“Sir, you must sign your name.”
Obviously I’d heard incorrectly. “I’m sorry? You’d like to know my name?” I asked craning my neck forward.
“No, you must sign your name here.” And she jabbed her grotty piece of card.
I threw up my arms. “To the blazes with it woman. What on earth for? You must think I want the whole world knowing my business.”
Her expression remained stern. “Either sign your name or take your business elsewhere.”
“But why? What about client confidentiality? I’ve worked my way around nearly every brothel in London and never once have I…”
“…New owners, new rules.”
I was about to demand a refund and leave, I really was, when one of the French girls, maid outfit and all, breezed by further up the corridor. “Damn your eyes. Give me the quill.”
It was a generic ‘room 26’ I waited inside, sitting on the bed, twirling my thumbs, loins threatening to burst. It was half the size of the Silver Room, no thrills and nary even a window to rid the room of the stale air and sweat that remained from liaisons gone and through the thin walls I could hear at least one whore earning her pay.
I used the time while waiting to think of Gertrude. Had I been petulant in abandoning her like I did? Had I acted too rash? Would I live to regret my actions? I stared into my hands. Did I really want to be here, now, like this? Did the two French girls compare in any way to the German I’d come to…
…The door opened and in they stepped, my mind immediately turning toward the fun to come. They giggled.
“Hello, you…where be your friend?”
My friend? Who in God’s name did they… “ah, you mean Clayton? He’s still in custody, or so I assume.” I smacked the crop into my palm and flexed the shaft. “Now…listen to me. There’ll be none of your silly French games this time around, you understand me, or should I talk slower for you? You will both undress, present yourselves on the bed and do as you’re told.” I swished the whip once through the air and took some small pleasure from their fear. “I’ve had a bad day and would prefer it if you didn’t give me a reason to use this.”
They nodded with wide eyes and shifted silently toward the bed before proceeding to remove their clothes, glancing between themselves with uncertainty.
“Good, now,” and I spoke to the girl on the left, “I’d like you to watch and remain quiet whilst I deal with your friend and then it’s your turn.”
They nodded and I threw down my sash, unbuckled my belt, slid it from its loops and discarded it to the floor. I unbuttoned my tunic, taking pleasure from their apprehension, “not quite as fun as Clayton am I? Well, where did being fun land him?” I kicked off my boots, dropped my breeches and was just about to dive in when the unthinkable happened.
Something crashed against the door, startling us all. Then a moaning pursued, followed by muffled voices.
I froze in fear, naked as I was and jumped back when whatever fiend it was smashed once more into the oak.
“Nay, put yeer shoolder into it.”
“I knoo hoow to knock a bloody door in.”
“Is that soo? Yee could’ve fooled me.”
If there’s one thing that can kill my raging manhood, it’s fear, and fear had now taken ahold as I scanned all the room’s corners together, frantically searching for that one heavy object that might lead to my deliverance.
The whores screamed, as dust projected outwards with every thud, and they clung together, glaring on at me like it was expected I’d do something about it.
I shrugged, “what?” And what was it about this cat house that meant I could never tup away in peace?
“Do something, please monsieur.”
It was the one major drawback to being large, broad and cavalry whiskered with a dashing demeanour - Whenever there’s trouble people instinctively look to you in expectation.
“I should have booked the Silver Room.” I blamed my scrimping for confining me to this windowless hovel when I could have been long off the premises by now, on a fast coach to Rochester.
The door thudded again as splinters fired out from the hinges.
Typically, my mind had already been working on its automatic flight response and now, with no realistic escape options presenting themselves, all I could do was panic. It was as bland a room as any I’d ever seen; a bed, four walls and two trollops. Not even a chair with which to threaten my would be assailants. I still grasped my crop, but what good would that do against at least two ruffians who were about to prove themselves capable of smashing through a solid door.
“Monsieur, please?” They crowed as funk and the inability to do a thing about it boiled within me.
“Will you shut up!” Not giving up, I again frantically scanned the room for something, anything, but there was nothing.
With a smash, the door flew back on its hinges and at least one large man tumbled forwards to land, faced down, not far from my immobilised feet.
Now was my chance to run - The door was open and the scoundrel was recovering on the floor, but there was already another in situ, just as large, his blubber taking up the entirety of the threshold. There’d be no getting beyond him.
“Captain Strapper?” He asked in a Scots accent, rolling obscenely with the ‘r.’
I shook my head and squeaked. “No. Never heard of him.”
“Aye, tis yee indeed. I recognise yee’re mug from The Telegraph.” He prodded his prone colleague with a black boot. “Get up, yer fat bastard. If yer think I’m accosting this ‘un on me oon, then yerv got another theng comin’.”
The prone man squirmed but said nothing and received another kick for his trouble.
“Yer must think I’m stupid. Doon’t thenk I doon’t know yee’re playing dead soo it’s me what has ter risk his life subduing ‘im. Get up, rayt noo!”
I shrank away toward the girls, crop useless and trembling in hand.
His eye flicked toward it as he seemed in two minds whether to approach me. “Noow, will yer come with us, nice and quietly? And for heavens seek, put yer cloothes on.” He was one of those stupidly squat and short limbed brutes, built like a barrel of lard and dressed with his red coat turned inside out so I couldn’t see to which regiment he belonged - Though his cavalry whiskers at least gave away one thing. His face was of the sour sort, like in his time he’d ingested a few too many whiskies with a large wedge of lime and although I much fancied my chances in a sprint for the last coach, I didn’t like the idea of trying to sidestep the man.
I was naked but for a pair of socks and my thrashing implement and didn’t much fancy the concept of going to some unknown location with a brace of scoundrels who didn’t see fit to knock. “B…b…but you’ve got the wrong man.”
He shook his head and stifled a laugh. “No, no, mi laddy, I thenk we’ve already established who yee is. Oor sources tend to be quite reliable and yee, will yee get up.” He yanked up his companion by the collar and the man responded by jerking his arm and rubbing his shoulder.
“Get off! I’ve just bust a clavicle getting through tha bloody door, so why doon’t yee accost the captain yersen?” This second man, likewise with cavalry whiskers and gut threatening to burst his turned out red coat now clutched his collar bone and grimaced in a familiar display of shirking one’s duty. We can spot each other, you see.
“Yer stupid cretin. We do it tergether and that way the captain stands a lesser chance of oovercomin’ us.”
One may wonder just what I’d been doing throughout this interaction. The answer is that my coward’s mind had been working to find a solution and had succeeded in coming up with something most forlorn, whilst hoping the two barrels would be far too cautious due to my reputation to advance. They each possessed cavalry blades, long slim weapons and I wondered why they hadn’t yet drawn them. Perhaps the room was too small to effectively wield them, or maybe it was because we were in the presence of ladies, whores they may have been but then I’d heard Scots were strange peo
ple. Finally, I guessed they wanted me alive and didn’t wish to risk harming me - They had, after all, asked me to come quietly. All these points flashed through my mind but it was this final one that gave me hope. But still, I wasn’t the kind of man to settle for such uncertainties and again I considered making a dash for it.
Unfortunately, the first knuckle dragger had seen my eyes flick toward the open door that stood there like the gates of heaven. “Ach, doon’t even thenk aboot it, mi laddy.” He made the come hither motion with his hand. “Please, Captain, doon’t meek this harder than it need be.” Were the fools really that afraid?
I thought it worth finding out, for to do nothing was to succumb to certain uncertainty. “Stay back! Stay back I say! Or you’ll find out what I can do with a riding crop bigod.” It might have sounded more convincing if my voice didn’t quake and I hadn’t in the meantime backed so far away that the two quivering harlots weren’t now standing between myself and them.
They noticed too and now reckoned me with increasing uncertainty, the gormless second one even daring to edge closer, vigilant arm with chubby mitt outstretched and probing forward.
It was already too much for me and I seized a whore and held her before my valuable body like a shield. “Get back you fiend.”
She screamed and the high pitch disorientated me but I regained my senses and squeezed her tighter. “Quiet, you daft bitch. What do you want with me? I’ve done nothing to harm you.”
“Aye, that be right, mi laddy, but we must earn oor pay just like the next man…tis nothin’ personal.” He plodded round the other side and knowing I was truly trapped, my arms lost all feeling, the whore flapped away and I collapsed to my knees.
“Please, please, please, whatever it is, please just leave me be.” I thumped the sticky floor for added emphasis and the two men looked to each other for answers.
“Is this a jook?” Asked the first of the second.
“Perhaps.” Shrugged the second to the first.
Reputation, you see, the truth has nothing on it. And it was saying something that even when presented with the pathetic evidence, witnessed by their own eyes, it changed nothing.
Words were spoken, which my cowardly mind blanked out and then the two rotund individuals were on me and my wrists were stinging as some kind of thin cord bound them together behind my back. Then I was dragged by the shoulders across the ground as my thighs and knackers rubbed against the floorboards, nicks, rusty nails and all, out the door and down the corridor, bumped up the stairs to the top floor, down another long corridor and toward a door at the far end.
“Oh, God, please. Whatever’s in there, please, I can’t have this…”
It was Ireland all over again - Or so I thought at the time. Oh, if only I’d known what was to come, I’d have taken Ireland again twice, no thrice over.
I half expected to fall into an unconscious stupor before reaching the room but that luxury was never granted and then the door was opening, revealing the dark bowels within and, struggling to breathe, I was manhandled over the threshold before the door was closed upon us.
When in darkness your other senses are heightened, the first thing I noticed being the stale smell of tobacco smoke, then something glowed bright orange but I couldn’t be sure how close it was because it was just a dot in the black. My two kidnappers hauled me to my knees but were otherwise silent and then the orange glowed again and through pauses in my fitful breathing I could hear the slow sound of exhalation as tiny wisps of smoke drifted upwards.
It was like something from my nightmares, a scene deliberately engineered to strike me down with terror. Well it succeeded and did so to the extent I’d gone mute. My entire body shook and my skin had numbed over my bones.
After what seemed like half a lifetime, I finally found my voice, which barely came out in a croak. “What…what is this? Would someone please say something.”
The cigar tip glowed again, smoke was blown my way and then whatever demon sat beyond tapped once, the knock of wood on wood deafening.
The grip on my left arm was released and then one of the men who’d brought me to this place was stomping loud steps toward the corner. Two, three, four, five and the footsteps returned in my direction.
“Drenk thes.” Tin was pushed against my lips and I turned my face away.
“What…what is it?”
“He wants to knoo what it is.” He called out to the concealed man like he was unsure what to do. “Should I tell ‘em?”
There were two knocks and then a hand was in my hair and my head was pulled back.
“Now, oopen up and drenk!” He crammed the rim between my teeth and then the rancid fluid was rushing down my gullet. His hand released from my head to clamp around my nose, not that it was necessary as aniseed faintly emerged with the aftertaste.
I gagged, almost choked and satisfied I’d taken whatever in the blazes it was, he released his fat hand from my face.
I didn’t require seeing capabilities to know I was drowsy and then the orange tip, now a blur moved upwards, glowed once more, then fell to the floor before disappearing. Then light flooded the room as curtains were drawn but I could only see the blurred outline of a man’s back some distance away. After a short pause the shape grew larger with every step that grew progressively louder until it filled my entire vision. My eyes shut of their own accord but with one huge effort I forced them open again. Words were spoken but to me they sounded loud and incomprehensible.
The next thing I knew my head was being knocked from side to side, over and over until I blacked out.
In Transit
My head crashed against something hard and I was brought back to my dilemma.
“Ooh, there goes ‘is good looks. Rooman roods ain’t what thee once were.” Came the horribly familiar laughing voice to my fore.
I blinked several times, trying to work clarity back into my sight and vaguely discerning the two blobs sat opposite.
An arm reached across and the window was pulled down. “Here, get yeersen some air.” The ‘r’ in ‘air’ rolled to an infuriating extent.
The clattering of horses’ hooves were evident now and I felt the inertia with my body. We were moving at a steady pace along a road flanked on both sides by greenery.
“Trees?” I panicked then instinctively attempted to hold my jaw when the pain from speaking shot through me. This movement was prevented however when the cord around my wrist clanked against a bracket on the inside panel.
“Careful there, mi laddy. Settle yeersen…yee ain’t goin’ anywhere, so just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“Enjoy the ride?” I ground out. “My jaw feels like it’s no longer attached to my head.”
Both men laughed. “Aye yee can teek a whack, I’ll give yee that lad.”
My vision slowly improved as the clouds faded and I grimaced at the length of cord tied to each wrist, both leading to one of the ruffians. “A bit overkill, don’t you think?”
“Can’t teek a chance with you Captain, not considering what yee’re capable of. Aye, I read all aboot yee’re Ireland herooism…very impressive and it’s an honour to be acqueented with yee, even if it is under such abysmal circumstances.”
“You could just let me go?” I asked in all seriousness.
He laughed straight from the belly and slapped my thigh, which in the meantime had found itself reclothed, along with the rest of me, in the uniform of the 11th; red breeches, navy blue tunic with gold epaulettes and white cross belt sash - Most dashing indeed, even if my next look in the mirror would reveal a swollen face.
The coach continued to rattle along the tree covered road and just as I was contemplating the inevitable, the first shot reported from outside. Five seconds later a zombie lay on the roadside minus its head and my testicles shrivelled within me, my body’s automatic response to seeing its first ghoul in many months.
“Doon’t mind them, he’s been dropping ‘em like a proo since Potters Bar, but yee were too far oot to nooti
ce, not that yee’re afreed of ‘em or anything.”
The blob to his side slapped him across the side of the face. “Yee bloody idiot…he…pro…Potters Barrrr…too much bloody information yee’re impartin’ yee flaming imbecile.”
The other retaliated by delivering an elbow to the belly, causing the man to flare up red. “What did I tell yee aboot striking me on the bloody job? It’s not professional…and in front o’ Captain Strapper of all people. Yee do that ageen and I’ll see yee’re left in the forest to deal with the dead yeersen.” He looked to me. “I apologise foor my brother’s boooorrrrishness, Captain…aye yes…did yee hear that? I’ve just toold him that we’re brothers…like he couldn’t have guessed anyweey.”
Another shot from outside made me jerk and a second later we passed the headless zombie still twitching in the dirt.
“Oh, please tell me what’s happening? Where are we going and who in the blazes is firing off those shots?” I pleaded but neither answered. “I’m being shanghaied aren’t I?”
“Noo, noo, noo, yee can’t be shanghaied unless yee’re kidnapped an’ put to weerk on a shep.” The slightly fatter, slightly friendlier of the brothers helped. They both carried similar quantities of lard but this one could be distinguished by the black eye and lopsided broken nose while the other had several white patches on his head where hair should’ve been - Brotherly love.
“Do yee thenk he gives a damn aboot that technicality?” Several more shots cracked off but to witness his lack of reaction would be to wonder if he’d even heard them. “Not any of it makes a jot of difference to ‘em anyweeys.”
Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2 Page 24