The Demi-Monde: Summer (25 page)

The knowledge, supplied courtesy of Machiavelli, that his every move was being watched by the Signori di Notte, necessitated his moving between his house and that of his collaborator, Michel de Nostredame, via the attic that ran the length of the ten houses making up the terrace on the northern
side of Calle del Fabbri. Only in this way would he avoid the agents standing watch outside his house.

Thankfully de Nostredame had a fortifying glass of Solution waiting for him when he emerged coughing and covered in cobwebs and dust from his journey through the attic. His friend was not alone; sitting next to him on his couch was a well-made man, sporting a tremendously bushy beard and a large and very prominent nose. The beret he wore attested to his having artistic pretensions, a surmise that was confirmed when introductions were effected.

‘Nikolai, I have the honour of introducing you to Auguste Rodin,’ de Nostredame announced. ‘Auguste, may I, in turn, present the Demi-Monde’s most eminent Future Historian, Docteur Nikolai Kondratieff.’ The two men shook hands, Kondratieff somewhat in awe of the man many regarded as the Quartier Chaud’s greatest living sculptor. ‘Auguste has agreed to help us in our little adventure, Nikolai. He is a great patriot and is as aghast as we are by the evil that has taken control of Venice and which now threatens the Demi-Monde. Like us, he believes the Doge IMmanual to be the Beast … the harbinger of the Dark.’

Rodin nodded vigorously. ‘That is true, Docteur. I have only recently fled the Medi for Venice and now I find that the evil I was trying to evade is once more snapping at my heels. The purging of non-IMmanualists in Venice has begun and the Signori di Notte are arresting those whose only crime is to not believe. Many of my friends have already been thrown into prison and I fear that it will not be long before I join them. I will do everything I can to bring justice and fair government back to the Quartier Chaud.’

‘Then let us be about it,’ said de Nostredame.

Without further ado Kondratieff laid his blueprints out across Nostredame’s cluttered table, one end of the sheets
secured by a bottle of Solution and the other by the Professeur’s pipe. Kondratieff coughed to clear his throat and then began. ‘We had thought that defeating the evil that threatens the Demi-Monde would simply necessitate the neutering of the power of Doge IMmanual – the Beast – but now her brother walks amongst us and by our calculations he is as great a threat to the peace of our world as his sister. It has fallen to Michel and myself to prevent him securing power in the Demi-Monde.’

‘How? He is guarded
very
closely.’

‘Have you heard of the Column of Loci, Auguste?’ asked Kondratieff.

Rodin chuckled. ‘Of course. As a sculptor, I am naturally fascinated by the work of the Pre-Folk. I have visited the Galerie des Anciens to view the Column on several occasions.’

‘Excellent. But what you will not know is that the Column has a key role to play in the outcome of Ragnarok, in deciding who will emerge triumphant in the final struggle between good and evil. That is the message conveyed to us in the
Flagellum Hominum
.’ With that Kondratieff drew the copy of the book from his satchel and placed it on the table. ‘The translated
Flagellum Hominum
tells us that the Column of Loci possesses great power: that it is a huge conductor of occult energy … energy stored in the Temple of Lilith
and
in the Great Pyramid. I have been advised that the Doge IMmanual intends to take the Column to the Temple of Lilith where it will serve as a means of regenerating all of Lilith’s power. It is my intention to create an imitation Column and to substitute the fake for the original. It is this ersatz Column that I will deliver to the Temple of Lilith.’

‘To what end?’ asked an obviously perplexed Rodin. ‘Surely all this will do is interrupt the Ceremony of Awakening … it will do nothing to destroy the power of Doge IMmanual or of Duke William.’

‘The introduction of the fake into the Temple when Duke William and his supporters are gathered together gives us an unprecedented opportunity to eliminate the whole pack of them in one fell swoop.’ Kondratieff tapped a long finger on his plan. ‘The imitation Column will be one gigantic bomb designed to detonate during the ceremony to be performed on Lammas Eve.’

It took a moment for the sculptor to appreciate the full implications of what Kondratieff was saying. ‘The papers say there will be four hundred people attending that ceremony. You wish me to abet you in their slaughter?’

A nod from Kondratieff. ‘It is the only way. Four hundred lives sacrificed to preserve millions.’

An ashen-faced Rodin rose unsteadily to his feet, rattling the glasses standing on the table as he did so. ‘I must have a moment … this is barbaric … I must …’ He took a gulp of Solution and then crossed the room to stand by a window. There he remained, alone and silent, for several minutes, obviously locked in confused consideration of what he was being asked to do. Finally he turned to de Nostredame. ‘Michel … we have been friends for many years … are you sure this terrible scheme proposed by Docteur Kondratieff is necessary?’

‘It is,’ replied de Nostredame firmly. ‘We have run our 4Telling program, HyperOpia, several times and the answer is consistent. We must destroy Duke William. Believe me, Auguste, both Nikolai and I take this step with the greatest reluctance. We are not murderers by inclination – far from it – but Fate would have us become so.’

‘But I am an artist, not an assassin.’

‘And I am a mathematician,’ said Kondratieff quietly, ‘and Nostredame here a preHistorian, but if we wish to preserve the Demi-Monde from evil we can no longer simply walk by on the other side. As Edmund Burke said: all that is necessary for
the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’

‘But what of Heydrich? Surely by destroying Duke William
and
the leaders of Venice and NoirVille we will simply make it easier for that bastard to take control of the Demi-Monde?’

De Nostredame laughed. ‘One tyrant at a time, Auguste. We have other plans for Heydrich.’

Rodin took a deep breath and then drained his glass. ‘Very well, I will help you.’

A relieved Kondratieff turned back to his blueprints. ‘For our plan to be successful, the counterfeit Column must be a perfect duplicate of the real one. This is the task we would set you, Auguste, to carve the simulacrum.’

Rodin walked over to the table and made a long and very close study of Kondratieff’s plans. Cogitations over, he ran a hand through his mane of hair and addressed the two scientists. ‘Technically, it is very straightforward, the major challenges are your requirements that the imitation must be a perfect match for the original and, of course, that it be hollow.’

Kondratieff said nothing, waiting for the sculptor to continue.

‘What is the timetable? When must this imitation Column be finished?’

‘By the eightieth day of Summer.’

Rodin whistled softly. ‘Difficult. If I were permitted to use my assistants—’

‘It is imperative that no one other than you knows about this work. If the Signori di Notte were to discover what we are about, then the punishment will be severe.’

Rodin nodded solemnly, acknowledging what Kondratieff said made sense. ‘Very well, I will work alone in the smaller of my two studios, the one situated on the island of Murano. I will tell everyone I am engaged in a secret work commissioned in
honour of the Doge IMmanual, a commission to be unveiled on Lammas Eve.’ He gave a wry chuckle. ‘That, at least, is the truth.’

‘There’s a harbour in Murano, is there not?’

‘Yes, but why …?’

‘We will effect the switch of the two Columns – the real for the fake – there when we are loading them into the pontoons designed to float them down the Nile.’

‘A pontoon?’

‘It’s a fancy name for a watertight steel cylinder with a keel and a rudder. The imitation Column will be sealed inside one of them so that it can be floated down the Nile to the pier on the Wheel River opposite the Temple of Lilith.’

‘It will be difficult to effect such a substitution without it being seen,’ mused Rodin.

‘Difficult, but not impossible. We will bring the
real
Column to Murano ostensibly to be fitted into the pontoon, and once it is there we will make the switch.’

Again Rodin lapsed into silence, then, ‘Whilst I applaud the audacity of your scheme, Nikolai, I would be remiss if I did not point out a failing. The Column of Loci is made from Mantle-ite and, as you know, Mantle-ite emits a green glow.’

De Nostredame laughed. ‘Have no fear, Auguste, Nikolai here has thought of everything. Inspired by the illusions perpetrated by a man called Vanka Maykov, he has found the solution to this little dilemma in the use of matches.’

De Nostredame’s second guest arrived an hour after the departure of Rodin. In contrast to the refined and thoughtful sculptor, Peter Nearchus was uncouth and unpleasant. Big and overweight, the sets of cheek scars he wore – which announced to the world that he was a HimPerialist … a
Blank
HimPerialist – making him look uglier than he was. Kondratieff disliked
him on sight … disliked him, but needed him. He was the man who had to be persuaded to build the second pontoon. Nearchus was the greatest shipbuilder in the whole of the Demi-Monde.

Once the introductions were complete, Nearchus was all business. ‘So, de Nostredame, what’s all this cloak-and-dagger stuff about? I hate coming over to Venice now that black bitch of yours is in charge. I don’t care what our priests say: it’s a violation of the sacred teachings of HimPerialism that NoirVille should be cooperating with a woeMan. By rights woeMen shouldn’t be allowed to run anything bigger than a knocking shop.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘Yeah, the only time woeMen should be in a position over Men is when they’re straddling them.’

The man, Kondratieff decided, was a pig. Listening to Nearchus, he found himself amazed that someone as disgusting as this misogynistic oaf should have been blessed by ABBA with so much talent, but ABBA was often inclined to imbue the most unworthy of Demi-Mondians with genius.

‘Yeah, I hate that Shade cunt with a vengeance. And by signing a pact with the witch, Shaka Zulu has insulted ABBA and slighted the Machismo of every one of us who calls himself a Man. It’s bad enough us allowing that nuJu scum to set up the JAD slap-bang in the middle of NoirVille without us cooperating with a woeMan. I don’t know what NoirVille’s coming to. Shaka’s going soft, losing his Cool. It’s time he handed over to someone like Pobedonostsev.’

Kondratieff said nothing: he had never fully appreciated the enmity and the hatred that existed between the Blanks and the Shades in NoirVille. But even so, the thought of that madman Pobedonostsev running NoirVille made his SAE turn cold. Maybe, though, this was a division in the HimPerial ranks that they could exploit.

De Nostredame saw the opportunity too. ‘What would you say, Peter,’ he smarmed, ‘if I was to give you a chance to rid the world of Doge IMmanual
and
Shaka Zulu?’

The piggy eyes of Nearchus settled on de Nostredame. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’

For the second time that afternoon Kondratieff pulled a set of diagrams out of his satchel. ‘We wish this built … built in secret.’

The blueprints showed the design for the steel pontoon.

‘What the fuck? I’m already building one of these. The head of the Venice Armoury – a fucking idiot called John Dixon – placed an order for a pontoon identical to this one just last week.’

‘I know,’ said Kondratieff quietly. ‘John Dixon is the man I commissioned to design the pontoon. Now we want you to build a
second
one, but to do it in such a way that no one, least of all John Dixon, learns about it.’

‘But why?’

And Kondratieff explained his plan to Nearchus and, as he did so, the man became more and more excited.

‘You’re gonna detonate this bomb of yours on Lammas Eve?’

‘Correct.’

‘And Doge IMmanual and Shaka Zulu will be attending.’

‘I know.’

Nearchus’s eyes sparkled: the prospect of the ruler of NoirVille – the
Shade
ruler of NoirVille – being eliminated was obviously a tantalising prospect.

‘What’s going to happen to the real Column?’

‘We have plans for it,’ said Kondratieff carefully, ‘plans that are no concern of yours.’

Nearchus studied the blueprints of the pontoon for a few moments. ‘Okay, I’m your man. It’s time Shaka was sent to meet his ancestors. I’ll build the pontoon in our Number Two yard,
that way nobody will twig what we’re up to.’ He looked up from the plans and studied Kondratieff intently. ‘When d’you want it for?’

‘By the eightieth day of Summer.’

Nearchus rolled up the plans. ‘Then I better not hang around here gassing.’

Kondratieff watched Nearchus go. The man had performed just as the HyperOpia program had predicted he would. Now he only had one problem to solve: finding a steamship to tow the second Column to Terror Incognita. And for the solution to that puzzle he would have to turn to Su Xiaoxiao.

It was nearly midnight when Kondratieff placed his magnifying glass to one side and spent a moment massaging the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to ease the pain that was racking his mind. He always got a headache when obliged to write in the tiny script needed for the messages to be carried by pigeons, and with a message as complex as this one, legibility was of the essence. There could be no mistakes regarding what he was asking and no misunderstanding of the importance he attached to the request he was making.

These were without doubt the most important thirty words he had ever written.

He laboured for over three hours to ensure that every minute letter of the message was crafted for clarity, but even so he wondered if Su Xiaoxiao and the SheTong would be able to do what he asked. The Demi-Monde was a world beset by war and hence the procuring of a steamship of sufficient power to tow a pontoon was an immensely difficult task. He had tried and failed to find one in Venice, and now that he was watched night and day by Machiavelli’s agents, it was impossible for him to sneak across to NoirVille to organise one there. Su Xiaoxiao was his last hope.