Chapter 1:

Chapter 1:

I've never taken to the pipe. I don't trust any substance that takes away the decent desire to run away when things are looking rum. So it was with some trepidation, tinged with a lot of desire, that I accepted Berkely's invitation to the Golden Dragon House of Joy in Kensington. I liked Berkely, a rare sort of cove that took after my own heart. He would cheat an honest man whilst taking his lady for a less than chaste game of croquet. He was a big, bluff crook, but a pleasant sort of crook that recognised me as a fellow cad and never seemed to see the need to rat me out.

Of course, there wasn't the least chance I'd introduce him to my own dear Scotch dumpling, Elspeth. I'm an easy going chap, not a fool.

We entered the House and were immediately assaulted by the cloying smoke of the poppy. A few men lay about on chaise-longues, with their heads resting on the laps of Chinese girls, or western girls dolled up to look oriental.

Berkely made his leave and entered one of the pipe rooms. I pottered around for a while. I was enjoying taking in the atmosphere and whilst lighting a cigarette I saw a game of cards going on a side room. I strolled over and asked if I could take a pew. The group murmured assent and I spent a pleasant hour winning, mostly honestly, a few games of canasta.

I lifted my eyes and saw a young girl, dressed in the Chinese style of silk jacket. She was ravishing. Slim, taller than I was used to in an oriental, with black hair. Even though I was on the other side of the room, I could see clear blue eyes that told me of a white daddy somewhere in the bloodline. She caught my eye and I was on fire. She turned and left the room. With as much decorum as I could muster, I made my leave of the table and collected my chips.

Now, dear readers, you will no that I'm not the sort of man who needs to pay for company, but right then I'd have thrown my whole fortune at her for five minutes, perhaps ten, alone with her.

When I left the room, she was leaning against the corridor wall, looking at me all coquettish as if she was a milkmaid instead of a first class doxie. She inclined her head and I followed her up the stairs. I straightened my moustache and though I was still alighting the stairs, I started to loosen my cufflinks. When I reached the top of the stairs, the girl was standing in front of a door. I hardly noticed that the door had some strange designs on it, that didn't look like any kind of Chinese.

If I hadn't been full of lust at that moment, I'd have detected something was wrong. Alas, I didn't. As I approached she pushed open the door and stood in the door way and beckoned me towards her.

I practically growled and reached out for her, meaning to have her before we'd even reached the bed. She had different plans. Plans I curse her and Berkely and my own lust for, to this day. She suddenly stepped to one side and stuck her leg out, I cried out as I tripped, feeling her hands pushing me down.

I fell, but I did not hit the ground. Down and down and down I went into some kind of pit. This is not how I expected to go out, I thought to myself. Though I suspected a lady of pleasure would be involved. After a lifetime of falling (it seemed), I passed out.

When I came to, it was to the sound of screaming. At first I suspected some kind of peeler raid on the House of Joy. I was lying on some kind of carpet. I opened my eyes to find out it was hillside of grass. Figures ran past me down the slope. A lifetime of surviving screaming men told me to stay prone. I saw one of the men run past me and was surprised to see a huge negro in some kind of war mask run past me waving a sword. I heard a horn from further down the slope. Some kind of battle? Where could I be? I was about to get up when a shadow stopped over me. Play dead, old Harry, I thought. By god, the man stank! I was just about to run for it when the horn sounded again and the man's shadow left me.

After a few moments, I risked rolling into the trees to my left. I got up. Seeing no one, but hearing the clash of swords coming from down the hill I started to run up the hill. Not my fight, I thought, no need to be someone black fella's dinner.

I jogged past a broken statue and came to the shore of a lake. Down the beach I could see a child pushing a boat out in to the lake and another child calling out something. The boat was a few feet out when the second figure got into the water and started to thrash towards it.

That's the right idea. I dived in the water and started to swim towards the boat. I don't think the children noticed me, for when I reached the boat, they seemed surprised. Not as shocked as I when I finally clambered aboard to find they were not children at all, but dwarves or white pygmies. Ho-ho, circus performers? Must be out here in the middle of nowhere –where exactly? – and have been attacked by natives. I said halloo and they jabbered in some damn fool language. I know a tongue or two, some fluently, some enough to ask not to be killed, thank ye very much.

I tried all of them and got nowhere. Perhaps they where Hungarian? I tried German but not a word did they understand. Cossacks maybe? Gypsies?

I prefer to be in charge of my own retreats, so I grabbed the oars and powered across the lake. I took a moment to jab at me own chest and say 'Harry'. People are less inclined to kill you if they know your name and I didn't want my throat cut by these gypsies.

The fatter Gypsy, (though they were both pretty portly) prodded himself and said something. I caught 'Sam' and decided that was as good a name as any. The other one, looked forlornly to the east. His mate jabbed his arm and said his name. "Freddy", or some such.

I beached the boat on the far shore, glad to have clear water between me and a battle.
I looked around. The landscape reminded me of New England, but those definitely weren't redskins running past me. Deuced confusing. Still, you do trip over unusual pockets of geography from time to time. Dunes with palm trees in Devonshire and hills and moors you'd swear on the Good Book were in Yorkshire if you didn't know you were in Australia.

I looked around. Forest in front and lake behind. To the east, the sun was setting and it was made beautiful by pollution. Ah ha, I thought, some kind of industrial town, like Birmingham or Detroit. Bound to be somebody civilized there that speaks English or French. If there was industry, there was bound to be a port somewhere and passage back to Blighty.

How did I get here? I must have been drugged by that minx and brought here. I took a cautious sniff of myself. I didn't smell like I'd been at sea for any length of time. This was some D--d queer business! I was about to suggest going east when the two dwarfs set off in that direction anyway.

Better the company of Gypsies than no one, I thought, and tramped after them.