The Demi-Monde: Summer

Book 3: The Demi-Monde

by Rod Rees

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure

Synopsis

Welcome to the Demi-Monde: a computer-created steampunk horror-pit of a virtual world, ruled by history's choicest psychos! Eight thousand years ago the Deluge destroyed the empire of the Lilithi, setting the race of super-warriors known as the Grigori loose in the outside world. They have lain hidden until now when - thanks to the creation of the dystopian virtual reality that is the Demi-Monde - they at last stand ready to achieve mastery of the Real World - and to cull HumanKind in the Final Solution. Three girls stand between them and victory: Norma Williams, trapped in the nightmare that is the Coven, the viciously misandric Sector of the Demi-Monde; Ella Thomas, enslaved by the spirit of Lilith-come-again; and Trixie Dashwood, consumed by her hatred for Heydrich and his evil ForthRight.

Release date: December 20, 2012

Publisher: Jo Fletcher Books

Print pages: 576

Sample

1 November 2018

I have been asked to report regarding the difficulties currently being experienced with the Demi–Monde Project and the impact these difficulties might present vis–à–vis the achieving of the Final Solution.

As the Grand Council knows, using the world’s first quantum computer, ABBA, an engine of immense processing power, we have developed the Demi–Monde, the most sophisticated virtual world ever conceived. Recognising that such an ambitious undertaking would be extraordinarily difficult to conceal – especially as it involved the clandestine accessing of DNA data – we chose to disguise the Demi–Monde’s true purpose by persuading the US military to adopt the simulation as a training ground for their neoFights.

Using this subterfuge we have populated the Demi–Monde with thirty million digital duplicates of living people – Dupes – six million of whom possess the genetic signature identifying them as proto–Grigorian. In the five years since the initiation of the Demi–Monde Project these Dupes have been subject to intense conditioning, notably regarding their appetite for blood and their living in a high–stress environment. The final step in producing the desired level of genetic mutation will however require them to be exposed to a level of Cavoritic radiation similar in magnitude to that experienced during the meteor strike of 1795, and, as it has proved impossible to fabricate Cavorite in quantity in the Real World, to achieve this intensity it has been necessary to recreate this singular element virtually in the Demi–Monde. To this end a Cavorite (or Mantle–ite, as it is known in the Demi–Monde) reactor – the Great Pyramid – has been built in the region of the Demi–Monde known as Terror Incognita. Unfortunately the triggering device – the Column of Loci – designed to activate this reactor has been waylaid by the Dupe known as Ella Thomas.

Ella Thomas was introduced into the Demi–Monde ostensibly to rescue Norma Williams, the daughter of the US President, herself lured into the Demi–Monde to prevent the US military closing down the Project. To ensure this rescue mission failed, we made strenuous efforts to have a wholly ineffectual individual selected for the task, but as we have belatedly discovered, Thomas is a Lilithi, the most powerful and dangerous enemy of the Grigori. During her sojourn in the Demi–Monde the girl’s dormant Lilithian abilities were resuscitated, and thus empowered she has taken control of Venice, her intention now being to ally Venice with NoirVille (the vehemently misogynistic Afro-Arabic Sector of the Demi–Monde), such a move having the potential to fundamentally change the Demi–Monde’s politico–military status quo. But worse, Venice is also where the Column of Loci is being held, the upshot being that Ella Thomas (or Doge IMmanual as she is now known) has control of the Column, a wholly unacceptable situation.

(En passant, it should be noted that the one positive aspect of the rise of Ella Thomas is that her relationship with the Dupe known as Vanka Maykov, a glib Russian psychic, seems to be over. Maykov was seen as a disruptive influence in the Demi–Monde but now it appears he has been forced to flee to the JAD, the homeland of the Demi–Monde’s faux–Jewish diaspora, the nuJus.)

Compounding these difficulties, Norma Williams has also proven to be more capable than her Real World reputation had led us to expect. Aided and abetted by Burlesque Bandstand, an amoral petty criminal, and Odette Aroca, a truculent French dissident, she has been proselytising the virtues of non-violence and passive resistance, a philosophy known as Normalism. This has had an unsettling effect on the Dupes inhabiting the Demi–Monde, though now Williams has been abducted by Empress Wu and taken to the Coven (the rabidly feminist Sino–Japanese Sector of the Demi–Monde) it is hoped that her baleful influence has been terminated.

Finally, I must report my disappointment with Reinhard Heydrich, the PreLived Singularity (über–psychopath) seeded into the Demi–Monde to take control of the world on our behalf. Despite his early promise (his taking control of two of the Demi–Monde’s five Sectors to form the Anglo-Russian empire known as the ForthRight being a prime example), of late he has faltered. This is most marked in his failure to motivate the team of scientists we have provided him with to perfect the Plague weapon which is so vital to the successful implementation of the Final Solution, an incompetence also signalled by his StormTroopers being discomfited by the rebel aristo Trixie Dashwood in the Battle for Warsaw. As Dashwood has now been appointed head of the Covenite army, it is hoped that Heydrich is more effective in his handling of her during the forthcoming invasion of the Coven by the ForthRight.

I acknowledge that a superficial perusal of the above could lead to the conclusion that the setbacks suffered by the Grigori have been many and grievous, but this is not the case. Progress in the Real World has been rapid. Aaliz Heydrich, the daughter of Reinhard Heydrich, has replaced Norma Williams here in the Real World, the Fun/Funs organisation she established goes from strength to strength, and arrangements for the Gathering, the bringing together of all the Fun/Fun members and their parents – the individuals the proto–Grigorian Dupes were based upon – in order that they might be genetically reprogrammed, are well in hand. And with respect to the situation in the Demi–Monde the Grand Council should be aware that I will be personally intervening in the affairs of that virtual world to ensure that remedial action is taken to resolve the minor reverses we have suffered. This being the case, I most strenuously request that the Grand Council does NOT see fit to order a Temporal Modulation to retro–remedy the situation: as we have learned to our cost, the finessing of Temporal Modulations is very difficult and it may be that rather than alleviating the situation it serves only to exacerbate it.

In sum, I do not believe there has been any material impact on the timetable set for the Final Solution which proceeds inexorably towards the planned execution date of 30 April 2019.

I remain Your Humble Servant,



Professor Septimus Bole



Of all the opponents of HerEticalism, perhaps the most dogged and the most troublesome has been the SheTong, a rebel group which seeks to overthrow Her Divine Majesty Empress Wu; subvert the One True Religion, HerEticalism; and prevent Demi-Mondian Femmes entering the glorious state of MostBien. The SheTong is led by Su Xiaoxiao – former concubine of that arch-paternalist and enemy of all Femmes, the pigEmperor Qin Shi Huang, may his soul roast in Hel – a demented and unbalanced Femme unable to throw off the shackles of the specious sociocultural misogynist construct that is heterosexual sex. All members of the ChangGang Security Force are urged to make every effort to locate and destroy Su Xiaoxiao – who has been classified as the Coven’s Public Enemy Number One – and her pernicious and destructive organisation.

Circular to all Officers of the ChangGang Security Force signed by Imperial Secretary, NoN Mao ZeDong

Those who would kill must nurture patience.

Su Xiaoxiao waited.

Serene.

Silent.

Still.

Standing formless as smoke, merging into the emptiness of the night.

All her will was concentrated on gauging the correct moment to move. And to do this, she had to have perfect control of her Qi, channelling the energy of the Living until she became one with the Nothingness. As she had been trained, she regulated her breathing, slowing the beat of her body clock, allowing wu wei – the effortless inaction of the enlightened soul – to suffuse her mind and her body. She felt herself relax as her body remembered that the harder one tries, the more resistance one creates for oneself.

And as she always did before battle, she found comfort in the words of her great mentor, Sun Tzu.

The Superior Warrior imitates the cobra and lies motionless until the time of striking.

So she stood, swathed from head to toe in her skin-tight black silk shinobu shzoku, invisible in the darkness, indifferent to the monsoon rain that pummelled down on her, oblivious to everything but the study of her prey, waiting until the Amazon turned her back. She was wise to be cautious: the soldierFemme was a dangerous adversary, tall and powerful, her oiled musculature arrogantly displayed by the sleeveless pink jerkin that announced her to be a soldier of the Fifth Legion of Amazons, one of the best fighting units in the whole of the Coven. But this strength, which made Amazons such formidable soldierFemmes, was also their weakness.

Beware hubris: overconfidence makes a warrior contemptuous and contempt of an enemy is the first step towards defeat.

The Amazon turned. Now she had her back to them.

This was the moment. In one fluid motion Su Xiaoxiao adjusted her black scarf – her tenugui – so that it covered her face. Now when she moved out of the shadows, only her eyes were uncovered.

Like a black ghost, she drifted through the darkness, avoiding the oases of light spread by the gas lanterns that lined the alleyway, avoiding the puddles of rainwater that patinated the cobbles. She knew to be careful; though they had seen only this one sentry, there might be others. Soon there would be war with the ForthRight and, in anticipation of an invasion, Rangoon’s docks had become a military zone, swarming with soldiers day and night as the Coven prepared to resist the onslaught of the ForthRight army.

A sudden movement by the Amazon caused Su Xiaoxiao to flinch back into the night-shrouded safety of a door well, motioning her three kunoichi to do likewise. Still as statues, they stood watching as the Amazon moved towards them, rattling the gates of the warehouses as she walked, checking that everything was secure. Satisfied, she began to stroll – blithely negligent of the fate awaiting her – along the alleyway towards the spot where Death was hiding.

Fifteen metres.

Ten metres.

Five metres.

With a touch to the fighter’s shoulder, Su Xiaoxiao signalled that the Amazon should be eliminated by Mochizuki Chiyome, her deputy in the SheTong. The girl’s black-bladed tant sighed out of its scabbard and for an instant the short steel blade of the knife shimmered in the moonlight. Then Mochizuki oiled forward. A moment later there was a barely audible gasp as she made a kubi strike, her tant piercing the Amazon’s throat, simultaneously killing her and preventing her from crying out. The soldierFemme crumpled to the cobbles, and Mochizuki dragged her flaccid, lifeless body deeper into the darkness.

The enemy must be dispatched swiftly and without feeling. Terrible surprise is the way of the SheTong.

Wait.

Listen.

Nothing.

The killing had gone unnoticed. There were no shouts of warning, no alarms being sounded, nothing to indicate that a soul had passed to the Nothingness. An uncaring world was oblivious to the death of the Amazon, the only sound accompanying her demise being the distant grumble of the early morning traffic moving through Rangoon’s docks. Confident now that no one stood between them and their objective, Su Xiaoxiao ushered her fighters forward and together the four of them crept towards the Anichkov Bridge, their footsteps deadened by the thick crêpe soles of their black canvas boots. And as she stole along, Su Xiaoxiao glanced up towards the Moon, gauging the time. Soon the boat bringing Norma Williams from the WarJunk would be landing in Rangoon and then, for a brief moment, she would hold the fate of the Demi-Monde in her hands. Soon she would decide if it was the destiny of the Demi-Monde to embrace Yin or Yang, darkness or light, salvation or destruction, good or evil. And just for an instant she felt that terrible responsibility resting heavy on her slim shoulders as she remembered the words of the Epigram the iChing had cited in answer to her question as to whether Norma Williams was indeed the true Messiah.

The Flood comes,

Irresistible.

To wash clean the wounds

Sustained by the warrior.

But beware, just as water supports the boat

So in its fury it may swamp it.

Water is the giver of life,

But oft-times

It is the bringer of death.

Yes, the Flood – the Messiah – approached, and her coming heralded the Time of the Cleansing but there were many who would seek to thwart her, many who would seek to kill her. She was the delicate flower that had to be shielded from the harsh winds of hatred and the savage frosts of ambition. That was the responsibility ABBA had charged Su Xiaoxiao with: to protect the Messiah … and then to plunge her back into harm’s way. A paradox, but such was the Way.

Reaching the end of the alleyway, she paused. She could see the deserted warehouse where she and her fighters would wait for the arrival of the Messiah. Now all they had to do was cross the wide and crowded Maha Bandoola Street unchallenged, a task fraught with danger. Even though it was after midnight, Rangoon’s docks bustled; steamer lorries puffed and panted along the road bringing coal to the huge and ominous WarJunks that rocked low and brooding at their moorings; horse-drawn carts dragging artillery pieces rumbled along, the carts’ metalshod wheels snarling and clacking on the cobbles as they made their way to the redoubts that were being built so hurriedly along the banks of the Volga River; and coolieNoNs pushed handcarts laden with boxes of ammunition, their wooden clogs click-clacking as they went. A coffle of slaves covered from head to toe in mud shuffled grumpily along, making their sleepy way back to their barracks after a long day spent digging trenches. And through the whole muddle darted rickshaws bearing officerFemmes and their painted geishas, the rickshaws ducking and weaving through the maelstrom of traffic that had crammed itself into Maha Bandoola Street.

But most dangerous for Su Xiaoxiao and her kunoichi was that everywhere there were hundreds upon hundreds of pink-jacketed soldierFemmes marching to take up their positions in the fortified buildings, in the redoubts and in the already flooded trenches, ready to repel the expected assault of the ForthRight Army.

She took a deep breath, reminding herself that at midnight few people were fully awake, most minds were fogged by fatigue or by Solution, then slipped out of the shadows and raced as fast as she could across the street. By the Grace of ABBA, she and her fighters reached the darkness of the opposite side unnoticed and unchallenged. There they settled down in the warehouse to wait. But even as Su Xiaoxiao unslung her M4 and checked its magazine, her eyes were never still, they continually flicked back and forth searching the night for danger.

The Superior Warrior always expects the unexpected.

And then kills it …

Whilst I applaud the work of the Fun-Loving Fundamentalists – or, as most people call them, the Fun/Funs – in helping to ameliorate the drug addiction that is rife amongst America’s teen population, I remain deeply suspicious of both the organisation and its methods. Sure, the Fun/Funs’ Get-Me-Straighter Meter has achieved miraculous results in freeing addicts from their habit, but the question remains: what else is being altered when the GMS Meter is connected to an addict’s brain? Sure, Norma Williams talks persuasively about being ‘inspired by God’, but what is her ultimate ambition? Sure, ParaDigm CyberResearch has been generous in funding the Fun/Funs’ work, but is ParaDigm’s largesse entirely selfless? Until these questions have been satisfactorily answered, the jury is still out as to whether the Fun/Funs are a force for good or for evil. But let me tell you a secret: my money is on it being the latter.

‘No Fun at All: An Enquiry into the Murky World of the Fun/Funs’: Odette Aroca, The New York PollyGazette

Oddie had no idea how many people were trying to get into the Plaza to hear Norma Williams speak that evening but it was a lot. Tens of thousands of them, in fact, and as the Fun/Funs seemed determined to log the names of everyone wishing to attend the jamboree, there was a bottleneck of mammoth proportions around the auditorium’s gates. But finally, after judicious use of her elbows and boots, Oddie managed to squirm her way through the chaos to the front of the queue. There she was faced by a line of Fun/Fun volunteers seated at a long bench table who, as best she could judge in the confusion, were intent on scanning the dog tags – the ID dockets that everyone wore to confirm they were a bona fide citizen of the USA – of all would-be attendees into a Polly.

She nearly baulked. She had an instinctive reluctance to having her dog tag peeped; the government knew enough about her without her volunteering information.

But even as she stood debating how to avoid being scanned, there was a surge in the tide of people pressing behind her, and she found herself being rammed up against the table and staring into the face of a guy possessed of too many zits and not enough hair. What he had though was a Valknut badge which signalled that he was a Fun/Fun … that and an attitude.

‘You got an invitation?’ the volunteer yelled at her. The noise of the crowd was deafening.

‘No, I thought everyone was welcome.’

‘Yeah, they are. It’s just that so many people have shown up that we can’t let them all in. Fire regulations. So, no invite, no entry.’

Oddie wasn’t in the mood to be given the go-by: Norma Williams and her Fun/Funs had the makings of a big story and she was determined it would be her big story. ‘You gotta be pulling my chain. I’ve just spent an hour being crunched up and touched up while I waited to get to the head of the queue, so don’t hit me with all this “you can’t come in” shit.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Fuck that, where’s your boss?’

‘Look, honey, it won’t do any good.’

Oh yes it will. Oddie knew from experience that making a loud and very public demonstration of unhappiness was a great way of coercing any organisation into doing things her way. The squeaky wheel was the one that got the grease.

She raised her voice. She had a big voice, but then she was a big girl. ‘Don’t fucking “honey” me. And dig this: either you get your boss over here or I’m gonna lean across this table and shove that Polly so far up your ass you’ll be spending the next week scanning the back of your fucking teeth.’

‘Wot seems to be the trouble?’

A big guy in a ‘The Fun/Funs are a NonAddictive Substance’ T-shirt, speaking with an English accent, and wearing a name tag that read ‘Burl Standing’, sauntered up alongside the spotty volunteer. His eyes met Oddie’s.

Kismet.

They stood and watched Norma Williams perform together, side by side at the edge of the stage. And it was a performance. Oh, it might have been billed as ‘An Opportunity to Hear about the Fun/Funs’ but in reality it was a rally where Norma Williams could be worshipped by her disciples.

She’d seen pictures and PollyCasts of Norma Williams – but then who hadn’t? – and had prepared herself to be disappointed. But she wasn’t. Sure the girl was smaller than she seemed on the Polly, but then all celebrities were smaller in real life. She was, though, prettier than Oddie had expected and the white lace dress she was wearing was short enough to show off her famously fine legs and tight enough to describe her famously fine curves. And her mass of blonde hair – backcombed to within an inch of its life – flared like a halo around her head when she stood in front of the lights that illuminated the centre of the stage.

But small, beautiful and perfectly formed though Norma Williams was, these attributes were as nothing when compared with the force of personality she radiated. Just standing there acknowledging the cheers and the wild applause of the ten thousand people packed into the hall, Oddie knew Norma Williams was a real, bona fide, twenty-four-carat Star. She had met a load of ‘PollyCelebrities’ in her time as a stringer for The New York PollyGazette and with only a few notable exceptions she had been totally underwhelmed. But just occasionally she had met one possessed of that most elusive quality, charisma. These were the true charismatics … they had ‘It’.

And Norma Williams had ‘It’ in truckloads. So much so that all the carefully choreographed lighting and stage backgrounds and all the music accompanying her arrival on stage were unnecessary. She was one of those rare individuals who could walk unannounced onto a bare stage and still dominate the theatre and her audience.

The problem Oddie had with people possessed of ‘It’ was that invariably they were complete and utter bastards who believed it was their God-given right to be treated as ‘special’. Oddie had the sneaking feeling that Norma Williams would be a mega-bitch.

‘Ain’t she wonderful?’ yelled Burl into her left ear, giving her a nudge for emphasis.

‘Yeah, wonderful.’

And unbelievably fucking dangerous.

Norma spoke for just fifteen minutes, long enough to give what she said substance but not long enough to bore. Like the good performer she was, she left her audience clamouring for more. And it had been an interesting speech as it contained two new announcements of Fun/Fun policy. The first was that the use of the Get-Me-Straighter Meter would be extended outside the USA, with certain selected operatives visiting England, Germany, Russia and the Ukraine where they would free a million unfortunates from their addictions. The second was that in six months there would be a ‘Gathering’ in the Nevada desert when all the Fun/Fun converts and their parents would be invited to commune with God and to give thanks for their deliverance from addiction.

The speechifying at an end, Norma took a moment to stand centre stage bowing and waving. Not that Oddie paid much attention; she was distracted by the need to check that her Polly had recorded the girl’s performance correctly, and as a result, didn’t notice that Norma Williams had come to stand slap-bang in front of her. It was only then that she realised what a big duke Burl was in the Fun/Funs. Even the hyper-nervous security guards were wary of him, and whilst they bustled everyone else backstage away from the girl, they left Burl – and Oddie – where they were.

‘So what did you think, Burl?’ Norma asked as she towelled the back of her neck.

Oddie almost laughed at how artfully it was done. Using the towel gave the girl an excuse to raise her arms, which in turn caused her short dress to rise even further up her thighs and to press even harder across her tits. She was playing her looks and sex appeal for all they were worth, and from the expression on his face Burl was mesmerised by this little exercise in coquettishness.

‘You wos wonderful, Norma, really wonderful. You wos great.’

The girl beamed her thanks and then nodded towards Oddie. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Burl?’

‘Oh, yus, ov course: this is Oddie. Oddie, this is Norma Williams.’

The two girls shook hands. ‘“Oddie”?’ asked Norma.

‘It’s short for Odette, my parents are French.’

‘And your surname?’

‘Aroca,’ she answered and it was then that she realised that Norma hadn’t released her hand.

‘Aroca …’ Norma murmured, taking a moment to digest this piece of information. ‘I’ve been told about another girl called Aroca. She’s an enemy of my father.’

‘Not me, Norma, I’m a great admirer of the President. I believe him to be a real beacon of liberty in the world. What he’s doing to roll back the PanOptika Surveillance System is vital if we’re to have a free and fair society.’

Norma frowned and released Oddie’s hand. ‘Of course … that father.’

That father? Weird.

She smiled a bleak, empty smile that sent trickles of fear skipping down Oddie’s spine. ‘I have a different view of surveillance, Miss Aroca. I am of the firm opinion that surveillance is vital if we are to ensure the security of our great country and to protect its citizens from terrorists, malcontents and other enemies of the state. Only those who have something to hide – something criminal, antisocial or which transgresses the word of God – object to surveillance; good people have nothing to fear. As ParaDigm’s advert says: PanOptika watches out for the good guys by watching out for the bad guys.’

‘I think you’re wrong, Miss Williams—’

Oddie didn’t get to finish, being interrupted by a very flustered-looking aide thrusting a piece of paper into Norma Williams’s hand. For several long silent seconds she examined what was written there and then looked up to study Oddie very carefully. ‘You’re a clever girl, Miss Aroca, perhaps even a little too clever. My aide has just interrogated ABBA and been advised that you’re a reporter for The New York PollyGazette. The Gazette has been somewhat antagonistic towards the Fun/Funs so I’m not inclined to prolong this conversation.’

‘Maybe you should, Miss Williams. Maybe you should try to convert a Doubting Thomas – or even a Doubting Oddie.’

‘I find people possessed of your degree of entrenched liberalism, Miss Aroca, incapable of seeing the light.’

‘Or perhaps it’s your arguments that are suspect. Maybe it’s not me who can’t see but you who can’t convince.’

Norma Williams’s lips contracted into a thin, angry line. ‘I think you should go now, Miss Aroca.’ She turned to Burl. ‘Get this girl out of my sight and don’t ever, ever, bring someone who hasn’t been pre-vetted near me again. Do you understand, Burl?’ The way the colour drained out of Burl’s face indicated that he understood very well indeed.

‘Jesus, I ain’t never seen her so mad before. You should’ve told me you wos a reporter. Norma ‘ates reporters.’

They were sitting in a Bubble Bar a couple of blocks down from the Plaza. Oddie had chosen it because each of its tables was equipped with a ‘bubble’ guaranteed to defeat eyeSpies and hence allow those sitting at the table to talk confident that their conversation wouldn’t be the subject of cyber-eavesdropping. Her philosophy was that when you were intent on pissing off a company as powerful as ParaDigm CyberResearch, you could never be too careful.

‘I told ‘er that it wos all a mistake, that you got in because you wosn’t scanned properly.’ Burl took a swig of his beer. ‘Anyways, I guess that’s my trip back to London down the tubes.’

‘London?’ asked Oddie with an encouraging smile.

‘Yus, I was gonna be part ov the delegation taking the Get-Me-Straighter Meter to England. There wos to be five hundred ov us going an’ we each had to save a thousand addicts. We’ve got their names on a list.’

Oddie felt her journalistic antennae starting to twitch. ‘How could you have their names?’

‘Dunno,’ said Burl with a shrug, ‘but we ‘ave. The badges ‘ave been made for ‘em and everyfing.’

‘Badges?’

Burl dug inside his shirt and pulled out a small circular medallion that he had hung around his neck on a silver chain. ‘This shows that you’ve bin saved from addiction.’ He leant across the table so that Oddie could get a better look.

The medallion was a simple affair with a Valknut – the emblem of the Fun/Funs – embossed on one side and a symbol of a hand embossed on the other. ‘What’s with the hand?’

‘It shows that Jesus has held out his loving hand to you and you’ve had the courage to grasp it. We’re told that we’re never to take it off.’

As she peered at the medallion, Oddie was suddenly conscious that her face was only inches from Burl’s. ‘I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much trouble, Burl.’

Burl’s big blue eyes blinked. ‘Don’t matter … I like you.’

‘I like you too, Burl,’ and with that she dipped her head forward and kissed him.



Copy of PigeonGram message sent by Josephine Baker, 1st day of Summer, 1005

Senior Prelate de Sade, the Supreme Head of the Church of IMmanualism, gazed out over the crowd packed into the Sala, a crowd comprising the haute-monde of Venice, all of them waiting expectantly – reverently, almost – for the newly crowned Doge IMmanual to speak. With great difficulty de Sade stifled a smug smile of satisfaction: these, after all, were the same bastards who just a few months ago had reviled him, ridiculed him and voted for him to be exiled from Venice. But now …

Now he was the second-most important person in the whole of Venice, outranked only by Her Most Reverend Excellency, Doge IMmanual I. Now all these arrogant swine had to bend their knee to him.

When the death of Doge Catherine-Sophia had been announced there had never been any doubt as to who would ascend the throne: the people wouldn’t have accepted anyone other than the Lady IMmanual, not after the Miracle of the Canal. Recognising inevitability when they saw it, the Council of Ten had hurried through the paperwork and now, less than twelve hours after the death of the previous incumbent, Doge IMmanual was firmly in control of Venice.

De Sade turned and bowed to the new Doge, signalling that it was time for her to address the crowd.

The girl rose to her feet and stepped towards the front of the stage. In acknowledgement of the importance of the occasion she had chosen to wear a diaphanous silver robe that showed off her wonderful body – all her wonderful body – in a quite splendid fashion.