The Demi-Monde: Summer (11 page)

‘
Nothing
is unstoppable except the ultimate triumph of HerEticalism.’ Borgia gave an ugly little laugh. ‘We took especial care to have your associates in the Peace Movement abducted with you to ensure that we eliminate Normalism root and branch.’ Here she nodded to Mata Hari, who walked over to the cabin’s door. When she opened it, Burlesque, Rivets and Odette were pushed inside, guarded by two tall and heavily armed Amazons.

‘Look, I don’t know wot this is all abart but …’ began Burlesque as he stumbled into the cabin, but he was silenced by the butt of an M4 being slammed into the back of his head by one of the shaven-headed guards.

‘You will be silent, Bandstand, or I will have your tongue removed,’ said Borgia quietly. ‘You should be aware that you and your two colleagues are only alive because your presence will be useful in persuading the Daemon Norma Williams to
cooperate with us. But you should understand that if you prove troublesome, then you and the boy will be gelded and your Femme sold into slavery.’

Rivets’s pale face drained of the little colour it had. He looked to be on the verge of panicking but fortunately, before he could do anything fatally stupid, proceedings were interrupted by the arrival of an officerFemme. ‘AdmiralNoN Zheng Heii’s compliments, First Deputy Borgia, but we have come to the disembarkation point. There is a gig standing by to transport AgentFemme Mata Hari and the prisoners to shore.’

It was a foul night, inky black with rain lancing down, planishing the surface of the river and splashing on the oilskin capes and sou’westers Norma and her three friends had been given to wear. As they were pushed and shoved along the treacherously slippy steel deck of the CSS
MostBien
towards the gig that was bobbing up and down alongside the WarJunk, Mata Hari whispered instructions. ‘You will all be quiet: make a sound and you will be silenced by the guards. I say this for your own benefit. At night on the Volga sound travels and the UnFunny
artillery lining the shore of St Petersburg needs little excuse to fire.’

As she stepped down into the rocking boat, Norma realised that she was frightened. She might have held her nerve in front of Lucrezia Borgia but, truth be told, she was a very worried girl. As far as she could make out, these HerEticals were as mad as their counterparts in the ForthRight: they were female fascists who instead of directing their lunatic hatred towards nuJus and the other UnderMentionables, directed it towards men.

It was all so absurd.

Yeah, that was the problem with the Demi-Monde, she decided: absurdity. Every idea about how the Demi-Monde should be run had been stretched and twisted until it was a ridiculous parody of what it had been originally and then a demented leadership rammed this twaddle down their people’s throats as they screamed ‘if you don’t think exactly like I do, then you’re my enemy’.

It was a depressing situation made more so by the thought that her efforts to change things – which had got off to such a good start – had now been derailed. Norma found herself fretting that while she was being held by these madwomen, she couldn’t be out there working to make the Demi-Monde a better and a more tolerant place.

This train of thought was interrupted when Rivets plumped himself down beside her in the gig. In the moonlight she could see that she wasn’t the only one who was worried: the mention of being castrated had put the boy into a rare funk. As the boat cast off from the
MostBien
and the sailors began to work the muffled oars, he sat shivering as they buffeted their way towards the riverbank.

As always, Rivets turned to Burlesque Bandstand for comfort. ‘Is it right, Burlesque, that these dorks is gonna cut our cocks off?’

‘Be quiet!’ snarled Mata Hari who was sitting at the bow of the gig peering out into the darkness. ‘If you want to keep hold of your penis, little man, I suggest you keep hold of your tongue.’

In response Rivets stuck the aforesaid tongue out at her and leant closer to Burlesque. ‘I am not fuckin’ ‘appy, Burlesque,’ he whispered, ‘abart ‘aving me knob trimmed.’

‘That’ll only happen if you don’t keep shtum,’ answered a very tetchy Burlesque. ‘Anyway, I fink we wos dead lucky to get orf that ship
tackle intactus
.’

‘Oh, yus,’ agreed Rivets, his eyes widening in amazement, ‘I’ve bin dead fuckin’ lucky I ‘as. I gets kidnapped by a bunch of LessBien tarts, spend two nights arse-deep in sewage chained up in the ‘old ov a very smelly ship listening to you teaching Odette ‘ow to speak Anglo and then get told I’m bin taken to Birdland to ‘ave me cock clipped. I don’t fink I could stand it, Burlesque, iffn I got any fuckin’ luckier.’ And as though to punctuate his point, he vomited over the side of the gig.

‘Look, Rivets, I know it’s a fuck-up, but I wosn’t to know that a troupe of fuckin’ Amazons were gonna come an’ stick their oar in, now wos I? So we’ve just gotta make the best of it and once we get to dry land, once we’re outta these chains, then we’ll make a run for it.’

The look he got from Rivets told him that the boy didn’t share his confidence. ‘I don’t fink we’re gonna be runnin’ anywhere, Burlesque. Way I see it, that Mata Hari cow is going to off us first chance she gets.’

Burlesque shook his head. ‘Nah, she won’t. Iffn she was going to top us, she’d ’ave done it by now. She wants us alive. Now all we’ve got to do is look sharp and make sure we get outta this while we can still hit the bass notes.’

Odette edged closer to Rivets. ‘
Ne t’en fais pas, mon petit
Reevets! ’Ave no doubts that
mon cheri
Burlesque will find the way mostly
perfect to – ’ow you say – make the escapes.’ She gave Burlesque’s arm a squeeze. ‘Is ’e not the most wonderful of all the men?’

Norma smiled; Odette’s English seemed to be improving by the hour, but unfortunately Rivets was determined not to be consoled. ‘Escape, you daft Frog bint?’ He rattled his chains. ‘We ain’t gonna be able to ’ave it away on our toes dragging a couple of hundredweight of best Beijing steel around with us, now are we?’

He was about to say more, but was silenced by the sound of Mata Hari cocking her pistol. Now as they skulled along the river towards the Anichkov Bridge, the Suffer-O-Gette edged even further forward over the bow of the boat trying to make out who was waiting for them on the shore. Suddenly there was a single short flash of a lantern which Mata Hari imitated with the one she was carrying.

‘Our friends are here. Prepare to disembark,’ she ordered and a minute or so later the gig’s keel scraped along the stony bank of the Volga River. They had arrived.

Norma took a quick look around. As best she could judge through the pouring rain, they had landed a couple of hundred yards from the foot of the bridge. It seemed an odd choice of a place to come ashore; she would have thought they would have landed closer to the centre of the Rangoon docks. But she wasn’t given much time to puzzle on this before the gig came to a halt and she was shoved out.

There were about ten heavily armed Amazons waiting for them under the command of a tall girl in combat overalls. The girl saluted and then handed Mata Hari a large sheet of parchment which carried a number of impressive-looking seals. ‘I am MajorFemme Ito, commander of Amazon Detachment Twenty-Seven. This warrant authorises me to take custody of the Daemon and her confederates, and to transport them to the Forbidding City. Are all the prisoners landed, AgentFemme Zelle?’

It took a moment for Norma to realise that she was addressing Mata Hari using her real name rather than her
nom d’espionage
.

‘All ashore, MajorFemme.’ Mata Hari turned to her sergeant. ‘Release the prisoners’ leg-irons; I don’t want to have to carry them to the steamer.’

That was when things became decidedly unreal.

As the last of the shackles fell away, Mata Hari raised her revolver and blasted MajorFemme Ito straight between the eyes. The shot was a signal for all hell to break loose as black-clad apparitions materialised out of the darkness. The ninjas looked like characters out of a manga comic, but there was nothing comic about the way they attacked the Amazons. They danced over the rain-slick cobbles with the agility of cats, firing their automatic rifles as they went, decorating the night with blindingly bright muzzle flashes. Amazons began to fall.

‘SoldierFemmes to me!’ screamed a sergeant as she tried to yank her pistol from its holster. She never managed to do it, being smashed over the head by a length of chain wielded by Odette Aroca.

It was the last Norma saw of the fighting. She felt a strong hand on her shoulder as she was pushed down to the ground with her saviour – one of the ninjas – lying on top of her. The gun battle was brief. It seemed that surprise and Mata Hari’s treachery had triumphed over numbers, and after a few minutes she heard an order being yelled for the Amazons to pull back. As the shooting fizzled out, Norma found herself being hauled to her feet.

‘Quickly,’ snapped the ninja who seemed to be in charge of the rescue mission. ‘The Amazons will be back as soon as they recover from their shock and get themselves organised. We must get you to a safe house, Norma.’

Norma?

‘Do I know you?’

There was a tinkling laugh and the woman unwrapped the scarf from around her face. ‘I am disappointed, Norma, that you have forgotten your friend Su Xiaoxiao so quickly. I was, after all, the first to welcome you into the Demi-Monde.’

A wave of relief washed over Norma. ‘Little Su! Oh, it’s great to meet you again.’ Su Xiaoxiao – Little Su – was one of the few people Norma had met in the Demi-Monde who she liked and trusted. She had been the woman, in those madcap days when Norma had first travelled to the Demi-Monde, who had done everything she could to prevent her being captured by Aleister Crowley, who had warned her about Archie Clement and had told her that she was in danger of becoming one of the Kept. If only Norma had listened to Little Su and not the honeyed words of Percy Shelley, things would have turned out
so
differently. But then she could never be cross with Percy, he was too dishy for that.

‘And I am pleased to welcome you to the Coven, Norma. We have been awaiting your arrival with eager anticipation; we are in dire need of your strength and of your courage. But now is not the time for pleasantries, already our enemies will be regrouping, so I would be grateful if you and your friends would follow me.’

They skirted through the shadows of the docklands, moving quickly, encouraged by the sound of bugles ricocheting through the tight streets and alleyways. Their enemies were now hot on
their trail, but, fortunately for the fugitives, the Coven was even more of a maze than the Rookeries, a maze through which Su Xiaoxiao led them with unerring confidence.

As they scuttled through the labyrinthine backstreets, Norma managed to ask Su Xiaoxiao a breathless question. ‘How did you know where and when I would be landing?’

‘Mata Hari, the SheTong’s most valuable crypto,’ answered Su Xiaoxiao as she glanced back, checking that all of her charges were safe. ‘She sent a PigeonGram informing us where you would be landing. Now, of course, her cover is blown. You should be honoured, Norma, that we were willing to sacrifice the services of such a highly placed crypto just to be able to speak with you.’ The Chinese girl gave a grim shake of her head. ‘But this is not the place to debate these matters. Soon …’

‘Soon’ came some ten minutes later when Norma was ushered up steps leading to the second floor of a nondescript tenement building. Su Xiaoxiao rat-tat-tatted on the door and then whispered into the grille an unseen but very cautious somebody had opened in response to her knocking. Whatever Su Xiaoxiao said worked: the door opened on reluctant hinges and Norma found herself being bustled inside. Immediately two young girls materialised out of the shadows, used picklocks to unfasten the wrist fetters, and once free, Norma and her friends were hurried along a dark corridor to a large room where three men were sitting, arranged along one side of a wooden table. Su Xiaoxiao sat down next to them and waved the four runaways into the seats opposite.

Glasses of scalding hot and very sweet tea were served, and as Norma felt her rain-chilled body begin to warm she took a moment to study her hosts. The three men were dressed in identical robes made of white silk, embroidered with a confection of what looked like the circle and arrow motif Norma recognised as the symbol of masculinity. But their robes were the
only thing they had in common: physically they couldn’t have been more different. The man in the centre of the trio was tall, slim and quite young, perhaps mid-twenties; the one to his left was older, much stockier and sported a very bushy white beard; and the man to his right was small, almost frail-looking, and his bespectacled eyes darting nervously hither and thither as they desperately sought to avoid meeting Norma’s gaze.