‘Not me: Vanka Maykov… the psychic.’ She nodded to Sergeant Michalski, who had been guarding the entrance. He opened the door and Vanka ducked inside, accompanied by the two Daemons.
Trixie darted a look towards Vanka and almost despaired. That Warsaw’s hopes should rest in the hands of such a dishonest and disreputable man was truly astonishing. When he had first come to her with his proposition her immediate reaction had been to dismiss it out of hand. It sounded ridiculous. It sounded too much like a cheap trick designed to save his worthless Shade-loving skin.
Shades…
Trixie might have come to realise that UnFunDaMentalism’s classification of some races as UnderMentionables was evil nonsense but with regard to Shades she didn’t think she would ever be able to bring herself to trust them. They weren’t human and the RaTionalist inside her told her they were just wrong… Lilithian perversions of Nature. And that this Ella Thomas wasn’t only a Shade but a Daemon to boot made her – it – all the more threatening. Trixie had a sneaking suspicion that as soon as she escaped back to her own world she would seek to destroy the Demi-Monde. What did the Daemons call it? Pulling the plug? No, Shades couldn’t be trusted… Daemons couldn’t be trusted.
Vanka tipped his battered tile, and gave Trixie a jaunty wave. ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said in a merry voice, ‘Vanka Maykov, procurer of blood, at your service.’
Ella was proud of him. She was as proud of Vanka as she was nervous of Trixie Dashwood. While Ella had been shocked by Dabrowski’s appearance – he seemed to have aged alarmingly in the days since she had seen him last – this was as nothing to the transformation that Trixie had undergone during her time in the Ghetto. It wasn’t just the obvious changes – her magnificent long blonde hair had been hacked crudely back into a boyish bob – that had unnerved Ella but the more subtle ones. The look of spoilt petulance that she remembered had gone: the Trixie who stood in the shadows at the side of the cellar was a distinctly harder and more dangerous woman. It was as though something had died inside the girl.
Now the eyes that Trixie Dashwood fixed on Ella were empty, emotionless… just as Heydrich’s had been. She wasn’t particularly enamoured of the way Trixie kept fondling the butt of her revolver, either.
‘And how do you propose to perform this miracle?’ asked Dabrowski.
Vanka took a long draw on his morning cigarette. Cigarettes were now in such short supply that he was rationing himself to three a day – one in the morning, one in the afternoon and one in the evening. As far as Ella was concerned it was one of the few good things to have come out of the Uprising. ‘With the help of Miss Thomas here, I am intent on buying blood on the black market. I have some experience in trading illicit blood and I believe, given the correct financial inducements, it will be possible to buy sixty thousand litres of blood from the Blood Brothers and have it shipped to Warsaw. As I understand it there are three million people trapped here in Warsaw so sixty thousand litres is two weeks’ supply.’
‘Two weeks…’ sneered Dabrowski.
‘Much can happen in two weeks,’ interrupted Trixie. ‘The other Sectors might have a change of heart… anything. We should listen to this man.’
Dabrowski scowled. ‘And how much will this miracle cost?’
‘Blood is currently trading for one hundred guineas a litre on the black market,’ explained Vanka.
‘Six million guineas!’ gasped Dabrowski. He turned to Ella. ‘You know, Miss Thomas, I am disappointed in you. I expected something a little more imaginative from a Daemon. Isn’t the buying of blood on the black market a little prosaic – a little unDaemonic – for someone like you? I would have thought that you would have come to me to tell me you were planning something utterly fantastical like rolling back the Boundary Layer to let all us poor beleaguered Varsovians escape into the Great Beyond.’ He started to laugh. He sounded almost hysterical. ‘But then again, I suppose your purchase of blood is equally farfetched. We don’t have six million guineas. Warsaw is almost bloodrupt.’
Vanka gave a careless wave of his hand as though six million guineas was a mere bagatelle. ‘Miss Thomas here has access to certain funds which will comfortably accommodate such an outlay. She will act as your blood donor.’ No one laughed at the quip, the subject was far too serious for that.
Ella saw every face in the room turn in her direction. ‘Yes, I can secure the six million guineas.’
‘You? But you’re just a girl,’ said Dabrowski contemptuously.
Ella refused to be insulted. ‘Girl or not, Colonel, you better believe me when I say I can raise the money. If the WFA can seize back control of the docks for long enough to unload the blood from the barges, then Vanka and I can organise its delivery.’
‘How long would you need at the docks?’ Trixie asked.
‘Five hours,’ answered Vanka.
‘Impossible,’ retorted Dabrowski.
‘Not impossible,’ corrected Trixie quietly. ‘It’ll be costly in lives but my regiment can do it. We’ll give you your five hours.’
‘This is ridiculous. This is also much too good to be true!’ objected Dabrowski. ‘What, may I ask, will you get out of this transaction, Colonel Maykov? As I understand it you are not a man famed for his charitable works.’
‘The WFA’s help in having myself, Miss Thomas and Miss Williams escape from the Ghetto. I have to get to the Berlin Sector to negotiate the delivery of the blood with one of Shaka’s lieutenants.’
‘And then?’
‘Then the three of us will travel to NoirVille.’
Dabrowski laughed. ‘So now I understand. We are being bribed: you promise us blood and we get you out of Warsaw.’
‘In a nutshell: yes,’ agreed Vanka as he took another irritatingly casual draw on his cigarette.
‘And once you’re out of the Ghetto what’s to stop you just high-tailing it to NoirVille and forgetting about us?’
‘Nothing. You’ll just have to trust me… us.’
‘Ridiculous!’ spluttered Dabrowski. ‘I cannot allow the Daemon – Miss Williams – to leave the Ghetto. It – she – is the last bargaining chip I have with Heydrich. If I surrender the Daemon I am sure that the Leader will be inclined to be more lenient.’
‘Loath as I am to contradict you, Colonel Dabrowski,’ came the calm voice of Trotsky, ‘but my own assessment is that the time for surrender is long gone. No matter what we do now, Heydrich will still destroy the people of Warsaw. We’ve resisted him and given his SS a hiding. He can’t allow us to live, because alive we’re a permanent reminder to the rest of the Demi-Monde that once people fought to keep their independence. This young man may be a little… raffish but his idea has merit. If we surrender, Heydrich will shoot us all. If we can hold out for just a few more weeks, then there is a chance.’
For over a minute Dabrowski sat in silence as he weighed his decision, then finally, reluctantly, he acquiesced. ‘Very well, Vanka Maykov, we will give you the opportunity to work your magic.’
‘Great,’ muttered Norma, ‘I’m out of this shithole at last.’
Ella wondered how Norma would react when she learnt how Vanka was proposing they get out of Warsaw. At least it would take her mind off the lice.
‘The sewers!’ exclaimed Norma. ‘You want me to escape from Warsaw by crawling through the sewers?’
Vanka nodded. ‘It is the only way. The SS are shooting anyone attempting to leave the Ghetto, and as there are twenty thousand of the bastards patrolling the walls, the chances of us slipping out that way are non-existent. The alternative, Miss Williams, is to stay here.’
‘Screw that. But what happens when we get to the end of the sewer? Where will we come out?’
‘On a scarp of the Rhine. One branch empties into the river just below the Reinhard Heydrich Bridge, the new railway bridge that Comrade Commissar Dashwood built. The SS won’t be expecting anyone from Warsaw to pop out in Odessa.’
‘What do you expect us to do then: swim across the river?’ sneered Norma.
‘Almost,’ said Vanka casually. ‘The WFA have a few sympathisers in Odessa, one of whom has a rowing boat. At night it should be possible to scull across between the river patrols. The Anglos are well organised but that is their weakness: they are predictable.’
‘But even if they can’t see us they’ll be able to smell us. After crawling through the sewers we’ll be covered from head to toe in…’
