The Demi-Monde: Winter (10 page)

Trixie had never met Crowley close to before, but although he was standing swathed in shadows in the corner of the room, she recognised him. He was the man, after all, who stood at Comrade Leader Heydrich’s left hand; he was the man who presided over all the Party’s ceremonies and rites; he was the man who was head of the Church of the Doctrine of UnFunDaMentalism; and it was his UnFunnies who claimed to be leading the ForthRight towards the reclaiming of its
Aryan birthright lost by the Pre-Folk to the wiles of Lilith.

But while it was one thing to watch the man awe-stricken from afar, it was quite another to be with him in the same room. At a distance of ten feet he looked disappointingly normal: just an ordinary man in early middle age running to fat.

Despite the arrogance that dressed Crowley’s face, despite the intensity of his gaze and how dramatic he looked with his shaven head and his pointed ears, there was, Trixie decided, something weak about the man. Oh, he was tall and handsome enough in a fleshy, puffy sort of way, but he gave the impression of being less resolute than his proud, square jaw signalled. It was almost as though Crowley used his decidedly outré appearance – the shaved head and the flamboyant clothes and jewellery – as window-dressing to distract attention from the rather flimsy reality beneath.

But nonetheless Aleister Crowley was one of the most powerful and vindictive personages in the whole of the ForthRight. He was so vainglorious that he demanded his rank be acknowledged by lesser mortals – and acknowledged quickly. As one they dropped to the floor and genuflected. Crowley, a smile twitching at the side of his mouth, mimed a benediction over his audience.

‘I must apologise, Comrade Commissar, for visiting you unannounced …’ He waved away Dashwood’s spluttered protests about the honour Crowley was showing his humble house. ‘… but it behoves me to confirm for myself that everything is prepared for the arrival of the Daemon, and that the young lady’ – a glance towards Trixie – ‘charged with uncovering its secrets is aware of the importance the ForthRight places on her success.’ He flicked a careless hand to signal everyone back into their seats, and then seated himself behind Dashwood’s desk.

After he had allowed Crockett to serve him with a glass of Solution, Crowley continued his address. ‘You will all know that since time immemorial, the Demi-Monde has been visited by Daemons from the Spirit World. Some are emissaries from ABBA but most are in league with Loki, the Lord of Darkness. These disciples of Loki have sought to disrupt and subvert the natural order of the Demi-Monde and it will not have escaped your notice that in recent months these visitations have been concentrated here in the ForthRight. It is as though the Daemons sense the growing power – the growing certainty – of the ForthRight as it seeks to bring racial, political and religious order to the Demi-Monde. Such is the threat posed to the ForthRight by these troublesome Daemons that Comrade Leader Heydrich, in his ineffable wisdom, decreed that my priests bend their will to the breaching of the Mystical Integument that divides this, the physical world of the Demi-Monde, from the ephemeral Spirit World, and strike back at the Daemons.’ Crowley gave a self-satisfied little smile. ‘This we have done. But we have done more: we have lured a Grade One Daemon into the Demi-Monde.’

‘A Grade One Daemon?’ asked Trixie.

Crowley’s forehead furrowed: he obviously disliked being interrupted in mid-sermon. ‘The Daemons who entered the Demi-Monde before were little more than malevolent imps. They destroyed bridges, they incited unrest, they gave encouragement to the enemies of the ForthRight, but when captured and questioned …’

Poor swine.

‘… they were found to be empty vessels. They knew little of the worlds that lie beyond the Mystical Integument; they knew nothing of the intentions of their Dark Masters. Most were unintelligent and bestial: lowly Grade Fives of no consequence. But now …’ He paused dramatically. ‘The Daemon we have captured
is different: it is fully cogent and aware. It is, we believe, privy to the deepest secrets of the Dark Daemons and to the ambitions of their Master, Loki, regarding the Demi-Monde.’

Crowley gestured towards Crockett that his glass should be replenished. Trixie was disgusted that he should be indulging so heavily so early in the evening. Obviously the man had a huge and overwhelming appetite for blood: perhaps that was why, although he was still relatively young, his flesh had started to soften and his complexion to blotch.

‘Unfortunately our experiences in interrogating lesser-ranked Daemons are that should they be subject to coercion, they become dysfunctional; it is as though their minds switch off. That is why we have determined on this new policy in which you, Lady Trixiebell, will have such a key role.’

Trixie felt every eye in the room turn in her direction. She fidgeted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. ‘I am always ready to do whatever is necessary to help the ForthRight and to do the Leader’s will,’ she said, mouthing the words her father had made her memorise.

‘Excellent. But put your mind at rest on one thing, young lady: this Daemon, though duplicitous and conniving, is not physically threatening. It has manifested itself in the shape of a young woman and there is no record of a Daemon ever transmogrifying itself whilst in the Demi-Monde. There is no risk of you being confronted by a Daemon in its true and horrific guise.’

Well, that’s reassuring.

‘But whilst there is no physical threat to your person, Lady Trixiebell, there is, I regret to say, a spiritual threat. The natural inclination of a Daemon confronted by a human is to try to corrupt their soul. Daemons are great deceivers. Make no mistake, Lady Trixiebell, this creature will attempt to fox you,
to persuade you that it is not what it truly is. That is the one thing you must continually be on your guard against: feeling sorry for the Daemon. As you know, Lady Trixiebell, the aiding and abetting of a Daemon is one of the greatest of all sins against UnFunDaMentalism, so you must harden your heart against its trickery and its perfidy. You have been chosen, Lady Trixiebell, because you are a Pragmatist, because you are, by inclination, a RaTionalist.’

Crowley held up his hand to still the gasp of protest that came from Trixie’s father. ‘Calm yourself, Comrade Commissar, it is not my intention to chastise Lady Trixiebell for her doubts. As I myself have noted, the Key of Joy is disobedience. It is the role of the young to be dubious of the teachings of their elders: the young are inclined to be impetuous.’ He smiled at Trixie and she was amazed to see that Crowley’s canine teeth had been sharpened. The man, she decided, must be totally mad. ‘I am confident,’ he continued, ‘that the proto-RaTionalist that is Lady Trixiebell Dashwood will emerge from her communion with a denizen of the Spirit World a changed woman, perhaps even as a candidate for the SisterHood.’

Over my dead body.

‘But on a more practical note, it will be important for you, Lady Trixiebell, to record everything you discuss with the Daemon and to note down everything, no matter how trivial, the Daemon says. It is also vital that you adhere to all the security arrangements that Captain Dabrowski has put in place: it is imperative that the Daemon is not allowed to escape or to be rescued.’

‘Rescued?’ asked Dashwood.

‘You should be under no illusion as to what a prize you will have living with you, Comrade Commissar Dashwood. This Daemon possesses the secrets of the world beyond ours, and so
it is almost inevitable that other Daemons will seek to rescue it. And then, of course, there are the more prosaic temptations the Daemon presents to our fellow Demi-Mondians. The Daemon is possessed of blood and it is not beyond the realms of possibility that Shaka’s Blood Brothers will attempt to abduct the Daemon in order to drain it.’

The thought of the Dashwood Manor being assaulted by a Zulu HimPi made Trixie shudder. Maybe, she thought, the presence of Captain Dabrowski and his Checkya detachment wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

‘You have fifteen days. In fifteen days we will hold a reception, here in the Dashwood Manor, to present the Daemon to Comrade Leader Heydrich and by then it is necessary that it is both docile and cooperative.’ Crowley turned to Captain Dabrowski. ‘Now, Captain, I would be grateful if you would release the Daemon from the steamer parked outside. It is time Lady Trixiebell met her companion.’

Area of Tension #1, Population Density:
The OutSet density of population of the Demi-Monde
^®
is almost 70,000 persons per mile
²
, which comfortably exceeds the figure of 60,000 persons per mile
²
believed by sociologists to be the maximum density sustainable in an urban milieu without the disintegration of discipline and the breakdown of law and order. As a consequence it is confidently predicted that post-OutSet the AntiSocial Behaviour Quotient (ABQ) registered in the Demi-Monde will accelerate, leading to social unrest, to violent disorder on a mass scale and, ultimately and inevitably, to the outbreak of inter- and intra-Sectorial war.

– The Demi-Monde® Product Description Manual: 14 June 2013

‘You want me to go to hell?’

‘Perhaps that’s a somewhat melodramatic way of putting it,’ admitted the General, ‘but in essence the answer is yes. We want you to enter hell. We want you to enter the Demi-Monde.’

‘Enter?’

‘We want you to become a Dupe in the Demi-Monde.’

Ella guffawed. ‘Look, General, I don’t wanna rain on your parade but you and the Captain have just finished telling me
how the Demi-Monde is mean as catshit and twice as nasty, and now you’re offering me the chance to mix and mingle. Pardon me if I give a big no to that offer.’

‘There is just one more … wrinkle I should explain before we discuss how we see you being able to help us, Miss Thomas.’

The guy must be hard of hearing.

‘As Captain Sanderson has explained, the design team led by Professor Bole was charged with raising the inter-Sectorial disharmonics evident in the Demi-Monde such that at least two Sectors would always be at war. Therefore it was felt necessary to promote intense competition between the Sectors, to have them vie for possession of a scarce commodity that they were desperate to possess. In the Real World this might be the control of oil deposits or water resources but the Professor here was more mischievous in his choice of commodity: he chose blood.’

‘Blood?’ Ella asked, nervously wondering where this question would lead.

‘We programmed the Dupes that inhabit the Demi-Monde so that they had a craving for blood,’ the Professor explained. ‘We made it so blood to the Demi-Mondian is like heroin to an addict, the only difference being that they can’t go cold turkey. Without blood they die in a fortnight.’

Ella stared at the Professor wide-eyed in disbelief. ‘Are you saying that everybody in the Demi-Monde is a vampire?’

The Professor gave a disdainful laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Vampires indeed! There is nary an extended canine nor an aversion to daylight in the whole of the Demi-Monde. No, better to say that Demi-Mondians have a requirement for a dietary intake of at least ten millilitres of blood each week. Most of them take it mixed with alcohol, which they call Solution because it provides, literally, a “solution” to all their cares and worries.’

‘But where do they get the blood from?’

‘Oh, that was very simple to organise. There are a number of Blood Banks in the Demi-Monde and each week the DemiMondians are credited with twenty millilitres of blood. What they don’t consume they can save, trade or convert into cash.’

‘I don’t understand, Professor,’ protested Ella. ‘If they only need ten millilitres and they are being credited with twenty, how can blood be one of your disharmonics? There’s an over-supply of the stuff.’

‘Ten millilitres is the absolute minimum a Demi-Mondian needs to survive: they crave much, much more. They can survive on ten millilitres a week but they don’t find it much fun.’

Ella eyed the Professor carefully. ‘I hate to be obtuse, but so what?’

‘Unfortunately there was a programming error.’ The Professor ignored the glare this admission provoked from the General. ‘Whilst the Dupes inhabiting the Demi-Monde crave blood, they don’t actually have any blood … not in their bodies, anyway. But whereas the Demi-Mondians are bloodless, ABBA programmed those visiting the Demi-Monde – the General’s neoFights – to have their full quota of five litres of virtual blood… blood that on the Demi-Monde black market is worth a fortune.’

‘Ah …’

‘Ah, indeed. The Demi-Mondians took to hunting down our soldiers – or Daemons as they call them – capturing them, strapping them to a drip and then milking them of enough blood to keep them docile but not enough to kill them. Their human POWs became not so much milchcows as blutcows.’

‘Jesus, that’s horrible.’

The Professor nodded. ‘Unfortunately it was not as awful as
the realisation that if we unhooked the POWs from their connection to the Demi-Monde without them having “returned”, so to speak, they would be left here in the Real World as vegetables. Remember that for our neoFights the Demi-Monde is the only reality: they are completely unaware of the existence of the Real World. The last thing we wanted was a grunt getting drunk in the Demi-Monde and spilling the beans to any locals in earshot that they were only a piece of digital mapping. That sort of SNAFU wouldn’t be helpful to maintaining the integrity of the simulation.’

‘We have tried to amend this by giving neoFight officers some partial recall …’

‘Protocol 57,’ interjected the Professor but the General ignored him.

‘… but as this is a facility available only to officers we won’t burden you with it. Suffice it to say that for those unfortunate neoFights captive in the Demi-Monde, to bring them out prematurely would mean that though their bodies would be with us, their minds would be lost in cyberspace. They have become, in the parlance of the Demi-Monde, the Kept.’

‘Let me get this straight. You sent men into the Demi-Monde and they were captured by Dupes?’