what the Daemon is interested in and the extent of its knowledge of the Demi-Monde. When it interrogates me its main topics of enquiry relate to the functioning of the Demi-Monde…’
Maybe all Daemons are RaTionalists? Trixie had wondered, but as RaTionalists denied the existence of a Spirit World from which the Daemons like this one supposedly came, this was a contradiction in terms.
‘… and the role of women in the running of the ForthRight.’
That, Trixie decided, must make for a short conversation. The role of women in the running of the ForthRight was precisely nil.
‘And what have you gleaned from these question-and-answer sessions, Captain?’
‘That the Daemon is perplexed that we in the ForthRight are content to live in what it calls a “totalitarian regime” and that it is disgusted that women here are so “disenfranchised”.’
Although it would never do to admit it openly, Trixie knew what the word ‘disenfranchised’ meant: overcoming women’s disenfranchisement was the watchword – the rather too long watchword in Trixie’s view – of the Suffer-O-Gettes. Neverthe-less she thanked the Captain when he defined the word for her; in the company of ‘outsiders’ she had, after all, to play the dutiful and politically correct young woman of breeding. RaTionalism was a dangerous belief for a ForthRight woman.
According to the Captain the Daemon thought that everybody, both men and women, should have a say in the running of the ForthRight, that the Leader should be elected by the adult population of the two Sectors. The Daemon called this ‘democracy’.
To Trixie’s mind this was a ridiculous idea. Nowhere in the Demi-Monde (except, perhaps, in the nuJu Districts, and everybody knew nuJus were naturally perverse creatures) had there been a challenge to the concept that the Sectors should be ruled by a Leader, who by dint of his – and more often than not it was a ‘his’ – genius and energy rose through political osmosis above the rest of the population. Certainly in the ForthRight and NoirVille they embraced a more primitive notion that their leaders were, somehow, ABBA-ordained, but the concept was the same, as was their belief that the success and the well-being of a Sector’s citizens rested on the shoulders of the man who led them.
Trixie had shaken her head. ‘But surely under this democracy of the Daemon’s anyone could be Leader… even men who are unsuited to lead. All that democracy would result in is a Sector being led by someone who is not up to the job. As Comrade Leader Heydrich says, great men are the rarest thing that can be found in the Demi-Monde, and they certainly are not a thing to be discovered by the haphazard voting of the hoi polloi.’
‘Oh, I agree with you, Lady Trixiebell, the idea is outrageous,’ the Captain replied, ‘but the very fact that the Daemon asks about it gives us an indication of how the Spirit World functions.’
That conversation with the Captain had taken place yesterday and, ever diligent, Trixie had noted it in her journal.
Another ten minutes dragged past before she saw the Captain and the Daemon turn back towards the house. It was a signal that she should be stirring herself: breakfast would be being served and her father was a stickler for punctuality. And since the Daemon had been in residence, breakfasts had become amusing events: amusing but quite testing. It was one thing to debate current affairs over the breakfast table with her father, it was quite another to do it in front of a Checkya agent like Dabrowski.
When Trixie bustled into the dining room, she found her father already seated at the breakfast table. He grunted a ‘good morning’ in response to Trixie’s greeting, then retreated back behind his paper. Captain Dabrowski and the Daemon joined them shortly afterwards, having removed their valenkis and changed into their indoor shoes.
‘I have persuaded Cook to provide you with a better selection of fruits this morning, Miss Williams,’ Trixie announced as the Daemon seated itself. ‘I am assured that the dates and the apricots are quite edible and that the apples are of passable quality.’ Here she could barely conceal her revulsion: the thought of anyone eating the rather desiccated apples that Cook had retrieved from the cold store was disgusting.
And then there was the way the Daemon ate the fruit.
‘You are very kind, Lady Trixiebell, to go to all this trouble on my account,’ murmured the Daemon as it took one of the apples onto its plate.
‘Not at all, Miss Williams, but you must be aware that consuming so much fruit is liable to give you colic.’
The Daemon laughed. ‘I don’t think we’ll ever agree about what constitutes a healthy diet. I don’t have your penchant for dairy products and fried foods.’
‘Vital if one is to survive the Winter,’ sniffed Trixie’s father from behind his paper. ‘Everyone needs a covering of fat. It helps keep out the cold.’
‘Well, where I come from, Comrade Commissar…’
‘And where might that be?’ enquired Captain Dabrowski as he ladled bacon and kidneys onto his plate.
‘Never you mind, Captain Dabrowski,’ replied the Daemon lightly and rather too teasingly in Trixie’s opinion. The creature was actually flirting with Captain Dabrowski! ‘As I was saying, where I come from there is a belief that a surfeit of fat can raise cholesterol, which in turn can lead to a blockage of the circulatory system.’
Circulatory system? What in the Demi-Monde was a circulatory system? Another note for the journal.
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ muttered Dashwood as he brusquely turned the page of The Stormer.
Unperturbed, the Daemon proceeded to slice the apple neatly into quarters and to eat each piece in turn. This was the part of breakfast that Trixie found most upsetting. That the Daemon didn’t peel and core the apple first was disgusting and potentially very dangerous to the maintenance of a healthy astral ether: everyone knew that the eating of pips and skin led to the most profound constipation.
‘Coffee, Miss?’ enquired the maid and the Daemon nodded.
‘Black, please.’
A shudder of revulsion from Trixie. Black coffee, as she had been taught in her Living amp;More lessons, had a most deleterious effect on a young woman’s complexion. There had been studies done that suggested that it could even darken the complexion. Trixie never drank coffee: the prospect of having a skin colour that could be mistaken for that of a Shade filled her with horror.
‘I see the headlines in The Stormer continue their criticism of Empress Wu and the Coven. It’s pretty belligerent stuff. Is there going to be war?’ It was another idiosyncrasy of the Daemon that though it had manifested in the form of a young woman it conducted itself in a peculiarly masculine manner. Trixie felt a moment’s envy: the Daemon was lucky to come from a world where it was possible for a young woman – even an ersatz young woman – to express an interest in matters outside the home.
Ever the gentleman, Trixie’s father didn’t allow himself to be distracted by the Daemon’s rudeness. He lowered his paper and smiled at it. ‘Unfortunately, Miss Williams, my position in the Party precludes me from commenting publicly on articles carried in newspapers. Suffice it to say that, although there are immense religious and political differences between the Coven and the ForthRight, I have every confidence in the abilities of Comrade Beria to bring the negotiations currently being held with Empress Wu to a successful conclusion.’
Immense religious and political differences: now that, to Trixie’s mind, was an understatement. Crowley was always banging on in his speeches about the ‘unnatural’ and the ‘perverse’ practice of LessBienism promoted by the HerEtical Church. He hated the Covenites.
The Daemon was, as ever, impertinently persistent in its questioning. ‘And what, from the point of view of the ForthRight, would constitute a “successful conclusion”?’
‘Well, as that discussion is in the public domain,’ answered Dashwood with a sigh, ‘I suppose there is no harm in answering your question. The ForthRight requires that the Coven cease its harbouring and support of those LessBien terrorists the Suffer-O-Gettes, and that it hand over Royalist fugitives who sought sanctuary in the Coven after the Troubles.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘The ForthRight also requires that its ration of coal be doubled.’
Coal.
After blood, coal was the most precious commodity in the Demi-Monde. Without coal the steamers stopped, without coal people went cold in Winter. And the Coven controlled the world’s supply of coal.
‘And what is the ForthRight offering in return for these concessions?’
‘The precise details are, of course, confidential, but it is common knowledge that the restoration of diplomatic relations is one of the many things being discussed.’
‘That doesn’t sound terribly generous,’ observed the Daemon.
‘The Coven has also been lobbying hard for the supply of M4s.’
