The Demi-Monde: Summer (34 page)

By his estimate, as the crow flew, the rendezvous he was taken to was only fifteen minutes from his hotel, but the meandering route taken by the driver almost tripled the journey time. His driver doubled back on himself at least four times and twice spent a few minutes standing, parked in the shadows, to ensure they weren’t being followed. The Code Noir were obviously very anxious that Vanka got to the séance unencumbered by agents of the HimPeril.

When the pedicab finally came to a halt, Vanka found himself totally unimpressed by the WhoDoo temple. If this séance was as important as Josie Baker had intimated then he would have expected it to be taking place somewhere a little more upmarket than a clearing in a wood. Of course, there were compensations, notably the fifty or so scantily clad girls waiting for him to arrive, girls who had obviously been waiting in the rain, if the way their damp dresses clung so enticingly to their bodies was any indication. Looking at them, Vanka found himself hoping that the Summer’s monsoons had one last shower left in them.

Hitching the collar of his mackintosh higher, Vanka walked across the copse to where Josie Baker and a second woman were standing. Josie made the introductions. ‘Vanka, this is Dr Jezebel Ethobaal, Head of the metaPhysical Centre here in the JAD. She is also known as Mambo Jezebel and is one of the foremost practitioners of WhoDoo magic in the whole of the Demi-Monde.’

Vanka and Jezebel Ethobaal shook hands, then she motioned him towards a circular clearing that he assumed was the
hounfo
… the WhoDoo temple. Vanka felt the woman’s kohled eyes
studying him as they walked. He didn’t mind: she was a beautiful woman who moved with the grace of a dancer, but, ever the gentleman, he reciprocated her interest and she certainly rewarded his attention. By her colouring Vanka decided that she was originally from Cairo; she had the wonderful dusty complexion only possessed by women from that part of the Demi-Monde.

‘I am delighted to meet you, Vanka Maykov,’ she said in a sultry voice that caused the hairs on the back of Vanka’s neck to bristle, ‘and please, call me Jezebel.’ Another smile. ‘Josephine has told me much about you, but she neglected to say just how handsome you are,’ and to his surprise, she gave his arm a squeeze. It seemed all WhoDooists were incorrigible flirts.

‘You are very kind.’

‘You know, you are very famous in WhoDoo circles, Vanka.’

‘Me? Why?’

‘Because when we mambos attempt to peer into the future, it is often the
lwa
– the spirit – which identifies itself with your name that we find peering back. And it is a mischievous spirit –
very
mischievous – and one which delights in preventing us seeing the future clearly.’

Mad as a hatter
, Vanka decided.

Jezebel brought him to a halt at the edge of the clearing that was the
hounfo
. It didn’t look much, just a primitive dance floor made out of beaten soil … or, as it was fast becoming, thanks to the rain, beaten mud.

He nodded towards the clearing. ‘I must say, Jezebel, I’m less than impressed by your
hounfo
.’

‘You gotta remember, Vanka,’ she explained, ‘in NoirVille WhoDoo is an outlawed religion. We WhoDooists might have found sanctuary here in the JAD, but Shaka is still in the habit of infiltrating his HimPeril cats to try to stymie our séances. So we hold them somewhere, anywhere, nowhere: tonight here,
but tomorrow somewhere else. It’s difficult to stamp out something that has no physical presence, something which lives only in the hearts of women.’

Jezebel pointed to the circumference of the
hounfo
which was marked by a ring of white pebbles, a ring that had only a single break in it, the one just in front of Vanka. ‘If you would step through the opening, Vanka,’ she said quietly.

Immediately he’d done this, a young girl came and dribbled white pebbles on the ground, sealing the ring behind him. It was a simple, silly thing, but Vanka felt oddly unnerved: it was as though he was now trapped inside the
hounfo
, that there was no going back. Now Vanka watched as a dozen girls manoeuvred a totem pole into position at the centre of the dirt circle.

‘This is a
poteau-mitan
,’ explained Jezebel. ‘It’s a representation of the Sacred Tree, Yggdrasil, that links this world with the Spirit World and which allows the
lwa
– the WhoDoo spirits – to travel to and from the Demi-Monde. It’s dedicated to PaPa Legba, the
lwa
who guards the gate that separates the two worlds.’

Vanka’s psychic antennae bristled: there was something in the way Jezebel said this that made him glance at her. In response she gave him an enigmatic little smile and another squeeze of his arm.

What
was
going on?

Dragging his attention back to what was happening in the
hounfo
, he nodded to a large box – maybe two metres square and a metre thick – that was being carried over to the side of the clearing. ‘And that?’

‘That’s the
pe
… the altar from which the WhoDoo Queen, the senior mambo, will oversee this ritual.’

‘And just who is this WhoDoo Queen?’

‘Why, Josephine Baker, of course!’

*

Reluctantly Vanka allowed himself to be led towards the
poteau-mitan
and, as he did so, a trio of drums started pounding. This at least he was familiar with; Ella had used a
batterie
of Rada drummers to add atmosphere to the séance they’d held at Dashwood Manor.

‘If you will stand next to the
poteau-mitan
, Vanka,’ Jezebel suggested, ‘you’ll get a better view.’

‘A better view of what?’

‘Of Josephine in her role of mambo JoJo – the WhoDoo Queen – the most powerful mambo in the Demi-Monde …’ She stopped and gave Vanka a grim smile. ‘No, not any more, not now that Lilith has come again; Lilith’s powers are even more formidable than those of Josephine. All we can hope is that, as mambo JoJo has PaPa Legba as her spirit guide, she will be able to challenge Lilith and force her to return to the Darkness whence she came. That’s the purpose of the séance tonight. That’s why we need your help, Vanka, that’s why we need the help of PaPa Legba.’

Jezebel’s explanation was interrupted by one of the young
ounsi
– the girls who had been dancing around the
poteau-mitan
– walking to the altar carrying a large tankard. ‘And the tankard?’ Vanka asked.

‘That is the potion which the WhoDoo Queen drinks to help her to seethe … to commune with the
lwa
. I prepare it from the mushrooms that cluster close to the white ash, the tree that provides the template for the
poteau-mitan
. My potion removes the last vestiges of physical, mental and moral restraint that bind a mambo’s soul to the Demi-Monde.’ One of the
ounsi
handed Vanka a similar tankard. ‘You must drink too, Vanka.’

With a shrug he took a sip. It wasn’t bad.

‘And that?’ He pointed to what looked like a small doll one of the
ounsi
placed in the centre of the altar.

‘That’s an
ouanga
– a
juju
– a figure carved from the roots of the ash tree and decorated in the form of the object of our
conjurations. This one represents Lilith, which is why it’s painted red and has pictures of snakes drawn over it. An
ouanga
helps us direct and concentrate our magic and hence make it more effective. By the use of an
ouanga
we hope to capture Lilith’s spirit and subjugate her will.’

‘You don’t sound very confident.’

‘I’m not. Lilith is very, very powerful and for an
ouanga
to work against her it must be personalised … we need to incorporate a lock of hair or a clipping of fingernail in the
ouanga
, none of which we have. But we will try.’ She looked up and nodded towards the altar. ‘The ritual is about to begin,’ and from the back of the
hounfo
strode Josephine Baker in her guise of mambo JoJo.

Though Josie’s face was almost totally hidden by a mask of gold – only her eyes and lips were visible – she looked, as always, beautiful and wonderfully lissom. Sure she was small, sure she was slim, but her naked body, seen through the few layers of gold-coloured chiffon that constituted her costume, was dark and desirable.

The mambo that was Josephine Baker stepped up onto the altar and standing there, arms outstretched before the audience, began to chant.

PaPa Legba, open the gate for me, Ago-e

Lwa Legba, open the gate for me:

The gate for me, PaPa, so that I might climb the Sacred Tree

And on my way back I shall thank you most lovingly
.

And as the final words drifted off into the darkness, Vanka felt the potion he had drunk suddenly kick in: it was as though he was shoved in the back, as though some invisible force pushed him towards the
poteau-mitan
. He felt his senses start to reel; he suddenly seemed very drunk. Through dull eyes he saw the
ounsi
dancing around the
hounfo
, their movements becoming increasingly frantic as they moved to the racing
rhythm of the drums. It was this incessant beat, beat, beat of the drums that sounded through his head, preventing him from thinking, as he stood, lost in a swirling maelstrom of flickering, laughing, screaming, prancing women. He began to shake, sweat dripped down his face and he could feel his jacket slick and heavy on his back.

He saw Josie Baker bend forward and take hold of the hem of her dress, drawing the edges of the skirt back, pushing it behind her, unveiling her body. Then, once again, she cried out into the night.

PaPa, see mambo JoJo is warm and ready

Ready to love you strong and steady

Oh, see how naked and sweet I kneel

So come help me, PaPa, help me please
.

Then she leant forward and, taking the tankard in both hands, lifted it to her lips and drank greedily, the red liquid spilling from her mouth.

Tremors racked Vanka. His senses reeled as he was taken by the rhythm of the drums. He had the odd sensation of his soul easing free from his body and drifting high above the
hounfo
. Now he found himself peering down on the
ounsi
as they danced and cavorted, on mambo JoJo as she lay slumped on the altar … and on himself standing motionless in the middle of the
hounfo
.

It was as though the rules and the measures of the Kosmos – distance and time, up and down, far and near, past and present – were being bent and twisted. Now he and the OverSoul were one.

It was amazing, decided Selim as he waited for his aide to signal that his ‘guest’ had arrived, how easily the opinions of the public could be manipulated. All it had taken was a few coins spent on having pamphlets produced and circulated in Venice and NoirVille and on the organising of a whispering campaign, and the fact that that imbecile Duke William had attempted to rape Lady Isabella and beaten her father, Duke Pietro
Gradenigo, to a pulp in the process was distorted into something quite different.

Now the rumour was that rather than raping the girl, it had been Isabella who had pursued Duke William and it had been her father, infuriated by her being in love with a Shade, who had attacked the boy. Now the rumour was that Duke Gradenigo was so ashamed of his daughter’s conduct that he had made up this nonsense about an attempted rape in order to protect his family’s good name. Now Duke William was being portrayed in all the NoirVillian newspapers as a victim of the racial prejudice supposedly endemic in Venice.

More, Doge IMmanual’s attempts to placate Duke Gradenigo were represented as typical woeManly weakness, the Doge unable to find the courage to defend either her brother’s honour or Shade rights.

Would it not be better, the whispers continued, if Duke William, that staunch defender of Shade Machismo, was made Doge instead of his timid, Blank-loving sister? And being the skilful politician that Selim was, he knew the time to strike was when public opinion was at its most febrile. So while the powers that be in Venice dismissed the suggestions of Venetian racism and the Doge’s weakness out of hand, Selim plotted.

He had ensured that there were two regiments of HimPis stationed in Venice – ten thousand soldiers – ostensibly to protect Venice from ForthRight invasion, but the reality was much more sinister. He would use them to stage his planned
coup d’état
… a bloodless
coup d’état
, which would remove Doge IMmanual and replace her with her brother. His hope was that he could manage this transfer of power without the use of violence but that would require Doge IMmanual being neutralised.

Of course, his natural inclination was simply to poison the woeMan, but the opinion of the supreme religious leader in
NoirVille, Mohammed al-Mahdi, was that she should be sacrificed on Lammas Eve, in place of her brother. The woeMan’s blood would have, after all, the same occult value as his. Therefore the task given to Selim by Shaka Zulu was to take the Doge alive, but as she spent most of her time ensconced in her Palace protected by the Signori di Notte, this was difficult. He needed something that would make her so angry that she became imprudent.

And to do that he would have to use Duke William, who was, fortunately, the most tractable of Men.