Vanka addressed the audience. ‘Who amongst you has the courage to ask the first question?’
As was to be expected, the questioner was Samuel Morris. ‘I have a question.’
‘Your name?’ asked Vanka.
‘I am Nathaniel Warrington.’
‘Ooooooh. You lie,’ Ella keened. ‘Your name is Samuel Morris.’
Morris’s eyes popped open in wide amazement. ‘How the Hel…’ he spluttered and then recovered himself. ‘This woman don’t know what she’s talking about. My name is Nathaniel Warrington.’
‘Again you lie,’ cried Ella. ‘Know you that nothing can be hidden from the Spirits! Your days are spent in deceit.’ She raised her hand and pointed a finger tipped by a black-varnished nail at the Senior Psychic Assessor. ‘Oh woe unto those who practise deceit, for they are in thrall to the Dark One.’ Even in the gloom she could see that Morris had gone as white as a sheet. ‘This deceit has infected your soul, Samuel. Now you are unable to be true to yourself. I see your future and it is infused with the consequences of your duplicity. I see ruin and despair.’
‘This is all tripe. You’ve been spying on me!’
‘You have given false witness to those who trusted you. You have cheated those who placed their faith in you. You have placed avarice before honour and you have deceived those who love you. If you do not repent then you will be damned to suffer torment and humiliation when your soul passes beyond this Veil of Tears.’
That shut Morris’s protests up for a moment as he wrestled with the words ‘false witness’ and ‘cheated’.
‘What do you mean? I haven’t done anything.’ The fact that Morris was now giving his boss nervous looks across the room gave the lie to that proposition. ‘I don’t understand.’ There was real panic in his voice. He looked desperately around the audience for support but all he saw was people edging away from him.
‘Those above you know of the crimes you have committed. They know you have issued licences to those without true power.’
‘That’s a bloody lie.’
‘They know that your lusts have turned your soul black. Beware, Samuel Morris, beware. They know of the ledger you keep in the locked drawer of your desk. They know of the gold you have hidden at your brother’s house.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘They know of the blood-bribes that are held in the Bank in Odessa.’
Samuel Morris sprang to his feet. ‘I’m not sitting here listening to all this claptrap.’
‘Beware… retribution stalks your footsteps. Death walks behind you.’
‘Shut your gob, you fucking WhoDoo witch. You’re just making this up.’
‘I know of the son that does not bear your name. You have been unfaithful to your wife and to the teachings of UnFunDaMentalism you are oath-bound to protect and uphold.’ That was a revelation that hit home. Morris flinched back as though he’d been physically struck. ‘I see deep, deep, deep into your tarnished soul. And there I see your doom.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘You have so little time, Samuel. You must make your peace with ABBA.’
‘Shut up!’ Samuel Morris shouted as he shook off the grasp of the two women seated next to him, who in fear of offending the Spirits had doggedly kept hold of Morris’s hands all through Ella’s wailing. Immediately the circle was broken, Ella pitched forward, tumbling to the stage as though in a swoon.
As Morris tried to make his escape, a voice boomed out, and, from the look on his face, for him it really was the Voice of Doom. ‘Stay where you are, Morris,’ came the shouted command from the man’s boss, Tomlinson.
Samuel Morris obviously wasn’t of a mind to do much staying. Quick as a flash he drew a pistol from the back of his belt and pulled back the hammer. ‘Stand your ground or by the Spirits, I’ll…’
That was as far as he got before the cudgel wielded by Burlesque Bandstand smashed down on his head.
‘That wos one ‘ell of a sorry, Wanker,’ crooned Burlesque as he plied Vanka with drinks thirty minutes after the last customer had left the Pig. ‘Most of the punters ‘ave already bought tickets for tomorrow’s performance.’ He glanced nervously at Ella. ‘Yous wos good too,’ he admitted. ‘I liked all that wooing and wailing and shit.’ He took a slurp of his Solution. ‘So c’mon, Wanker, tell Burlesque ‘ow you did it. That Morris item wos a plant, wosn’t ‘e?’
Vanka gave a half-smile. ‘Trade secret, Burlesque, but for your information neither Miss Thomas nor myself had ever met Samuel Morris before tonight’s performance.’
‘Then you must’ve bin ‘aving ‘im followed. Yous bin using the Pinkertons to dig the dirt on ‘im? Wos that ‘ow it wos done?’
‘Nope.’
‘Then ‘ow the ‘ell?’ Burlesque’s brow furrowed. ‘You’ll be tellin’ me next that Miss Thomas ‘ere really ‘as got physicalist powers.’ He started to chortle but when neither of his guests joined in he stopped. ‘Aw, c’mon, Wanker, yous can tell yer old mucker, Burlesque: ‘ow d’you do it?’
Slowly and very seductively, Ella leant across the table and took Burlesque’s hand in hers. ‘I really am a clairvoyant,’ she crooned in her best femme fatale voice. ‘I can see into your soul, Mr Bandstand. I can see all your darkest secrets.’
Burlesque pulled his hand away. He’d gone a little paler than usual. ‘Nah… no one can do that. Yer just pullin’ my plonker.’ He looked at Ella suspiciously. ‘Yous on the level?’
A nod from Ella.
‘Go on then, Miss Thomas, tell me sumfink that only a physicalist person would know.’
‘I can tell you where Kurt Vangler’s body is buried.’
That little statement turned out to be a real show-stopper. All the remaining colour drained from Burlesque’s face. He was so distressed that he spilt his drink. ‘Shit: ‘ow the ‘ell did yous do that? Fuck me gently, you really is a physicalist ain’t yous?’ He shook his head in bewilderment and emptied the remaining, unspilt Solution down his throat in one loud gulp. This done, Burlesque looked nervously around, checking that there was no one eavesdropping on their conversation, then gave Ella a very hard and very dangerous look. ‘Keep yer voice down, will you? An’ let me tell you sumfink, Miss Thomas, yous wanna be careful, cos knowin’ fings like that can get yous scragged.’
Vanka edged protectively closer to Ella. ‘And you should remember, Burlesque, that us knowing things like that can also get you hanged. Just think, if either Miss Thomas or I were ever to get a surprise visit from the Checkya, what interesting information we could give them in exchange for a reduced sentence.’
From the look on his face that was the last thing Burlesque wanted to think about.
‘That also goes for your talking to your buddy the Witchfinder about things you shouldn’t,’ warned Ella.
This provoked an even deeper scowl.
‘And that’s why it’s so lucky that we’re all such good friends,’ Vanka added with a smile. ‘Now where’s the money you owe us?’
‘Wot money?’
‘Money for the gig and for our expenses.’
‘Wot bleedin’ expenses?’
‘Never you mind, but they’re less than the expenses you’ll incur if I tell Kurt Vangler’s father where his son is buried.’
‘Fuck. Okay, ‘ow much?’
‘For tonight’s performance? Ten guineas plus another ten for expenses.’
If there was one thing that Burlesque hated doing it was parting with money, but the determined glint in Vanka’s eye decided him to pay up. Slowly and reluctantly he counted out nineteen guineas.
‘The deal was for twenty,’ observed Vanka.
‘I ‘ad to deduct a guinea for the curtain the young lady ‘ere used as part ov ‘er costume.’
‘I also know where you disappear to on a Sunday afternoon when your wife thinks you’re counting stock,’ said Ella quietly.
Burlesque quickly decided to add another golden guinea to the pile in front of Vanka. ‘You know, Wanker,’ he mused idly, ‘once word of ‘ow talented this young lady is gets out, you’re – we’re – gonna be able to charge a fortune to attend wun ov your sorries. You knows wot yous wants?’
