major concession made was with regard to the GoldenFolk – a high-born sector of the Polish race – who have been retrospectively reclassified as Aryan.
– An Exercise in Futility: A PeaceNix’s Assessment of the Human, Economic and Social Costs of the Troubles: William Penn, Warsaw Underground Press
It took a few moments for Trixie to pull herself together.
The realisation that with every passing second the steam-limo was trundling her ever further from the life she had enjoyed in Dashwood Manor and towards an uncertain and dangerous future was an unsettling one. And that, coupled with the chilling thought that she might never see her beloved father again, meant that she sat silent and pensive in a corner of the steam-limo’s cabin.
She took a surreptitious look at her companions. They were a strange bunch. In the driver’s seat was the huge and intimidating Sergeant Wysochi and sitting next to him, cradling a rifle on his lap, was a very nervous Captain Dabrowski. The Daemon was huddled in the opposite corner of the steamer’s cabin, looking very unhappy and very piqued by everything that had happened. Beside the Daemon sat the two people Trixie hadn’t yet been introduced to: the rather dashing young man with the long brown hair, and the Shade dressed in a most inappropriate and very revealing costume. These two, she guessed, were the psychic and his assistant, the PsyChick, who had been performing for the Leader. What they were doing involved in this little escapade, Trixie had no idea. It was an ill-met group and, as she was to discover, a particularly fractious one.
The problem, she decided later, was that there had been just too many would-be leaders in the steam-limo, just too many people who were determined to get their own way. The arguing began even before they had put a mile between themselves and Dashwood Manor.
‘We have perhaps ten minutes before the Checkya realise what’s happened and semaphore an alert to all the CheckyaPoints in the ForthRight,’ advised Dabrowski as the steamer puffed and panted its way onto one of the Sector’s new autobahns. ‘We’ll abandon this steamer maybe a mile from the Rhine, walk from there to the river and then bribe our way across the Oberbaum Bridge. That’s the quickest way to the Ghetto.’
Although she was too lost in her worries about her father to take much of an interest in what was being said, even a distracted Trixie bridled a little at Captain Dabrowski’s rather arrogant assumption that he was in command of their group. It appeared that she wasn’t the only one.
‘That’s the quickest way to the Lubyanka if you choose the wrong Militia officer to try to dash,’ grumbled the long-haired man. ‘I’ll handle the bribing. It needs to be done with finesse: the Militia are sensitive about people leaving the ForthRight and entering Warsaw.’
‘We’re going to the Warsaw Sector?’ asked the Daemon.
‘Of course,’ replied Dabrowski curtly. ‘Every Checkya officer in the ForthRight will be out looking for us. Warsaw is the only safe haven within striking distance.’
Safe? wondered Trixie. In her book the Ghetto didn’t qualify as a place where you went to be ‘safe’.
‘Is the nearest Portal in Warsaw?’ the Daemon asked the Shade.
How does the Daemon know the Shade?
It was the first time Trixie had been in close proximity to a Shade and she didn’t like it. Everything she had been taught informed her that they were not to be trusted. Shades were the spawn of Lilith.
The black girl, who was struggling to get into the coat she had been offered by the tall psychic, shrugged a reply. ‘There isn’t a Portal in Warsaw, Norma…’
Norma? How did the Shade know the Daemon’s human alias? And what was this thing they called a ‘Portal’?
‘Then why are we going there?’ the Daemon snapped. ‘Are you stupid or something?’
The Shade glowered at the Daemon. ‘Okay, Norma, we’re all a little uptight, so I’m gonna cut you a little slack and ignore that “stupid” jibe. And for your information the only working Portal in the whole of the Demi-Monde is in NoirVille, but right now…’
‘NoirVille? Well, that’s where we’ve got to go,’ the Daemon announced and then leant forward and tapped Dabrowski on the shoulder. ‘I’d be obliged, Captain, if you would order your driver to head for NoirVille.’
‘No,’ he replied firmly. ‘We’ve got to get to the Ghetto. I’ve got to warn my people about the impending attack by the SS.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped the Daemon. ‘The only thing of any importance is getting me to NoirVille.’
‘We’re going to the Ghetto,’ answered Dabrowski, introducing a distinct note of finality into his reply. ‘The lives of three million people are at stake.’
The Daemon studied Dabrowski for a moment as though trying to establish whether he was being serious. ‘This is ludicrous. I’m not going to argue the toss with a Dupe. Stop this steamer right now, Captain. My… colleague’ – the Daemon shot a sneering look at the Shade – ‘and I will get out and make our own way to NoirVille from here.’
Colleague? How could the Daemon be a ‘colleague’ of the Shade?
White people didn’t have Shades as colleagues, they had them as slaves, and even then only if they couldn’t afford Chink slaves.
The tall man was persuaded to rejoin the conversation. ‘We haven’t had a chance to be formally introduced, young lady. My name is Colonel Vanka Maykov, Licensed Psychic, and I’m the man who just helped rescue you from Crowley.’ He offered his hand, but the Daemon petulantly shrugged it aside. ‘Well, young lady, if you won’t take my hand, maybe you’ll take some advice. The Captain’s right: with the Checkya on our heels the only place to hide is the Ghetto. And as for NoirVille… well, I’ve a feeling that as you’ve got no papers and no money that makes getting there by yourself virtually impossible. And while I don’t give a damn about you or your welfare, I do care a great deal about my friend, Miss Thomas, here.’
Has everyone gone mad? How could an Aryan announce that he has a Shade as his ‘friend’? It wasn’t natural.
‘Right now,’ Vanka went on, as he pulled out his cigarette case, ‘there’ll be semaphore messages batting back and forth across the ForthRight warning every CheckyaPoint to be on the lookout for a girl who looks a lot like Aaliz Heydrich…’
Trixie gawped: the Daemon did look like Aaliz Heydrich. She was amazed she hadn’t noticed the resemblance before. If the Daemon had blonde hair instead of black and fewer of those terrible facial mutilations it would be the girl’s twin! It must have been the bruise on the side of her face that had foxed her.
‘… a girl who may or may not be travelling in the company of a Shade.’ The man stopped abruptly. ‘I’m sorry, Ella… a girl of colour.’
The man actually apologised to the Shade!
‘Don’t worry about it, Vanka,’ said the Shade, twitching her head in the direction of the Daemon, ‘I’ve got bigger problems than a little low-rent racism.’
‘The upshot is, young lady…’
‘For your information, my name is Norma Williams,’ the Daemon said with a haughty shake of her head.
‘Very well. The upshot is, Miss Williams, if you get out of this steamer, you get out alone. I’m not letting Ella here sacrifice herself because of your pig-headedness. We’ve saved you once but I wouldn’t bank on us being around to save you again.’
‘But I’ve got to get to NoirVille,’ the Daemon persisted. She glared at Vanka as he lit a cigarette. ‘And I’d appreciate it, Colonel, if you didn’t smoke.’
Vanka ignored the Daemon and blew smoke up towards the roof of the steamer. ‘And I’d prefer it if you did a little more thinking and a little less demanding.’
‘I think we should take Vanka’s advice, Norma,’ the Shade said in a conciliatory tone.
‘I don’t need you to do my thinking for me, thanks very much,’ snapped Norma.
The Shade bridled. ‘Don’t come the high-handed, high-and-mighty President’s daughter with me, honey. And I’ll do whatever thinking is necessary to get us out of here. It wasn’t me who got my ass caught in a sling.’
‘Don’t call me “honey”,’ Norma snarled. ‘
I’ll call you anything I damned well want.’
Trixie couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘Please, please, can we stop this squabbling? Whether we like it or not, we’re all in this together. Perhaps we should start by introducing ourselves?’ There were no protests, so Trixie decided to start the ball rolling. She pulled the cap off her head and shook out her mane of blonde hair. ‘I am Lady
