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.’
More silence. Trixie’s hand closed around the butt of the Colt.
‘An interesting point, but not persuasive.’ There was the tinkling of a small bell and immediately the doors to the hall swung open.
Resplendent in the immaculate black uniform of the SS-Ordo Templi Aryanis, Colonel Archie Clement strode into the hall.
Trixie knew that she was a dead woman.
How long they knelt there Norma didn’t – couldn’t – know: she’d spent the night encased in a magical bubble. Everything that happened outside the pentagon seemed distant, almost dreamlike. Even when Crowley and his adepts tore their gowns from one another and pranced around the cavern in a frenzied orgy of sexual indulgence it hardly touched on Norma’s consciousness. But now the music was louder and even more frenzied, the screams of Crowley and his adepts as they shouted out their spells and incantations more impassioned. She sensed the ritual was coming to its climax.
Suddenly the shutters set high in the roof crashed open, allowing a shaft of sunlight to stream through, down into the cavern. In that instant, Aaliz Heydrich was bathed in a halo of golden light and the runes painted on her body seemed to writhe and twist like living things. Her body began to tremble. A low moan escaped her lips. And then, with a terrible scream, she arched back and collapsed unconscious to the floor of the altar.
Norma felt herself tumbling into a dark nothingness, but just before she slid into unconsciousness she saw Crowley’s face, his mouth drawn back in the rictus of a smile.
The Rite of Transference was complete.
MAP OF NOIRVILLE.
Epilogue
The Real World: 1 August 2018
She awoke slowly… cautiously, taking long careful moments to orientate herself towards the challenges to come, settling her nerves for what would be a performance of a lifetime… of two lifetimes.
She kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep, but still she gathered information using her other senses.
Smell…
The Professor was close by: his cologne was unmistakable, almost overpowering. That was a comforting realisation: it was good to have a friend and ally in the room. But despite the competition of the Professor’s cologne she still detected the brush of Chanel No. 5 on her nose. This presumably signalled that the First Lady – her mother – was in the room; she was touched by her solicitude. And as a background fragrance there was that signature aroma of disinfectant and urine that was inescapably ‘hospital’.
Touch…
She could feel the stiff, clean bedsheets under her fingertips – my, how long her nails were! – could feel the press of the regimented arrangement of the blankets that confined her as she lay on the bed.
Taste…
Ughhh… yes, the taste of the plastic tube they had in her mouth, presumably there to ensure that she kept breathing, that she didn’t swallow her tongue. No one wanted her to die. That would be very embarrassing and the President would be very pissed off.
Hearing…
She could hear them whispering, so concerned, so considerate, so desperate not to disturb her. There was the President’s gruff, mahogany voice as he dealt brusquely with an aide who was reminding him of a ‘prior engagement’. The First Lady was sobbing quietly to her left. And providing a 70 bpm backbeat to the room’s whole bated cacophony was the beep, beep, beep of her heart monitor.
She took a surreptitious breath, preparing herself. She opened her eyes.
‘She’s awake!’
‘Oh, thank you God!’
‘Please, she’ll be very weak.’
‘Please don’t crowd around her. Please don’t overexcite her.’
‘Oh Norma, darling, it’s Mummy.’
She gave a weak smile, thankful that the plastic tube masked any element of theatricality.
‘Weak…’ she gasped in a ragged voice.
The doctor – white coat, stethoscope, worried expression, must be a doctor – pushed closer and lifted her wrist, presumably checking her pulse. ‘Probably a little anaemic, young lady, we’ll organise a blood transfusion if that’s okay by you.’
She couldn’t suppress a big smile: that would be very, very okay!
