‘Might be,’ answered Vanka cautiously. Whilst he was a Licensed Psychic, the way he had obtained said licence had been rather unconventional. Not wanting to trouble the busy-body officials of the Ministry of Psychic Affairs with having to squander their time examining and interviewing him, Vanka had negotiated his licence directly with the Chief Psychic Examiner. That he had possession of a set of daguerreotypes showing the Chief Psychic Examiner in congress with someone who most certainly wasn’t his wife had certainly helped the negotiations, as had the fact that that someone hadn’t even been of the same species as the Examiner’s wife.
‘Well, iffn you is, then I might ‘ave a job for you.’
Vanka suppressed a shudder. The prospect of having Burlesque Bandstand as an employer made Vanka’s teeth itch… the ones he had left anyway. Burlesque was, as far as Vanka was concerned, the foulest individual to walk the Demi-Monde, and as Burlesque lived and worked in the slums of Whitechapel the competition for that title was fierce. Burlesque might be the biggest impresario operating on the Rookeries’ ‘Blood, Grub, Shrub and Pub’ circuit but he was still a horrible, disgusting man… near-man.
But as Vanka was on the run and in four weeks would be destitute, he decided to put his aversions and olfactory prejudices against noisome and hydrophobic people like Burlesque to one side. Preferably the upwind side.
‘What’s the job?’
‘I’m trying to take the Prancing Pig upmarket, Wanker,’ said Burlesque, without a trace of irony in his voice.
For a moment Vanka was speechless: the association of the words ‘Pig’, ‘up’ and ‘market’ was at best risible and at worst worrying, possibly implying that Burlesque had relinquished his grip on any vestigial trace of sanity he might once have had. He looked around the pub. Even in the gloom it was easy to see that the back room of the Pig – the ‘Best Room’ as Burlesque insisted on calling it – was dirty, careworn and, if the brown tracks covering the top of the scarred and chipped table Vanka was sitting at were any indication, vermin-infested. It was difficult for him to imagine how much shit someone’s life would have to be in for them to consider the Pig ‘upmarket’.
‘Burlesque, believe me, the only way you’d be able to take this place upmarket is by the use of a steam- powered hoist. The Pig isn’t so much downmarket as subMantle.’ Vanka shook his head and took a sip of his freshly delivered drink. As he had anticipated, it was so watered down fish could live in it. ‘Anyway, why would you want to do that? I thought you had found your niche’ – he nodded towards the motley collection of individuals making up the customers of the Pig – ‘fleecing those of diminished intellect.’
‘Because some bugger is trying to kill me, Wanker,’ answered Burlesque with a rather overtheatrical look around the pub.
‘I’m not surprised, Burlesque: I’ve seen the acts you’ve been putting out.’
‘Nah, I’m serious, Wanker, I’ve had two pot-shots taken at me in the past week and I got this today.’ He delved into the inner recesses of his voluminous black coat – well, it was black now, originally, as best Vanka could tell, it had been light grey – and pulled out a grubby piece of paper. ‘Scared the shit outta me it did.’
Wishing he was still wearing his gloves, Vanka carefully unfolded the letter and read:
For Burlesque Bandstand
We know it was you who betrayed the Daemon.
You are a malevolent individual who is using his Houses of Infamy to promote the subjugation of women and to propagate hedonism and dissolute living amongst the working classes. If you don’t abandon your pernicious and misogynistic ways within the next two weeks we will execute you.
I am prepared to make you Suffer.
A Friend
Burlesque took a swig of his Solution. ‘It’s a poor world when a respectable businessman like wot I am ‘as to put up wiv bin threatened. Comes to somefink when an honest bloke like wot I am ‘as got to go around heeled.’ He pulled back the side of his frock coat to display the Webley revolver holstered on his belt.
Vanka gulped, ignoring the pain in his damaged jaw. He didn’t like violence. He didn’t even like the thought of violence. So he decided not to think about it and just shrugged his broad shoulders dismissively. Anyway, he saw threatening letters like this virtually every day, usually sent to him by aggrieved husbands. ‘What’s all this about a Daemon?’
‘Nuffink important,’ murmured Burlesque in an offhand manner as he gnawed at a fingernail that had already been bitten down to the quick.
Bloody liar.
‘Nothing important? Don’t come it, Burlesque, how can a Daemon be classified as nothing important?’
‘Look, Wanker, I can’t say nuffink abart it, okay? It’s confidential.’ Burlesque tapped the side of his nose.
‘But was it a real Daemon?’ Vanka persisted.
Burlesque took a quick gander around the pub. ‘Yus.’
Vanka looked at the fat man with something approaching admiration. Daemons – not that he believed in Daemons – were things only important people in the ForthRight got involved with.
‘Awful, ain’t it?’ whined Burlesque. ‘An’ it don’t make sense neither. Wot’s “misogynistic” mean, Wanker?’
‘It means you hate women.’
‘Well, that’s bollocks, ain’t it, Burlesque?’ scoffed Sporting. ‘Wot you an’ me wos doin’ this lunchtime…’
‘Never mind wot we wos doing,’ interrupted Burlesque, as ever worried that one of his wife’s cronies might overhear. ‘The important fing is that I’ve got to take it seriously, ain’t I, Wanker? It’s awful, ain’t it?’
Vanka nodded sympathetically. The word ‘Suffer’ was the clue. Presumably this indicated that the author was a Suffer-O-Gette and Suffer-O-Gettes had to be taken very seriously indeed. From what he’d heard there was a whole army of LessBien terrorists ready to die for the cause of women’s rights and take people like Burlesque with them as they did so.
Sensible of them.
‘More accurate than awful, Burlesque. I mean a man in your line of work is bound to accumulate a few enemies.’
Burlesque wouldn’t be consoled. ‘The Suffer-O-Gettes ‘ave got it in for me.’
‘So what are you planning to do?’
‘Like I said: I wanna move the Pig upmarket – knock the filthy comics and the pawno-contortionists and the donkeys on the head and introduce a bit ov tone to the Pig.’ Burlesque ignored Vanka’s derisive snort. ‘I was finking of ‘aving a sorry,’ he said quietly.
13
The Demi-Monde: 40th Day of Winter, 1004
Biological Essentialism is a cornerstone of the UnFunDa-Mentalist doctrine. It is predicated on the principle that the sexes occupy Separate Spheres of intellectual, economic and social functionality within the Demi-Monde, and that these Separate Spheres are ordained by ABBA and are thus natural, fixed and immutable. ABBA by making the sexes biologically, psychologically and intellectually different has equipped them for different tasks in life. UnFunDaMentalism teaches that the preservation of these distinctive Spheres of Activity is vital if social harmony is to be maintained and for women this means adherence to the mantra of ‘Feeding, Breeding and MenFolk Heeding’ given to them by ABBA.
– Cogitations on the Superior Male Essence: Thomas Aquinas, Party Rules Publications
Blink.
Daylight…
Blink.
Cold…
Blink.
Noisy…
Blink.
Smelly…
