Winter

by Rod Rees

  That had a salutary impact on the mood around the table.

  “So do the cats in Warsaw have a chance?” asked Josephine Baker.

  “It all depends on how you define having a chance,” said Ella. “The Poles will never be able to defeat the Anglos but the longer they can keep fighting, the more people will come to realize that the ForthRight can be beaten. And that, I think, will be the greatest gift the Poles can give the people of the Demi-Monde: belief that fighting the ForthRight isn’t just an exercise in futility.”

  “Is such a thing possible?” asked Louverture. “Are the Poles really willing to fight on despite the odds?”

  “Only if the other Sectors help; the Varsovians can’t survive and fight without ammunition, without food and without blood.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a waiter who handed Louverture a note. He unfolded it and read the message. “Ma cherie, your no-account count over there on table twenty-five”—he nodded across the floor of the nightclub—“has invited us to join his party.”

  He gave Ella and Vanka a smile of apology. “Monsieur . . . mademoiselle . . . you must excuse us, but unfortunately Miss Baker has her duties as the foremost star of musical theater in the whole of the Demi-Monde to attend to. If you will excuse us.” Both he and Josephine Baker rose from the table, but then Louverture paused. “I will consider your proposal, mademoiselle. Perhaps it might be possible for you to attend me again, say at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon? We are rehearsing a new routine . . .” He left the sentence unfinished as he bowed his au revoir.

  Chapter 30

  The Demi-Monde: 81st Day of Winter, 1004

  The future of UnFunDaMentalism is inextricably linked with the success of the ForthRight. If and when the ForthRight expands politically and/or geographically so UnFunDaMentalism will expand in lockstep. The decision of the Medi city-states (Paris, Rome and Barcelona) in the Quartier Chaud to make a Unilateral Declaration of Independence from Venice and to reject ImPuritanism in favor of UnFunDaMentalism indicates the attraction of UnFunDaMentalism (and Biological Essentialism) to certain of the more perceptive Leaders active in the Demi-Monde, within whose ranks Senior CitiZen Robespierre is most certainly numbered.

  —EDITORIAL COMMENT, THE STORMER, 82ND DAY OF WINTER, 1004

  I can have fifty thousand liters of blood on a barge by the second day of Spring . . . in ten days,” Louverture confirmed offhandedly, reluctant to take his attention away from the girls rehearsing their routine on the Resi’s dance floor. “We can have it shipped up the Rhine accompanied by paperwork that says it’s a delivery of palm oil for a broker in Berlin. At the last minute we’ll redirect it to the Warsaw docks. And as for your other request, the revue will be departing for Paris tomorrow and you are welcome to accompany us, Mademoiselle Thomas.”

  “How much?” asked Vanka.

  “The price is the one agreed with Mademoiselle Thomas. Two hundred guineas a liter, ten million guineas in total, payable upfront.”

  “Half now and half on delivery,” countered Vanka.

  Louverture nodded. “Very well, but the second half is payable as soon as the barges are alongside Gdańsk docks. It’s your responsibility to unload the blood.”

  “Do you have the bank account where the funds are to be transferred?”

  Louverture pushed a tightly folded piece of paper across the table, which Ella placed securely in her purse. Then they shook on the deal.

  Ella looked at Louverture sternly. “Monsieur, you are unaware that I am a clairvoyant. Just one touch of another person’s hand and I know all their secrets. And now, having shaken your hand, I know that you intend to renege on the deal we have just made. When the two barges are at the mouth of the Rhine, it is your plan to demand a further two hundred guineas a liter or you will have the barges turn around and return to NoirVille.”

  Louverture frowned. “Mademoiselle . . . you are mistaken . . . I would never—”

  “Monsieur Louverture, I would strenuously advise you against this sort of duplicity. If you attempt to cheat me I will have no hesitation in advising Lord Shaka of the side deals you have been doing with Victor Lustig that have deprived him of almost a million guineas of profit. I don’t think I need to remind you of how unforgiving Lord Shaka and his Blood Brothers are of those who cheat them.”

  The frown deepened. “How—”

  “As she says, Ella is the most proficient clairvoyant in the whole of the Demi-Monde,” explained Vanka airily. “She knows everything.”

  “So? Do we have a deal then, monsieur?” asked Ella. “A deal we are both intent on honoring?”

  “You have, mademoiselle,” said Louverture unhappily.

  “WE’VE DONE IT, VANKA, WE’VE DONE IT!” EXCLAIMED A JUBILANT Ella as she skipped out of the Resi. “We’ve organized the blood for the Ghetto and by tomorrow we’ll be on our way to NoirVille.”

  “Not ‘we,’ Ella; it’s you who will be on your way to NoirVille.”

  Ella stopped dead. “What . . . what do you mean?”

  “Oh come on, Ella. You can’t really imagine that I’ll be able to hide myself away in a troupe of Shade singers and dancers. I’ll stick out like a . . . well, like a Blank in a troupe of Shade singers and dancers. No, it’s best that you travel to NoirVille alone; it’s safer that way.”

  “Vanka . . .” Up until that moment she had been very happy; she was, after all, a girl in love, a girl who had steadfastly refused to think about leaving him and going back to the Real World. But now the unpleasant reality of how different they were came sweeping over her.

  Vanka gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s for the best. Ella, I have to know you’re safe. So let’s just concentrate on getting to a Blood Bank and sending the money to Louverture. The quicker we’re back at my lodgings the better.”

  The Berlin Blood Bank was just around the corner from the Resi. It was a spectacularly big building, a vast stone temple that dwarfed anything Ella had seen in either the Demi-Monde or the Real World. The white stone it had been constructed from shone bright and pure in the sharp Winter sunlight. Looking at the Bank she thought the Demi-Monde’s programmers must have modeled it after one of the great central banks of the Real World: it was all huge columns, magnificent stone steps that climbed up to enormous doors and the whole lot decorated with a confection of majestic sculptures of forgotten dignitaries. Remarkably the walls and the carved columns were perfect; there was not a crack or a scratch to be seen anywhere. It was so perfect as to be unnatural.

  “How old is the bank?” she asked, preferring to hear the answer from Vanka rather than PINC.

  “We don’t know exactly,” answered Vanka as he looked anxiously around for Checkya agents. “The Blood Banks are classified as Wonders of the Ancient Demi-Monde. They’re built from Mantle-ite, the same stuff the sewers are made out of, hence the green sheen.”

  “Is that why the building is in such mint condition?”

  “Yes, Mantle-ite is impervious to wear or corrosion and invulnerable to attack. They hose the banks down once a week and, hey presto, they’re as good as new. So believe it or not, this building”—Vanka waved toward the bank—“is—depending on which learned professor of preHistory you’re inclined to believe—somewhere between ten thousand and a hundred thousand years old.”

  “But who do these historians think built them?”

  “Here, in the ForthRight, UnFunDaMentalist dogma has it that Heydrich’s super-Aryans, the Pre-Folk, were responsible.” Vanka gave Ella a crooked smile. “Apparently we Anglo-Slavs could build edifices like this before we were seduced by people like you.”

  Ella laughed. “I apologize.”

  “Don’t,” said Vanka. “Having seen you in that dress last night I forgive my ancestors all their indiscretions. They would have needed a will of steel to resist women as beautiful as you.” He gave her arm another squeeze and Ella almost cried as an odd feeling of both sadness and happiness washed over her.

  A
s they climbed the steps two Checkya officers emerged from the Bank; Vanka immediately pulled Ella to one side. “If you keep your veil tight, Ella, I think it will help avoid any unpleasantness. If you’re challenged just tell them you’re one of Josephine Baker’s troupe.”

  More than a little worried by how edgy Vanka seemed, Ella did as she was asked. And then she froze. Over at the other side of the steps lounging nonchalantly against the wall of the Bank was Professor Septimus Bole. She was sure it was him. She recognized the long skinny body, the great rudder of a nose and the small shaded spectacles. Instinctively she made to move toward him, but the crowds jostling around the Bank’s entrance stopped her and when they cleared the professor had vanished.

  She frowned; why was the Dupe of Professor Bole haunting her? She was sure she had seen him when the Checkya had raided her apartment and now he was here. But why didn’t he speak to her?

  She didn’t have a chance to ponder. With another nervous look over his shoulder, Vanka led her through the great doors and into the vastness beyond.

  The Banking Hall was enormous, so enormous that though there were thousands of people milling around it still felt empty. The ceiling stretched a good two hundred feet over Ella’s head and the hall must have been at least four or five hundred feet wide. How deep it was she couldn’t even guess; it just seemed to disappear into the distance.

  It was also incredibly noisy, resonating with a strange clacking sound, as though a million rattles were being played simultaneously.

  Vanka noticed her confusion. “The noise is coming from the screens in the Transfusion Booths. That’s where customers can move both the money and the blood they’ve got in the bank.” He pointed to the stone walkways that coiled up the walls winding from floor to ceiling and along which niches—the Transfusion Booths—were set at ten-foot intervals. “The screens are what you use to view your accounts and to make infusions and transfers. They reckon there are half a million Transfer Screens in every single Bank—one for every four people in a district—and that’s why Banks are always so noisy.”

  Taking Ella by the arm, Vanka led her up along one of the walkways until they came to an unoccupied booth set about twenty feet or so up from the floor of the Bank. Here she found herself staring at what seemed to be a bizarre, clockwork interpretation of an ATM. There was a viewing port, which looked not unlike those employed on old-fashioned mutoscopes—the “What the Butler Saw” machines—that had been the staple of fairgrounds and amusement arcades a hundred years ago, and above this was a large screen similar to the moving-type message boards that she had seen in movies featuring airports of yesteryear. The booth was equipped with a clunky-looking keyboard—an image of a handprint to its left—set on a shelf positioned below the mutoscope viewer. Finally there was a faucet to the right of the keyboard from where she presumed blood was dispensed.

  “Let’s get going, Ella,” urged Vanka. “I hate Banks, they’re always crawling with Checkya. You begin by placing your hand on the red handprint. That allows the Bank to identify you.”

  “How?”

  “The Spirits only know,” said Vanka impatiently.

  Gingerly she placed her hand over the symbol indented into the surface of the shelf. For a second nothing happened, although she had the distinct impression of a tingling along her palm. Then the little squares that made up the screen started to whirl, clacking loudly as they spun. When the letters on the squares eventually stopped rotating Ella saw a message spelled out for her.

  THE BANK OF BERLIN WELCOMES

  ELLA THOMAS

  Wow . . . I’m in!

  PLEASE ENTER YOUR PASSWORD

  Password? Without thinking she began typing.

  LILITH

  Now where did I conjure that from?

  PASSWORD ACCEPTED

  “You’ve been accepted,” breathed a relieved Vanka as the little squares whizzed around again.

  CASH OR BLOOD TRANSACTION?

  Ella typed “CASH.”

  WHICH ACCOUNT DO YOU WISH TO ACCESS?

  She typed in the account number of the SS–Ordo Templi Aryanis.

  PLEASE ENTER THE PASSWORD FOR THIS ACCOUNT

  Ella typed in “THELEMA.” Even if she hadn’t read Crowley’s mind she’d have known that was the password he’d have chosen. Thelema was the black magician’s occult creed, based on the philosophy of “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.”

  PASSWORD ACCEPTED

  WHICH SERVICE DO YOU REQUIRE?

  1. WITHDRAWALS

  2. DEPOSITS

  3. TRANSFERS

  4. OTHER

  Ella hit the “3” button and immediately the letters that made up the screen clattered around.

  ACCOUNT NAME AND NUMBER TO WHICH THE TRANSFER IS TO BE MADE

  AMOUNT

  DATE TRANSFER TO BE EXECUTED

  Ella dug out the piece of paper that Louverture had given her and, fingers dancing over the keyboard, sent five million guineas winging its way. Next she paid the half-million guineas she’d promised Burlesque Bandstand.

  The letters spun again.

  “Do you have an account, Vanka, an account that the ForthRight can’t block?”

  Vanka had, and again Ella worked the keyboard. “There,” she said with an air of triumph, “ten million guineas, all that was left in the Ordo Templi Aryanis account, is now safely resting in the account of Vanka Maykov. When you’ve paid Louverture the second tranche that’ll leave five million guineas for you. How does it feel to be a multimillionaire, Vanka?”

  “Great,” said Vanka testily. “Can we go now?”

  “In a moment,” said Ella as the screen churned again.

  ANOTHER SERVICE?

  With a shrug, Ella typed in her question.

  WHAT SERVICES AVAILABLE?

  The answer that rolled around on the screen left her numb.

  ELLA THOMAS YOUR SECURITY CLEARANCE IS SUCH THAT YOU ARE ABLE TO ACCESS THE DEMI-MONDE® IM MANUAL

  “What’s an IM Manual?” asked Vanka. “I’ve never heard of anyone accessing an IM Manual before.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Ella as she worked the keyboard again.

  IM MANUAL?

  The answer came back immediately.

  THE INTERFACE MANIPULATION MANUAL FOR THE DEMI-MONDE®

  Ella’s fingers danced over the keyboard.

  ACCESS DEMI-MONDE IM MANUAL.

  The response was instantaneous.

  PLEASE BE ADVISED ELLA THOMAS THAT YOU HAVE GRADE 8 (CAPTAIN OR ABOVE) STATUS. IN ACCORDANCE WITH PROTOCOL 57 THIS ALLOWS SUCH INDIVIDUALS, WHEN DEPLOYED IN THE DEMI-MONDE® AND FACED BY MORTAL DANGER, TO MAKE EMERGENCY ONE-HOUR CHANGES TO THE DEMI-MONDE’S CYBER-MILIEU. IN ORDER TO PRESERVE THE DUPES’ PERCEPTION OF THE LOGICALITY OF THE DEMI-MONDE® SUCH CHANGES MAY NOT VIOLATE THE NATURAL LAWS PREVAILING IN THE DEMI-MONDE. ALSO NOTE THAT BEFORE SUCH CHANGES ARE MADE PERMANENT THEY MUST BE RATIFIED BY THE DEMI-MONDE® STEERING COMMITTEE. IF SUCH RATIFICATION IS NOT RECEIVED BEFORE ONE HOUR HAS ELAPSED THE AMENDMENT TO THE CYBER-MILIEU WILL BE ANNULLED.

  PLEASE ENTER “YES” IF THESE CONDITIONS ARE UNDERSTOOD AND ACCEPTED.

  Ella stood staring at the screen for several indecisive seconds.

  She could get into ABBA!

  She could alter the Demi-Monde!

  Taking a deep breath, she brought her finger over the “Y” button and pressed.

  THE DEMI-MONDE® IM MANUAL

  OPTIONS:

  1.LOCATE DUPE

  2.ADD DUPE

  3.DELETE DUPE

  4.AMEND DUPE CHARACTERISTICS

  5.AMEND DUPE PERCEPTIONS

  6.AMEND CYBER-MILIEU CHARACTERISTICS

  Eureka!

  She swallowed hard, her mind buzzing with possibilities. Using the IM Manual she could find out if Norma Williams was still alive and she could help the people of Warsaw. If she could manipulate the Demi-Monde there was no end to the possibilities of what she could do.

  “We’ve got to go, Ella,” she hear
d Vanka whisper urgently in her ear.

  “Just a few seconds more.”

  “No . . . now!” He pulled her around so that she was facing back toward the hall.

  What she saw chilled her blood. There on the floor of the Bank were four black-uniformed SS troopers pointing up toward them.

  “That bastard Louverture has sold us out,” snarled Vanka. “I should have known better than to have trusted a Blood Brother. Come on, we’ve got to run for it.”

  Ella barely had time to stab a finger on the keyboard’s “CANCEL” button before he dragged her away from the booth and was racing her back along the walkway.

  They nearly made it.

  That there were only four SS officers and miles of interlinked walkway to run along made escape almost too easy. It was like a life-or-death version of snakes and ladders, with Vanka and Ella running up and down between the levels, dodging among the press of customers, while the SS officers scurried after them shouting and yelling and all the time trying to anticipate which way the fugitives would go.

  They were out-thought by Vanka. He managed to get himself and Ella to a walkway only ten feet or so above the floor of the Bank and then, grabbing Ella by the hand, jumped to the floor below. The maneuver was so unexpected that just for an instant the SS were flummoxed, and an instant was all that Vanka needed. He hauled Ella to her feet and together they raced to the Bank’s exit.

  Vanka’s smile of triumph was short-lived: the pair of them ran straight into two large SS troopers who were standing guard at the door. Even as Vanka turned to yell a warning to Ella, he was felled by a savage smack from a blackjack.

  “UP YOU GET, COMRADE MAYKOV, AN’ YOU AN’ THE SHADE MOVE NICE an’ easy toward that black steamer parked over there by the pavement. His Holiness Comrade Crowley would like a word.”

  With a quick look to Ella, Vanka climbed painfully off the floor, rubbed the bump on his head and then the pair of them were pushed and shoved into the steamer. The SS sergeant clambered in after them and shut the door firmly behind him, the black-tinted windows and the heavy steel body of the steamer sealing them away from the outside world.