The Demi-Monde: 82nd Day of Winter, 1004
I regret to inform you, Comrade Leader, that my Ministry has received a communication from Venice, endorsed by Doge Catherine-Sophia, stating that until ForthRight troops have been removed from the Warsaw Ghetto all trades handled by the Rialto Bourse with respect to the ForthRight will be suspended. It should be recognised that a full ninety per cent of intra-Demi-Mondian trades are conducted through the Bourse and that almost seventy per cent of the ForthRight’s blood bonds and promissory notes are held by Venetian financial institutions. Without the loans raised on the Bourse it will be difficult for my Ministry to finance the longer-term ambitions of Operation Barbarossa. The ForthRight Guinea will also, effectively, be off the Blood Standard, which will have major – negative – repercussions in terms of its rate of exchange vis-a-vis other Demi-Mondian currencies.
– letter written by Comrade Commissar Horatio Bottomley, ForthRight Chancellor of the Exchequer, to Comrade Leader Heydrich, dated 82nd Day of Winter 1004
When, six hours later, the three of them – Rivets had insisted on coming along to protect Vanka and the ten thousand guineas he’d been promised – finally emerged, foul and stinking, through the manhole in Zapiecek Square in the centre of Warsaw’s Old Town, Ella made the silent pledge that that was the very last time she would ever travel by sewer.
This was reinforced by the experience, when she first poked her head out through the manhole, of having a rifle shoved in her face by a ragged boy who looked barely old enough to shave. That the boy had a piece of tattered cloth with the words ‘Lieutenant: WFA’ scrawled on it pinned rather crudely on the sleeve of his filthy jacket only confirmed to Ella just how desperate the plight of the Varsovians was.
‘Who goes there?’ the boy squeaked.
‘My name is Ella Thomas, and I am the girl who, if you prod me with that rifle one more time, is going to jam it up your ass and pull the trigger.’ The cold fury in Ella’s eyes persuaded the boy to back away.
‘Gor… I’m sorry, Miss Ella. I didn’t recognise you, wot wiv yous bin covered in all that shit.’ He paused as though waiting for some reaction from Ella. ‘Don’t cha know me, Miss Ella? It’s me, Lieutenant Michalski.’ He stepped as close to Ella as the smell coming off her would allow. ‘You ain’t bin down in those sewers for four days, ‘ave you? No wonder you smell so ripe.’
Ignoring him, Ella eased herself out through the manhole and spent a few minutes trying to massage some warmth back into her hands and her ass. Finally, feeling vaguely human again, she gave Lieutenant Michalski her best effort at a smile. ‘It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant, and congratulations on your promotion. I would appreciate it if you would have someone take us to the headquarters of Colonel Dabrowski. It’s vital that we meet with him right away.’
Dabrowski looked up when the three of them entered and gave a tired smile. In the few days since she’d last seen him he seemed to have deteriorated terribly: his face was gaunt and his skin the colour of old parchment. His voice trembled when he spoke. ‘Now here are some bad pennies. I never thought to see either you, Colonel Maykov, or your friend Miss Thomas again.’ He peered into the gloom towards Rivets. ‘And who’s he… re -inforcements?’ He laughed at his own weak joke. ‘So you made it, eh? I thought when I heard that you’d been ambushed in the sewers that that was the end of you. Pull up a seat.’ He nodded to three oil drums. ‘Aren’t you going to welcome our visitors, Captain Dashwood?’
Trixie stared at Ella with a look of real dislike on her face. ‘Did you organise the delivery of the blood?’
There was no point in sugar-coating the pill. ‘We organised it and I paid for it,’ explained Ella, ‘but our contact has been arrested by Beria. As we understand it, there’s no chance of the blood being delivered.’
Trixie gave the door a savage kick. A mist of brick dust drifted down from the ceiling. ‘I knew we should never have trusted a fucking Shade.’
Ella felt Vanka move closer to her: he was obviously as nervous of Trixie as she was. The girl seemed borderline out of control.
‘Please… Captain…’ the Colonel pleaded. ‘You must forgive the Captain. These have been difficult days.’ He looked at Ella and gave a wan smile. ‘You tried, and for that I am grateful. But now it is over. We lost control of the Warsaw Blood Bank to the SS this morning.’
‘How bad is the situation?’
‘We have two weeks… possibly less. There are close to three million civilians crowded in the Industrial Zone and without blood we are finished.’
‘I might have another idea,’ began Ella. ‘Another idea about how we can save the people of Warsaw.’
‘My, my, Miss Thomas, you Daemons are very devils for ideas, aren’t you?’ The sarcasm in Trixie’s voice was palpable. ‘What will it be this time? Will you use your Daemon’s knowledge of the Demi-Monde to fly all of us out of the Ghetto on winged horses?’
No one spoke, but the silence was almost audible. So far as Ella could judge, Trixie seemed to be on the brink of a nervous breakdown. The savage fighting had finally taken its toll.
‘You’re quite right to be doubtful, Captain Dashwood,’ Ella began, ‘and you’re equally correct in believing that, as a Daemon, I know things about the way the Demi-Monde works that you don’t.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It may be possible to alter the Demi-Monde so that your people can escape the Ghetto.’
‘How?’ said Trixie quietly.
‘Actually it isn’t my idea: it’s Colonel Dabrowski’s. I think I might be able to open the Boundary Layer.’
‘Oh, stuff and nonsense,’ said Trixie scornfully. ‘No one can do that.’
‘I think I can,’ said Ella simply. ‘Not permanently, but long enough for your people to escape.’
There was a stunned silence. Even Vanka seemed shocked by what she had said.
Dabrowski broke it. ‘How long will you be able to keep the Boundary open?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Ella, ‘but certainly for no more than an hour. The Demi-Monde is governed by people – by Spirits, if you prefer – who have granted me the power to make changes to your world, but these changes will only last one hour. That might be long enough to move your people out of Warsaw.’
‘Move them where?’ asked Trixie.
‘Into the Great Beyond.’
‘Absolutely ridiculous,’ she sneered. ‘We don’t know what the Beyond is like. We might not be able to live there.’
‘I think you will,’ answered Ella carefully; she didn’t want to complicate matters by mentioning PINC. ‘My understanding of the Demi-Monde is that its geography and climate are uniform: this means that in the Beyond the air will be breathable, the wood workable, the soil farmable and the water drinkable. You can see for yourself that trees grow happily there and that the Beyond is home for a great many animals: buffalo, ibex, wild pig…’
‘But what about blood?’ said Trixie scornfully. ‘No DemiMondian can live without blood.’
‘There are Blood Banks in the Beyond,’ interjected Vanka. ‘When Speke made his balloon ascent he reported seeing them.’
‘Look, Captain Dashwood,’ added Ella, ‘I’m not saying this is a perfect solution to your problems. In the Beyond your people will have no access to the goods and commodities provided by the Industrial Zone. It’ll be a pretty primitive life.’
‘But it will be life,’ said Delegate Trotsky, quietly. ‘All my people have here is the certainty of death.’ The old nuJu shifted his backside on the oil drum he was using as a seat. ‘It has long been the dream of my people that one day we would journey to the Promised Land, a place where nuJus would have a home and be free of persecution. We nuJus made a Covenant with ABBA that in exchange for our obedience to His laws He would lead us to the Promised Land. It is this Covenant that has sustained us through all our trials and tribulations. Perhaps the Promised Land referred to by the Prophets is the Beyond? Many nuJu theologians have speculated that it might be.’
Trixie gave the door another kick. ‘With all due respect, Delegate Trotsky, this isn’t the time for religious revelations or mystic prognostications. We need hard-headed RaTionalism. There are almost three million people trapped here in the Ghetto: we must be sure that they are not escaping certain death here in the Demi-Monde for certain death in the Great Beyond.’
Ella nodded sympathetically. ‘I appreciate your frustration, Captain Dashwood, but it’s no use me promising something I can’t deliver. I’m not even certain I’ll be able to open the Boundary at all. But it is a possibility and anything must be better than sitting here watching your people being pounded to death by SS artillery. And, as your Colonel has said, you have only two weeks’ supply of blood left.’
‘How will you perform this miracle?’ asked Trotsky.
‘Whilst I was in Berlin I gained access to a thing called the IM Manual…’
‘The IM Manual?’ he murmured. ‘A strange coincidence: Immanual is the nuJu Prophet our holy writings foretell will lead my people to the Promised Land.’
‘The IM Manual allows me to make alterations to the DemiMonde, but to do this I will have to get into the Warsaw Blood Bank. The only way to use the IM Manual is through one of the Bank’s Transfusion Booths.’
Trixie gave another sneering laugh. ‘Then doing that will take a second miracle, Miss Thomas: the SS have now occupied the Warsaw Blood Bank.’
‘Can you retake it?’
Trixie ran a cordite-blackened hand through her cropped hair. ‘Maybe. Temporarily. It’ll take two hundred fighters to take the Bank and to hold it. How long will you need in the Bank to work this magic of yours?’
‘Thirty minutes.’
‘Make that three hundred fighters. The problem isn’t so much fighting our way into the Bank, it’s that there will be no way we can fight our way out of it. It’ll be a suicide mission.’
‘There’s no other way,’ said Vanka quietly. ‘To give the three million people trapped in the Ghetto a chance to escape, three hundred fighters must sacrifice themselves.’
‘You’re very generous with my fighters’ lives, Colonel.’
‘Oh, I’ll be with them, Miss Dashwood, keeping an eye on young Ella here.’
Dabrowski drained his glass of Solution. ‘You’re right, of course, Colonel Maykov, but to venture into the Great Beyond is still a huge risk. Despite what Miss Thomas says, no one knows what dangers might be waiting there. It might be as inhospitable as Terror Incognita. And it will need careful planning. The settlers who go must take seeds and livestock with them, they must take tools and enough food to last them until their first harvests are in. There are a thousand and one things which must be thought of.’ Dabrowski trailed off as though cowed by the enormity of the decision he was being asked to make. He gave his head a mournful shake. ‘No… it’s not a decision I am willing to take.’
‘Then let the people choose,’ prompted Ella. ‘Ask them to vote as to whether they stay or go. That’s the democratic way.’
‘Democracy, eh?’ chortled Trixie. ‘Your friend Miss Norma Williams – the other Daemon – spoke of that. It’s nonsense. It has no place in the Demi-Monde.’
‘And what is this “democracy” of yours, Miss Thomas?’ asked Delegate Trotsky.
‘It’s a system of government where all the adults in a society vote to elect a leader or a government… or, as in this case, vote on something which radically changes their way of life.’
‘It is a ridiculous system,’ Trixie Dashwood sneered. ‘All your democracy is, is a fancy name for mob rule. How can common people know who the best leader is? How can common people know how a nation should be governed? The people must be told what to do. Your democracy is a recipe for indecision, muddle and anarchy.’
Dabrowski had no such doubts. ‘No, Miss Thomas is right. The people must be told the risks and the dangers they will be facing if they journey into the Great Beyond and the risks and dangers they face if they stay here in the Ghetto. And then they must choose themselves. It is they who must decide whether they stay or go. Yes, it is for the people to decide, not me.’
Trixie stared at him with a mixture of astonishment and contempt. ‘Colonel, I beg you, don’t do this. You cannot ask the people, you must command the people. A strong leader does not debate, he orders.’
‘Enough,’ announced Dabrowski. ‘We will put the facts before the people of Warsaw and they will decide. If they choose to journey into the Great Beyond it will be their decision, not mine.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘But the more immediate problem I have is to find a commander mad enough to take and to hold the Blood Bank.’
‘That, Colonel, is an honour I claim,’ said Trixie. ‘But know this, Shade, if you fail again and condemn three hundred of my fighters to an unnecessary death, I swear by the Spirits that my last act in this life will be to kill you with my bare hands.’
And looking at her, Ella knew she meant every word of the threat.
Even Dabrowski, who seemed to Ella to be increasingly losing touch with reality, recognised it was impractical to have all of the one and a half million adults in Warsaw gather together to hear what was needed to be said. So, following the advice of Delegate Trotsky, the word was passed around the Ghetto that every one thousand citizens over the age of sixteen should elect a Representative, and these Representatives would in turn attend a meeting where they would be advised of Ella’s proposal and have an opportunity to debate it. After this they would return to their electors to explain what they had heard. In this way, Trotsky hoped, the citizens of Warsaw could make their own informed decision as whether they would stay or leave.
With fifteen hundred Representatives to accommodate, it was decided that the meeting would be held in one of the now empty warehouses in the Industrial Zone. And it was here the next afternoon that Dabrowski took the stage before the massed ranks of the Representatives. ‘My friends and fellow citizens,’ he began, his voice so weak and tremulous that it barely reached those standing at the back of the warehouse. ‘I have called you here today in order that we may decide upon our future. I will be brutally frank with you: we have lost control of the Blood Bank and our attempts to secure deliveries of blood from outside the Ghetto have failed. We have a little under two weeks’ supply of blood left.’
That statement shocked the audience into silence: death was staring them in the face.
‘Until yesterday I thought I would be standing before you to tell you that it was time for us to surrender and to throw ourselves on the mercy of Reinhard Heydrich. But now there is a new hope, which promises an uncertain – even a dangerous – future. And being dangerous, it is a future which each and every one of you, individually, must decide to accept or to reject. We believe we have a chance to breach the Boundary Layer.’
For a moment the crowd in the warehouse was silent and then it exploded in a storm of questions. Only by slamming a wooden mallet hard onto the table he was using as a lectern was Dabrowski able to restore order.
‘I repeat: we have the possibility – and I stress that it is only a possibility, not a certainty – of opening the Boundary Layer and passing through to the Great Beyond.’
‘Is the Great Beyond safe?’ someone shouted.
‘We believe it to be habitable. We see animals roaming there, we see trees growing there, we see grass flourishing there and, most importantly, we see Blood Banks standing there. Our own legends tell us that our ancestors once inhabited the Great Beyond. So the answer, as best we can judge, is yes, the Great Beyond is safe. But we will only be able to keep the Boundary open for one hour and then it will close for ever. Once you have moved into the Beyond there will be no coming back.’ Dabrowski was silent for a moment. ‘But, of course, this will also mean that never again will you have to worry about the lunatic ambitions Heydrich has of destroying our people. It will be a new beginning.’
‘When must we make this decision?’ This question was yelled from the back of the warehouse.
‘Our intention is to try to open the Boundary Layer in two days. And I remind you, there will be no returning to the Demi-Monde: everything you will need to start a new life in the Beyond must be taken with you. Once in the Beyond there will be no recourse to the Industrial Zone. Life in the Beyond will be hard.’ Dabrowski leant against the table as though drained of energy and for a moment Ella, standing at the very back of the warehouse, thought he was going to faint. Then he gathered himself. ‘I would ask you Representatives to provide me with the names of all those wishing to travel to the Beyond within the next twenty-four hours.’
Another question was yelled from the opposite side of the room: ‘And those who choose not to go?’
‘The army will fight on. The people of Warsaw will fight on.’
‘Good old Trixie,’ someone shouted and there was a round of cheering. But most of the crowd stayed silent: they had obviously decided that certain death was not for them.