by David Bishop
"Oh, matron!" he cried out. "I've been a naughty boy and I need to be punished!" Flintlock began rising from his seat but a hand pulled him back.
"Restraint," Dante urged. "There's plenty more where she came from."
"Really? I think she brought most of it with her," Spatchcock chipped in.
"You're a fine one to preach," Flintlock told Dante. "You've never practised restraint one day of your life."
"There's a first time for everything."
"Our next offering is Maria," Flora continued, "the youngest of our talents. Just eighteen today, she is looking for a strong authority figure, someone who can teach her how to behave." A pretty, petite woman in a schoolgirl's uniform descended from the catwalk, choosing her steps carefully. "Maria is new here and needs to be taken in hand, if you know what I mean."
"I'll bet she does," Spatchcock leered. "I know just where to put 'em, too."
The parade of sex workers continued - muscled men with gleaming torsos, rampant women in an array of outfits, dwarves, aliens, even robots, all were on offer to anyone with the right number of roubles. Flintlock eventually decided to spend most of his cash on two women - the hefty charms of Hattie and a French maid known as Yvette. Spatchcock left to pursue a tempting young woman called Anya who specialised in naked mud wrestling. "Sounds just my kind of girl," the grubby ex-con announced. "Naked, dirty and ready for a roll in the mud."
But Dante could not get excited by any of the pleasures on offer, instead retiring to a well stocked bar in a corner of the sex cathedral. There he ordered a large bottle of Imperial Blue vodka and began drinking it like water. Once the parade was finished and all the staff occupied with clients, Flora joined him at the bar. "Drinking alone, Nikolai? Not a very healthy pass-time."
"Perhaps I've had my fill of whores," he said, before remembering what Flora did for a living. "Sorry - nothing personal."
"No, that's fine. If you want to drink here at our inflated prices, you'll make my accountant a very happy woman." Flora gestured at the seat beside him. "Mind if I join you?"
Dante shrugged and called for another glass, then poured a generous slug of vodka into it. "Here's to money, the root of all evil." He downed the contents of his glass in a single gulp before pouring another. Flora watched him closely, her face betraying her concern.
"Since when did you hate money, Nikolai? When we were both scraping a living in the back streets of St Petersburg you couldn't get enough roubles to make you happy. Now you're throwing it away like there's no tomorrow."
"Maybe there isn't," Dante replied, his voice beginning to slur a little. "The Tsar's put a bounty on my head that could finance Rudinshtein for a year."
"I know," Flora said. "You should be careful in here, some of my clients might be tempted to try and claim the reward."
"I'm surprised you haven't called the Raven Corps yourself."
"Those bullies would cost me more in damages and lost custom than I would gain by turning you in. Besides, we go back a long way."
Dante pointed a finger at Flora. "You bet your ass!"
She reached out a hand to touch him. "When did you get so bitter? I thought Nikolai Dante was all devil-may-care and honour be damned."
"Maybe I've started to grow up."
"Or maybe you're just feeling sorry for yourself?"
He shrugged in reply. "I never had two roubles to rub together before I became one of the Romanovs. Now I can steal a small fortune in one morning and it still doesn't make me happy. Why not? What's wrong with me?"
"Perhaps you realise there's more to life than just money?"
"Like what?"
"Love? Being happy? Having friends?"
Dante guzzled another tumbler of vodka. "And what would you know about that, Flora?"
The brothel owner smiled. "More than you, I suspect. I may put on the act of a lascivious old whore, but when I get home I know my partner is waiting for me. We can be together, just be, and there's nobody to judge us or trouble us."
"Sounds delightful."
Flora shook her head. "What do you believe in, Dante? What are you for? I followed your progress during the war - you were fighting for something then, something bigger than you, something important. What are you doing now?"
"I'm enjoying myself!"
"So I can see - sat in a whorehouse, pockets bulging with money and trying to drink yourself stupid to blot out whatever you don't want to think about. I'm glad all our customers don't enjoy themselves this much, my staff would be out of work." Flora stood up, leaving a last comment for Dante to contemplate. "You're like a shark, Nikolai. You've got to keep moving forwards, or else you die. It's time to move forwards again."
She strode away, leaving him peering at the last measure of vodka in his bottle. He held it up as a mock salute to the departing woman before draining the contents.
For the owner of a house of ill repute, Famous Flora speaks a lot of sense, the Crest said.
"Oh no, not you too," Dante winced. "I knew you couldn't keep quiet long."
I'm just saying there is more than a little truth in what she observed. You are flailing around, Dante. Why did you rob the Imperial Mint this morning?
"Because it was there."
Bravo! Why not hit yourself on the head with that vodka bottle? It's there too and so is your skull. Why not bring the two together?
"Because that would be stupid."
That's never stopped you before.
"Have you quite finished? I've already had my lecture for the day from Flora, I don't need you joining in."
That's unfortunate, as I have more to say, the Crest replied. You need a cause, something to get you out of this slough of self-pity and self-regard.
Dante shook the empty bottle. "I wonder how much vodka I have to drink to incapacitate you, Crest?"
More than your body could sustain. You'll pass out long before I do.
"Pity." Dante threw the bottle over his shoulder, listening with satisfaction as it smashed in the background. "Did I hit anyone?"
No, but there is a woman approaching. She doesn't look happy.
"Flora?"
Not exactly, the Crest replied.
"Excuse me," a soft voice said, "but are you Nikolai Dante?"
"Who wants to know?" Dante asked, rotating round on his bar stool. He found himself facing an unremarkable, plain-faced woman. She was wearing a heavy black cloak and hood that hid her body and even the colour of her hair.
"My name isn't important," she replied nervously.
"Maybe not, but you'll have to display your wares a little better if you want to get any business in this place. Famous Flora's is many things, but subtle is not one of them." Dante was surprised to see her burst into tears. "Sorry - was it something I said?"
Why would she possibly think that? the Crest interjected archly.
"Be quiet," Dante hissed under his breath.
"I'm sorry," the woman said. "I'm trying not to cry too loudly."
"No, not you. I was talking to my..." Dante checked himself. "I was talking to myself. Bit of a one-sided conversation, to be honest."
I'll say, the Crest added.
Dante bit his lip rather than rise to the bait a second time. He stood up and ushered the young woman to a nearby seat. She produced a handkerchief from inside her cloak and dabbed away the tears.
"You must think me very strange, accosting you in this place," she said.
"I've been accosted in worse places."
"It's my Uncle James," the woman continued. "He's dying."
"I'm... sorry to hear that."
"He's dying and I can't get in to see him. I thought maybe you might be able to reach him, or at least get him a message. I know it's dangerous, but I didn't know whom else to turn to. My uncle always said you would attempt the impossible, no matter how foolhardy the venture."
Sounds like he knows you well, the Crest ventured.
Dante grimaced but chose to ignore the telepathic commentary, knowing the Crest woul
d fall silent if he didn't respond to its jibes. "Your Uncle James - could you tell me his full name?"
The woman nodded, tears starting to flow again. "Di Grizov, James Di Grizov. Some people called him Jim."
Dante sat back as if punched in the chest. More than a decade has passed since he last saw his mentor, the lift doors at the Casino Royale closing between them. Di Grizov had beaten him, stolen the Fabergè egg and left him to face the music. But despite all that, Dante found he did not bear his former mentor a grudge - life was too short for that. "You say he's dying? Where is he? I'd like to see him before the end, for old time's sake."
"He's in a gulag, a work camp. I doubt he'll last another week."
"Where?"
"Near the Murmansk Alienation Zone. It's the only gulag in that region. They don't allow visitors and none of the prisoners ever leave the compound alive. I only discovered my uncle was being held there by chance. He bribed one of the guards to carry out a message for me."
Dante smiled. "I'm surprised Jim hasn't escaped. I've never known any cell or jail that could hold him."
"Maybe, when he was younger. Before they took his legs."
"His legs?"
"Amputated, to stop him escaping." The woman was sobbing gently now, unable to hold back her grief any more. "The guard laughed when he told me."
Dante could feel a red mist of anger rising. "Is this guard still in St Petersburg? I'd like to have a word with him."
"No, he's gone back to the gulag. The next shuttle to the Murmansk region leaves at midnight tonight. I was going to catch it, but knew I could never hope to reach my uncle in time. Then I remembered you..."
"Alright," Dante said softly, slipping a comforting arm around the young woman's shoulders. "It's going to be alright. I'll go. I'll find your uncle. If I can, I'll get him out of the gulag. If I can't, then I'll take your message to him. What do you want me to say?"
She turned and looked at Dante intently, the tears gone from her eyes now. "Before he was caught, my uncle had hidden his money in a secret location - said it was his retirement fund. If anything ever happened to him, I was to have it. He had a codename for his hiding place. You need to find out where that money is. Ask him you to tell you about the hiding place."
"You trust me with that knowledge?"
"My uncle said you were among the few men he had ever trusted. I have to show the same faith in you."
Dante nodded. "What's the codename?"
"Ask him to tell you about the Strangelove Gambit." The young woman noticed Spatchcock approaching and rose from her seat. "I have to go now. Remember what I told you, but don't share it with anyone else. Goodbye!" She hurried away, disappearing among the crowd of customers and sex workers mingled in the vast chamber.
Dante started after her. "If I do get a message for you from Jim, how will I contact you? I don't even know your name!"
But the woman was gone, leaving a confused Dante behind. He noticed her discarded handkerchief on the floor and picked it up. A three-letter monogram was sewn into one corner of the fabric: AdG. "Something Di Grizov," Dante speculated. "Alice? Alicia? Anastasia?" None of the names rang any bells in his vodka-muddled mind. "I can't even remember Jim saying he had any family, let alone a niece."
"What are you muttering about?" Spatchcock demanded.
"A mysterious encounter," Dante replied.
"I should be so lucky," the other man said with a scowl. "I couldn't find anyone willing to enjoy a little non-stop erotic action with me, despite offering all my cut."
"Not even Anya, the naked mud wrestler? I'd have thought your down and dirty charms would be right up her alley."
Spatchcock shook his head. "Claimed she was washing her hair tonight. Since when do whores take the night off to wash their hair?"
"Maybe you should have tried washing yours before you came in," Dante offered, trying not to inhale the odours wafting from his partner in crime. "There's a limit to what anyone will do for money."
Spatchcock nodded at the wisdom of this. "You found some company."
"No, I... Oh, that woman? She had a message for me."
"Yeah? How did she know you'd be here?"
"That's a good question," Dante conceded. "How did she know?"
More to the point, how many other people know? the Crest asked. Considering the bounty on your head and the nature of this establishment's clientele, you might be well advised to take your leave. A close encounter with the Raven Corps would not make getting out of St Petersburg any easier.
"Good advice, Crest. Spatch, where's Flintlock?"
The foul-smelling felon chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I think he's either in the schoolroom or the parlour. He paid for a two hour session, so his lordship's still got another twenty minutes left."
"Well, he'll have to finish whatever he's doing in the next two minutes," Dante decided. "You take the parlour, I'll try the school room."
The two men consulted a signpost for directions to each of the massage parlour's pleasure suites before splitting up.
Dante found the schoolroom only after wrongly bursting into the baby's nursery. The sight of three grown men in diapers being nursed was enough to remove any lingering effects of his vodka binge. "And you call me a big baby!"
At least I don't have to burp you, the Crest conceded. The schoolroom is directly ahead. May I suggest discretion as the better part of valour this time?
"Good idea." Dante knocked circumspectly on the door.
"Yes, who is it?" an imperious female voice inquired.
"I'm looking for a friend of mine, I think he might be in there."
"I'm sorry, young man, but I refuse to carry on a conversation with a door. If you wish to speak with myself or any of the students, you must ask permission to enter like any other pupil."
"Alright, can I come inside?"
"No, no, not like that! Ask permission properly!"
"Crest?" Dante asked. "Any suggestions?"
You're on your own here. My etiquette training does not extend to the required form of address for a brothel's schoolmistress.
"Thanks, that's a great help."
"Well?" the woman demanded. "Do you wish to come in or not?"
"Er, please miss, may I enter the classroom," Dante ventured.
"You may."
Dante twisted the handle and opened the door enough to see inside. It was an exact replica of a schoolroom, complete with desks and chairs for half a dozen pupils, a blackboard on the far wall and a chart detailing the students' recent achievements. Four grown men dressed as school boys were cowering in their seats while a fifth was bent over double in front of the blackboard, his shorts round his ankles. A sour-faced woman of fifty clad in only an academic gown and mortarboard was standing to one side, wielding a prodigious cane.
"Well, young man - is your friend in here?" she demanded.
Dante glanced round the five students but could not see Flintlock among them. Still, he wouldn't put it past the exiled aristocrat to favour such a sexual preference. Dante's few visits to Britannia had convinced him the nation was home to all manner of perversities. Perhaps it had something to do with the weather, being stuck inside all day because of the rain, with nothing better to do than let your imagination run riot.
"No, he's not. Well, sorry to disturb you. I'll just-"
"You'll just what?" the teacher shrieked furiously, several parts of her anatomy wobbling in sympathy with her rage. "You'll just come here and take your punishment for interrupting my class!"
"But I-"
"Now!"
"No, you don't understand," Dante insisted. "I-"
I think you better do what she says, the Crest said gleefully. This is one teacher who doesn't appear likely to take no for an answer.
"I should have brought her an apple," Dante muttered under his breath.
"What was that, you insolent little boy?" The teacher was advancing towards Dante now, the cane twitching in her right hand. "I'll show you the meaning of dis
cipline!"
It was Spatchcock who found Flintlock first. The former Lord of Fitzrovia was lying across the ample lap of Hattie the matron, receiving a trousers down spanking on his bare, bony behind. At the same time, Flintlock was being served tea and hot buttered crumpets. She was leaning over to pour another cup, her French maid's uniform riding up to reveal her stocking tops.
"Oh, yes, that's the way to do it," Flintlock purred. In between munches of his crumpet Flintlock gave little yelps of ecstasy as Hattie smacked his buttocks with a wooden hairbrush, the force of each blow wobbling her bosom.
"You've been a very naughty boy, haven't you, Flinty?" she cooed.
"If you say so matron," he replied happily.
"And you know what happens to naughty boys, don't you?"
"They get sent to bed without any supper."
"That's right."
"Will you come to bed with me, matron?" Flintlock began twisting round, trying to catch her eye. "I know a game we can play there. You pull down the top half of your uniform and I put my-"
"Enough!" Dante burst into the room, pushing Spatchcock ahead of him. "I've had quite enough of this place for one day. It's time we were going."
Hattie looked mournfully at the new arrivals. "Oh, do you have to? We were just getting to the good bit." Yvette nodded her agreement eagerly.
Dante held up a hand, not wanting to hear anymore. "Please, ladies, I beg you - share no details with us, lest we learn to think even less of our associate than we already do. All three of us must be leaving, and quickly."
"Why the rush?" Flintlock demanded, trying to pull his trousers up from round his ankles. "I still have at least half an hour of my session to go!"
Dante pointed down the corridor from which he had suddenly appeared. "Maybe you wish to continue your session with her?"
Flintlock followed Dante's gesture and saw the middle-aged schoolteacher approaching at speed, her academic gown billowing outwards as she ran towards them. The sight was neither pleasant nor erotic, and quickly removed any remaining arousal from Flintlock's body. "I see what you mean. Well ladies, please accept my apologies, but it's often better to save something for later."
