The Demi-Monde: Summer (47 page)

The first of the attackers swatted the vial contemptuously aside, his blade shattering the glass. That was his undoing. The acid spat out in a foul-smelling mist which enveloped all three of the vampyres, and as the vapour touched their faces and their bare arms it began to rend the SAE from their bones. Dong E, as she watched stupefied from behind the bench, saw their bodies begin to melt. The pain suffered by the vampyres must have been incredible but, to her astonishment, they uttered not one sound. Ravaged and flayed though they were, they carried through their attack.

The swipe of the sword from a vampyre managed to slice across her right thigh, but then the acid took its toll and the creature folded to the ground. As it lay trembling and shivering on the floor of the laboratory, Rivets came out of his fugue and kicked the vampyre squarely in the mouth, sending three fangs skittering over flagstones. Then, as it writhed and groaned, he took the chance to stomp his heel onto its throat. There was a rattle and then it stopped moving.

Now, as a second vampyre hurled itself at her, Dong E drew her pistol and pumped three shots into the thing’s chest. The vampyre staggered, recovered, and then its sword pistoned towards her. But even as she prepared to receive the killing
strike, Rivets leapt between her and the blade, taking the thrust square in his guts. He staggered, but had enough strength to poke his Bulldog into the vampyre’s mouth and pull the trigger. They might not have been using silver bullets, but Dong E doubted even a vampyre would come back at them after having half its head blown off.

‘Out, out! The shots will bring the guards!’ she heard the woman shout and the third vampyre, its face distorted by acid and fury, reluctantly did as it was ordered.

As the door slammed behind them, Dong E turned anxiously to Rivets who lay crumpled on the stone floor, all the colour having drained from his face and all the strength from his body.

‘I’m a goner, Dongie,’ he gasped. ‘Time for you to scarper.’

‘I cannot leave you, Rivets-san …’

‘Don’t be daft … you gotta … them LessBien tarts will be ‘ere in two shakes ov a nanny goat’s tail. I’ve ‘ad it, Dongie.’

‘I beg you … do not die, Rivets-san.’

‘Don’t fret abart me, Dongie darlin’. Scum like me ain’t worth no tears. Gor … I’d die a thousand times for you an’ then some. I love you, Dongie …’ The boy shuddered, gave her a thin smile and then was gone.

For long seconds Dong E knelt with the head of Rivets cradled in her lap, tears streaming down her face. It was unbelievable that someone as tough and as resilient as Rivets could be dead. But even as she knelt there with head bowed, she could hear whistles sounding from beyond the laboratory and this was what finally persuaded her that she should go. Closing Rivets’s eyes, she laid his head gently to the ground, rose unsteadily to her feet and bowed, her voice trembling with emotion as she said her last goodbyes. ‘Noble Rivets-san, great warrior and true friend. I return your love and I swear on this love, should I come safe through this night, to honour your memory and to make such offerings that your soul will come safe to your ancestors.’

With a final bow to Rivets, she limped over to the safe and rifled through the contents. There were poor pickings: just a bulky file of papers which Dong E assumed must be valuable, otherwise Dr Ptah wouldn’t have been so keen to protect them in the safe. She took a box of matches from her pocket and fired them all, then stumbled towards the laboratory door, hobbling for all she was worth on her wounded leg.

Lucrezia Borgia dragged the pain-crazed Chazaqijal across the courtyard, hurriedly searching for a place to hide before the Amazons came to investigate the sound of the shooting. And as they went, she tried to make sense of what had just happened. She had seen a scruff of a boy and a slip of a Chink girl defeat the three Grigori sent by Crowley to help her, Grigori who Crowley had confidently stated were unbeatable in combat. And it was
how
they had defeated them that had given her palpitations. The Grigori had melted!

‘What now, Comrade Chazaqijal?’ she asked.

The Grigori looked frightful. Half of his face was gone, pared down to the bone, and one eye had been reduced to a weeping red ball. As he spoke, he winced in pain. ‘I cannot allow myself to be defeated by such … nonentities.’

His grumbling was interrupted by a ripple of explosions that ripped the Fermentation Plant asunder. Flames leapt skywards, turning night into scarlet-tinged day. But even as she cowered away from the heat and the fury of the blast, Borgia’s mind whirled. The Plague weapon was no more, destroyed by Burlesque Bandstand, and now it would be impossible for the Coven to defeat the ForthRight. Empress Wu was finished and it was time for her to take control of both the situation
and
the Coven. There could be no more doubt or delay. She had to act. Tonight would begin the reign of Empress Borgia.

‘Then, Comrade Chazaqijal, you must wait here and attack
them when they emerge from the laboratory. But you must do this alone … I have other priorities.’ And with that she disappeared in the direction of the postern gate.

When Burlesque thought about it later, all he could remember was the vaguest recollection of being thrown across the hall oh-so-very-slowly. It was as though he was moving, rolling and tumbling in a great tub of hot treacle. Time for Burlesque slowed. He heard the huge bang when the bomb – the
bombs
, rather: the other five had exploded in sympathy – had detonated and then … nothing, everything went silent. He had the vague sensation of his hands – which he’d somehow managed to raise to protect his face – and his hair burning. He watched in a disinterested fashion as his trousers caught fire, as one of his boots was blown off …

Then, abruptly, as though a switch had been thrown, everything speeded up. A wall came towards him in a rush and with a sickening, bone-shaking bang he was slammed into it. It was a hard, hard landing. The wind was knocked out of him and as he felt his head bang into something unyielding, a jagged scream of light flashed before his eyes. And then everything went black.

He must have been knocked unconscious, but it could only have been for a second or two. When he came to, he found bodies crashing around him and debris raining down from the ceiling. He tried to curl into a ball, but the weight of a dead NoN lying across his legs prevented him moving, so he was forced to watch helplessly as roof girders, shaken from the ceiling by the explosion, began to spear down, smashing to the ground. But although he could see, he couldn’t hear much: the explosions seemed to have done for his right ear. Yet burnt and half-deaf though he was, Burlesque took comfort in the realisation that he was still alive. He might be racked by pain,
he might be covered in a patina of dust and vaporised SAE, but he was alive.

Tentatively, carefully, he tried to move his body, testing it for broken bones. His right wrist was busted for sure but miraculously, except for that, a splitting headache and a skinned arse, he seemed in remarkably good shape. After much pushing, kicking and cursing, he freed himself from the NoN, staggered shakily to his feet, blinked his eyes gingerly, trying to wash away the grit and the grime, and looked out into the hall. He could hardly see anything; although some of the gas mantles were still alight, the air was heavy with a thick, choking dust. But what he could see told him the Fermentation Plant was no more. The bombs had destroyed everything.

Everything apart from one of the Amazons. He saw her advancing towards him with a sword in her hand and murder in her eyes. He knew he was dead meat: with his gimp arm he wouldn’t be able to use his sword to defend himself.

That was when he was suddenly aware of a soiled and stained Odette standing beside him, holding out her hand. ‘I’ave no more of the bullets,
mon cheri
, so I would be mostly obliged to ’ave the use of your sword.’

Like a man in a trance, Burlesque drew his sword from its scabbard and handed it to his woman.

Burlesque’s sword, cheap and clumsy though it was, had a satisfying heft in Odette’s hand, and the deadly practicality of the blade seemed to clear some of the fog from her bomb-shocked mind. She turned to face the Amazon, crouching down as she did so in her favoured fighting stance, but even as she pirouetted on the ball of her right foot, she winced in pain. The ankle was sprained, but that was the least of her problems. There was a numbness radiating out from her left shoulder where she had been hit by a flying brick, and the paralysis
seemed to be drifting down along her arm, making it difficult for her to balance herself properly. And balance, she knew, was the most important thing for any sword fighter.

‘Stand aside,’ snarled the Amazon as she pointed her sword towards Burlesque. ‘It is unseemly for a Femme to defend such offal. Have you no respect for your gender?’

Odette dragged a sleeve across her eyes, trying to free them of dust. ‘Know this, mostly ‘orrible Amazon lady, I am Odette Aroca and thees ees my man, Burlesque Bandstand. For ‘im I will fight to the last of the breaths, so to kill ‘im you must first of the all kill me.’

Yeah, she was buggered if some Amazon would kill her beloved Burlesque without a fight. She shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it, then, as best she was able, she tried to relax herself, setting herself poised ready to receive the attack from the Amazon.

The soldierFemme came at Odette in an untidy rush, her contempt and her hatred making her careless. With a strength developed from hauling meat to and from her market stall in Paris, Odette blocked the woman’s roundhouse slash with a casual flick of her own blade, steel snarling on steel, a parry that matched the Amazon’s own strike for speed and power. The ease with which she fought off the cut gave her opponent pause and now the Amazon was warier, circling her more cautiously, searching for a point of weakness.

Watching her, Odette tried to ignore the pain hammering in her head and the numbness seeping insidiously along her left arm. She made herself concentrate only on the Amazon’s blade as it danced back and forth.

The lunge the Amazon made was lightning-fast and Odette only managed to avoid the razor-sharp point by a hair’s breadth, jerking her chin away as the sword whisked past her face. But the effort was almost her undoing. She was pushed onto her
back foot and although she instinctively made to compensate for the move by stretching out her arm for balance, her arm refused to obey. Caught off balance, she staggered, and seeing her opponent’s guard falter, the Amazon was on her, her sword flashing in and out as she sought to end the duel.

The power of the onslaught was simply incredible. It took all of Odette’s strength to parry the blows and even as she was forced to retreat, she could sense her strength ebbing away. It was desperate work: her left arm was now almost useless and she could feel the cold starting to spread across her chest and along her neck. In a matter of moments she knew she would be helpless to defend herself.

So she attacked, hewing her blade at the Amazon’s face, aiming for her eyes, driving her back, trying to ignore the ache in her sword arm and the scorching light that shot before her eyes. Her blade flashed and slashed, as she tried to cut through the Amazon’s guard, making her retreat, the Amazon rattled both by the ferocity of the onslaught and by Odette’s raw skill. Encouraged, Odette marshalled all her remaining energy for one last attack, but groggy from her wound, she failed to see a broken wooden beam beneath her feet. She tripped, sprawling to the hall’s floor.

And as Odette tumbled, with a triumphant shriek the Amazon was on her, slicing her sword down. Only by a miracle was Odette able to parry the strike, sparks flashing off the blades as the impact of the two swords sent judders of pain shuddering along her arm. She rolled away, then crab-crawled as best she was able out of reach of the next inevitable strike. She knew she was done for.

Then Burlesque attacked.

He blindsided the Amazon by springing at her from behind, wrapping his one good arm and both his legs around her, gouging at her eyes with his fingers and biting down on her
neck. He grappled hard and he had surprise on his side, but it did no good. The Amazon lifted a hand behind her, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hurled him away as though he weighed nothing at all.

And as she did so, Odette, still on her knees, lanced Burlesque’s sword into the girl’s belly. The soldierFemme buckled and the colour drained from her face.

‘No …’

Odette hauled the blade out of the Amazon’s body and watched as she slumped to the ground.

But even as she knelt gasping and spent, Burlesque limped over to her. ‘Yous gonna stay there all fucking night, Odette,’ he panted as he woggled a finger in his ear, ‘or is we gonna ’ave it away on our toes before them LessBiens come and see wot a fucking mess we’ve gone an’ made ov their factory?’

Dong E staggered out of the laboratory into the panicked chaos of the Castle. The explosions that had done for the Fermentation Plant had persuaded the hundreds of Femmes and screaming NoNs who lived in Hereji-Jo Castle to run for cover, but as none of them seemed to know where ‘cover’ might actually be, mayhem had ensued. The fortunate thing was that in the confusion no one seemed remotely interested in her.

Thinking how she should make her escape, she remembered hearing the vampyre talking about a postern gate and horses, so she turned south, skirting the Castle’s walls, searching for this mysterious way out. She knew she had to hurry, realising that soon someone would take control of the situation, but her wounded leg was painful, so despite her best efforts she made only slow and tortuous progress. When she eventually found the gate she was nigh on spent, but, after shoving her way through the ivy blocking the gate, her spirits were revived when she found the horses tethered in a small copse of trees a
hundred metres beyond the Castle walls. Dong E had never been so happy to see a horse in her life, which was remarkable given that she had never ridden before in her life. Fortunately, the nag she clambered aboard was tractable.

Chazaqijal hung back in the shadows. There were now so many Amazons milling around the courtyard in front of the laboratory that if he stepped away from his hiding place he would be immediately spotted as an interloper and in his damaged condition even a Grigori such as he would not be able to fight off so many opponents.