Rod Rees - The Demi-Monde - Winter

In Lilith | I, Loki, was reborn.

And reborn | Lilith scorned

ABBA’s harmony. | Through Lilith’s sorcery | the harmony was destroyed.

Harmony she said | is the iced touch of the ideal. | The dead hand the frozen soul | the unvoiced idea the unfurling | of the flower never blossoming.

To build | anew

Lilith | in her quiet fury razed. | This is the first truth.

To build | you must first destroy.

The ruined perfection of the Vanir erased.

She had no time to ponder on what was written: the dawn light that with every passing minute advanced over the eastern horizon urged her on. Time was short. Desperately she pushed her protesting body up the stairs until she arrived, breathless, panting and dizzy from her exertions, at the flat, circular top of the column that tilted towards the rising sun. She found herself standing on the summit of the world.

Ella hated heights and she had never been anywhere where her feeling of vertigo was so intense. The Demi-Monde stretching out below her seemed a very long way down and she was made to feel even more vulnerable by the way the wind whistled around her as she struggled to keep her footing on the slick Mantle-ite.

‘Over there,’ Vanka shouted over the howling gusts. ‘To the east. The shutters must be over there.’

Leaning into the wind, they pushed their way to the eastern side of the column. Vanka was right: a pair of great wooden shutters covered that side, facing towards the rapidly rising sun. There was a huge wooden lever next to them that presumably operated the shutters.

Why aren’t they guarded?

Vanka whipped his belt from around his waist. ‘If we tie this around the handles of the shutters that’ll stop them being opened!’

His explanation was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a revolver being cocked. They looked up to see Burlesque Bandstand – a much thinner-faced Burlesque Bandstand, it had to be said – wrapped in a dublonka, sitting with his legs dangling carelessly over the side of the column, and brandishing a purposeful-looking Webley pistol in their direction. By the light of the rising sun Ella could see there was a body of a dead SS StormTrooper beside him.

He raised the pistol and took careful aim at Vanka’s forehead.

‘‘Appy First ov Spring, Wanker, you bastard.’

Empress Wu was holding court in the Shwedagon Palace which dominated East Rangoon. After the cramped hustle and bustle of the Rookeries the huge gardens that surrounded the Palace came as a surprise to Trixie: she found it difficult to believe there could be anywhere in the Demi-Monde so profligate with space. It was as though she were walking through a place that was in the Demi-Monde but not of the Demi-Monde.

Once inside the Palace she was ushered briskly along the brilliantly decorated corridors until she was brought to a halt before two vast and richly embossed doors. First Deputy Borgia turned to her. ‘This is the Hall of the Great Dragon. Beyond these doors is seated the Sacred Presence of the Great Empress Wu. You will address the Great Empress as “Your Imperial Majesty”. You will approach the Great Empress Wu with your eyes averted: under no circumstances are you to gaze on her Divine Form directly. When you reach the black line inscribed across the floor of the hall you are to genuflect…’

‘Kneel? Colonels in the WFA don’t kneel to anyone.’

‘Please, Colonel, try to understand. This is Coven protocol, it cannot be changed.’

Oh yes it can, decided Trixie as she gave the First Deputy a nod of acceptance.

‘Under no circumstances are your knees, your hands or any other parts of your body to cross that line. You may answer the questions posed to you by Her Imperial Majesty but whilst you may answer her questions…’

‘Under no circumstances am I to address her directly,’ suggested Trixie peevishly. She was too tired for this nonsense.

‘Indeed. You may use your inferior Anglo tongue when making your replies: the Empress Wu is familiar and fluent in all of the primitive languages of the Demi-Monde.’ The First Deputy glanced disdainfully at Wysochi. ‘Your Preferred Male is not permitted to enter the Hall of the Great Dragon. Only Femmes and NoNs may gaze upon the Divine Form of the Empress.’

Instructions completed, the First Deputy made a sign to the two sentries guarding the entrance to the hall – both the guards were women, and both, Trixie noticed, were armed with brand new M4s – who hauled the doors open to reveal the vast hall beyond.

M4s…

Why would Heydrich have provided the Coven with M4s if he was about to make war on it?

Still pondering this, Trixie strode off across the beautifully inlaid teak floor towards the small woman she could see seated on a throne at the far side of the room.

By repute the Empress Wu was the most beautiful woman in the Demi-Monde, but as she was protected from any indiscreet peeking by drapes of sheer silk wafting in front of her Trixie was unable to confirm or deny the rumour.

She came to the black line the First Deputy had warned her about, and with just a moment’s hesitation dropped to her knees and bowed to the shadowed form of the Empress.

‘You are very young,’ observed a lilting, almost sing-song voice.

Trixie remained silent. In truth she didn’t quite know how to reply: she was young.

‘And very dirty.’

This too was correct. Looking down at her knees, Trixie could see that her filthy, matted trousers were leaving streaks of dirt on the immaculately polished floor.

‘But this, I suppose, is to be expected when one is confronted by a Femme so given to martial pursuits. I understand that you are a remarkably able soldier, Colonel Dashwood: is this true?’

There seemed to be little point in being modest. ‘Yes, Your Imperial Majesty, I have enjoyed some success in fighting the Anglos.’

‘But you are an Anglo yourself, are you not?’

‘I am, Your Majesty, but I have sworn to fight with the people of Warsaw against the tyranny of Reinhard Heydrich and UnFunDaMentalism.’

‘You have decidedly unForthRight views for one so young.’

‘My age does not, I believe, detract from the correctness of my opinions.’

‘Nor from the arrogance of your attitude, it would seem,’ came the testy response. ‘You should be aware that the Coven and the ForthRight are allies… friends.’

So her father had been right. Heydrich had deceived them.

Heydrich had deceived them so comprehensively that he had persuaded Trixie to lead her army into the hands of his ‘friend and ally’. She and the WFA were now at the mercy of the Coven.

A heavy silence fell on the hall. Finally the Empress spoke again. ‘I have consulted the iChing which advises that I should avoid war with the ForthRight, that I should not seek to tweak the tiger’s tail. This I believe is good advice: violence, in my opinion, is a poor substitute for the delicate deceits of diplomacy. But the price of peace is often a heavy one in that it involves the betrayal of those who trusted us.’ Again a silence and then a soft laugh. ‘Unfortunately betrayal and duplicity are indispensable parts of statecraft, and when one rules a nation or leads an army one quickly grows calluses on the soul, calluses that deaden finer feelings and dampen the pain engendered by betrayal. It is the express wish of Leader Heydrich that, as a token of the Coven’s friendship towards the ForthRight, we execute all members of the army you brought with you to the Coven and that we deliver you, in chains, into the custody of the ForthRight.’

No, you won’t.

As surreptitiously as she could, Trixie unbuttoned her tunic. The fools hadn’t searched her thoroughly enough – she had a small Colt holstered under her armpit. ‘That, Your Imperial Majesty, will only demonstrate to Heydrich that the Coven is weak and weakness is not a trait he admires.’