Rod Rees - [The Demi-Monde 02]

by Spring (v5. 0) (epub)

  Lucky cow.

  ‘Hiya, Vanka baby, that’s one hard-cut suit you got there. Man, you’re looking high, fly and too wet to dry, though I gotta say pink-and-blue Paisley don’t really pump my pistons.’ Josephine turned to Norma. ‘And you, Norma, are a real shape in a drape. Jingo, honey, if you’re ever looking for a gig, just give me the word. Jiggle those jangles around on a Saturday night, and the punters will bug out big time.’

  ‘An’ I’m Burlesque Bandstand, m’lady,’ gasped Burlesque, as he shot to his feet. ‘An’ you, iffn I ain’t mistaken, are the Sensual Shade, ’erself. I saw yous a couple ov years ago when you did that dance wiv the bananas.’

  ‘Hiya, Burlesque. I’m always glad to meet one of my fans. So you dug my danse sauvage?’

  ‘Yeah, yous wos great, though maybe you wos wearing a few too many bananas.’

  Burlesque was interrupted by a tug on his sleeve from Odette, who obviously didn’t like the way Burlesque was eyeing la Baker.

  ‘Oh, yus – this is Odette, an’ that there is Rivets.’

  Once they were all seated and drinks had been served, Josephine became all business. ‘Okay, first the good news. I met with a friend of mine from the Council of Ten – those are the big dukes who run this ville – and after a little billing and cooing he let slip a few things he shouldn’t oughta. You’ll be pleased to know, Vanka, that your pal Ella is fine as wine, and buttoned up safe and snug here in Venice. They’ve got her holed away in the Convent of the Visual Virgins, but Machiavelli’s boys are watching her closer than a pimp watches his whores.’

  ‘At least Ella’s safe.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s safe but the thing you’ve gotta dig, Vanka, is that she ain’t Ella no more. Now she’s the Lady IMmanual, and she’s a real big deal, the big barracuda. Now she’s being officially billed as the Messiah which I guess is why Beria’s men tried to deep-six her when she was en route to Venice.’

  ‘Beria tried to kill her?’

  ‘Sure, and it was a near-run thing. There were a lot of bad guys out and about trying to blow the Lady’s lights out. Sister Florence got chewed up pretty bad helping defend the dame.’

  ‘Sister Florence?’ asked Vanka.

  ‘The Visual Virgin the Doge sent to protect the Lady IMmanual. Josephine took a comforting swig of her Solution. ‘But there’s more. From what I can dig, there were even some Grigori trying to assassinate the Lady IMmanual.’

  ‘Grigori? Them’s vampyres ain’t they?’ snorted Burlesque. ‘Nah … there ain’t no such fings as vampyres. They’re just bogeymen that movvers use to frighten their kids into being good.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Burlesque baby. The Grigori are real alright. I’ve seen the ancient WhoDoo manuscripts that tell of a time when these slimeballs strutted and strolled the Demi-Monde.’

  ‘They’re real right enough, Burlesque,’ confirmed Vanka. ‘Norma and I were attacked by three of them back in Paris.’

  Now that shut Burlesque up, and a decidedly uneasy-looking Rivets started gnawing anxiously at his nails. He slid the book he’d been reading – Gregory the Grigori – back into his jacket pocket.

  ‘It’s a sign that Ragnarok is, like, approaching mucho de fast, when back issues like the Grigori start making an encore.’

  ‘An’ did these Grigori fingies get to Miss Ella?’

  ‘Sure did, Burlesque. Not that that kitten needed much protection. Seems she sliced and diced said Grigori, and then made like Houdini to reappear here in Venice.’

  Vanka took a long swig of his coffee. ‘So that’s the good news, Josie. What’s the bad news?’

  ‘There’s a lettre de cachet out for your arrest, Vanka. Seems that you’re persona non grata here in Venice.’

  ‘Why? Why would they want to arrest me?’

  ‘I ain’t sure. It’s all being kept sotto voce. My guy thought it was ’cos Machiavelli didn’t want you raising dust with the Lady IMmanual, but I’ve got a feeling there’s more to it than that.’

  ‘Like what?’ Vanka prompted.

  ‘You in the mood for, like, a double helping of bad news?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, the lowdown is that it was the Lady IMmanual herself who put the finger on you, Vanka. Seems like you and she ain’t jake no mores, like now she regards you as unflavour of the month.’

  ‘Has Ella got that much clout in Venice?’

  ‘Sure has, honey. Oh she’s got to be officially verified as the Messiah by the Doge and then by the Grand Council but the fact is, Sister Florence has got a lot of pull in this ville and with her saying the Lady IMmanual is the Messiah then it’s a done deal. And if the Messiah starts mouthing that Vanka Maykov is a badnik who would be better referred to only in the past tense, then that’s what’s gonna go down.’

  Vanka shook his head, trying to clear it. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Lemme give it to you straight no chaser, Vanka baby. The Lady IMmanual wants you totalled. Seems she told Machiavelli you were out to assassinate her.’

  ‘What?! She wants me killed? But why?’

  ‘Who knows, daddy-o, maybe the Lady IMmanual is just cleaning house. Now she’s the big Pooh-Bah, maybe she don’t want her past coming crawling outta the woodwork.’

  There was something in the way Josephine said this that gave Norma the strong suspicion that she knew perfectly well why Ella wanted Vanka dead, but just wasn’t prepared to spill the beans. Most peculiar.

  ‘But to want to have me killed …’ Vanka was obviously having big trouble getting his head around what Josephine Baker was telling him.

  Seemingly anxious not to be quizzed on the subject, Josephine moved the conversation on. ‘You better fall in and dig the happenings, Vanka. You gotta suss that the Lady IMmanual is now a political heavyweight … she’s the Messiah! If the Doge can get her to endorse Venice in its fight against the ForthRight, then maybe the Coven and NoirVille will come in on the side of the Doge. So the last thing they want is a loose cannon like Vanka Maykov screwing things up.’

  ‘I still don’t believe it.’

  Norma placed a hand on Vanka’s. ‘I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,’ she said in a comforting voice.

  ‘I hope for your sake there is, Norma honey, ’cos there’s a warrant out for your arrest too.’

  Now it was Norma’s turn to look shocked. ‘Me? Why would Ella want me dead?’

  ‘Dunno, honey, but you better believe this ain’t no off-time jive I’m laying on you. Those Signori di Notte items of Machiavelli are out looking for you, and they’re mean as catshit and twice as nasty. For you and Vanka, Venice is one ville it’s best to live out of.’

  Norma turned to Vanka for advice but all he did was sit there looking dazed. He’d gone pale, and his hand trembled when he raised his cup to his lips. Finally he spoke. ‘This is madness. Ella and I … well, never mind. I’ve got to get to Ella. I’ve got to speak to her.’

  ‘Only way to do that is to get into the Convent.’

  ‘Then that’s what I’m going to do.’

  24

  Venice

  The Demi-Monde: 27th Day of Spring, 1005

  The spelling of the name of the Trickster god of pre-Confinement mythology is endlessly mutable. Although the accepted, textbook spelling is Loki, there are many Confusionists who state emphatically that it should be rendered as LoQi, as this better denotes the Trickster’s ability to disrupt the harmony of the spiritual essence, Qi, in the Kosmos. But following the unBabelisation of the Eddic inscribed on the column taken from the Venetian Lagoon it appears that the ancients preferred Loci, this presumably denoting the god’s ability to be in more than one place at a time.

  Myths and Legends of the Demi-Monde:

  Lucien Lévy-Brühl, Quartier Chaud Imprints

  It was now twelve days since he and the Lady IMmanual had arrived in Venice, and de Sade judged them to have been twelve very long and very boring days. On Machiavelli’s orders he and the Lady had been held incommunicado in the Conv
ent of Visual Virgins, with the Signori di Notte guarding the place to make sure that no one, but no one, came within stabbing distance of the Lady.

  His incarceration had been made especially boring as – after how generous she had been with her body in Paris – the Lady IMmanuel had resisted his amorous overtures. All he could assume was that she didn’t want to be observed during coitus by a Visual Virgin: as he understood it, at the point of climax the aura became especially bright and easy to read. But given that her aura had already been examined by Sister Florence, it was a peculiar reticence and one that de Sade found very frustrating. It was as though she was trying to hide something but even de Sade, who was a master of deception and doubledealing, couldn’t for the life of him think what that secret might be. Everyone knew she was the Messiah.

  It therefore came as something of a relief when de Sade was informed that they would at last be allowed to venture beyond the Convent’s walls. True, a trip to a museum – albeit one as prestigious as the Galerie des Anciens – to attend the unveiling of some tedious artefact wasn’t quite the debut into Venetian society he had hoped for the Lady, but he was still pleased to be given the opportunity to enjoy some fresh air.

  By de Sade’s estimation, they had the Doge herself to thank for their excursion. Presumably she had grown tired of simply having the Lady watched surreptitiously – like every other state building in Venice, the Convent was positively riddled with secret passages and peepholes – in the hope that she might be caught in flagrante. Now the Doge had decided that it was time to meet the girl face to face and to judge for herself if she was, indeed, the Messiah.

  Such was the importance of the first appearance of the Lady IMmanual that the Doge had ordered she be accompanied by all of the Convent’s Visual Virgins and all of the detachment of Signori di Notte set to guard her. It was therefore a very crowded gondola that slid alongside the mooring directly opposite the Galerie, where they were greeted by cheers from the large crowd gathered around the entrance to the museum. Obviously word had spread that the Lady IMmanual – the Messiah – would be visiting the place and the more religiously minded of Venetians had been moved to see this wonder for themselves.

  And it was a wonder well worth seeing. Advised that this afternoon’s soirée would be attended by the most fashionable and elegant personages in Venice, the Lady had determined that she would most certainly not be upstaged, and hence the outfit she’d selected was remarkable both for its elegance and its daring. Her shaven head was covered by a cowl of filigree silver which cascaded over her face, and her dress was a little – a very little – number sporting a quite outrageous bustle that jiggled most fetchingly with each step she took. It was an ensemble that announced her to be not only a woman of rank and importance but also one of rare beauty.

  The crowd adored her, so much so that de Sade decided that from today the Galerie would no longer be remembered as a shrine dedicated to the worship of the artistry and genius of the Pre-Folk, but rather as the place where Venetians first bent their knee to the Lady IMmanual.

  With de Sade on her arm the Lady swept imperiously through both the adoring throng and the Galerie’s magnificent entrance doors. Once inside, she swirled off her magnificent velvet cloak, her rather theatrical unveiling ensuring that every eye in the Galerie turned in her direction.

  But there was more to her performance than simply a beautiful woman delighting in the effect her appearance had on her audience. If there was ever a group of men who could appreciate the significance of the title ‘Messiah’, it was the preHistorians waiting to attend her in the Galerie. And as the Messiah was the one ordained by ABBA to lead the Demi-Monde through this Time of Tribulation, it was a very heavy mantle of greatness that was being readied to be draped over the slim shoulders of the Lady IMmanual. But before there could be any such draping, she needed to be officially ordained as Messiah by the powers that be in Venice. And for that she had to secure the imprimatur of the Doge, and to have her Messiahship ratified by the Council of Ten. Venice had a mania for correct administrative procedure, a mania that extended even to Messiahs. This selection process was to begin in the Galerie.

  ‘My Lady IMmanual, enchanté,’ gushed a small round man who bounced up to greet her in a flurry of waving arms and goggling eyes. ‘I am Louis Molyneau, the curator of this museum, to which I have the honour of welcoming you.’

  ‘I am delighted to meet you, Monsieur Molyneau,’ replied the Lady with a smile, ‘but I must ask, as we have never met before, how did you know who I am?’

  ‘Facile. The Lady IMmanual is by reputation of a beauty unsurpassed, and any endowed with eyes will see that you are indeed that woman. Never has my museum been graced by such ineffable loveliness. You illuminate the afternoon with your presence.’

  The Lady IMmanual rewarded the curator’s compliments – and his kiss on her hand – with another, even warmer, smile. ‘May I, in turn, introduce my friend the Marquis de Sade.’

  The two men exchanged bows and Molyneau signalled to a passing waiter, who served his guests each with a flute of champagne de sang. De Sade eyed the Lady curiously as she took the glass: legend had it that Daemons eschewed the delights of blood, but not so the lady IMmanuel. All he could assume was that Daemon Messiahs had atypical appetites.

  Once he had refreshed himself, Molyneau recommenced his gushing endearments: ‘It is so rare, my Lady, that a woman of such beauty and discrimination ornaments a gathering of antiquarians, as we are an almost exclusively male and invariably dusty congregation. But of course, today is a meeting of the utmost importance, as today Professeur Michel de Nostredame will reveal a discovery of the greatest significance. As a consequence, here in attendance are the foremost personages in Venice.’

  ‘Among whom I believe that lady is the most important.’

  De Sade looked across the room in the direction of the Lady’s nod, it was obvious to him why she had noticed the Doge: the woman, who was currently holding an excessively animated conversation with a hugely powerful-looking Shade, was, after all, almost as tall as the Lady IMmanual and her outfit was similarly arresting. She was sporting a black dress and black veil, making her something of an oddity in a crowd that favoured the multicoloured fashions currently so en vogue, but then, as in everything, the Doge Catherine-Sophia was a law unto herself, which was no real surprise, given that she made the laws.

  Still, de Sade did wonder when the woman would come out of mourning for Potemkin. Two years of very public grieving was, by any measure, excessive and the people were beginning to whisper that perhaps their Doge wasn’t quite right in the head.

  ‘You are correct, my Lady,’ confirmed Molyneau, ‘that is Her Most Reverend Excellency, Doge Catherine-Sophia, who has requested that you be introduced to her immediately upon your arrival.’

  ‘It would be an honour.’

  Without further ado, Molyneau escorted the Lady IMmanual and de Sade across the room to effect the introductions. ‘Your Most Reverend Excellency,’ he simpered, as he brought his guests to a halt at the Doge’s side, ‘may I have the pleasure of introducing the Lady IMmanual.’

  The Doge stopped in mid-sentence, turned towards the Lady and extended a hand gloved in the softest black leather. The Lady IMmanual took the proffered hand and bobbed a curtsy.

  ‘Zo, you are zhe Lady IMmanual. I have heard many disturbing reports about you, my Lady. I trust you have not come to Venice to create alarums or panic.’

  De Sade breathed a sigh of relief. The Doge wasn’t drunk.

  ‘No, I came here simply to escape the ForthRight.’

  ‘Gut, zhen I am pleased to offer you sanctuary. Unt I trust zhat you vill find zhis afternoon’s revelations not mitout interest. Zhe find to be unveiled has, apparently, zome pertinence to your claim to be zhe Messiah.’

  ‘Her Excellency is an expert in all things ancient,’ interjected Molyneau helpfully.

  ‘You are as inaccurate as alvays, Louis,’ scolded the Doge, wagging a finger at the curato
r. ‘My interest in things ancient extends only to zhe inanimate. In matters ImPure, I prefer zhe young unt zhe vigorous.’

  Molyneau determinedly finished his introductions. ‘And of course you know the Marquis de Sade, Your Excellency.’

  The Doge gave an indifferent flick of her fan. ‘I know zhe Marquis de Zade only too vell, as do most vomen in Venice. You are forgiven, de Sade, for your past indiscretions, but do not try my patience again.’ She gestured towards the man standing beside her. ‘Let me, in turn, introduce you to zhe Grand Vizier Selim, Master of the Court of His HimPerial Majesty Shaka Zulu.’

  The tall Shade turned his black eyes towards the Lady and smiled. Despite himself, de Sade took an involuntary step back. The man was truly terrifying and looked, for all the world, with his turban, his cheek scars and his ridiculously ornate moustache, like some pantomime devil. Hardly surprising, de Sade supposed, given that the fellow was, by reputation, a monster. He looked every inch the skilled and vicious torturer he was rumoured to be.

  But if de Sade was nonplussed by meeting such a fearsome individual, the Lady most certainly was not. She returned the man’s smile and pushed out her hand. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Your Highness, I am …’

  ‘I know who you are, young lady, it is what you are that I have been debating with Her Excellency the Doge.’

  ‘Jah, as zhe Grand Vizier is a major proponent of HimPerialism vhich believes zhat vomen vere created by ABBA merely to serve unt service men, he finds it most difficult to conceive ov a zituation vhen ABBA vould impose a female Messiah on zhe Demi-Monde.’

  ‘Not difficult, Your Excellency,’ corrected the Grand Vizier, ‘impossible. The HIM Book – the most sacred book in the NoirVillian religious corpus – states quite categorically that the Messiah will be a man.’

  ‘I am not familiar with this work, Your Highness,’ said the Lady quietly, ‘and I would be most grateful for an opportunity to debate the eschatological aspects of HimPerialism in greater depth. Might I be so bold as to issue an invitation to the Grand Vizier to call on me at the Convent?’