The Demi-Monde: Winter (43 page)

Now the eyes that Trixie Dashwood fixed on Ella were empty, emotionless … just as Heydrich’s had been. She wasn’t particularly enamoured of the way Trixie kept fondling the butt of her revolver, either.

‘And how do you propose to perform this miracle?’ asked Dabrowski.

Vanka took a long draw on his morning cigarette. Cigarettes were now in such short supply that he was rationing himself to three a day – one in the morning, one in the afternoon and one in the evening. As far as Ella was concerned it was one of
the few good things to have come out of the Uprising. ‘With the help of Miss Thomas here, I am intent on buying blood on the black market. I have some experience in trading illicit blood and I believe, given the correct financial inducements, it will be possible to buy sixty thousand litres of blood from the Blood Brothers and have it shipped to Warsaw. As I understand it there are three million people trapped here in Warsaw so sixty thousand litres is two weeks’ supply.’

‘Two weeks …’ sneered Dabrowski.

‘Much can happen in two weeks,’ interrupted Trixie. ‘The other Sectors might have a change of heart … anything. We should listen to this man.’

Dabrowski scowled. ‘And how much will this miracle cost?’

‘Blood is currently trading for one hundred guineas a litre on the black market,’ explained Vanka.

‘Six million guineas!’ gasped Dabrowski. He turned to Ella. ‘You know, Miss Thomas, I am disappointed in you. I expected something a little more imaginative from a Daemon. Isn’t the buying of blood on the black market a little prosaic – a little unDaemonic – for someone like you? I would have thought that you would have come to me to tell me you were planning something utterly fantastical like rolling back the Boundary Layer to let all us poor beleaguered Varsovians escape into the Great Beyond.’ He started to laugh. He sounded almost hysterical. ‘But then again, I suppose your purchase of blood is equally farfetched. We don’t have six million guineas. Warsaw is almost bloodrupt.’

Vanka gave a careless wave of his hand as though six million guineas was a mere bagatelle. ‘Miss Thomas here has access to certain funds which will comfortably accommodate such an outlay. She will act as your blood donor.’ No one laughed at the quip, the subject was far too serious for that.

Ella saw every face in the room turn in her direction. ‘Yes, I can secure the six million guineas.’

‘You? But you’re just a girl,’ said Dabrowski contemptuously.

Ella refused to be insulted. ‘Girl or not, Colonel, you better believe me when I say I can raise the money. If the WFA can seize back control of the docks for long enough to unload the blood from the barges, then Vanka and I can organise its delivery.’

‘How long would you need at the docks?’ Trixie asked.

‘Five hours,’ answered Vanka.

‘Impossible,’ retorted Dabrowski.

‘Not impossible,’ corrected Trixie quietly. ‘It’ll be costly in lives but my regiment can do it. We’ll give you your five hours.’

‘This is ridiculous. This is also much too good to be true!’ objected Dabrowski. ‘What, may I ask, will you get out of this transaction, Colonel Maykov? As I understand it you are not a man famed for his charitable works.’

‘The WFA’s help in having myself, Miss Thomas and Miss Williams escape from the Ghetto. I have to get to the Berlin Sector to negotiate the delivery of the blood with one of Shaka’s lieutenants.’

‘And then?’

‘Then the three of us will travel to NoirVille.’

Dabrowski laughed. ‘So now I understand. We are being bribed: you promise us blood and we get you out of Warsaw.’

‘In a nutshell: yes,’ agreed Vanka as he took another irritatingly casual draw on his cigarette.

‘And once you’re out of the Ghetto what’s to stop you just high-tailing it to NoirVille and forgetting about us?’

‘Nothing. You’ll just have to trust me … us.’

‘Ridiculous!’ spluttered Dabrowski. ‘I cannot allow the Daemon – Miss Williams – to leave the Ghetto. It – she – is the
last bargaining chip I have with Heydrich. If I surrender the Daemon I am sure that the Leader will be inclined to be more lenient.’

‘Loath as I am to contradict you, Colonel Dabrowski,’ came the calm voice of Trotsky, ‘but my own assessment is that the time for surrender is long gone. No matter what we do now, Heydrich will still destroy the people of Warsaw. We’ve resisted him and given his SS a hiding. He can’t allow us to live, because alive we’re a permanent reminder to the rest of the Demi-Monde that once people fought to keep their independence. This young man may be a little … raffish but his idea has merit. If we surrender, Heydrich will shoot us all. If we can hold out for just a few more weeks, then there is a chance.’

For over a minute Dabrowski sat in silence as he weighed his decision, then finally, reluctantly, he acquiesced. ‘Very well, Vanka Maykov, we will give you the opportunity to work your magic.’

‘Great,’ muttered Norma, ‘I’m out of this shithole at last.’

Ella wondered how Norma would react when she learnt how Vanka was proposing they get out of Warsaw. At least it would take her mind off the lice.

‘The sewers!’ exclaimed Norma. ‘You want me to escape from Warsaw by crawling through the sewers?’

Vanka nodded. ‘It is the only way. The SS are shooting anyone attempting to leave the Ghetto, and as there are twenty thousand of the bastards patrolling the walls, the chances of us slipping out that way are non-existent. The alternative, Miss Williams, is to stay here.’

‘Screw that. But what happens when we get to the end of the sewer? Where will we come out?’

‘On a scarp of the Rhine. One branch empties into the river just below the Reinhard Heydrich Bridge, the new railway bridge
that Comrade Commissar Dashwood built. The SS won’t be expecting anyone from Warsaw to pop out in Odessa.’

‘What do you expect us to do then: swim across the river?’ sneered Norma.

‘Almost,’ said Vanka casually. ‘The WFA have a few sympathisers in Odessa, one of whom has a rowing boat. At night it should be possible to scull across between the river patrols. The Anglos are well organised but that is their weakness: they are predictable.’

‘But even if they can’t see us they’ll be able to smell us. After crawling through the sewers we’ll be covered from head to toe in …’

Vanka gave a snort of impatience. ‘The time for debate is over, Miss Williams. If you do not wish to take up my offer then so be it.’

For several seconds Norma chewed her bottom lip in indecision. ‘Okay, okay, but I hope you have someone leading us who knows where they’re going. I don’t want to end up being lost in a latrine.’

‘Don’t worry on that score,’ said Trixie, and beckoned to a young girl idly smoking a cigarette on the other side of the room. ‘This is Róza, the best of all the WFA’s sewer rats.’

The girl, who couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old, tossed the cigarette to the ground and wandered across to stand beside Trixie. ‘How many?’ she asked. It seemed to Ella that Róza wasn’t a great respecter of rank.

‘The two girls,’ said Trixie, pointing to Ella and Norma, ‘and the man.’ She indicated Vanka. ‘I’ll send Corporal – make that Sergeant – Josef Zawadzski with you as escort. He’s a reliable man.’ Zawadzski preened delightedly at this sudden promotion.

‘I don’t need any escort.’

‘He’s escorting the Daemon, not you.’

The girl spat on the floor. ‘Very well. But before we go, let me spell out the rules. When we are underground I am in charge. Any arguing, especially from you’ – Róza gave Norma a hard look – ‘and I’ll leave you down there. And don’t think I’m kidding. I’ll get out alive no matter what happens; you’ll get out alive by doing precisely what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Understood?’

There were nods from everybody in the group, even Norma.

‘In the sewers no one will speak except me and you will move as quietly as you can. Sound travels in the sewers and the smallest noise can be heard a long way off. Understand that we’re not gonna be by ourselves down there: the Anglos have twigged that we’re using the sewers to move around and have started to run patrols of their own. Believe me, you don’t wanna be in a firefight in the tubes.’

She accepted another cigarette from Vanka, who seemed to have taken a shine to the girl or maybe, Ella decided, they had their dislike of Norma Williams in common. ‘Okay, next thing: it’s dark down there and people have been known to panic. Anyone who panics and starts shouting or crying will be dealt with.’ Róza patted the large knife she had scabbarded at her waist. ‘Understood?’

Everybody nodded.

‘There will be no lights used in the sewers.’

‘How will you know where you’re going if you haven’t a light?’ asked Norma, a definite quaver in her voice.

‘I count: so many steps and then left, so many more steps and then right. Final point: it’s cold down there. Spring is coming and the snow and ice are thawing. The sewers are running fast and high with melt water so make sure you’re well wrapped up and that you’re wearing strong boots.’ She looked disdainfully at Norma’s shoes. ‘Not ballet slippers: wear
those and you’ll not get a hundred yards. By the time you get out you’ll have lost all of your toes to frostbite.’

‘How far do we have to walk?’ asked Ella.

‘If we get lucky with the Anglos, just over a mile, if we get unlucky … who knows? It depends on how many diversions we have to make. The danger comes when we go under manholes in areas controlled by the Anglos. They have listening posts there and if they hear us they’ll toss down grenades.’

‘Wonderful,’ muttered Norma. ‘Are there any rats down there?’ she asked, shuddering at the thought.

‘No. The sewers are made of Mantle-ite and are perfectly smooth and perfectly round, so there’s nowhere for rats to nest.’ Róza studied Norma carefully. ‘You … Daemon, I hear you’ve got a smashed-up knee. Are you going to be able to walk a mile without it giving out? It’s tough down there and I ain’t carrying you.’

‘Don’t worry, Rambo, I’ll manage,’ answered Norma.

‘Okay. Once in the sewer we walk in a crocodile, the person behind hanging onto the belt of the person in front. That way no one gets lost and no one gets to fall. You’ve ten minutes to get ready. I’ve got some camphor here to spread under your nose: it won’t disguise the smell but it’ll give you a few moments to get used to it.’

Vanka leant forward until his mouth was next to Ella’s ear. ‘And I’ve got a big pot of lard …’

When they levered the manhole cover off there was a sigh as the noxious gas escaped from the sewer. It was so bad that Ella was forced to take a step back, which was difficult because of the three pairs of trousers Vanka had persuaded her to wear.

And then there was the lard that he had insisted she smear over her body.

She knew the lard made her smell like an oven-ready chicken but it was as nothing to the rancid stench that came out of the sewer. For a moment Ella thought she was going to hurl. It was a smell she remembered from chemistry class – hydrogen sulphide – but in this case the stench of rotten eggs was garnished by the odour of excrement.

She couldn’t believe she was going down there. She must be mad. The General hadn’t said anything about having to wade through a river of shit to earn her five million dollars.

Bastard.

Once the entrance to the sewer was open, Róza was all business. ‘I’ll go down first,’ she instructed as she made a quick final inspection of her charges, making sure that their boot-laces were double-knotted and that they were wearing gloves. It seemed faintly comical for a child to be checking on the preparedness of hulking men like Vanka and the Sergeant, but Ella was so frightened that she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. ‘At the bottom of the ladder I’ll be turning left, heading in the direction of the river.’ She pointed towards the Rhine to ensure that there was no misunderstanding. ‘You, Daemon, will come next and I want to feel your hand gripping my belt all the way. Then you will come down’ – she pointed to Sergeant Zawadzski – ‘then you’ – Ella got the nod – ‘and then you, Colonel Maykov, at the back. And remember: no talking. Our lives depend on it.’

Orders given, Róza wriggled down the hole.

Ella watched Norma and Sergeant Zawadzski disappear from sight, then it was her turn. She walked over to the manhole and taking a deep breath – which was a mistake: despite the camphor spread under her nose she nearly gagged on the foul smell – she started to climb down the ladder that had been moulded into the side of the tunnel. The sewer seemed to be
covered in a layer of slimy, slippery ooze that soaked through the leather of her gauntlets and made it difficult to grip the rungs. She was just thankful that the darkness prevented her seeing what it was that was smearing itself over her hands.

It was that dark. Not the darkness of night, not the darkness of a bedroom, but the same total, absolute, unrelenting darkness that she imagined a blind person must experience. Except for the thin light coming from the lantern Trixie Dashwood was holding over the open manhole, the sewer was a Stygian black. Ella looked down and saw the lantern’s light flickering and dancing on the water streaming below her feet. It looked like a river of thick, black treacle. For an instant she didn’t know if she could do it, didn’t know if she had the courage to enter that dark world. Sure she had PINC to guide her if things went wrong, but even that reassurance wasn’t enough to quell the feeling of panic rising up inside her. And then her foot was in the swirling water.

Fuck, it’s cold! No, not cold: it was absolutely fucking freezing.

Only with a real effort of will was she able to force herself to step off the ladder and into the water, the fast-running stream of filth maybe three feet deep, swirling up around her waist. She stood for a moment in shocked paralysis, letting her body come to terms with the numbness that was invading her legs. It was difficult to stand: the current was unbelievably strong and the curved bottom of the sewer was slick with an inch-thick layer of something indescribably horrible and very, very slippery. To make matters worse there were stones and other flotsam and jetsam washed down from the streets above banging into her legs as the water streamed past. For an instant the buffeting threatened to send her tumbling.