Trixiebell Dashwood…’
‘I think you can forget the “Lady” bit,’ sneered Norma. ‘After tonight’s little set-to I don’t think your father’s going to be doing much lording about in the future. In fact, I don’t think he’s gonna have much of a future.’
A stunned silence descended on the group, everyone shocked by the Daemon’s crass indifference to Trixie’s feelings. Trixie felt her cheeks going red with anger. ‘That, Daemon, was unnecessary. My father treated you with respect and I would be obliged if you would do the same.’ One day, Trixie resolved, she’d make the Daemon pay for that insult.
‘That was an incredibly cruel thing to say,’ the Shade said quietly.
Norma was totally unabashed. ‘Oh, come on, baby, get with the program… the computer program. These are Dupes, they haven’t got real emotions.’
‘For your information, Miss Williams,’ Dabrowski snapped, obviously as outraged as all of them by the Daemon’s vulgar behaviour, ‘Comrade Commissar Dashwood helped to organise your escape this evening, help which has probably cost that brave man his life. So I would be obliged if, despite your obvious antipathy towards us “Dupes”, you show some respect for Miss Dashwood’s feelings.’
There was another unpleasant silence.
‘What’s a Dupe?’ asked Vanka.
‘It’s what Daemons call people who live in the Demi-Monde,’ answered Dabrowski. ‘That’s what Miss Williams called us this afternoon when Miss Dashwood and I overheard a conversation between her and Reinhard Heydrich.’
‘What else did you hear, Captain?’ asked Vanka.
‘That the SS are planning to attack Warsaw in the next few days.’
‘And that’s where we’re escaping to?’ sneered Norma. ‘Oh, well done, Captain, but don’t you find the words “frying pan” and “fire” springing to mind?’ With a disparaging laugh the girl turned to look out of the window at the scenery streaming past the steamer.
‘Is that why you were hanging around outside the Manor?’ asked Vanka.
Dabrowski nodded. ‘Miss Dashwood and I were waiting for a signal to make our own escape. Your somewhat unconventional arrival was simply a coincidence – a happy coincidence. Without the presence of mind of the Daemon…’
A searing look from Norma Williams.
‘… of Miss Williams, and, of course, her uncanny resemblance to Aaliz Heydrich, we would not have been able to commandeer this steamer.’ Dabrowski held out his hand. ‘I am Jan Dabrowski, until ten minutes ago Captain of the GoldenFolk Regiment attached to the First Division of the ForthRight Army. I have also the honour to be a major in the Warsaw Free Army.’
Vanka took Dabrowski’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Major. I am Colonel Vanka Maykov, late of the Fifth Revolutionary Regiment of Foot. And this is my friend and PsyChick, Miss Ella Thomas.’ The Shade, this Ella Thomas, offered her hand and Trixie was quite amazed to see Dabrowski take it without even the slightest hesitation. Presumably being brought up in the Ghetto deadened a gentleman’s sensibilities to matters of racial etiquette, that is if a Pole like Dabrowski could ever be truly regarded as a ‘gentleman’.
Indeed, such was her amazement that before she quite knew what she was doing she had also shaken the Shade’s hand. She masked a shudder.
Dabrowski looked at the Shade cautiously. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, Miss Thomas, just what part of the Demi-Monde are you from? I don’t seem to recognise your accent. It doesn’t sound NoirVillian.’
Without turning away from her study of the nightscape flashing by outside the steamer’s windows, Norma gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Yeah, Miss Ella Thomas, why don’t you tell them where you’re really from? That should raise a laugh.’
With a despairing sigh the Shade answered. ‘Like Norma, I’m from the Real World, from what you call the Spirit World.’
‘You’re a Daemon!’ gasped an astonished Vanka. ‘So that’s why you’re such a good medium. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I’m sorry, Vanka, but it’s hardly something I could drop lightly into the conversation, now is it? If you’d known I was a Daemon, you’d never have hired me.’
Trixie was astonished. A few days ago she had been firmly of the RaTionalist belief that there were no such things as Daemons and now she seemed to be surrounded by the bloody things.
‘So let me get this straight,’ said an equally bemused-looking Dabrowski, as his eyes danced back and forth between the Shade and Norma Williams, ‘you two are both Daemons.’
‘Correct,’ said Norma, ‘although I’m not big on being called a “Daemon”.’
‘Then what are you doing here in the Demi-Monde?’
The Daemons looked at one another, and reluctantly Norma gave an answer. ‘Ella’s here to help me get back home, to get back to the Real World. I was lured here by Aleister Crowley and Aaliz Heydrich.’
‘Why?’ asked Vanka, who still seemed to be reeling from the revelation of his PsyChick’s Daemonhood.
Norma sighed. ‘It’s a long and difficult story. Let’s just say that I’m the daughter of someone very important in the Real World and Heydrich believed that by having me brought here to the Demi-Monde, he could exert some control over my father. It’s a simple blackmail scam.’
‘It would appear from what I heard this afternoon,’ added Dabrowski, ‘that there was some danger of the Daemons “pulling the plug”, as Miss Williams called it, on the DemiMonde, of destroying our world. Heydrich had Miss Williams brought here as a hostage to prevent this happening.’
Norma shook her head vigorously and looked imploringly around the little group. ‘Look… guys… there’s no chance of that. I can guarantee that no one is pulling the plug on this little holiday haven of yours. No one in the Real World wants to harm the Demi-Monde… no one wants to shut it down…’
Dabrowski wasn’t so easily convinced. ‘I think it might be better to keep you close, Miss Williams, until we establish the truth of that last statement.’
‘Guys… it’s imperative I get out of the Demi-Monde. Heydrich wants my place in the Real World to be taken by his daughter.’
Now it was the Shade’s turn to be shocked. ‘Heydrich’s going to substitute his daughter for you in the Real World? But why?’
Norma gave a rueful smile. ‘Heydrich’s sentient. He knows all about his previous existence in the Real World. He wants to get back there, to finish what the Nazis started eighty or so years ago.’
‘Jesus, I thought that bastard looked at me sideways when he saw me dancing tonight. He must have recognised me.’
For a minute or two everyone in the steamer’s cabin fell quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts. It was Vanka who broke the silence. ‘Okay,’ he said wearily, ‘I’m getting a little confused here, but I have a suspicion that we might be missing the point. Surely the important thing, right now, is for us to avoid being captured by the Checkya. Call me a man of limited ambition but all I’m currently interested in is making sure Beria doesn’t have the opportunity to play Billy the Butcher on my body. So can we forget about all this nonsense about “portals” and “Dupes” and suchlike, and just concentrate on getting safely to the Ghetto?’
‘But I’ve got to get to NoirVille,’ persisted Norma.
‘You should listen to Vanka, Norma,’ the Shade said. ‘As of now we haven’t a prayer of getting to NoirVille on our own. I reckon our only hope of surviving will be to haul ass to the Warsaw Ghetto and then make a move to NoirVille when the heat has died down.’
Norma appeared less than happy with what her fellow Daemon was saying, but any further protests were silenced when Wysochi turned around and addressed Dabrowski. ‘Looks like the Checkya have barricaded the road ‘bout a half-mile ahead, Sir. It might be a good time to start walking.’
The journey to the Warsaw Ghetto was one that Ella would rather forget. It was snowing heavily and without Vanka’s coat she would have frozen to death long before they got to the Rhine. As it was, the series of heart- stopping dodges and scuttles out of London and through the backstreets of Berlin that Vanka deemed necessary to throw off the Checkya was enough to leave her tired, cold and very, very frightened.
All the euphoria of actually pulling off the rescue had long since dissipated, now all she wanted was to get somewhere warm and preferably away from the ungrateful bitch limping and whining along behind her. Norma Williams had turned out to be a world-class complainer.
