The Demi-Monde: Winter by Rod Rees Page B

SS-Ordo Templi Aryanis, Colonel Archie Clement, came to inspect the works in the late afternoon, but whilst Dabrowski had been polite enough – and had the grace to look mildly embarrassed when introduced to Trixie – Archie Clement was not. Clement, Trixie decided, was a thoroughly disagreeable and disgusting piece of work. But then, what more could you expect from a Yank?
    Clement strutted around the house and the grounds barking orders, kicking slaves and generally acting in a hugely obnoxious manner. And it was impossible to say him nay; the SS was, after all, the force dedicated to protecting the person of His HolinessComrade Aleister Crowley and, by inference, the spiritual well-being of the ForthRight. They were UnFunDaMentalism’s shock troops.
    It was fortunate that her father was, by dint of breeding and education, so adroit at handling jumped-up popinjays like Clement. As a Comrade Commissar he was used to the rough and ready manners of some of the men who populated the upper ranks of the Party.
    ‘Will you take coffee, Colonel Clement?’ her father had offered. ‘I could have it served in my study, which has endured only modest restructuring at the hands of Captain Dabrowski’s men.’
    Clement was oblivious to the sarcasm. ‘That’d be mighty choice of you, Comrade Commissar; ah’m partial to a cup of café au gore after a hard day.’
    ‘Perhaps it would be useful if my daughter, Lady Trixiebell, were to join us?’ Dashwood nodded towards Trixie, who bobbed a curtsy. ‘She, after all, has a major part to play in the drama that is to unfold in this house.’
    Ignoring the scowl from Clement – UnFunDaMentalism taught that women should confine themselves to ‘Feeding, Breeding and Menfolk Heeding’ – her father led the three of them – Dabrowski came too, much to Trixie’s disgust – through to his study and had Crockett serve coffee with a blood chaser.
    Immediately he had drained his cup, Clement began. ‘You understand, Comrade Commissar, that while the Daemon is in your care, she … it … is to be your complete responsibility.’
    This was an example of a phenomenon associated with the rise of the Party that Trixie had often heard her father complain about. Heydrich was an uncompromising Leader, quick to reward success, but equally quick to punish failure. And as the consequences for failure in the ForthRight were so draconianthere was an aversion for officers and politicians to take responsibility for any action. Given a task to do, the first instinct of anyone in the ForthRight was to make sure that if anything went wrong there was someone else to take the blame, that it was someone else who disappeared – never to re-emerge – into the shadowed depths of Beria’s Lubyanka Prison.
    Dashwood was too experienced a politician to be fooled by such a crude attempt to avoid responsibility. ‘Not so, Comrade Colonel Clement; I understood that all security arrangements are the responsibility of Comrade Captain Dabrowski. No, whilst your Daemon is here, the responsibility for keeping it here is the Captain’s. And presumably, Comrade Colonel, as you are inspecting and approving the security arrangements then you are also shouldering, at least in part, some of this honourable duty.’
    Clement shook his head. ‘Nah, all the Comrade Captain is doing is assisting you … helping you make your house secure such that the Daemon can’t escape. But the final responsibility for holding her … it … here is yours.’
    Trixie found the inability of her father and Clement to decide whether the Daemon was a ‘she’ or an ‘it’ somewhat troubling. To her mind Daemons – figments of supernatural fiction though she thought them to be – were, by definition, inhuman and therefore should be referred to using the pronoun ‘it’.
    Her father replied equitably. ‘The task I was given by Vice-Leader Beria was very clear: I am to provide an environment where the Daemon might feel less threatened