cast. ‘Now it’s your turn, and make it good.’
‘I have special powers, Vanka. I know about people.’
‘What? You’re telling me that you’re a real clairvoyant?’
‘Exactly. Please don’t ask me how, but I have an instinctive knowledge about everybody I meet in the Demi- Monde. It seems that the closer I am to them the more powerful my reading becomes and if I touch them…’
‘Oh, fiddlesticks. Don’t try and gull me, young lady. Come on, admit it, you already knew this Sergeant Stone, didn’t you? Maybe he’s interviewed you before, maybe you saw his name somewhere on his uniform.’
‘Then how did I know about Arthur?’
‘A lucky guess. Arthur is a pretty common name. Maybe he had it engraved on his watch-chain or something.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Vanka, but there was no lucky guessing and no engraved watch-chain, just insight.’
‘Twaddle. Look, Miss Thomas, I’ve been around the DemiMonde too long to believe in this sort of nonsense. Maybe Crowley and his sorcerers are the real magicians they claim to be, but for my part I’ve never seen anything magical about the Demi-Monde.’
‘But aren’t you a Licensed Psychic and Occultist? So you must have powers.’
Vanka looked around the coffee shop to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, then leant closer to Ella. ‘As you so rightly observed, Miss Thomas, Spiritualism is just flimflam. It’s Party-inspired sleight of hand to have people believe that there is some point in enduring the sorry excuse of a life they have here in the ForthRight. All Spiritualism does is give the poor and gullible the belief that their horrible, mundane, painful lives are not meaningless and random, that there is some purpose to human existence, that there is a better life after death. So don’t tell me you’re a medium or a clairvoyant or a bloody sensitive, Miss Thomas, because I can’t – I won’t – believe you.’
‘What you will or won’t believe, Vanka, is immaterial. The fact remains that I have such powers.’
‘Very well, tell me about me. Give me some insight about myself that only I could know.’
Ella shook her head. ‘I can’t. I don’t know why but I can’t read you. You’re a mystery to me.’
‘Hah! Typical.’
‘Ask me something else. Ask me something about Burlesque Bandstand. When I shook his hand I learnt everything there was to learn about him, and some of it, I freely admit, was bloody disgusting. The man is a walking bag of corruption.’
‘All right, Burlesque had a fling with someone, just before Winter set in. He kept it very hush-hush. So who was it?’
‘Oh, that’s easy. Burlesque Bandstand and Julie the Jug Juggler were an item for nearly two weeks. Burlesque got quite spoony over her. He really liked her jugs.’
Vanka’s face took on an expression a little like the one on the face of a cat who had been presented with a very large bowl of cream. ‘Now that is amazing. I thought I was the only one who knew about Julie.’ He fell silent, lighting one of the pungent French cigarettes he favoured. She was about to object when she noticed that virtually all the other men in the cafe were smoking. Puffing contentedly on his cigarette, Vanka studied Ella carefully. ‘Maybe, Miss Thomas, I might be able to do a bit better than three guineas a seance.’
18
The Demi-Monde: 47th Day of Winter, 1004
The two-year Civil War which beset Rodina and the Rookeries between 1000 and 1002 (‘the Troubles’) saw the revolutionary forces of UnFunDaMentalism – led by that visionary genius Reinhard Heydrich – triumph over the Royalist faction fighting in support of Henry Tudor and Ivan Grozny. With the establishment of the ForthRight on the 40th day of Winter 1002, all religions other than UnFunDaMentalism were banned and those religious dissidents and counter-revolutionaries who failed to secure refuge in neighbouring Sectors were executed. All UnderMentionables were declared nonNix and relocated to Warsaw, where they are held pending a ‘Final Solution’ being found to the problems they pose. The victory of the Party over the reactionary, atheistic forces of RaTionalism during the Troubles is a vindication of the belief that ABBA is on the side of UnFunDaMentalism.
– With ABBA on Our Side: The Final Victory of the Revolution in the ForthRight: Lavrentii Beria, Party Rules Publications
Trixie gazed in a disinterested way over the Manor’s ruined garden that stretched so forlornly beyond her bedroom window. Fortunately for her – and the sensibilities of the Dashwoods’ head gardener – the garden wasn’t at its worst: it had snowed heavily during the night and the white covering conspired to make the earthworks and the gun positions look almost attractive. But she knew it was a transient beauty that would be destroyed just as soon as the Checkya detachment roused themselves, shook off the indolence caused by a cold night spent under canvas and began patrolling and marching in earnest. Then the pure white snow would be churned to a disgusting khaki colour.
She glanced at the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner of the room: it was still not yet seven o’clock.
For Trixie this was the perfect time of the day. It was the only time when she could be alone and untroubled, the only time when she was free of the obligation to ‘do something’ about or with the Daemon, when she could stop worrying.
A movement at the side of the house caught her attention. She scrubbed the window free of the ice that had formed on the inside of the glass overnight. What she saw irritated her: Captain Dabrowski and the Daemon were taking their early morning constitutional. Every morning since it had been a guest in the Dashwoods’ house the Daemon had insisted on being allowed to walk around the gardens for half an hour, and as it was unthinkable that the creature would be allowed to do this unguarded, the Polish Captain had been given the task of accompanying it. To Trixie’s mind there should also have been an older gentlewoman accompanying the pair to act as chaperone, but, as they walked in full view of the house and as this Norma Williams creature wasn’t a real girl, etiquette had been abandoned.
As she watched, the Daemon stumbled – it was using a walking stick: apparently it had injured its leg when attempting to escape the SS – and held out a hand to grab the Captain’s arm. It was an obvious piece of coquettish dalliance and Trixie was aghast that the Captain would be so naive as to fall for it. The Daemon, it seemed, was not above using its faux-feminine wiles to have the Captain forget she – it – was an Enemy of the ForthRight. Trixie gave a disdainful sniff, picked up the journal she had been keeping regarding the Daemon and made a note in her large, precise handwriting.
Daemon enjoys early morning constitutional with Captain Dabrowski, commencing 06.27 and ending…
She checked back through the journal: the pair’s walks were becoming longer and they were certainly talking more during them. During the first few days of the Daemon’s stay the couple had hardly exchanged two sentences when they made their promenades, but now they seemed to converse non-stop.
It had been a real puzzle for Trixie to understand what they could find to talk about. Her own attempts to chat with the Daemon had been rebuffed in a most impolite manner. It had said that it would under no circumstances answer questions regarding where it had come from and what it was like there. It would not, the Daemon had said sternly, act as a quisling. Trixie had no idea what a quisling was but it sounded quite revolting.
As a consequence their time together – and they were obliged to endure ten hours a day in each other’s company – was spent with Trixie sewing and the Daemon reading. Daemons, it appeared, were avaricious readers. That was another thing to note in her journal.
In the end, taking her pride in both hands, Trixie had sought Captain Dabrowski’s advice regarding possible subjects of conversation. He had smiled that aggravatingly condescending smile of his and said that he simply let the Daemon ask him questions. The Daemon, it seemed, had an unquenchable thirst for information about the Demi-Monde.
‘But how does that help our understanding of it?’ Trixie had asked.
‘Quite a lot, in an indirect sort of way,’ the Captain had replied. ‘The questions it asks me give an indication of
