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I looked
back over my shoulder at the man I thought
was Will Shakesplay, the man who in fact
was none other than Sir Brandon - the
Vulture! His mocking laughter still rang
loudly in my ears as I was dragged by his
four henchmen back out along the darkened
corridor through which I had entered only
minutes earlier. Their firm grips on my
arms held me almost suspended between
them; my feet peddling in the air trying
to make solid contact with the floor.
Every now and then I'd kick out at the
legs of the men, but my attempts to trip
them were futile and went completely
unnoticed.
"Zenoria's Whore House?"
the wizened old man guarding the stage
door entrance asked. He grinned a twisted
smile as one of the burly men carrying me
confirmed the destination they had been
told by Sir Brandon to take me to. I
stared helplessly at the old man, my eyes
imploring him to intervene and set me
free, but he just stood aside and watched
as I was rushed out into the darkened lane
way beside the Newington Butts
theater.
Once out
in the street I desperately tried breaking
free from the grips the men had on me, but
it was useless. "Help me!" I cried,
frantically trying to explain my plight to
an ale-sodden sailor who had stumbled out
of the Chandler's Inn right in front of
us. He squinted through his bleary,
jaundiced eyes and then peeled his lips
back in a broad, toothless grin. He
started to dance a little jig, tripping
and stumbling as he raised an arm in a
pantomimed performance of valor - a Knight
about to rescue a maiden in distress. But
one of Sir Brandon's henchmen pushed him
aside by his forehead and he fell as
easily as if he'd been knocked by a
feather. He was still laughing loudly as
he dropped in a crumpled, urine and ale
stained heap of arms and legs on the
ground.
We
rounded the corner beside the Inn and
stepped up into the foyer of a smoky den.
A woman dressed in nothing more than a
white satin whalebone corset and bloomers
stood casually in the doorway, smoking a
cigar and adding to the red illuminated
haze of the smoke already inside. She
nodded at the Sir Brandon's men and let
them past without questioning anything. By
now I was in such a state of panic I could
do nothing but stare back mutely at the
woman. The licentious wink she gave me
with one of her mascara encrusted eyes
made my skin crawl.
I was
half-carried inside to a small room just
off to one side of the entrance hallway.
Under different circumstances I might have
been enthralled by its oriental decor; the
plush red and gold Persian carpets on the
floor; the exotically printed wallpapers;
soft flickering candlelight through red
tinted, paneled glass lanterns. It was in
this room I was finally allowed to stand
although the hulking presence of the Sir
Brandon's four henchmen remained
semi-circled around me to prevent my
escape from the room.
"We have
another one for you, Madam Zenoria," one
of the men said on the arrival of a buxom,
apple-shaped woman. Forthright in front
and outright behind...
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