how different they were came sweeping over her.
Vanka gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘It’s for the best. Ella, I have to know you’re safe. So let’s just concentrate on getting to a Blood Bank and sending the money to Louverture. The quicker we’re back at my lodgings the better.’
The Berlin Blood Bank was just around the corner from the Resi. It was a spectacularly big building, a vast stone temple that dwarfed anything Ella had seen in either the Demi-Monde or the Real World. The white stone it had been constructed from shone bright and pure in the sharp Winter sunlight. Looking at the Bank she thought the Demi-Monde’s programmers must have modelled it after one of the great central banks of the Real World: it was all huge columns, magnificent stone steps that climbed up to enormous doors and the whole lot decorated with a confection of majestic sculptures of forgotten dignitaries. Remarkably the stonework and the carved columns were perfect: there was not a crack or a scratch to be seen anywhere. It was so perfect as to be unnatural.
‘How old is the Bank?’ she asked, preferring to hear the answer from Vanka than PINC.
‘We don’t know exactly,’ answered Vanka, as he looked anxiously around for Checkya agents. ‘The Blood Banks are classified as Wonders of the Ancient Demi-Monde. They’re built from Mantle-ite, the same stuff the sewers are made out of, hence the green sheen.’
‘Is that why the building is in such mint condition?’
‘Yes, Mantle-ite is impervious to wear or corrosion and invulnerable to attack. They hose the Banks down once a week and, hey presto, they’re as good as new. So believe it or not, this building’ – Vanka waved towards the Bank – ‘is – depending on which learned professor of preHistory you’re inclined to believe – somewhere between ten thousand and a hundred thousand years old.’
‘But who do these historians think built them?’
‘Here, in the ForthRight, UnFunDaMentalist dogma has it that Heydrich’s super-Aryans, the Pre-Folk, were responsible.’ Vanka gave Ella a crooked smile. ‘Apparently we Anglo-Slavs could build edifices like this before we were seduced by people like you.’
Ella laughed. ‘I apologise.’
‘Don’t,’ said Vanka. ‘Having seen you in that dress last night I forgive my ancestors all their indiscretions. They would have needed a will of steel to resist women as beautiful as you.’ He gave her arm another squeeze and Ella almost cried as an odd feeling of both sadness and happiness washed over her.
As they climbed the steps two Checkya officers emerged from the Bank: Vanka immediately pulled Ella to one side. ‘If you keep your veil tight, Ella, I think it will help avoid any unpleasantness. If you’re challenged just tell them you’re one of Josephine Baker’s troupe.’
More than a little worried by how edgy Vanka seemed, Ella did as she was asked. And then she froze. Over at the other side of the steps lounging nonchalantly against the wall of the Bank was Professor Septimus Bole. She was sure it was him. She recognised the long skinny body, the great rudder of a nose and the small shaded spectacles. Instinctively she made to move towards him, but the crowds jostling around the Bank’s entrance stopped her and when they cleared the Professor had vanished.
She frowned: why was the Dupe of Professor Bole haunting her? She was sure she had seen him when the Checkya had raided her apartment and now he was here. But why didn’t he speak to her?
She didn’t have a chance to ponder. With another nervous look over his shoulder, Vanka led her through the great doors and into the vastness beyond.
The Banking Hall was enormous, so enormous that though there were thousands of people milling around it still felt empty. The ceiling stretched a good two hundred feet over Ella’s head and the hall must have been at least four or five hundred feet wide. How deep it was she couldn’t even guess; it just seemed to disappear into the distance.
It was also incredibly noisy, resonating with a strange clacking sound, as though a million rattles were being played simultaneously.
Vanka noticed her confusion. ‘The noise is coming from the screens in the Transfusion Booths. That’s where customers can move both the money and the blood they’ve got in the bank.’ He pointed to the stone walkways that coiled up the walls winding from floor to ceiling and along which niches – the Transfusion Booths – were set at ten- foot intervals. ‘The screens are what you use to view your Accounts and to make Infusions and Transfers. They reckon there are half a million Transfer Screens in every single Bank – one for every four people in a District – and that’s why Banks are always so noisy.’
Taking Ella by the arm, Vanka led her up along one of the walkways until they came to an unoccupied booth set about twenty feet or so up from the floor of the Bank. Here she found herself staring at what seemed to be a bizarre, clockwork interpretation of an ATM. There was a viewing port which looked not unlike those employed on old-fashioned mutoscopes – the ‘What the Butler Saw’ machines – that had been the staple of fair-grounds and amusement arcades a hundred years ago, and above this was a large screen similar to the moving-type message boards that she had seen in movies featuring airports of yesteryear. The booth was equipped with a clunky-looking keyboard – an image of a handprint to its left – set on a shelf positioned below the mutoscope viewer. Finally there was a faucet to the right of the keyboard from where she presumed blood was dispensed.
‘Let’s get going, Ella,’ urged Vanka. ‘I hate Banks, they’re always crawling with Checkya. You begin by placing your hand on the red handprint. That allows the Bank to identify you.’
‘How?’
‘The Spirits only know,’ said Vanka impatiently.
Gingerly she placed her hand over the symbol indented into the surface of the shelf. For a second nothing happened, although she had the distinct impression of a tingling along her palm. Then the little squares that made up the screen started to whirl, clacking loudly as they spun. When the letters on the squares eventually stopped rotating Ella saw a message spelt out for her.
THE BANK OF BERLIN WELCOMES ELLA THOMAS
Wow… she was in!
PLEASE ENTER YOUR PASSWORD
Password? Without thinking she began typing.
LILITH
Now where did she conjure that from?
PASSWORD ACCEPTED
‘You’ve been accepted,’ breathed a relieved Vanka as the little squares whizzed around again.
CASH OR BLOOD TRANSACTION?
Ella typed ‘CASH’.
WHICH ACCOUNT DO YOU WISH TO ACCESS?
She typed in the account number of the SS-Ordo Templi Aryanis.
PLEASE ENTER THE PASSWORD FOR THIS ACCOUNT
Ella typed in ‘THELEMA’. Even if she hadn’t read Crowley’s mind she’d have known that was the password he’d have chosen. Thelema was the black magician’s occult creed, based on the philosophy of ‘Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law’.
PASSWORD ACCEPTED
WHICH SERVICE DO YOU REQUIRE?
1. WITHDRAWALS
2. DEPOSITS
3. TRANSFERS
4. OTHER
Ella hit the ‘3’ button and immediately the letters that made up the screen clattered around.
ACCOUNT NAME AND NUMBER TO WHICH THE TRANSFER IS TO BE MADE AMOUNT DATE TRANSFER TO BE EXECUTED
Ella dug out the piece of paper that Louverture had given her and, fingers dancing over the keyboard, sent five million guineas winging its way. Next she paid the half-million guineas she’d promised Burlesque Bandstand.
The letters spun again.
‘Do you have an account, Vanka, an account which the ForthRight can’t block?’
Vanka had, and again Ella worked the keyboard. ‘There,’ she said with an air of triumph, ‘ten million guineas,
