The Demi-Monde: Summer (32 page)

‘Loki’s work more like!’ and with a strength that belied her advanced years the woman pushed at one of the heavy stone gargoyles that decorated her balcony, sending it crashing to the ground fifty feet below. En route it struck Bajamonte Tiepolo on the head, killing him instantly. The sight of Bajamonte lying dead on the cobbles and the sound of police whistles was enough to persuade Marco and Badoero to take to their heels. Billy had no option but to stagger along in their wake.

‘Explain!’ the Doge shouted as she swept into the library where de Sade was working.

De Sade stood up from his desk and bowed, unnerved by the
fury that inflected the Doge’s voice. ‘It seems your brother and three of his friends went carousing last night and during the course of the evening they beat Duke Pietro Gradenigo to within an inch of his life and attempted to rape his daughter. They were only persuaded to desist when a neighbour’ – here de Sade checked his notes – ‘a Lady Lucia Rossi, tipped a large stone carving onto the head of Count Bajamonte Tiepolo, killing him outright.’

‘Damn.’

The Doge began to pace rapidly backwards and forwards across the room, wringing her hands as she went. De Sade had never seen her as vexed as this. He’d known she would be angry about what her fool of a brother had done and that was why he’d decided to delay bringing her the bad news until the morning. Somehow, though, she had found out earlier.

‘Is Duke William all right?’

Now
that
was a surprising question. The political implications of her stupid, vicious knucklehead of a brother nearly killing a member of the Council of Ten were enormous, but here she was fretting about the bastard’s health. He would never have thought that someone as cold and hard-nosed as Doge IMmanual would have cared a damn for anyone who had embarrassed her as her brother had done.

‘Yes, he is unharmed. I understand he is now asleep in his room. He was very drunk, my Doge. If I might be so bold, we must think of how to manage this unfortunate affair. It might be better to send your brother into exile: the family of Duke Gradenigo are baying for his head … they want revenge.’

‘No. He will remain here in the Palace, there will be no exile and there will be no punishment.’ She stopped her pacing and turned to de Sade. ‘I thought, First Prelate, that I had given you express instructions that Duke William was to be guarded at all times, that these escapades of his were to cease.’

‘That is so, my Doge, but unfortunately your brother is disinclined to be guarded. He likes to go on what he calls “Dupe hunts”, and to do this he uses all manner of contrivances and disguises to evade those I have set to watch him. Your brother is a very cunning individual.’

The Doge’s eyes sparkled in anger and for a moment de Sade was very afraid. He had seen her when she had fought the Grigori called Semiazaz and when she had performed in the Ceremony of the Leaping. There was no denying that the Doge IMmanual was different from other Demi-Mondians just as there was no denying that if she wished, she could snap his neck like a twig.

Thankfully, she seemed to get a grip on her emotions. ‘Very well, I suppose it is unfair to blame you for Duke William’s truancy. He’s spent his life avoiding school, avoiding work, avoiding the police and avoiding responsibility. All he likes doing is fighting, fucking and getting high. But it is essential that he is kept safe …
essential
.’

With a loud, despairing sigh the girl seated herself on a couch. ‘Come, de Sade, sit next to me. I am in need of your advice.’

De Sade swallowed. In the weeks since he had hitched his wagon to the star that was Doge IMmanual he had spent many hours regretting that decision. There was something wrong about the girl, something decidedly … frigid. Oh, she took pleasure in matters of the flesh – he had the scratches on his back to prove it – but it was as though her soul was dead. But now the die was cast, so with a smile he sat down beside the girl.

‘It is important in the days to come that I have standing by my side a man I can trust implicitly, who will not baulk when I do the things I must do to ensure the Lilithi rise again.’ She laughed. ‘You see, First Prelate, how far I trust you: other than
Prince William, you are the only one who knows that I am Lilith come again and that soon the Lilithi will be reborn. And in this matter the safe keeping of Duke William is vital.’

De Sade shuffled nervously as the girl unbuttoned his jacket, delved a hand inside and began to caress his chest. ‘May I enquire why, my Doge?’ he asked in a strangled voice.

‘You understand that Duke William is a Dark Charismatic, do you not?’

Only with the greatest difficulty did de Sade prevent himself from jumping.

‘I had suspected as much, my Doge, he has an almost insatiable appetite for inflicting pain.’

‘Yes, a lack of empathy and an addiction to cruelty are the defining characteristics of all Dark Charismatics but then you would know that, wouldn’t you, de Sade, being one yourself?’ She laughed. ‘Oh, Billy isn’t a particularly
powerful
Dark Charismatic – he’s too stupid to be that – but he most certainly is one of that foul breed.’

This candour caused de Sade’s eyebrows to arch in surprise: the girl’s tone was contemptuous. It was as though she hated her brother.

‘In my world he’d be classified as a y-Class Singularity … a low-level psychopath. All γ-Class Singularities are the same, they revel in close-up violence and torture. They like getting their hands bloodied and hearing the screams of their victims as they torment them.’

‘I understand that you regard Dark Charismatics as your enemy, my Doge, and this being the case I am at a loss—’

‘As to why I am so eager Prince William be protected?’

‘Indeed, my Doge.’

‘On Lammas Eve we will conduct the Ceremony of Awakening, when the latent powers of my priestesses will be revived. There is one thing vital if these powers are to be brought into bloom.’

‘And that is, my Doge?’

‘Blood,’ she said simply as her hand wandered from his chest and snaked lower.

‘Why blood?’ he asked as calmly as he was able, distinctly distracted by the way she had begun to unpick the buttons tethering his trousers.

‘In the Real World all the most powerful rituals of the Lilithi necessitated the priestesses drinking blood … the making of human sacrifices.’

‘Human sacrifices?’ De Sade didn’t like the squeak that seemed to have inflected his voice.

‘Yes. The Lilithi are irrevocably associated with blood. Originally we believed that blood was the divine fluid, the means by which our race memories could be passed from one generation to the next, that blood was the vehicle for the inheritance of that knowledge. Of course, as our understanding of the mechanics of heredity grew, so we came to appreciate that blood’s role in the inheritance of familial traits is trivial, but by then its symbolism was deeply ingrained in our rites.’

The Doge pushed her hand inside de Sade’s now open trousers, making it difficult for him to concentrate. Manfully – hah! – he tried to keep the burgeoning excitement out of his voice. ‘But what has this to do with Prince William?’

‘The most powerful blood that can be used in these ceremonies is that of a Dark Charismatic. And Billy being my twin makes his blood doubly potent. Therefore, Billy must be sacrificed so that the Lilithi may rise again. And that is why you must find a way of keeping him safe and docile until Lammas Eve. I am relying on you, de Sade, and if you succeed …’ She leant back on the couch, offering herself to the man.

Grand Vizier Selim the Grim had to turn away from the spyhole, disgusted as he was by the sight of a Man coupling with a
woeMan. It was a despicable, unnatural act which turned his stomach. But then, this was Lilith herself who he was spying on, and she was the woeMan responsible for all the evil in the world.

Standing there in the gloom of the secret passage, Selim took a moment to settle himself, to still the abhorrence he felt that his beloved NoirVille had seen fit to align itself with a city-state ruled by a woeMan such as this … a woeMan so addicted to the pleasures of the flesh as to be careless of the sacred vows of subMISSiveness.

But …

But the Grand Mufti had determined that Duke William was the Messiah, and Selim had been ordered by His HimPerial Majesty Shaka Zulu to protect and keep the boy safe until the time was right for him to usurp his sister. Once the secret of Aqua Benedicta was theirs then Doge IMmanual would be of no further use to them … then the True Messiah, Duke William, would be ordained as ABBA made SAE … then Doge IMmanual could be disposed of.

Selim felt his racing body-clock slow and the queasiness he had felt at being obliged to witness such an obscene act subside. He was pleased by his restraint: he had made it a rule never to allow the more choleric emotions to control his actions and tonight Doge IMmanual had demonstrated the value of such forbearance.

Of course, the Doge being a woeMan made her all the more prone to emotional outbursts and it had taken only a whisper in her ear from one of the servants who had accepted Selim’s coin to alert her to the events concerning her brother. It had been her anger at the news that had driven her from her room to search for de Sade, and it had been her anger that had persuaded her to confront him in the library where he had been working on his papers. And whilst the more private
chambers of the Palace had been carefully checked for spyholes, the library had not.

Selim had listened intently to what the Doge said, his attention particularly piqued when she had spoken of the importance to the Ceremony of Awakening of using Duke William’s blood. That the same blood ran in the Doge – Duke William’s twin – opened up many intriguing possibilities.

It was approaching midnight when the pedicab Vanka had hired to take him to ‘Club Tzatske’ – the name of the rendezvous on the slip of paper Rabbi Gelbfisz had handed him – deposited him at the end of a tight cobblestone alley. Though the rain had eased, the gutters were still awash and the cobbles slick and shiny, the alley stretching out like a ribbon of black liquorice, at the end of which, perhaps fifty yards from where
he was standing, Vanka saw a flickering blue light illuminating a sign that read ‘Club Tzatske’.

The Tzatske looked to be a real slaughterhouse, so much so that Vanka hesitated before surrendering the relative safety of the main road for the uncertainty of the gloomy alleyway. But as the alternative was to go back to his shitty little hotel room and stay there for the rest of his natural, he pulled up the collar of his coat, settled his top hat hard down on his head and, making himself look as big as he could, walked to the club.

Miraculously, he wasn’t ambushed by rippers en route.

The entrance to the club was bracketed by a couple of over-muscled toughs in tight suits, their bowler hats pulled over their eyes and cigarettes smoking between their lips.

‘Yous a
petit blanc
… a NoirVillian whitey?’ asked the taller of the two doormen without taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

Vanka nodded.

‘Yous looking for a gut time?’

‘Yeah, I’m looking to hear some jad.’

‘Good place zhis, man. Best jad in zhe whole ov zhe JAD. Beaucoup de hot.’ He winked at Vanka, who was fast becoming fed up with this particular nuJu mannerism. ‘You come to see JoJo?’

‘JoJo?’

The boy tapped a nicotine-stained finger against a poster that showed a semi-naked girl doing peculiar things with a trumpet. That she was wearing a mask, Vanka put down to an attempt to spare her family some deep embarrassment and to avoid legal action from the manufacturers of the trumpet. ‘JoJo … zhe best jad singer unt zhe best pair of tits in zhe …’

‘… whole of the JAD?’ suggested Vanka. ‘Okay, I’d like to hear JoJo.’

‘Five guineas.’ The boy held out his hand and with great reluctance
Vanka filled it with money; the JAD was getting to be a very expensive place. The boy examined the coins carefully then nodded his approval. ‘Okay. You vont drugs? Cocaine, laudanum, Dizzi?’

‘No.’

‘Yous
sure
?’ The boy seemed genuinely surprised.

‘Yeah.’

The boy tossed Vanka a dismissive glare, then nodded him through the club’s doors, signalling him to use the dimly lit stairway beyond. This Vanka did, edging slowly up the stairs, moving carefully so as not to trip on the cracked linoleum covering the steps. It was difficult in the rancid gloom to see where he was going, so he simply followed the sound of the music drifting towards him.

He reached the top of the stairs then – arms outstretched like a blind man – edged along a dark and narrow corridor until he reached a door. This he pushed open only to find the Tzatske pushing back, hitting him with a cacophony of noise and smoke that made him flinch away in disgust. Taking a deep breath, he shoved his way inside, hardly able to see where he was going, blinded and confused by the gloom, the tightly packed people and the dense cigarette smoke. How Gelbfisz’s agent was meant to find him in this bedlam he had no idea.

Like the rest of the JAD, the club had seen better days: the peeling paintwork and cracked lampshades attested to that, but what Vanka found most unsettling were the murals dotted around the place, murals that lampooned Shaka as a rampant zadnik in congress with various luminaries of the HimPerialist movement.