Rod Rees - The Demi-Monde - Winter

Though JFK wasn’t bad either.

‘Let the ForthRight know we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure this victory and the success of liberty and equality within the Demi-Monde. Let the ForthRight know we wish a new world order, one where the strong are just and the weak secure and the peace is preserved.’

Not forgetting the inimitable Martin Luther King.

‘My friends: I have a dream that one day this world will live out the truth in the creed that all men and all women are created equal. I have a dream that even the ForthRight, with its vicious racists and a Leader whose lips drip with the bile of detestation and subjugation, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that one day people will be judged not by the colour of their skin but by the content of their souls.’

A little touch more of Churchillian rhetoric.

‘So I ask you to go forth and spread the message that all of the Demi-Monde must unite against the plague that is UnFunDaMentalism. Tell the people of the Demi-Monde that we must unite to wage war by land and by river. We must wage war with all our might and with all the strength ABBA has given us. We must wage war against a monstrous tyranny never surpassed in the dark and lamentable catalogue of human crime. Tell them we must fight and we must be victorious.’

And round it off with a dash more Martin Luther King.

‘But be assured that one day the chimes of freedom will ring out through the Demi-Monde proclaiming the coming of a world where men and women, black and white, HerEtical and HimPerialist, will join hands as equals and as friends. That is my message. I pray to the Spirits to keep you safe and to give you the courage and the strength to face the trials to come.’

After she had finished speaking an unnatural silence descended on her audience. Then one of the twelve – the long, beanpole William Penn who had been so assiduously scribbling in his notebook as she had been talking – stood up. There were tears trickling down his cheeks. ‘We pledge, Lady IMmanual, that we will take your message to the Demi-Monde. We pledge that your message of democracy and the defiance of tyranny and injustice will be spread to all the Sectors. We pledge to work night and day to rally the Demi-Monde to defy the evil of the ForthRight and of UnFunDaMentalism. We pledge our undying loyalty and allegiance to our Saviour, the Lady IMmanual and the creed of IMmanualism.’

Bloody hell.

Then the twelve knelt before Ella, who, remembering what she had seen the televangelists do on TV, went around placing her hand on each of the bowed heads whilst intoning, ‘May ABBA be with you.’

At last Vanka intervened. ‘Well, thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks for everything. Best of luck with your preaching. Go forth with the blessing of the Lady IMmanual and all that. Yeah, go forth and multiply. Now we’ve got to be going.’ He hopped into the basket and held out a hand to Ella. ‘C’mon, then, time to go flying.’

Once his two passengers were safely in the balloon’s basket, Vanka nodded to William Penn. ‘If you would cast off the mooring ropes.’

There was a judder, a lurch and slowly the balloon began to rise.

‘What did you think, Vanka,’ she gasped as she watched the ground begin to slowly recede, ‘about what I said down there?’

‘I think if you carry on making speeches like that the IMmanualites will never let you leave the Demi-Monde.’ He beamed at her. ‘And if that’s the case, I might even be persuaded to become one myself.’

As Trixie walked to the Rangoon side of the Anichkov Bridge she saw a deputation standing waiting to greet her. Unconsciously she ran a hand through her sweat-drenched hair, trying to make herself just a little more presentable. She almost laughed: after what she had been through it was a ridiculous thing to worry about.

Two of the deputation stepped forward. The leading woman was tall and well-made, and despite the rather severe cut of the trouser suit she was wearing appeared elegant and quite feminine, thanks to the wonderful cascade of blonde hair that tumbled down to her waist.

‘I am Lady Lucrezia Borgia,’ she announced in a voice so refined that it bordered on the haughty, ‘First Deputy to her Imperial Highness Wu, Empress of all the lands known as the Demi-Monde.’

Another megalomaniac.

Trixie set her face to bland and saluted. ‘I am Colonel Trixiebell Dashwood, Commander of the Warsaw Free Army.’

‘Empress Wu sends her greetings to such a courageous soldier and offers you and your troops sanctuary in the Coven.’

‘I am very grateful, Madam First Deputy.’

‘Where is the one called the Lady IMmanual?’ The question came from the girl standing behind First Deputy Borgia, and in contrast to the First Deputy’s serenity, the second woman radiated impatience and petulance. She was clad from head to toe in combat gear and carried a repeating rifle slung over her shoulder. Trixie knew her instantly, knew her by her cropped brown hair, by her gleaming eyes that seemed to flash and sparkle as she spoke, and by Loki’s symbol, the large wooden cross hanging from her neck. This was the infamous Jeanne Dark, leader of the Suffer-O-Gettes, the scourge of HimPerialism, the enemy of UnFunDaMentalism, the Chief Witch of HerEticalism.

A few weeks ago Trixie would have made the sign of the Valknut to ward off the evil that Jeanne Dark represented for the natural order of things, but not now. Now all she saw was a rival and rivals weren’t something to be afraid of. Rivals were something to be eliminated.

‘I asked you a question.’

The sharpness in Jeanne Dark’s voice brought Trixie out of her reverie. No one – no one – spoke to her like that.

‘When you address me you will use my rank. I am Colonel Dashwood.’

‘Very well, Colonel Dashwood: where is the Lady IMmanual?’

‘The Lady IMmanual? She was lost. We believe she has been tricked by a man named Vanka Maykov into surrendering herself to the SS.’

‘Fuck,’ snarled the girl. ‘Now that, Colonel Dashwood, was a careless, costly mistake.’ With a snort of disgust she spun on her heel and marched back towards the end of the bridge. The look the First Deputy directed towards the witch’s retreating figure suggested there was little love lost between the two Covenites.

‘You must forgive my colleague, Reverend Deputy Dark,’ said First Deputy Borgia, ‘she is apt to be a little temperamental.’ She smiled diplomatically. ‘We have prepared accommodation for your fighters in a nearby barracks, but while they are resting the Empress Wu has commanded an audience with you.’

‘Now?’ Trixie looked down at her soiled and tattered combat overalls. ‘Perhaps I might be given a few minutes to-’

‘Empress Wu is very insistent that she meet you immediately. She is aware that you are a soldier and apt to be somewhat careless regarding your appearance. But your army’s presence on Coven soil has the most profound political implications, implications which must be urgently resolved.’

Trixie nodded: the Coven giving the WFA sanctuary must have sent Heydrich into a paroxysm of fury. ‘I wish Major Wysochi to accompany me.’

Wysochi grinned when he heard his instant promotion, but Trixie knew eyebrows would be raised if she insisted on having a mere sergeant as her second-in-command.

‘Is he your Preferred Male?’

‘Preferred Male?’

The First Deputy gave a condescending smile. ‘It is a Covenite term for the male a Femme allows to accompany her and provide her with certain physical comforts.’

She glanced at Wysochi, whose grin broadened. ‘Yes, Major Wysochi is my Preferred Male.’