by Keith Dumble
THEY WERE SILENT for most of the journey, busy checking their weaponry. Flint with his revolver and knife; Jessica with her sword and a small pistol; Atsu with the concealed katana in her wrist cuff. Her hairpins, Atsu had informed them, were also darts with poisoned tips; the butterfly clasps concealed throwing stars with razor edges. Flint had whistled in appreciation.
They alighted outside the Palace Theatre, where the street throbbed with activity. Carriages and mechanical vehicles deposited a stream of audience members outside the mock Egyptian edifice, where twin braziers in front of the statues released glowing embers up into the night. There was an air of anticipation, and the excited conversations of the assembled crowd merged into an almost deafening hubbub.
'Perfect conditions to test our little devices.' Jessica tapped her tooth with a painted black fingernail. Atsu nodded, copying the gesture.
'I shall approach the theatre doors, Atsu. You stay here with William and I shall attempt to communicate with you when I am in position.
Jessica's outfit appeared to be a success. As she wove her way through the crowd, she received appreciative glances from several fashionable ladies, and more than a few gentlemen raised their hats as she passed. When she reached the theatre doors she stopped, peering back over the heads of the throng. Atsu and Flint were at the rear of the crowd, the girl standing on tiptoe and waving excitedly. Jessica flicked the tiny button on the side of her tooth with her tongue, as Cottingley had instructed.
'Can you hear me, Atsu?' She kept her voice low.
'Yes!' It was as if Atsu's reply came from within her head, like the buzz of an insect trapped in her ear. 'Yes, ma'am, I can hear you! Can you hear me?'
'I can. Test successful. Going silent.' Jessica flicked again at the button: there was no point in drawing undue attention to herself. She returned to where Flint and Atsu waited.
'I could hear your voice as if you were standing next to me, ma'am!'
Jessica touched Atsu on the shoulder. 'You can turn it off now. I can still hear you in my head.'
Atsu looked as though she was concentrating, then grinned. 'There. Is that better?'
'Yes, thank you. Well, Cottingley has outdone himself for a change. That actually worked.'
'Makes a change from that time his self-propelling boots set fire to my trousers,' said Flint, then turned his head towards the theatre. 'Look, the doors are opening.'
Jessica and her companions followed the surge as the crowd rushed forwards. They were soon inside the foyer, which was even more ornate than the theatre's facade. A pair of red carpeted staircases curved upwards, leading to the upper galleries. Crimson velvet curtains had been swept back between the stairs, revealing the entrance to the stalls.
'I took the liberty of purchasing us seats near the back,' said Jessica. 'Better to make our exit during the encore.' She showed her ticket to a smiling attendant who was dressed in flowing red robes.
'Your seats are this way,' he said, pointing towards the stalls. 'Do enjoy the show.' It was hard to tell if he was a bloodsucker or merely one of their chattels, though Jessica suspected the latter. His complexion had a ruddiness about it which suggested blood still flowed in his veins.
The house was almost full as they took their seats in the second back row. Flint scowled when he realised he was sitting behind a tall man with a full head of bushy brown hair. Atsu offered to swap seats but he refused, stating he would cut a channel through the fellow's mane with his knife is he needed a better view. Jessica almost believed him.
The gaslights dimmed as the last of the audience took their seats. Then, as if all had been extinguished by a sudden gust of wind, everything went black.
A gasp rippled through the theatre as a ghostly figure appeared to materialise on stage. A pale woman with long black hair, she was wearing a thin silk dress through which the curves of her body were clearly visible. It was the same woman from The Trap: the one who had threatened Frogg.
'It's all done with mirrors, you know.' Flint glared back at the old woman beside him who turned round and told him to hush. He lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Mirrors and lights. I've seen it before.'
'Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.' The woman's voice was rich and languid. 'I am Princess Salome, and I welcome you all to our humble entertainment.' She was fully visible now, lit in the glow of a single gaslight. 'Tonight you shall witness such wonders, the like of which you have seen only in your wildest imaginings!'
'That alone will be worth the price of admission, if my imaginings are anything to go by,' said Flint. This time it was Jessica who put a finger to her lips. She wanted to hear what the premise of this charade was. This Princess Salome was most definitely a vampyre.
'By the end of the evening,' continued Salome, 'I promise that you will be amazed. And I promise that some of you will never be the same again.' The light dimmed, making her eyes gleam as if they were on fire. 'But now,' she said, 'let our spectacle commence!'
She stepped back, appearing to melt into the shadows. Then, with a sudden blaze of light, a dazzling fireball erupted. Jessica could feel the heat from the flames, even from their position near the back of the theatre. As her eyes readjusted, she could see a tall, sinewy man, dressed only in a loincloth. His body glistened, covered in some kind of lotion. As he put a flaming torch to his lips and belched out another great burst of fire, a cloth dropped down behind him, proclaiming him to be the Great Infernus, Master of the Flames.
In a series of increasingly dangerous routines, the Great Infernus juggled with what appeared to be molten lava, lay down in a bathtub full of raging flames and, for his finale, set himself alight until he had turned into a human torch. Then, like a candle being snuffed out, he was gone, replaced by the slender form of Salome.
She gestured for the cheering and applause to cease. 'And now,' she said, 'our very own three graces; our tantalising trinity of titillation; our divine daughters of delectation. The Earthly Nymphs themselves, ladies and gentlemen!'
With what Jessica supposed most people would assume was trickery, Salome levitated above the boards and disappeared in a thick cloud of white smoke. Then, from the shadows of the stage, supple pale forms faded into view. It was as if every man in the theatre leaned forward in their seats, their breath held tight in their chests.
The shapes solidified into three young women. They stood in the centre of the stage, on what must have been a revolving platform. As they posed suggestively, the only movement was from their gossamer robes: so transparent as to be almost invisible. Music accompanied the tableau: a hypnotic swell of strings which seemed to throb inside Jessica's head.
She glanced at Flint. He was biting his bottom lip, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead as he stared rigidly ahead. Atsu sat similarly trance-like, her mouth agape. All around, the rest of the audience were in a similar state, as if under the influence of some powerful narcotic. Only Jessica appeared to be unaffected, though the pounding in her head suggested she was not completely immune.
At last the enchantment faded, and a sound swept through the theatre as if the entire audience had let out a collective sigh. The nymphs retreated into the shadows and Salome took position once more at the front of the stage.
'Are you alright?' Jessica whispered to Flint.
'Aye, fine.' He rubbed his eyes. 'Did I drift off to sleep? Don't tell me I missed the headline act?'
Jessica was about to reply when Salome spoke. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I trust you were as moved as I by the transfixing power of our Earthly Nymphs. A glimpse of their mysteries is rare indeed. You are privileged, I assure you. And now,' she swept her arms in front of her, 'our grand finale. Please show your appreciation, ladies and gentlemen, for the one, the only Master of the Mind, the Commander of Consciousness, the Demigod of Dreams... Mister Mephisto!'
It was if Mephisto stepped through Salome. Her body shimmered, then faded from view, her place taken by the man who had held Atsu in his mesmeric grip at The Trap. Tonight, he was dressed in an
immaculate black frock coat. He wore no hat; his slick black hair swept back from a strong forehead, moulded to his skull like a tight-fitting cap. His eyes were still obscured by his darkened spectacles; his mouth set in a solemn expression above his clipped black beard.
The music swelled from the orchestra pit, causing Jessica to feel yet again as if she was adrift on some strange sea. Mephisto bowed, almost touching the stage as he swept his arms in a grand gesture before him. A trace of a smile played at his lips as he reached up and removed his spectacles. There were gasps from the audience as he fixed them with his stare. His eyes were completely black.
'My friends.' Mephisto's voice was deep and imposing, flowing thickly from his lips. 'I am humbled to welcome so many new acquaintances into my domain. You are all most welcome. Tonight you are about to see things few have been allowed to witness.' He spread his arms, flexing his fingers as if about to play an instrument.
'May I have a volunteer?' Dozens of hands shot up. 'One at a time, ladies and gentlemen, one at a time.' He stroked his beard as he scanned the people seated in the front few rows.
'You.' He pointed to a young woman with a pink ostrich feather in her hair. Wordlessly, she rose and walked up the steps at the side of the stage. Mephisto beckoned her forward and she stood beside him, seemingly in a trance. Jessica shifted uneasily in her chair. Nobody seemed disturbed by what was taking place, all eyes fixed on the black-eyed vampyre before them.
'Excellent,' he said. Mephisto closed his eyes and put his right hand behind the woman's head. As he lowered it towards the floor, so too did the woman descend, as if lowered on an invisible thread. He positioned his left hand above her feet and raised it. Soon, the woman was floating horizontally in front of him, the feather in her hair drooping down towards the stage floor.
The music rose to a crescendo. Jessica's lids drooped; she pinched the skin on the back of her hand, willing herself to remain alert. On stage, Mephisto performed a series of elaborate gestures. The woman's body rose higher, then her motionless form drifted off to the side until she was out of sight, vanished behind the curtain.
'Another brave volunteer?' A forest of hands appeared once more. 'Someone from the back of the stalls, perhaps?' Jessica's skin prickled as Mephisto's black eyes appeared to seek them out.
'Focus,' she whispered. Flint managed a nod.
Jessica's gut lurched as she saw Atsu's arm was raised. 'No, Atsu!'
'You,' said Mephisto, pointing at her.
Jessica made to stand, but it was too late. Before she could find the strength to move, Atsu was walking down the aisle, her eyes gazing up at the vampyre smiling victoriously at Jessica from the stage.