out of her soul. He gave her an exploratory prod with the toe of his boot. ‘You best examine the wench real careful, Witchfinder,’ he ordered in his piping, adolescent voice. ‘Ah need to be certain sure that she is who we think she is. Far as ah can see she ain’t sporting horns or a tail, like ah’m told Daemons are wont to do. So test her close, Witchfinder: ah’ll have no mistakes on mah watch.’
Matthew Hopkins – the Witchfinder – used his cane to point to the Celtic cross Norma had tattooed on her shoulder. ‘See, Comrade Colonel, she wears Loki’s Mark and that is as sure a sign as any that she be a witch. And note how she has coloured her hair black and made many strange and unholy perforations in her face. Only those in thrall to Loki mutilate themselves in such a Lilithian way.’ He stooped down beside Norma and taking her chin roughly in his callused fingers turned her face towards the light.
‘And look you too, Comrade Colonel, Sir, she openly flaunts her other-worldliness with the profane baubles she wears.’ The Witchfinder wrenched off the ‘I Blood’ necklace Norma was wearing, sending the glass beads skittering over the frost-hard cobbles.
The Witchfinder chuckled. ‘Indeed… ‘tis the Daemon, Comrade Colonel: that I can say with all assurance. The Daemon disports itself in the form of the wench I saw in the Prancing Pig not yet an hour ago when she did dance in a most lewd and lascivious manner, in flagrant disregard of the teachings of UnFunDaMentalism.’ He ran a hand through Norma’s hair, his thick, filthy fingers fondling her scalp in a truly repulsive manner. ‘You’re right though, Comrade Colonel Clement, Sir: the Daemon has no horns. But that don’t signify, these Daemons being masters and mistresses of deceit.’ He moved his hand down to her knee and began to slide her skirt up over her legs. He looked up at Clement, and licked his lips. ‘Shall I examine this creature of Loki to see if it possesses a tail, Comrade Colonel?’
Please God, don’t let him touch me.
Clement gave an embarrassed laugh. Like many men in the ForthRight he was awkward around women: UnFunDa-Mentalism wasn’t big on promoting caring, loving relationships between men and women. ‘Ah think you oughtta give that a go by, Witchfinder. You start delving under them calicos there’s no telling what you might find snapping at your fingers.’
‘As you will, Comrade Colonel, but see she seeps blood from the wounds on her knees. Only Daemons from the blackest depths of Hel can do that.’
Clement studied the cuts for a moment then slowly raised his gaze until his mad eyes were staring straight into Norma’s. ‘Got you, ain’t we, Daemon? You led me and mah crew a merry dance, so you did.’ He gave her another kick. ‘But Daemon though you be, you couldn’t bamboozle Colonel Archie Clement.’
Norma glared courageously back. Weakness and fearfulness were not virtues celebrated in the Demi-Monde: here strength, courage and viciousness were vital talents in the everyday task of surviving. But her play-acting had little effect on Clement: all she saw staring back at her was insanity. The man was certifiably nuts.
‘See there, Comrade Colonel,’ observed the Witchfinder, ‘how this Daemon declines to lower her gaze as a respectable female should. And see how she openly flaunts her charms and her female allure. She seeks to beguile us, to lead our thoughts to the carnal and to the unholy. Is it not so, Comrade Colonel?’
‘Sure is, Witchfinder, sure is. Church tells us that these here Daemons are real mischievous, them being sent to the DemiMonde by Loki to torment and tempt us poor souls who labour to do ABBA’s work.’ Clement pointed to Norma’s ruined knees. ‘Know this, Daemon, despite your cunning form and your saucy smile, your body betrays you. Ah knows you for the trickster you is, a lickspittle to that most insidious of masters, Loki.’ He paused to spit a wad of tobacco into the gutter. ‘But even with your devilish arts and your seductive wiles, you couldn’t outsmart Archie Clement. No, Sirree; battling the forces of Loki is the sacred responsibility of me and mah boys in the SS, the Soldiers of Spiritualism. You should know ABBA has commanded us to use all our strength to uproot from the DemiMonde the pernicious arts of sorcery and malefice invented by Loki and propagated by Daemons such as you.’
The Witchfinder came to stand beside Clement. Hopkins had obviously enjoyed the hunt; his tight black SS uniform was stained with sweat and excitement. ‘I trust you will remember my assistance in the capturing of the Daemon, Colonel Clement,
Sir, when you speak with His Holiness Comrade Crowley. ‘Twas my agent, Burlesque Bandstand, who sent us word of her manifestation.’
‘Sure will, Witchfinder, this was a mighty smart piece of work.’ Clement took a swig from a silver flask he conjured from a pocket in his coat. ‘And ah don’t doubt that you’ll be rewarded mighty well. His Holiness ain’t one to be miserly when it comes to paying for a job well done.’ He offered the flask to the Witchfinder. ‘Here, try a shot of Solution to put some warmth back in your bones.’
The Witchfinder took a long pull on the flask. ‘My reward shall be the destruction of the Daemons who torment the ForthRight, and those foul and HerEtical Sisters of Suffer-OGettism who serve the witch Jeanne Dark.’ He made the sign of the Valknut – the sign of the three interlocked triangles that was the symbol of the Party, of the ForthRight and of UnFunDaMentalism – across his chest to ward off the evil evoked by pronouncing Dark’s name. ‘That and the destruction of those conniving vermin, the nuJus and the damnable Shade zadniks who call themselves Blood Brothers.’
Norma shivered, but not through cold. There was something fanatical in the way Hopkins talked. His hatred of anybody he did not perceive to be white or male bordered on mania. No wonder the racist, sexist son of a bitch had risen so far and so fast in the Party.
UnFunDaMentalism celebrated hatred.
Clement pulled his cloak tight around his slim shoulders; he was obviously beginning to feel the cold. ‘Well, enough of this jawing, Witchfinder, let’s be away with this Daemon before any of her ilk come a-galloping to her rescue. The Red Gold pumping in her veins is worth a wonderment of Blood Money. She’d make a grand prize for the Zulus or the Chinks.’
‘It might be better to finish her now,’ said the Witchfinder quietly.
Once again Archie Clement hawked and spat into the gutter. ‘No, Witchfinder, ah have been ordered by His Holiness Comrade Crowley to return with the Daemon alive, so best we be away before the crows start to circle. Chances are that witch Mata Hari will be all of a lather to rescue the Daemon.’
The Witchfinder saluted. ‘As you will, Comrade Colonel, Sir.’ He turned and stabbed a grimy finger towards two of his men. ‘You there, take up the Daemon, and be sharp about it. And shut your ears to her blabbing. This one is a temptress, adept in the Lilithian skills that ensnare the hearts and minds of the unwary and of the weak.’ The Witchfinder paused as though struck by a thought. ‘Indeed, it may be best if the Daemon was rendered dumb.’ He stepped forward; Norma saw him twirl his cane in the air and slam the knobbled handle hard against the side of her head. She felt a searing pain, then everything went black.
Part One
Auditioning
MAP OF THE ROOKERIES.
1
The Real World: 12 June 2018
The Demi-Monde ^® is the first simulation product ever to be platformed on and operated by the ABBA quantum computer. ABBA is a Quanputer-based system developed and operated by ParaDigm CyberResearch Limited. ABBA, by utilising an Invent-TenN® Gravitational Condenser incorporating an Etirovac Field Suppressor®, is the only computer to achieve a full SupaUnPositioned/DisEntangled Cyber Ambiance. As a consequence ABBA is capable of prodigiously rapid analysis (a fully tethered 30 yottaQuFlops) to give the bioNeural-kinetic engineers at
