cascade of blonde hair that tumbled down to her waist.
‘I am Lady Lucrezia Borgia,’ she announced in a voice so refined that it bordered on the haughty, ‘First Deputy to her Imperial Highness Wu, Empress of all the lands known as the Demi-Monde.’
Another megalomaniac.
Trixie set her face to bland and saluted. ‘I am Colonel Trixiebell Dashwood, Commander of the Warsaw Free Army.’
‘Empress Wu sends her greetings to such a courageous soldier and offers you and your troops sanctuary in the Coven.’
‘I am very grateful, Madam First Deputy.’
‘Where is the one called the Lady IMmanual?’ The question came from the girl standing behind First Deputy Borgia, and in contrast to the First Deputy’s serenity, the second woman radiated impatience and petulance. She was clad from head to toe in combat gear and carried a repeating rifle slung over her shoulder. Trixie knew her instantly, knew her by her cropped brown hair, by her gleaming eyes that seemed to flash and sparkle as she spoke, and by Loki’s symbol, the large wooden cross hanging from her neck. This was the infamous Jeanne Dark, leader of the Suffer-O-Gettes, the scourge of HimPerialism, the enemy of UnFunDaMentalism, the Chief Witch of HerEticalism.
A few weeks ago Trixie would have made the sign of the Valknut to ward off the evil that Jeanne Dark represented for the natural order of things, but not now. Now all she saw was a rival and rivals weren’t something to be afraid of. Rivals were something to be eliminated.
‘I asked you a question.’
The sharpness in Jeanne Dark’s voice brought Trixie out of her reverie. No one – no one – spoke to her like that.
‘When you address me you will use my rank. I am Colonel Dashwood.’
‘Very well, Colonel Dashwood: where is the Lady IMmanual?’
‘The Lady IMmanual? She was lost. We believe she has been tricked by a man named Vanka Maykov into surrendering herself to the SS.’
‘Fuck,’ snarled the girl. ‘Now that, Colonel Dashwood, was a careless, costly mistake.’ With a snort of disgust she spun on her heel and marched back towards the end of the bridge. The look the First Deputy directed towards the witch’s retreating figure suggested there was little love lost between the two Covenites.
‘You must forgive my colleague, Reverend Deputy Dark,’ said First Deputy Borgia, ‘she is apt to be a little temperamental.’ She smiled diplomatically. ‘We have prepared accommodation for your fighters in a nearby barracks, but while they are resting the Empress Wu has commanded an audience with you.’
‘Now?’ Trixie looked down at her soiled and tattered combat overalls. ‘Perhaps I might be given a few minutes to-’
‘Empress Wu is very insistent that she meet you immediately. She is aware that you are a soldier and apt to be somewhat careless regarding your appearance. But your army’s presence on Coven soil has the most profound political implications, implications which must be urgently resolved.’
Trixie nodded: the Coven giving the WFA sanctuary must have sent Heydrich into a paroxysm of fury. ‘I wish Major Wysochi to accompany me.’
Wysochi grinned when he heard his instant promotion, but Trixie knew eyebrows would be raised if she insisted on having a mere sergeant as her second-in-command.
‘Is he your Preferred Male?’
‘Preferred Male?’
The First Deputy gave a condescending smile. ‘It is a Covenite term for the male a Femme allows to accompany her and provide her with certain physical comforts.’
She glanced at Wysochi, whose grin broadened. ‘Yes, Major Wysochi is my Preferred Male.’
‘Very well, but Preferred Male Wysochi should understand that he is to walk behind you and never address a Femme without being addressed first.’
The First Deputy turned and led Trixie and Wysochi from the bridge.
As the night floated past, Norma felt the air in the temple become heavier, almost syrupy. Sounds were muffled as though they were coming to her from far, far away. She felt distanced not just from the music but from reality. With every passing moment her world contracted. She seemed to be falling into herself.
As she and Aaliz Heydrich knelt face to face and hand in hand through the long night, she experienced a growing sensation that she was merging with the girl. It was almost as though she and Aaliz were beginning to inhabit the same body… the same consciousness… the same soul.
She saw a bead of sweat trickle from Aaliz’s brow and felt the identical one course over her own forehead.
In an apathetic sort of way Norma sensed the tempo of the ritual become more frenzied. The rhythm of the unrelenting music was becoming faster, the stench wafting from the incense burners more pungent, and the ululations and the cavortings of Crowley and his adepts more fervent. The cavern was heavy with magic, and inside the pentagon strange and nebulous forms manifested themselves.
Ghosts and spectres… the Intangible… floated… through the thickening air, their gossamer fingers drifting over… through Norma and Aaliz. The Spirits had come, and their coming announced that the moment of Transference was imminent. There would be no time for anyone to rescue her now.
From what she had seen of balloon rides on television, Ella had thought them to be tranquil, calm, almost beatific experiences, with the balloonists drifting high and silent in a sun-kissed sky. But as she quickly discovered, balloons were in fact noisy affairs, with the wicker basket and the cordage creaking and groaning, and the fabric of the balloon rippling and flapping in the wind.
The balloon stank too: the dubbing that waterproofed the canvas canopy had a rancid smell. And all the while the Winter blizzard that swooped around the basket pushed and pummelled the balloon, making it slip and slide through the air in an unsettling way, as though she were riding a pendulum. It was also bitterly cold floating around in the night sky, so cold that she was forced to duck down beneath the side of the basket to get away from the freezing wind.
She didn’t stay there long. The noise, the smell, the cold and the continual swaying of the basket in the air currents meant that they had barely floated a couple of miles from the Balloon-O-Drome before she was obliged to get back to her feet to retch over the side of the basket.
‘Good shot,’ observed Rivets. ‘There’s a coupla thousand of them ForthRight soldiers below us an’ now one of ‘em’s got a faceful of vomit.’
Ella wiped her mouth and then – cautiously, she hated the way the basket tipped when she shifted her weight – peered down to the ground below. In the darkness it was easy to see the lanterns the ForthRight Army had placed to light their way along the newly opened Hub spur of the Trans-ForthRight Railway. The flickering snake of trains coiled and twisted along the railway line that connected the ForthRight with Hub Bridge Number 4.
No… not Hub Bridge Number 4. They were advancing towards Hub Bridge Number 2!
A frown creased her brow: the ForthRight Army was going the wrong way. All the trains and the steamers and the marching soldiers were advancing in the direction of the Quartier Chaud.
‘The ForthRight’s attacking the Medis,’ she gasped and even as the words tumbled out of her mouth she realised that that was what she hadn’t been able to read in Crowley’s mind the last time they’d met. Somehow Crowley’s – Heydrich’s – duplicity had been hidden from her and PINC.
But how? And why?
Vanka shrugged. ‘Doesn’t surprise me: Heydrich’s a crafty sod. All that stuff he fed Baron Dashwood and Dabrowski was obviously moonshine. Probably just playing silly buggers to keep everybody off balance.’ He laughed. ‘The funny thing is that the non-aggression pact he signed with the Coven was probably genuine: it’ll go down in history as the only pact Heydrich ever honoured in his whole rotten life.’
‘But what about the WFA? They’ve been offered sanctuary by the Coven.’
‘I don’t think you need worry too much about them: by the look of things there’s been some hard fighting in the Ghetto.’ He pointed to the smudge of flames that lit up the night in the direction of the Boundary. ‘No, I don’t think too many of the WFA are going to get out of that Hel-hole.’
Vanka was right: even from a height of – Ella guessed – two thousand feet and a distance of two or three miles, the sound of the armies fighting it out in the Ghetto was plainly audible.
