Page 50 of Across Space and Time

After another short distance, the hands holding him adjusted positions again. “There is a chair right behind you. Please sit. You will be able to remove your blindfold shortly.”

Hugh carefully lowered himself into the chair. It felt like a simple wooden chair with a high back, though there were arms, which he was slightly grateful for, considering he could still not see much. He rested his forearms on the arms of the chair to steady himself as he waited, listening to the sounds around him. He could hear the soft crackle and sputter of gas lamps and the shuffle of feet. A few murmured voices, most of them giving similar instructions to what the voice had given him, directing people into chairs and offering polite reassurances. He inhaled, trying to see if there were any distinct smells. The air was warm and a little stale. He could smell perfume and other odors from those around him, the faint smoky smell of the lamps, but nothing else leaped to his mind immediately.

Someone cleared their throat, and then Mr. Green was speaking again. “Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen. You may remove your blindfolds now.”

Hugh reached up and slid his quickly off without untying it, glancing around the room. It was brightly lit with covered sconces, but there were no windows anywhere. The room they were in was large, the walls made from some sort of stone. He was not familiar with what they might be, but they looked quite old and rough-hewn, as if they had been carved. It was yellowish sort of stone that helped to make the room seem brighter than it was with the flickering lights.

The people he had been sitting with in the back room of the pub were now all seated in chairs as he was, arranged in a crude semicircle. Standing for them to be able to see him was Mr. Green, giving them all that friendly smile. Hugh quickly glanced around but did not see Reardon amongst the people. “We have some refreshments for you, and then I shall explain the evening’s affairs.”

Several people stepped forward, wearing black outfits that looked as if they might be servant uniforms of some sort, their eyes shaded with black domino masks. Each of them held a silver tray, upon which were glasses of champagne. Each person was handed a glass. Hugh gave it as unobtrusive of a sniff as he could, but he couldn’t smell anything beyond the bubbles.

“Please, drink up,” Mr. Green said after the last glass was handed out. Nearly everyone brought their glass to their lips. Hugh followed suit but did not open his mouth, letting the buzzy liquid brush over his lips but remain in the glass as Mr. Green began to talk again. “You all are here at the behest of our esteemed guests to serve as entertainment for the night, for which you and your employer, if you have one, have been compensated for. You will be given costumes to wear, and then we simply ask you to follow the whims of the guests.”

“Oi, they ain’t allowed to hurt us, is they?” asked a woman to Hugh’s right.

“Some of our guests have special tastes,” Mr. Green said. “But you may decide if you will be a willing participant.”

Hugh had heard enough police interrogation double-speak to know that Mr. Green had not said ‘No’ to the woman’s question, nor had he said that they would be allowed to deny a request from a guest, only that they could decide if they would be willing or not. His stomach tightened a little.

“Once our guests have been satisfied, you will be returned home,” Mr. Green went on with that same friendly smile. “Now, if you will please finish your drinks, ladies to the right, gentlemen to the left,” he said, gesturing to two archways where the black-clad servants waited with the trays to collect the glasses.

Hugh debated not drinking the champagne and just handing the glass back still full, but if they required him to drink it, they would be watching him much more closely, so he had to make the liquid disappear now. A swish around his mouth so his breath smelled of alcohol would probably be enough. He lifted his glass again. The champagne hit his tongue, the bubbles tickling. It would be so easy to swallow, and he could see how it would be quite tempting for the prostitutes to want to drink to help dull whatever was going to happen, but he forced himself to just hold it in his mouth for a few moments before he tipped the glass back down, letting the liquid flow out of his mouth and back into the flute. He glanced quickly around to see that the servers and the man in charge seemed to not be looking directly at him, too distracted by those already getting to their feet to head into the other areas. He lifted the glass to his mouth and upended it as if getting the last of the liquid inside, but instead he tipped the glass so the champagne flowed down his left cheek, down his neck, and over his back to slowly soak into his shirt. The bubbles tingled on his skin, and he swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand to try to clear away any obvious signs of it on his face. The room was warm; he hoped that the liquid on the back of his shirt would simply look like sweat.

He rose to his feet. Morris, the little redhead, was sitting a few chairs away and seemed to be waiting for him. Hugh felt his stomach clench again. The boy looked so nervous. He rose to his feet and nodded at him. “Come on,” he offered. Morris scampered to his feet and moved to his side like a quivering hare. Hugh gave him an encouraging smile. “It will be all right.”

Morris nodded, and he set his empty glass on the tray the server held out. Hugh set his own empty glass down too, then turned to hurry out of the gathering room and through the archway so no one would see the champagne on his clothes. Morris followed at his heels.

Down a short, lit passageway they walked to another room that was full of changing screens, upon which were draped bits of fabric that Hugh at first thought were decorative, until he saw another young man step from behind the screen with nothing but a silky, violet-colored loincloth hanging in front from a thin, gold chain around his waist. His backside was bare. He had no other clothes on except for the purple drape. Hugh felt his cheeks warm. Next to him, Morris let out a squeak. “Is that what we’re supposed to wear?”

Another of the black-masked servants gestured to a nearby screen. “Yes. Right this way, sir.”

Morris cast a glance back at Hugh. Hugh gave him a weak smile. “It will be all right.” He hoped to any deity that he was not lying to the boy.

Morris retreated behind the screen, and the servant gestured to another one. “You may leave your current clothes back there, they will be returned to you at the end of the night.”

Hugh nodded and stepped behind the screen. The things he was willing to do to solve a mystery, he thought to himself as he stripped off his waistcoat and shirt, putting the shirt on the bottom so no one would see the damp patch of champagne there. He slid off his boots and socks, then his trousers and undergarments, leaving him without a stitch of clothing on. He picked up the violet garment, which had a clasp with an adjustable gold chain to go around his waist. The purple garment was silky and at least hung past his knees, so he didn’t feel quite so exposed. At least in the front. The air on his bare back, legs, and buttocks was more than a little disconcerting. Jack would probably have a good laugh at him when this was all over.

He stepped out from behind the screen. As he did, he started to feel a little dizzy. He steadied himself and tried to focus on the nearest wall. The wall seemed wavery all of a sudden, like it was the edge of the river Thames. The candles flickered, and Hugh thought for a moment that one of the candelabras at the corner of his vision had started to twirl. He turned his head, but the candelabra was as still as it had been. But the movement was spreading now, the shadows getting bigger, stretching, starting to consume his vision. He turned to look again, and the world suddenly flared brightly. He raised a hand to his eyes, his limbs suddenly feeling like they were filled with lead.

“Hmm, hit this one really fast,” he heard a voice say, and suddenly there were several pairs of hands closing around him. He looked around, but the movement made his vision turn blurry. He groped out, trying to steady himself. “Easy there, we’ve got you,” said the unfamiliar voice. Hugh felt his feet leave the ground and the world tip at an odd angle. There was a mess of black around him, blacker than nighttime against the yellow gleam of the sconces and the walls. He felt himself moving, though by what means he could not tell. And then everything went oddly silent and dark.

Chapter fifteen

Jack didn’t like being separated from Hugh. They didn’t know these people or what they were capable of. What would happen if it was discovered that Hugh was a policeman? Nothing good, of that he was sure.

After he left Hugh at the door of the pub, Jack had donned his mask in a rather useless attempt to hide his identity, before he headed to another pub that was listed as the meeting place on his invitation. He was ushered into a waiting single-person coach that took off into the night. He wished Hugh was still next to him, but with their different roles to play, he had to trust that Hugh would be all right without him for the time being.

The coach traveled for about twenty minutes down London streets, the horse clip-clopping along the cobbles, until it pulled to a stop in front of what appeared to have once been a grand theatre but was now dilapidated and abandoned. Hardly the place for any sort of fantastical festivities, Jack thought, wondering if perhaps he and Hugh had already been made, and he had been taken to this solitary location to be questioned or murdered. They would not have him so easily as that, if that was to be the case.

The door was opened by the coach driver, who doffed his cap at him. “Here you are, sir.”

Jack frowned, sliding out of the carriage. “There appears to be no one here.”

“Inside,” the driver said, pointing a finger as fat as a sausage to the lobby doors. “Go into the auditorium, you’ll be given instructions there.”

Ah, just the sort of thing a secret cult might say. Or perhaps a suspicious assassin. Jack wasn’t sure which it was yet, but standing here in the dark was not going to get him anywhere.

Another carriage suddenly pulled up behind the one he had just exited, and a man in a dark suit with a cape and top hat similar to his own stepped down from the carriage and held out his hand. A woman with red ringlets alighted from the carriage after him, dressed in a beautiful yellow gown. Both of them wore masks in a similar style to Jack’s. The man tipped his hat at Jack. “Evening.”

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