by Amy Cross
"Shouldn't we find a new place to put them?" I ask, turning to Lady Red. She has her hood up, to shield her face from the chill wind that blows through the night air. "Don't you worry that one day someone will find all these dead girls?"
She smiles. "Who, exactly, do you think is going to go looking for them?"
"Mr. White said -"
"Mr. White said a lot of things," she replies, interrupting me. "The game decrees that the bodies of the dead be placed in the river. I hardly think we are in a position to argue with the game. Perhaps one day the game will require them to be placed somewhere else, but until that happens, we must merely continue to do things the way we have always done them".
"But perhaps we should modernize the way we play," I continue. "Imagine if the game continues for another century or more. Do you think future players will still use the same methods?"
She smiles again. "Why should we concern ourselves with the needs of the next generation? Let them take care of themselves, as we take care of ourselves. If the game thinks changes need to be made, the game will let us know. I happen to believe there is value in tradition, and I'm quite certain that the game would suffer if we started making our own changes".
I pause for a moment. "Sometimes," I continue eventually, "you speak as if the game itself is alive".
"That is precisely the impression I intended to give," she says, turning and starting the slow walk back up from the edge of the water. "I hope, Mr. Blue, that you know better than to keep asking questions. The game does not exist to be understood. It exists to be played".
"And when shall we continue?" I ask as we reach the street. "Does the -" I pause as I realize someone is walking toward us. Turning, I see that we are being approaching by a middle-aged man with a confident smile, and I know immediately that he is to be the new Mr. White. "You work fast," I say, turning to Lady Red.
"The game doesn't stop for anyone," she replies. "Mr. Blue, meet Mr. White, and of course vice versa".
"I look forward to starting the game," the new Mr. White says as we shake hands. "Do you have a new girl in mind yet?"
"Not right now," I reply. "I had anticipated a short pause while we looked for the next Mr. White".
"No pause," Lady Red says. "We keep pushing on. Find another girl, and be careful not to pre-judge her too fast. You thought Sophia would be an ideal player, but she proved to be another failure. Perhaps you should find a girl who seems as if she has no potential whatsoever, and see how she does. She could hardly do any worse than this Sophia girl. The former Mr. White told me that you had high hopes for this latest girl. I very much hope that you have learned from your mistake, and that perhaps you will choose more wisely next time".
"Sometimes," I say, feeling an unshakeable tiredness wash over me, "I feel as if -"
"Don't finish that sentence," Lady Red continues. "You never know when you might come across a girl who is suitable to be tested. Just because Sophia Marchant didn't work out, you mustn't lose heart. One day, the right girl will come along. Perhaps you and I will be long gone, and it will be another Mr. Blue and another Lady Red and another Mr. White who find her, but eventually it will happen. The game sets high standards, but one day someone will win". She pauses for a moment. "Remember that the right girl might seem very ordinary at first. Do not make the mistake of assuming that she will immediately impress you. It might be the case that her qualities are a little hidden at first. You must learn to see past the surface. Let me know when you think you have found another candidate, but don't wait too long". With that, she turns and walks away, leaving me standing with the new Mr. White.
"She's a remarkable lady," he says after a moment.
"She has to be," I reply. "Sometimes, though, I wonder if she sees the bigger picture. The game must adapt to the challenges of the modern world".
"It sounds like you're ready to stage a coup," the new Mr. White says.
"Nothing so violent," I assure him. "Forgive me for saying this, but you're new to the game. You haven't experienced the human cost. Wait until the next time we come to the banks of the river, and tell me whether or not you think we need to make a change".
I turn back to look at the dark river. From looking at it, you would never guess that its depths hide so many secrets. Not just our secrets, of course, but the secrets of the whole city, going back generations. A whole city, tipping its regrets and mistakes into the forgiving river that runs through its heart, and then living in fear that one day the river might run dry and all those dark little things will be exposed. Perhaps, as the old Mr. White said, the river will one day give up our secrets; but in doing so, it will surely give up many more that it has kept, and no-one will care about a few dead girls.
"I suppose we should get to work," the new Mr. White says.
Nodding, I turn and start walking with him. Ahead of us, the lights of the city shine through the night. Somewhere in that conurbation there is another girl who will soon be drawn into the game. Like Sophia, she will think she has a chance of winning, and like Sophia she will almost certainly lose. It seems impossible that the cycle will ever be broken, yet one day - perhaps - there will be a girl who is able to beat the game. I fear we will soon be back here, adding another body to the pile that rests at the bottom of the river as the game goes on and on, spitting out more dead bodies and spinning according to its own furious logic, while tumbling through the years in the hope of eventually finding the one girl who can win. Whoever, and wherever, she may be.
Book 2
Dancing
One
1895
"Why not tonight?" Elizabeth asks, leaning toward me as the carriage rumbles along Bank Street.
"Because it's too soon," I reply, determined to resist her advances. Beautiful, blonde and barely past her twenty-first birthday, Elizabeth Cavendish is a true delight, and I am very much looking forward to getting her into my bed. At the same time, I have learned over the years that it is better to wait too long than to leap into something too fast; after all, I have to make sure she is desperate for my attention, otherwise she might pull away too soon when I finally reveal my intentions. I have to mold and tease her if I am to get what I want.
"Are you sure, Edward?" she says, smiling as she gently unties the front of her dress to reveal her cleavage. "Can you really sleep alone tonight, knowing that you could have your hands on these?"
Reaching across, I slip my hand inside the dress, cupping her firm left breast and feeling her hard nipple against my palm. For a moment, I say nothing; I merely let the breast wobble slightly in my hand as the carriage rolls over a particularly bumpy part of the street. I must admit, there is a side of me that would dearly love to pull her toward me and ravish her body, but I know such a move would be a terrible mistake. "Next time," I say eventually, withdrawing my hand. "I promise".
"I don't know if I can wait," she replies, squirming a little in her seat. "I want you now".
"You must be patient," I say, just as the carriage comes to a halt outside my apartment. I like Elizabeth's confidence, and her willingness to let me know what she wants; on the other hand, I feel very strongly that it would be useful to keep her simmering for a few more days. "The driver will take you home," I say. "I'm afraid I shall be busy for a few nights, but perhaps we can see one another again on the twenty-fifth?"
"That's almost a week away," she says.
"So it is," I reply, leaning closer and kissing her on the lips. She slips her tongue into my mouth, and it's clear that she aims to change my mind. The kiss is passionate and intense, and I feel my penis becoming erect as I imagine the other places she could use those lips. After a moment, however, I pull away, open the door and step out into the cold London night air. "I very much look forward to seeing you on the twenty-fifth," I continue, turning to look up at Elizabeth as she stares at me from the carriage window. "I promise you, I will give you everything you desire, and more".
"Perhaps I won't wait for you," she says, as the carriage starts up an
d moves away. "Perhaps I'll find myself another man!" she calls out, though there's a smile on her lips that suggests she will come running to me as soon as I give her the signal. She can definitely wait a little longer, and the sex will be all the sweeter for the anticipation.
Smiling, I turn and walk toward the steps that lead up to my door. However, as I climb the steps, I see that there is a figure waiting outside my door.
"Mr. White," I say, pulling the latch-key from my pocket as I try to work out why he might have come to see me. He is a new member of the game, so I hardly think he would take it upon himself to simply wander to my house; rather, I can't help thinking that someone else is directing him, which means I must be particularly careful. "What an unexpected honor. I wasn't expecting to see you tonight".
"Just a brief visit," he replies. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything. Was the young lady originally intending to come inside with you?"
"No," I say. "I'm still reeling her in slowly".
He smiles. "It didn't look as if she needs much reeling in".
"That's where you're wrong," I reply. "I have been cultivating Elizabeth Cavendish for many weeks. One does not simply seduce a young lady and then drag her into bed. As ever, I started out by identifying a young lady who seemed particularly bored and ill at ease, and I began to pay her a little attention. Naturally, she responded and began to try seducing me in return. These things must be completed at a slow pace, but I shall get there in the end". As I open my door, I turn to him. "Might I ask why you have come all the way out here at such a late hour?"
"Merely to let you know that Lady Red is concerned by your lack of contact". He pauses for a moment. "Since the death of Ms. Marchant, you have been rather quiet".
"I have been busy," I say. "I shall be in touch with Lady Red when I have something to report. As yet, I am not sure whether Elizabeth Cavendish is ready to play the game. As soon as I have decided, Lady Red will be the first to know. Until then, if she wants to know something, perhaps she should come and see me in person". I take a deep breath. "Perhaps you would like to come in and have a drink? I feel we should get to know one another a little better".
"Thank you for the kind offer," he says, "but I'm afraid I must be going. I really just came to deliver Lady Red's message". Turning, he walks carefully down the steps, before turning back to me. "I hope you'll understand, Mr. Blue, that I'm still new to the game. I don't know the etiquette yet, so please forgive me if I seem a little abrupt at times".
"Of course," I say. "Good night". Closing the door, I pause for a moment in the dark hallway. It seems Lady Red is attempting to send me a gentle reminder of her power. She has clearly begun to get the new Mr. White on her side, which means she is perhaps considering making a move against me. If that is the case, I shall have to be on the alert, especially while I try to work out the allegiances of the latest Mr. White.
"Will the lady not be joining you tonight, Sir?" asks a voice behind me.
I turn to find Martin, my man-servant, waiting by the stairs.
"No," I say, walking toward him and pausing while he takes my coat. "It will be just me tonight, Martin".
"Very good, Sir," he replies. "Will you be requiring drinks in the study?"
"Yes," I say. "I'm afraid I shall be up for quite some time. I have to think over my options".
Fortunately, Martin knows better than to ask any more questions. He makes sure I have my whiskey, and finally he retires from the night and leaves me to sit alone in the semi-darkness of my study. I feel as if the shadows are closing in; since the failure of Sophia Marchant, it is as if Lady Red has begun to lose faith in me. The game demands new players on a regular basis, and as Mr. Blue I am forced to find fresh girls. I was so certain that Sophia would be a successful candidate, and her death made me look like a fool. With a trembling hand, I raise the whiskey glass to my lips and reflect upon the fact that Elizabeth Cavendish is likely to be my last chance. If she fails, I too shall fail, and the price of failure for both of us will certainly be death.
Two
Today
"I was sorry to hear about your Dad".
"Yeah".
"He was a pretty cool guy".
"Yeah".
"He used to come into the shop where I worked and buy cotton candies".
"Huh".
"We used to chat about shit, you know?"
"Yeah".
"Elly, are you okay?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"You just... Are you crying?"
"What?" I say, immediately wiping my eyes. I swear to God I was not crying, unless it was out of sheer boredom. I've been sitting in this cafe for almost an hour now, listening to Rob prattle on about this and that. Rob's a guy I used to know at school and we hung out sometimes back in the day, but I've barely seen him for the past five years and we have absolutely nothing in common. He just keeps talking and talking, and I just act like I'm listening and occasionally check my watch. The really sad, pathetic thing is: I don't have anything better to do.
"Sorry," he says. "I just thought I saw a tear".
"I have a mild eye infection," I say, which isn't true at all. The problem is, ever since I found about my Dad had died, I've been crying in slow motion. It's like I'll randomly shed a tear in the morning, and then another in the afternoon, and maybe another in the evening. I wish I could get them all out at once like a normal person, but apparently I can't be so lucky. The weird thing is, I don't even notice when it happens. I'll just be doing something, or talking to someone, and then they'll mention it, and it's a total embarrassment.
"I had an eye infection once," Rob replies. "It stung like a mother-fucker".
"Huh," I say, taking a deep breath. Although I'm being polite, I'm inwardly cursing the moment I bumped into Rob and agreed to come and get a cup of tea with him. I guess my defenses were down, and I didn't have time to come up with an excuse. I was supposed to be running some errands for my mother, but that plan's been shot to pieces. I mean, I'm glad to be distracted from all the talk about my Dad's funeral, but I'd rather be sitting here with anyone except Rob. I've always found him to be a little creepy, and I feel like he's been harboring a crush on me for years and years. He's kind of cute, but he's totally directionless and random. Not my type at all. "So what are you doing these days?" I ask.
"Not a lot," he replies. "Just working on some projects".
"You got a job?"
He shakes his head. "I'm looking, but it has to be something pretty flexible. The band takes up a lot of my time, and we might be going on a bit of a tour some time, so I can't really be tied down by a nine-to-five schedule".
"Uh-huh," I say, remembering Rob's band from the last time I saw them. I think it's safe to say that the likes of the Rolling Stones and Coldplay don't need to be too worried about the competition. "So you're living -"
"In my parents' house," he says, smiling. "I know, it's kind of sad, but I figure in this economy it's the best option. Besides, they mostly leave me alone, so I get to do what I want. It's not like one of those weird situations where everyone's in everyone else's faces".
"Cool," I reply, and there's an awkward pause.
"So what are you doing tonight?" he asks. "Me and some other guys are playing at an open mic night at the King's Arms. You wanna come out and see some of the old gang?"
I take a deep breath. The old gang? The last thing I want to do is go to some lousy local pub and see a bunch of old classmates who spend their time just sitting around in this crappy little part of London. The King's Arms was our hangout for a while, and I guess it was fun at the time. But do I really want to go digging through the past? On the other hand, I really need to get out of my mother's house for a few hours tonight, because she's been driving me crazy over the past twenty-four hours. I guess I'm stuck between a rock band and a hard place.
"Maybe," I say eventually.
"Definitely maybe?" he asks with a smile.
"Definitely maybe," I reply, sipping from my tea. "I can't totally
promise, 'cause my mother's been going insane over the past couple of days. It's like she has this need to come up with more and more little jobs for me to do. The funeral's on Monday". Glancing at my watch, I see that it's already close to midday. "Right now," I continue, "I'm supposed to be picking up some stuff from the supermarket. You don't mind if I get going, do you?"
"It's fine," he replies, but I can tell there's something else on his mind. "Elly, do you mind if I ask you something?" He pauses for a moment. "My Dad died when I was sixteen, and I think I handled it pretty well, but you... Don't take this the wrong way, but you seem totally normal. Are you sure you're finding ways to get your feelings out?"
I stare at him, shocked by his clumsy attempt to connect on some kind of emotional level. "I don't know," I say, "I mean, I feel fine. I don't feel... weird or anything". I wait for him to say something, but he just seems to be watching me, as if he expects me to break down in floods of tears and pour my heart out. "What am I supposed to do?" I ask, a little exasperated. "Am I supposed to fucking force myself to cry? I'm sad, but I'm not a nervous wreck. It's more like..." I pause, realizing I've run out of words. I don't feel like talking about my Dad at all. I just want to be distracted, and maybe a night out would help, just so long as Rob keeps his mouth shut.
"If you want to open up," Rob says, suddenly reaching across the table and placing his hands on mine, "I'm here for you -"
"That's okay," I reply, instinctively pulling my hands away. Rob's nice, but he's a bit too touchy-feely and he seems to be constantly trying to remind me that he has a sensitive side. There are times when he can be a little cloying and far too talkative, but I guess I appreciate the fact that he cares. "I'll really try to get out tonight," I continue, finishing my tea, "but right now, I've got loads of errands to run for my dear mother".
