’t done even more damage. There were so many targets for Burlesque to aim at that even a driver as wayward as he was couldn’t avoid hitting something, especially as the ForthRight Army seemed not to be in much of a mood to dodge out of the way.
Which was very perplexing.
Having experienced the noise and the turmoil of battle when she had been hiding out in Warsaw, Ella found the Army of the ForthRight that was supposedly invading the Quartier Chaud a little … well, relaxed. There was no artillery bombardment smashing down onto the Medi side of the Thames, no phalanxes of armoured steamers preparing to battle their way across the Hub Bridge, and no screaming NCOs urging their reluctant troops into formation. As their steamer smashed its way between – and occasionally over – the clumps of soldiers who were seated around their campfires, cooking breakfast, or lying on the grass enjoying the Spring sunshine, Ella had the distinct impression that they’d somehow wandered into nothing more menacing than a Boy Scout jamboree.
‘What’s happening, Vanka? Why isn’t the army advancing?’ she asked, as she stared out of the steamer’s window at a herd of stampeding cavalry horses that prior to Burlesque’s arrival had been contentedly munching on the contents of their nose-bags.
‘Beats me,’ admitted Vanka, as he sat back in his seat and stretched his long legs. ‘Maybe Heydrich’s persuaded the Quartier Chaud to surrender.’
This last comment was made in jest, but as Ella – aided by PINC – mulled the situation over, it began to make a sort of perverted sense. If there was one place where she would have expected the fighting to be at its fiercest, it was around the Hub Bridge, the only place where the invading ForthRight Army could cross the Thames. But as Burlesque steered the steamer into a neat if unintended pirouette, the bridge hove briefly into view and Ella saw that, rather than the battle she expected, there was an orderly queue of ForthRight infantry patiently waiting their turn to march across. There were even GrandHarms – officers in the Quartier Chaud’s police force – directing traffic, making it easier for the mass of men, machines and horses that was the ForthRight Army to cross the river and occupy their Sector.
It was so peculiar that it even persuaded Vanka to abandon his usual indifference to what happened in the outside world, and pay attention. ‘The Quartier Chaud must have surrendered,’ he mused to no one in particular. ‘I mean, the Medis aren’t meant to be much good at fighting – not that I blame them – but from what I understand, the mercenaries the Venetians have on their payroll are always up for a scrap.’
‘Why would they surrender?’ asked Ella.
A shrug from Vanka. ‘I dunno. According to the scuttlebutt, Doge Catherine-Sophia hates Heydrich with a vengeance. There’s no way she’d have given up without a fight.’
‘I don’t fink she did,’ commented Burlesque, who, having just discovered that the steamer possessed an air horn, was now using it to put a train of oxen dragging field guns to flight. ‘I wos gonna open a pub in Barcelona a while back so I knows everyfing there is to know abart the Quartier Chaud. An’ wot I ’eard wos that some of the ’igher-ups in Paris – blokes like that Robespierre item – wos getting a mite pissed off wiv ImPuritanism. Natural when you fink abart it: blokes don’t like bin told wot to do by birds.’
‘Birds?’ sneered Norma. ‘That’s a sexist comment even for a chauvinist pig like you, Burlesque.’
Burlesque stuck his tongue out in reply and Ella was pleased to see Norma return the compliment. The girl seemed to be getting some of her bounce back. ‘Well, sexist or not, seems that birds in the Quartier Chaud ’ave bin getting right up their blokes’ noses. There wos a bit in The Stormer a while back saying that the GrandHarms ’ad got ’ot an’ ’eavy wiv all them UnScrewed tarts demonstrating an’ causing bother.’
‘UnScrewed?’ asked Norma.
‘Members ov the UnScrewed-Liberation Movement,’ explained Burlesque. ‘Them’s a bunch ov birds in Paris wot’s always raising sand about the Senate restricting their sexual liberties an’ such.’
Burlesque’s explanation was interrupted by a bang from underneath the steamer.
‘That wos anovver ’orse you’ve just flattened, Burlesque,’ shouted an admiring Rivets. ‘That makes it a round dozen you’ve mangled.’
Burlesque ignored him. ‘Yeah, them Chaudian tarts are dead keen on their sexual liberties. They’re always up for it. I ’ad this Roman bint working in the Prancing Pig wunce … gor, fings she could do wiv a fag. Shove one up ’er arse, an’ she could blow smoke rings outta ’er …’
‘That I really don’t want to hear about,’ interrupted Norma, and there was enough frost in her voice to persuade Burlesque to change the subject.
‘Any’ows, seems that the blokes in the Senate told the Doge to go and sling ’er ’ook.’
‘Why?’ asked Ella.
‘Cos ov them Dark Charismatics fingies.’
‘Dark Charismatics?’ As PINC was silent on the subject, all Ella could do was turn to Vanka and give him an imploring look. Being a psychic – a faux-psychic – Vanka had made an extensive study of the oddities of the Demi-Monde, and to Ella’s mind ‘Dark Charismatics’ sounded very odd indeed. If there was anyone who’d know about them, it was Vanka.
‘It’s a funny religion, ImPuritanism,’ he began. ‘Most people think it’s just about hedonism and free love, but there’s a lot more to it than that. One of its important beliefs is a concept called MALEvolence, which says that men are more prone than women to violence …’
‘Can’t argue with that,’ observed Norma.
‘… and for a society to be fair and peaceful, these natural inclinations of men have to be tempered by the more equitable and peace-loving qualities of women.’
‘Sounds like my kind of place.’
‘Maybe it is,’ said Vanka impishly. ‘After all, ImPuritanism teaches that the only way to commune with ABBA is via orgasm. So all ImPuritans spend their time seeking the ultimate orgasm they call JuiceSense.’
Rod Rees - [The Demi-Monde 02] Page 4