Warning: This is rated a little higher than my usual fare for a reason. It includes some graphic violence, implication/discussion of past violence, and psychological torture. If you're feeling a bit squeamish, I recommend skipping ahead to the second chapter which is lighter and recovery-focused.
It looked to be a perfectly pleasant evening on the face of it; there could be none better for strolling about the city of lights as the sun set. Jeeves and I were vacationing in Paris, you see. We had passed a leisurely day doing this and that, and after an excellent dinner - I forget where, after everything that followed - we were off to the opera to see their latest show. I couldn't say I had high hopes for the thing; I'm more a chap for musical theater myself, but Jeeves was looking forward to it. I could see an especially brainy glint in his eyes at the prospect of an evening of the improving stuff, not that a chap like Jeeves needed any improving. As the managers had sent me a couple of tickets on the house, I couldn't very well refuse. If nothing else, I expected to get a few extra hours of the dreamless.
However, all was not sanguine even as Jeeves and I strode up to the grand doors of the opera house.
I believe, I exclaimed something along the lines of, "Jeeves, she's already making wedding arrangements!"
"Most distressing, sir," was all Jeeves said in reply, and that with all the enthusiasm of a stuffed frog.
You see, I was engaged again, and none too happy about the fact. She had a perfectly fine profile and such what, but I had no desire to see it each morning from across the dining room table. The fact of the matter was that the prospect of marrying anyone at all was looking less and less appealing. It was starting to seem to me that no girl, no matter how beauteous, could possibly be worth all that trouble. The topper on the cake was, of course, Jeeves, who had expressed every intention of tendering his resignation the instant the wedding bells ceased to chime - or perhaps a moment before, punctual as he is.
It was the last point that had me the most biffed about the man's reaction. For all he'd said about "ties that bind" you'd think the chap would do more than say "most distressing, sir" upon hearing that a Wooster marriage loomed on the horizon, growing ever nearer. But Jeeves seemed dashed indifferent to the matter, as though he'd just as soon say "toodle-pip" and never set eyes on Bertram W. again. As a result, you can imagine my manner toward the man was distinctly cold as we stepped into the opera house and I passed him my coat with hardly a glance Jeevesward - "most distressing" indeed.
I confess I was rather consumed by my own troubles, when I happened upon a rather rummy chap. The only way I can describe him is rummy, from his bright green eyes to his cap, which would have made Jeeves faint if I'd been the one sporting it. Still, I wouldn't have given him a second glance, except his eyes met mine and he took it as an invitation to step over and rub elbows.
Not to be rude despite my preoccupation, I greeted him with a "What ho!" that was perhaps only just shy of my usual cheeriness.
"You are an Englishman?" he asked in a low, urgent voice, as though we were fellow attendees at a meeting of some secret society.
"I am," I said, with a bit of a, "what of it?" in my voice.
"Be careful," he urged.
"What do you mean by that?"
"You can never be too careful," the man insisted, making no attempt to clarify as he glanced frantically about. And then without another word, he hurried off and vanished into the crowd of our fellow opera-goers.
I didn't have long to consider the whole rummy thing, for just as the chap disappeared, Jeeves materialized at my elbow. "Sir?"
I waved it off airily and was about to proceed with a smile, when I remembered the dashed indifference of the man and so gestured for him to lead the way with naught but dignified reserve.
I confess, with all that ensued, I can only recall the opera in pieces. The whole plot of the thing was rather lost on me; something about a bit of a pill of a chap who made a deal with what I think was supposed to be the devil or some sort of demon, and there was something about a girl. I wonder if I didn't drift off into the dreamless at a few particularly slow bits, but some of the pieces were catchy enough.
The managers had not only provided for me and a guest to see the show, but had invited us backstage besides - no doubt courting the much sought-after Wooster patronage. I could have told them they were wasting their consideration on me; it was Jeeves who could be swayed by an opera and Jeeves who managed my checkbook besides. As I have mentioned, on that particular evening I wasn't feeling too kindly toward the chap, but even I found the prospect of a backstage tour enticing.
So, as the rest of the populace filtered out, Jeeves and I filtered 'round to the stage door. The first rummy thing that ought have tipped us off, bizarre warnings aside, was that there wasn't anyone there to greet us. Instead, it was Jeeves who pulled open the door to welcome me back, into the domain of the performers and stagehands. I crossed the threshold from the opulent theater into the austere halls, filled with men and women hurrying to and fro in varying states of costume. It wasn't so different from my own experiences on Broadway with my chums on the opposite shore of the great pond.
At last, we heard a fellow call out to us from the fray; "Suivez-moi, monsieurs!"
Jeeves and I exchanged a glance, before, with the valiant spirit of my ancestors charging off to Agincourt, I flung myself into the crowd after him, and true to his feudal spirit, Jeeves followed shortly after. I couldn't say it was easy going, there were a few times, as towering set-pieces tottered by, that I saw my very life flash before my eyes, but at last, we emerged into a quiet hall off the main thoroughfare.
The comparatively fresh air was such a relief after the squeeze of the throng that I didn't realize at first that the hall was a little too empty. It was so empty, in fact, that the only fellows there were Jeeves and myself, even our guide had vanished. I believe I had begun to turn around to consult Jeeves - dashed silent despite all this rummy business - when I fancy I recall the feeling of someone grabbing me, and then nothing.
I awoke feeling rather like I had been run over by a steam engine - that is to say, only a little worse than usual after staying out reveling until the early hours of the morning with my fellow Drones. Not to say that staying out reveling until the early hours of the morning was routine for Bertram W. by that time as it was in my younger years. No, on the whole, I'm a chap for the quiet life, and rummily enough I had no recollection of reveling at all on that particular m.
It was all a bit thick, to tell the truth, but as you know, I am rarely further from the top of my form than when I'm still blinking open my eyes in the bright and early, especially after a night of revels. Even rummier than my temporary lapse was the peculiar absence of my man Jeeves with his legendary restorative, to get me back into tip top shape in an instant.
And then there was the matter of my eyes. I could have sworn they were open, but open or shut didn't seem to make a lick of a difference. I couldn't even make out the red glare of the over-bright sun through my closed eyelids. Not only did I appear to be in a darkened void, but it was a dashed uncomfortable one at that. I was certainly not in any manner of bed; my back was propped up against something soft enough and pleasantly warm in the dank darkness, but my lower half found itself pressed against something cold and hard. My hands, when I found them, still rather lost in the dreamless themselves, were folded behind me in the most awkward position, weighed down by sharp metal cuffs.
It was at this juncture that the Wooster courage rather failed me and I called out for Jeeves in a voice that may have been called plaintive, but was mostly just frightened.
The answer came from directly behind me; a sharp, "Quietly, sir."
The man's tone was distinctly lacking in sympathy, but I was so pleased to see - or rather, hear - the chap that my only response would have been to leap up in exaltation, though I was, of course, hindered by the awkward position of my hands and the unsteady state of my legs, so instead I really just stayed where I was. It seemed the pleasant thing I was leaning against was in fact Jeeves's broad back - I presumed him to be sitting just as I was, but facing opposite.
"What's the meaning of all this?" I asked in a somewhat bleary attempt to get a handle on the circs. as they were. My eyes resumed their blinking, but still, no light was forthcoming.
"I couldn't say, sir," Jeeves replied, again in dashed cold tones, as though he disapproved of my tie - and I'd thought we'd finally moved past the cold-shouldering and all that over such things as ties.
"Couldn't say, Jeeves?" I asked, growing, I confess, more than a little frantic.
The darkness seemed to press in from all sides, like a thousand ghostly hands grabbing at me out of the void. The clanking cuffs around my wrists suggested that of all the ghost stories I had heard, I found myself in one of the ghastliest.
"No, sir," Jeeves said.
His dire words echoed into silence, but the infernal clanking persisted even as my arms fell still. A chill ran down my spine. I thought I felt an icy something ghost across my hand.
"Jeeves," I said, my voice now no more than a whisper, as though somehow I could evade the notice of whatever ghosts prowled in the darkness if only I kept quiet enough, "Do you hear that?"
"Yes, sir," Jeeves said, with a touch of bally impatience, "I am maneuvering my hands into a more serviceable position."
I let out a shaky breath of relief, and my voice rang out a little too loud as I said, "Trying to get comfortable, what?"
"No, sir. I am attempting to remove a pin from my shirt-cuff."
"You forgot a pin in your shirt-cuff?" From any other man, such a revelation would hardly warrant the description, but for Jeeves, any such lapse in attention is absolutely unheard of. The thought that his great brain had been softening while I carried on none the wiser was enough to start the beginnings of a panic.
"No, sir," Jeeves said, bringing the works to halt, "I typically keep a pin on hand in case of such necessity."
"This is no time to be worrying about tears, Jeeves!"
"No, sir" - the chap sounded just shy of murderous. "I expect the pin will suffice to remove these manacles."
This was an unforeseen possibility. "You mean to pick the lock?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Again, my voice, too high and too loud, echoed in the darkness.
"No, sir," Jeeves said, and that was that - of course I was no use to the man.
I admit it stung a little, the dismissive way he answered me, as though I were nothing but a nuisance. Not that I would have wanted to heed my own words; I was not a chap to be heeded under such dire circs. But when everyone else dismissed me, Jeeves usually listened, at least, and I say it hurt to find that when push came to shove, he saw me just as everyone else did.
I tried not to ruminate on it, but aside from my own swirling thoughts, all I knew was the quiet clanking of metal behind my back and the occasional brush of our hands, as Jeeves proceeded at his delicate work. The rest was a cold, hard, dank void. Indistinct shapes seemed to waver just out of sight, peering eyes, or grabbing hands. There could have been anything lurking or prowling in the infinite silence. Even Jeeves's careful movements seemed too loud, like a beacon drawing all manner of ghoul to our location.
You may think it bizarre, that upon finding myself in as real a danger as could be imagined, waking up chained in the dark, my mind preferred to imagine up its own demons. But the very idea that I could find myself the victim of something more than an ill-conceived prank was almost beyond my comprehension. Such things happened in the pictures, but not in real life, and certainly not to an altogether ordinary chap like Bertram W. There were countless easier ways to get hold of a piece of the Wooster millions.
It was some thought along those lines that possessed me to shout, "Is anyone out there? What do you want?"
But Jeeves quickly put a stop to it with a sharp whisper; "Sir! If you could not alert our captor that we are awake!"
"Surely, he must know by now," I insisted, but quietly.
"It appears not, sir, and I expect it would be better to keep it that way." Jeeves spoke with such dire tones that I dared not argue.
Instead, I moved a bit against the cold, hard floor, and resumed staring into the ever-shifting shadows. My mind wandered through the dark, conjuring up cruel faces of the sort of man who would do such a thing, worse than any villain on the screen. I envisioned a monster hiding out in the dark, waiting for just the moment to strike. I could almost feel his cold, mouldy breath upon my face. He could have been just in front of me, and I would have never been any the wiser.
I don't know how long I sat there, curled up for warmth, shifting from position to position in an attempt to find anything resembling comfort without disturbing Jeeves in his efforts, when I heard a louder clank than the rest, and the mass directly at my back began to move.
"Jeeves!" I exclaimed - and then hastily lowered my voice. "Do you have it?"
"Yes, sir," he said, but there was no note of triumph in his voice.
I nearly fell over as he removed himself from behind me. A moment passed in silence, and then there was a blinding flash. As my eyes clamped shut of their own accord, I fancied I glimpsed a thousand eyes staring at me from all around, waiting for just this moment to strike the killing blow.
Before I had a chance to pry open my eyes, the light faded back into nothing.
"What was that?" I demanded.
"A match, sir."
"You mean you lit one?"
"Yes, sir."
I felt desperately in need of a smoke, and I'm sure Jeeves was no different, but it hardly seemed the feudal thing to be helping himself before rallying round to the aid of the young master, still chained up upon the ground.
"Hardly the time for a smoke, what?"
"No, sir. I was endeavoring to ascertain our whereabouts."
"Oh!" I felt a lightness bubbling up in my chest knowing that Jeeves had the situation well in hand. "Where are we then?'
"I could not say, sir."
The lightness vanished in flash.
I was casting about in the shadows in desperate search of a silver lining, no matter how thin, when I felt Jeeves's hands on the manacles that clasped my wrists to the floor. He didn't even have to light another match, in only a moment, the metal released and my hands were free. My arms and wrists felt rather worse for it all, but I was certain they would right themselves in a shake or two with a few rubs to bring the feeling back into them.
"I say, Jeeves!" I said. "How did you learn to jemmy a lock like that?"
"One picks these things up, sir."
I reached for a friendly hand to help me to my still tottery feet, but Jeeves, it appeared, had already moved on.
"Jeeves?" I called out quietly, rather feeling like a lost lamb in the endless dark.
"Yes, sir?" the man said distantly, from a few feet in some direction, doubtless occupied with more important matters than shepherding me.
"Oh, dash it all!" I fumbled for my matches and very nearly dropped them, before managing to pull one out and strike it.
My eyes strained and watered against the blinding light, but I forced them to hold. Before the flame reached my fingertips, I had just presence enough to detect stone walls and an iron grate; a cell.
"Save your matches, sir," Jeeves warned from over by the grate, as soon as I had extinguished the light.
"Are you going to jemmy that one too?" I asked.
"Yes, sir."
Already, I could hear him working at the metal. Meanwhile, it took all my efforts to lurch upright by my own power on legs too long disused.
"How long have we been in here?" I asked, still a little wobbly.
Jeeves repeated the tired old refrain, "I cannot say, sir."
I stumbled toward the source of his voice. I was still hobbling through the darkness, when I heard a click and fearsome, grinding shove that echoed deep into the shadows. I had not an instant of warning before Jeeves struck another match, and my teary eyes looked out upon an endless cavern.
I didn't have long to look before it was all plunged into darkness once more.
"This way, sir," Jeeves said, grabbing my arm with rather more roughness than was strictly necessary.
He moved quickly, and I did my best to pick my way after him, expecting to trip over something or worse, bump into someone, with every step. Where we were going, I could not say. My only course was to follow Jeeves and hope that he had some clearer idea.
I knew that he had many more important concerns than keeping an eye on the hapless young master, but his brusque indifference made me feel rather like a particularly cumbersome piece of luggage that one sorely regrets bringing along. At the very least, it did little to raise my spirits, which could have used all the boosting they could get in that dank, dark place. I could feel a dangerous presence watching us from the shadows, just waiting to make his move. Icy hands reached for me, pulling at my arms and legs with the cold air.
Abruptly, Jeeves stopped and lit another match, scattering the ghouls that had seemed to close in around us. We had paused in front of a pile of old barrels that seemed to have been there since time immortal - if that's the expression I want.
"Sir," Jeeves said, handing me the match.
I took it, though I couldn't fathom why. To my astonishment, the chap conjured a knife from somewhere and began to work at the nearest barrel. It didn't take much doing, presumably accounting for the age of the casks, and as the match reached its final legs, I heard a great crack and there he stood bearing a sizable plank of wood, that he quickly lit from the dwindling match, and just like that, we had a torch.
"I say, Jeeves!" I exclaimed, taking it from his hands as he pulled out a few more planks, for when the first one burned out.
He dignified me with no reply, and so I was left to look out on the cavern we had found ourselves in so unceremoniously. Once I had gotten over the sudden burst of light, I discovered that our makeshift torch lent a rather dim, flickering illumination to the place. It kept the shadows at bay, but just barely. It was easy to imagine how much lurked out of sight in the labyrinthine cavern, lined with discarded barrels like an old storehouse fallen into disrepair.
Jeeves soon finished gathering planks and instructed, "After you, sir," pointing me in some direction - they all looked the same to me.
"If you say so, Jeeves," I said, though he was the one who seemed to know the way.
I started off as bravely as I could muster, waving the torch this way and that to peel back the darkness and reveal whoever it was that lay lurking within. I hardly felt equal to facing the chap, even with Jeeves at my back - if Jeeves was still there at all; true to form, I heard not a single footstep shuffling after me. I could only hope we escaped before whoever he was that realized we had flown the coop, as it were.
We trailed along the rough stone wall, if nothing else putting some distance between us and the cell in which we had awoken. On our other side, the scattered stacks of barrels eventually gave way to bare earth and even more mouldy air, if it was possible. One swing of the torch revealed a pale stick poking out of the ground at a rummy angle as though it had been stuck there by a weary traveler to mark his way, but had been blown over in the absent weather. I glanced back at it, and realized with a start that it was rather smooth for a stick, more like bone, really.
"Jeeves!" I hissed, sparing but a glance behind me at the man - still present - as I scoured the surroundings for other remains, or worse, spectres. "Is that-?"
"Bone, sir," Jeeves said, with nary a blink nor a word of comfort.
We kept marching on. That was not the last bone I spied sticking out of the soil between more stacks of barrels. Shades flitted about in the corners of my eyes, but whenever I turned there was nothing there.
Eventually, another wall loomed into view, blocking our way, and propped up against the wall was a steep staircase, almost like a ladder.
"Wait here, sir," Jeeves instructed, feudal pleasantries gone without a trace, but I minded the chap ordering me around much less than the prospect of being left down in the dark alone, with only the dead for company.
He held out a hand for the torch and I reluctantly handed it over. "You won't be long will you, Jeeves?"
"I couldn't say, sir."
"Jeeves," I protested.
He regarded me with stern impatience, before turning and ascending the stairs. I watched as the light slowly faded into the upper reaches, its faint glimmer still in sight, but hardly enough to illuminate my own surroundings, and so I was left to be swallowed up by darkness. The inky black was never still; shapes formed and shifted, always something seemed to loom just on the edge of sight. Each breath seemed to bring a spectre whispering by my ear. There could have been anything lurking in that darkness and I would have never known until it was much too late.
Twice, at least, I made to call for Jeeves, but stopped myself short. He needn't be bothered by the jumpy y. m. His light still bobbed up in the distance, a sign that at least with him all was well - or so I hoped that no danger had befallen him, leaving the torch to sputter behind him. At the thought, I made to call for him again, but again I held back. After all, what good could I do him? The most I could do was needlessly trouble the man and give away our location besides.
I don't know how long he took, my watch useless in the pitch black. To me, it felt like eternity, to him I couldn't say. But, after however long it was, eventually, Jeeves came back down and instructed me, once again, to take the lead, torch in hand. It was a delicate business. The stairs creaked and echoed loudly beneath my feet - I couldn't fathom how Jeeves could have done it all so quietly. More than once, the rail threatened to slip from my one-handed grasp, but I grasped it just in time and held it tighter to be sure.
Of course, not a word, nor even a sound came from behind. I only rediscovered I was not alone when I stepped out onto a landing and Jeeves stepped up after me.
The flickering light of the torch revealed a large tunnel that vanished into darkness in either direction - not that we could see very far - and along the floor, on either side of us, ran a pair of tell-tale tracks.
"It's an underground tunnel!" I exclaimed, my voice echoing along its length and width.
"Quiet, sir," Jeeves still insisted, glancing up and down the tunnel, as though he expected our kidnapper to be lurking just out of sight.
"If we just follow it, we'll be sure to get to a station, what?" I continued, my voice now a whisper, but no less eager for Jeeves's dour tone.
"Yes, sir," Jeeves said, but he seemed none too pleased about it.
We climbed up onto the side of the tunnel, out of the way of any passing trains, and again, Jeeves directed me to take the lead with the torch as he followed silently after.
It was a dark and lonely tunnel. A few times I thought I may have heard rumbling off in the distance, but otherwise it was abandoned, left to the ghouls that I now knew lurked beneath. Faces seemed to leer at us from the darkness, but wherever I shone the torch, there was nothing, only Jeeves and I marching in silence. I wondered if it ever would reach an end, if the tunnel really did come out in a station or if it was just an unfinished construction, just a little track of rail and nothing more.
And then, I glimpsed a yellow glimmer in the distance.
"Jeeves!" I cried.
He glanced at the lights ahead, and then, to my surprise, abruptly turned his back to me. But whatever he saw that made him turn, it was not an instant too soon, as something came flying at us out of the darkness from just the opposite side of where the lights had appeared. It was a rope, a sort of lasso, that Jeeves flicked aside as though he were waving away a bothering fly.
He backed me away, toward the wall of the tunnel. I tried to peer past him, but I could make out nothing. For a moment we stood in silence in our little flickering dome of light in the dark.
And then, suddenly, a voice sounded from directly behind me; "J-R," it boomed, echoing around the tunnel.
I turned to face it, brandishing the torch, but again, there was nothing there.
"You won't escape!" the voice thundered - in English, but with a sort of rummy accent, not French or like any other language I'd ever heard.
Jeeves had drawn out the knife he'd used to pry the planks out of the barrel and was holding it up like he meant to use it.
The man only laughed. His voice seemed to come from everywhere all at once, as though we were surrounded by a legion of jeering ghosts. Jeeves didn't flinch. The chap had more sang froid than I could ever have imagined, and if my man was so bold, who was I to be hiding?
"I say," I called out, my voice high and nervous, "who are you? What is it you want with us?"
Again the voice seemed to come from behind me, just out of reach of the dim torchlight; "You remember me, don't you, J? Still playing with knives, I see."
"Jeeves," I whispered, "Is he another one of your cousins?"
You see, by this point, I had met a few of Jeeves's other cousins over the years of our acquaintance, and "Jay" seemed to be Jeeves's nickname among them, though he was none too pleased with the epithet. It may seem more than a little odd that one of Jeeves's cousins was coming after us like this, but his cousins were a rather unusual lot. Jeeves's cousin Bunny was a perfectly amiable chap, but he had also been the accomplice of the infamous burglar - and another of Jeeves's cousins - A.J. Raffles. And Jeeves's cousin, Dorian, had an altogether unsavory reputation. But it doesn't do to hold a chap's family against him - after all, I wouldn't get anywhere if I was judged on the merits of my Aunt Agatha.
The voice jeered again. "Cousins? How quaint. Would a cousin do this?"
Upon the final, triumphant note, a glowing face materialized in the darkness, rushing toward us. Jeeves did not hesitate for an instant; he slashed at it with his knife. But it only flickered and slowly drew back. It was no human face; just a pair of eyes, hovering in nothingness, blazing like smoldering embers.
It could only have been a ghost. I could fathom no other explanation for the bright burning eyes suspended in the air. And then a low rumbling began, as though all the dead buried below were beginning to rise from their shallow graves. It grew louder and louder with the clanking of a thousand deathly chains and then an enormous, blinding pair of eyes emerged from the darkness.
I barely had time to flatten myself against the wall as a train barreled past.
The next thing I knew as I emerged from the gale was a tightening around my throat. I let out a shout and clutched at the coarse rope that threatened at my windpipe. Jeeves turned toward me, his knife drawn.
"Jeeves-" I began.
A quiet tutting from behind cut me short. "I wouldn't do that if I were you - or anything for that matter."
A single, sharp tug on the rope yanked me backward. I nearly tottered off the narrow platform, onto the tracks - or onto the rope - but a cold bony hand, like a skeleton's, grabbed my wrist in time. I may have let out an undignified yelp, as any chap would have done in my place.
But it was no walking skeleton who had grabbed me. At first glance, in the sputtering torchlight, he seemed to be an ordinary chap, dressed in the fish and soup, for a night on the town or what not. But there was something rummy about his face; it was a close approximation, but there was something distinctly off about the whole thing. It seemed excessively smooth, like a mask. And his eyes glinted yellow in the low light.
"If you told me, I wouldn't have believed it," the chap said, taunting. His words could not have been said to have been directed at me. No, all of his attention was on Jeeves, standing frozen, knife still in hand, a meter or so away. "You won't be needing that," he continued, with a tug at my rope - evoking another yelp.
Jeeves made to return the knife to inside his jacket.
"Drop it," the man ordered.
Jeeves complied.
"Come with me. I have something special prepared for you." The man gave my rope an extra tug for good measure.
"Jeeves!" I shouted, not sure whether I was begging him to run away or do anything but leave me to my fate.
"Quiet!" the man thundered.
The rope tightened around my neck and I found myself gasping for breath. My hands grasped at the rope of their own accord, but pull as I might I couldn't get it loose. All I could see was Jeeves before me, frozen, watching with no more expression than a particularly stern stuffed frog.
And then, as I felt the world slipping away, the rope slackened and I stood gasping for breath.
With another tug, we marched off down the tunnel. The man forced Jeeves into the lead, followed by the last of the Woosters, and then the horrible chap himself.
After a little while on the march, when the pain around my neck had settled to a dull stinging, I got up the courage to ask, "Who are you? What is this all about?"
"You really want to know?" the man asked, with a sort of perverse glee.
I swallowed reflexively.
The rope tugged at my neck and I stopped short.
"Turn around," he said.
I slowly turned to face our captor. To my surprise, his free hand - the one not holding the other end of the rope, I mean - was raised to his chin. In a single fluid movement, he pulled off his sculpted mask. What he revealed underneath I could hardly consider a face. He looked rather more like a living skeleton, his mangled skin drawn tight around the bones, with deep sunken pits for eyes and a broad flat nothing where a nose ought have been.
I yelped, stumbling back away from him until the rope caught.
"Yes, horrible isn't it? Monstrous?" he sneered. "All thanks to J."
"Jeeves?" I exclaimed, with a glance over my shoulder - he was still there, standing still and silent as ever. "You mean to say he did this to you? What rot!"
"It could have been with that very knife. A single slice" - he swept his arm at me and I leaped away, only to be caught by the rope - "is all it took. Infection did the rest."
"That's impossible! This must all be some terrible mistake!" I glanced back at Jeeves again, hoping beyond hope that he could provide some miraculous solution, but he stood unmoving and unmoved by my pleading eyes.
"Oh, it's no mistake. J may appear human, but perhaps you were right to call us cousins; inside we're the same, J and I. I just look the part, thanks to him."
"Jeeves would never-!"
"Sir," Jeeves said sharply, cutting me off mid-protest.
I glanced between him and the creature before us. "You mean to say you did as he said?"
Jeeves made no objection.
Something rummy clicked in the back of my mind, connecting one mark of violence with another. I turned on the creature with some measure of outrage, shaking a little with the force of it. "Then you're responsible for Jeeves's scars?"
Upon this point, I may need to interject a little clarification. Though Jeeves is now a most respectable chap, in fact he had a rather rough time of it at some point in his youth, and is covered by - I understate it to say - a multitude of scars beneath the livery, which I happened to glance upon one occasion when Jeeves, typically the very picture of health, chanced to fall ill and I was doing everything I could to look after him. I received no explanation as to the origins of these scars, which I presumed to be the result of some unfortunate accident, other than a reassurance from Dr. Watson, his family doctor, that they were old, and that Jeeves would probably never tell me whence they came. But now it all seemed to come together.
The terrible thing before me merely shrugged at the charge. "We all gave each other a few scratches, some worse than others. I did my best to leave a few marks on J in return before we got out, but back then I didn't know the curse he had given me. Now, I know all too well and it's your turn to pay the price!" With that he yanked on my rope and urged Jeeves onward into the dark.
"Wait! Where are you taking us?" I exclaimed, but my protest went unheeded, but for another pull at the rope.
It was not long before the creature tugged on the rope to stop me - I choked a little as it tightened again around my neck. He tied a pair of blindfolds, first around Jeeves's eyes, and then around my own, and the world fell into darkness once more. I heard a door creaking open a little ways to my left, before Jeeves and I were pushed through the portal, into a little corner, like a closet with floors that creaked with my every step. The rest of our journey remains to me a whirl of tight spaces and darkness, narrow crawls and dizzying ladders. A few times, I heard people talking as though through a door - ordinary people going about their ordinary lives, at one point I even fancied I heard a snatch of song. I thought to cry out, but the creature, understanding my thoughts, tightened the rope around my neck in a clear warning, and so we continued on in silence.
We may have stumbled for miles through winding passageways, I couldn't say. I only know that eventually, we stopped. The rope loosened around my neck, and I was shoved forward. Behind me, I heard a door slam shut.
"You can remove your blindfolds!" the creature proclaimed, as though he were a great magician showing off his latest trick.
I tentatively lifted my hand to my face and slid off the black cloth.
My eyes slowly adjusted to the bright light of day in the heart of a forest. Jeeves stood beside me, his fish and soup rather worse for the wear, but otherwise unharmed, looking out on the woods as though we had done nothing more than go for a walk in the countryside, and a particularly dull one at that.
"Enjoy it," the creature said, "because it is the last sight you will ever see!" It sounded like he was speaking from just beside me, but when I turned with a jump to face him, there was nothing there.
"Where are we?" I demanded.
He seemed not to hear me, or if he did, he paid me no heed. "It will be a fitting end, him first, of course, and then, at last, you will succumb. That's what you get for daring to live an ordinary life in the sun while you forced me to hide in shadows. She would have loved me if not for this face! If not for what you did to me! It's only fair that I take it all away from you!"
Jeeves - to whom I could only presume the whole rambling, incoherent accusation was addressed - seemed as deaf as the creature that was ranting at him. Instead, Jeeves had set off into the woods only to find his way blocked by a tall pane. We weren't in the woods at all, you see, but in a room. A small room, enclosed by six walls, each paned from the floor to the bright ceiling with mirrors that reflected a forest at us. Only one thing in the room was solid aside from Jeeves and myself; in one corner was a tree with one long branch sticking out toward us, a foot or so above our heads. And on the floor, under the branch, lay a noose.
"Let the tortures begin!" the creature shouted and an instant later I heard a sort of metallic grinding noise.
The light above grew brighter, beating down upon my head and shoulders. Heat seemed to rise from walls and floor, until we found ourselves in a steaming jungle. The soup and fish - mine also rather worse for the wear - suddenly seemed suffocating. I pulled off my jacket before turning to Jeeves with a desperate eye. We were at the mercy of a madman, the precise nature of his plan, I could not say, but I knew how it ended and I was already starting to feel the heat wearing me down.
"Jeeves, I hope you have a mighty fine wheeze to get us out of this one," I said, just about pleading.
"No, sir," was all Jeeves replied.
I don't really know if the chap heard me at all - he certainly didn't glance in my direction. It was the wall that captured his full attention. He had remained beside it through all of our captor's mad rambling and was now occupied with running his fingers along the edges between the mirrors, no doubt searching for a convenient crack.
"I suppose I'll just sit down then, as not to get in the way," I said.
"Very good, sir," he assented, giving a clear indication that would be for the best.
He wasn't so wrong to say it after all, I concluded, as I slumped against the far wall, fanning myself idly. It was my fault we were in this dashed mess - I was the one who had been caught by the neck at the inopportune moment, and Jeeves had been dragged down with me. And it wasn't like I was any use to him; he was the one who could pick locks and break traps. He had made it perfectly clear how much patience he had for Bertram W. under the circs. and I couldn't very well blame him. I could name a good dozen chaps at least who would be more useful to have along when one finds oneself in the soup - and we were at the very bottom of the ocean as far as soup was concerned. But all of that aside, Jeeves's indifferent gaze - or, rather more often, no gaze at all - really did sting. I'd thought the chap had some affection for the young master, but it seemed it had all just been feudal spirit.
One thing about such suffocating heat is that it rather turns one's mind to mush - however much of a mind a chap possessed beforehand, that is. Jeeves seemed largely unaffected by the whole ordeal, but for me, coherent thought rather fell to pieces in that sweltering jungle, already exhausted from everything else we had endured. And so my mind meandered from none-too-happy thoughts of Jeeves to even darker fears about our inhuman captor and what worse tortures awaited us, until eventually, I must have faded into a nightmarish slurry of ghostly faces and sweltering heat.
By the time I awoke, what passed for day in this sweltering jungle had turned to night. The air was no less hot, and a bright full moon seemed to shine above, its bluish light replacing the yellow of before, perhaps a little bit darker. I couldn't tell if Jeeves had moved from where he was when I dozed off; he was still feeling along the wall, seemingly attempting to pry one of the panels from where it was mounted.
"Jeeves," I croaked. My mouth felt like cotton and my dry throat scratched. My legs wobbled as I tried to force myself to my feet.
Jeeves barely glanced over his shoulder.
I tried to push myself upright, staring out into the dark rainforest. Despite the bright moonlight up above, the jungle beyond loomed shadowy and dangerous, even though I had some distant awareness that there was a wall between us and it. Nothing stirred in the hot, still air, but I tried to ready myself for something, anything that lurked in the gloom.
Then, suddenly, I heard a low rumble, like the purr of a cat, or maybe more like the growl of a dog. I spun around to face the source of the noise, but all I could make out were dark shapes on distant branches high above.
And then there came another growl, from behind. I turned again, and I thought I saw a shadow slink out of view from the corner of my eye, but when I faced it, there was nothing there.
I backed toward Jeeves on instinct. "There's something out there," I whispered, my voice hoarse.
"Sir," was all Jeeves said, sounding rather tired of it all.
"I say there's something out there! I heard it growling!"
And just then, there was another growl, certainly loud enough for us both to hear it.
I dropped my voice. "Jeeves, do you think he's let in a leopard?"
"No, sir."
"Well, it must be something!" I exclaimed.
"I couldn't say, sir," Jeeves said, with more than a touch of impatience.
"Well, what are we going to do about it?" I demanded, frightened all the more for Jeeves's indifference.
"I don't believe there is anything to do, sir."
I was coming up on hysterics at this point, and I believe I shouted, "And let it eat me for all you care?" A little quieter, but no less frantically, I continued, "I know it's my fault we're adrift in the soup and I know I'm not the sort of chap you want in a pinch, but I'm going to die in here too! Doesn't my life mean anything to you, anything at all?"
"Sir!" Jeeves snapped at last, catching my wrist in his hand so tightly that it hurt.
I let out a yelp and he loosened his grip, taking both of my hands in his for good measure.
He looked me firmly in the eye for the first time since we had awoken in that dank cell what felt like ages ago. "Sir, I will get you out of here if it is the last thing that I do."
"Jeeves," I said, my voice tight.
"I doubt that E-Q has procured any manner of wild beast," Jeeves continued. "I expect that he is merely simulating the noise."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, sir. I believe that the torture" - I balked at the word, even though we were in the midst of it - "he intends is primarily psychological."
Jeeves met my eyes again, this time his gaze was searching, as though he was looking for evidence that the torture had taken its toll. I couldn't have looked away from his dark eyes even if I'd wanted to, and at the time I was feeling rather like I could have stared forever.
"You should rest, sir," Jeeves said at last, his voice soft as though attending at a sickbed.
"Are you sure there isn't anything I can do to help?" I insisted, even as he guided me back into the middle of the room - I only belatedly noticed that he was still holding my hands, but I had no desire to withdraw them.
"No, sir, preserve your strength. The more you move, the more water you use up, and the less time we have."
"Are you all right? I don't want any of this 'last thing you do' nonsense, what?"
Jeeves turned cold again. "Sir, I can withstand more than this."
"If you're certain," I said, though I wasn't too happy about the man working himself to the bone like this on my account.
"I expect it'll be a little bit cooler here, sir," Jeeves said, stopping in the middle of the room.
Though it wasn't really necessary, he helped me sit back down, my coat on the ground beneath me, apparently to act as insulation. Then, he went back to scouring the walls, as I languished, trying to ignore the burning heat and my aching throat and the dark jungle around us. I tossed and turned as a fly buzzed around me, always just out of sight.
Eventually, some of my half-baked thoughts managed to congeal into a somewhat coherent question. "Jeeves, you mentioned an 'Eecue'?"
"Our captor, sir," Jeeves replied, not turning away from the wall. After a moment, he elaborated, "That is the name I knew him by."
"Is he really a cousin of yours?"
"I am afraid, so, sir." Jeeves said, with a little finality to his tone.
"Did you really-?" I stopped short - I already knew the answer, there was no reason to force Jeeves to say it. "I mean to say, why? What happened between you and Eecue?"
I didn't really expect Jeeves to answer, but to my surprise he said, "Such quarrels were not an infrequent occurrence among my cousins, sir."
"What? But surely not! Didn't you grow up with Bunny and Raffles?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you all got into fights with knives and what not?"
"Yes, sir." Jeeves was starting to sound a little impatient, tired of it all.
"But how? I know kids can get rough sometimes, but you weren't very well living out on the streets in gangs - were you?"
"No, sir."
"Dash it all, Jeeves, what were you doing?" I exclaimed.
"I would rather not think of it, sir."
"I don't see why not, it couldn't very well be worse than all this" - I gestured at the dark, steaming jungle around us.
"I could not say, sir."
It was baffling, utterly incomprehensible. I mean, cousins chasing each other around with pails full of water and what not was one thing, and maybe it would occasionally come to blows, but knife fights and perhaps worse was all rather beyond belief. I didn't know what to make of the half of it.
Jeeves said nothing more, and so I was left to my ambling thoughts of wild children, roaming the moors in wild hordes. Eventually, I dozed again, this time against the hard floor. It wasn't much more restful than before, but my nightmares were perhaps a little less violent.
When I fully came to again, it was day and the jungle had been changed for a vast desert. It felt like we had been hiking across the sand for weeks, perhaps months. My throat burned and I wondered if I couldn't feel some coarse grains in my shoes.
Jeeves was still standing at the wall, staring off into the endless dunes.
I stumbled to my feet and shambled over to the man with a croak that ought have been his name, but didn't quite succeed at taking form.
"Jeeves," I tried again, "have you found anything?" I asked it hopefully, but I confess my hopes were not high.
Jeeves seemed to startle away from the view. "No, sir," he said at last, his voice as rough as mine.
My hopes already weren't high, but to hear him say it dampened them further still; if Jeeves couldn't find a way out, that was it. Still, I clapped him on the back in an attempt at reassuring the chap. "You'll find something, right?"
"Yes, sir," Jeeves said sharply, pulling himself back up to full height, "failure is not permitted."
"There isn't anything I can do?"
"No, sir."
He turned back to the endless expanse of desert and resumed prodding at the walls around us. I lingered beside him, my hand still on his shoulder. I attempted to swallow, but there was nothing to force down; my mouth felt like it was full of sand.
"You're sure you're all right, what? You know I couldn't very well manage without you - if anything happened to you."
"Yes, sir," Jeeves said distantly, and I had a rummy feeling he had gone beyond my reach, so to speak.
I cast about, searching for anything that could help us in this barren waste, but I knew nothing about surviving, in deserts or otherwise. Without Jeeves, I would have been utterly lost. And then, on the horizon, I spotted a glimmer of hope; a reflection in the sand that could have only meant one thing.
"Water!" I croaked. "An oasis!"
Jeeves turned around. "Sir!"
"I say! It's right over that dune!" I pointed out over the sand and sure enough I could see it clearly now, the tell-tale glint of water, perhaps I could even make out the green frond of a palm.
"Sir, it's all an illusion. There are only mirrors."
"It's water, Jeeves!" I insisted.
And then we both heard it; the sound of water running, rippling down a river bed and dropping down from above. I tilted my head up to catch a drop, but there was only the bright desert sun beating down upon us.
"Sir, I expect that is also E-Q's doing."
"What rot!" I exclaimed, fumbling toward the oasis, from which I was certain the sound beckoned.
But Jeeves caught me first, and pushed me gently to the ground. "Rest, sir. Save your strength."
"But I'm so thirsty, Jeeves, and it's right there!"
"I know, sir. I'll find a way out, sir, just wait here."
I didn't have the strength to argue. I waited on the ground as Jeeves returned to the walls, pushing and pulling this way and that. I watched him in a daze, and at some point I may have faded for want of water, because the next thing I knew he had slumped to the ground against the wall.
I struggled over to him, calling out to him to the extent that I could still draw sound from my parched throat.
"Rest, sir," he said, his voice nearer to a whisper, "I will find a way." He spoke with such determination, but his eyes seemed dazed and unfocused, as though he couldn't even see me.
He tried to haul himself to his feet, but he wobbled and his legs folded under him. I sprang toward him in an attempt to catch his fall.
I gave him a shake. "Jeeves! Stay with me!"
"There is no cause for concern, sir," he murmured. He tried again to shove himself upright, but again he faltered and, at last, collapsed where he sat.
As you may very well know by now, without Jeeves, I am nothing more than an ordinary chap, or rather less than your average chap, to tell the truth. Throughout our ordeal, Jeeves had made it readily apparent that he could do just about anything, and if we had any chance of making it out alive, he was the chap to do it. But now I found myself short one Jeeves, tallying up to exactly one Wooster facing an endless expanse of desert for both our sakes, and beyond it, a madman. Panic rose like bile in my throat, but I pushed it down. There was only one thing to be done; to cease thinking like Bertram W. and begin to think like Jeeves.
My head swam in the sweltering heat. I felt rather near doubling over myself, but still, I tried to soldier on, if not on my feet, then on my knees. In the distance, I could still see an oasis buried amidst the dunes.
Suddenly, I heard a scuffling sound, like something was moving on the other side of a distant dune. I bolted upright.
"Who's there?" I believe I managed to choke out.
Jeeves stirred weakly.
The shuffling only drew closer. If I closed my eyes, it sounded like feet on a hardwood floor, and that, I realized with a start, could have only been our captor. I thought to flee, but there was nowhere to go, only sand as far as the eye could see. All we could do was wait and wonder what new, fresh horrors lay in store for us. I tried to peer through the glare of the midday sun, searching for a skeletal figure coming up over the crest of a dune, but I could make out nothing but the barren sands.
Abruptly, the shuffling stopped and was replaced by a quiet clinking. And then, to my surprise, the desert-wall swung open with a rush of cool air.
Standing in the doorway that had materialized out of the desert was not our captor, but a rather rummy chap with bright green eyes, wearing a pointed cap, who I thought I recognized from somewhere long ago and far away, as it must have been.
"Come! Hurry! We don't have much time!" he said in hushed tones.
"What? How? Who?" I stammered as I struggled upward "Is this- are you here to rescue us?"
"Yes, now hurry!"
The chap helped pull me to my feet and between the two of us - the other chap did most of the work, really - we hauled Jeeves up and surged out into the blissfully cool air.
We emerged from days and nights, or so it seemed, of walking through the desert into what gave every appearance of being a perfectly ordinary bedroom, as though it had all been a prolonged nightmare. I couldn't say I recognized the place; it looked to be a woman's room, if I wasn't mistaken, it's only oddity that it seemed to have been long abandoned, coated in dust and moth eaten in the extreme. And there was the door, still open, looking in on that dreadful chamber and the endless desert inside.
We struggled across the room and Jeeves and I just about fell onto the bed in the corner - I barely managed to remain seated upright and Jeeves sat propped up beside me, rapidly blinking to.
"Water," I gasped.
The rummy chap who had rescued us quickly went to bring a pair of cups brimming with that precious life-giving fluid. We both grabbed the cups and drank like a drowning fellow gulps for air, and, in fact, I did breathe some of it in and ended up doubled over coughing until I could take in another gulp.
I downed a few good cups of the needful before our rescuer interrupted, insisting, "We must hurry. He will not be away for long."
It was only then that I had the presence of mind to realize that our rescuer was the very same chap who had offered such a cryptic warning upon my arrival at the theater, what felt like eons ago, in another world entirely. Daroga, he called himself, which I have since learned is something of a title rather than a name.
"Right-o!" I exclaimed, and tottered to my feet - though the instant I removed the cup from my lips, my mouth again felt parched. "Jeeves, can you walk all right?"
Jeeves was still seated on the bed, half-emptied cup in hand, eyeing our rescuer.
"I say, Jeeves," I tried again.
"Sir?" he said, as though he was only just noticing anything had been said at all.
I felt a pang of fear at the thought that Jeeves was still far from his usual implacable self, and we had only just leapt from the frying pan into who knew what fires that waited. But at the very least, we weren't alone, and as far as we were considered, things were beginning to look up, however cautiously.
"Do you think you could manage walking, Jeeves?" I asked. "I don't know if we could carry you."
"Yes, I believe so, sir," Jeeves said haltingly - far from a good sign.
But when I helped him to his feet, he seemed to be able to stand all right, and after downing the rest of the cup of water, he seemed, if not right as rain, at least mobile.
"Keep your hand at the level of your eyes," the daroga instructed us, "as though you are holding a pistol, but without firing. That is the only way you will be safe from him."
The daroga actually pulled out a pair of pistols at this juncture, one of which he handed to me. I confess, I fumbled with it a little, before hastily pocketing the thing; I did a little hunting, like any well-brought up youth, but I was hardly a quick draw or any of that.
"Hope that you do not need it," the daroga said, before leading us on.
The room seemed to have only two doors; one to the desert and another to a washroom, but we took a third. It seemed the daroga knew the place rather well, for he quickly found a button concealed in the wall that upon being pressed made a part of the wall swing open, giving us entry into another chamber.
"I say, you know this place rather well, what?" I remarked.
"Unfortunately, yes," the daroga said. "Now, quickly!"
Unlike the first room, which at one time would have been quite cheery, if a little oddly decorated with statuettes of grasshoppers and scorpions and what not upon the mantle, the second was rather grim in the dim light of the daroga's lantern; adorned in black like a house of mourning, with blood red accents, and furnished with a coffin, as well as an organ, as though to suit a musically minded vampire.
"You know this Eecue chap then?" I asked, taking it all in, as it were.
"You are referring to Erik?" the daroga replied.
"Yes, the chap who wears a mask, apparently kidnaps people and puts them in death traps and what not."
Furtively glancing about for the same, the daroga beckoned us on, out through a door of the usual sort, which led down a flight of stairs, into what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary flat, with a dining room, and drawing room, and so on, the likes of which could have been found anywhere. But there was something eerie about even such an ordinary place in the dark, and every reflection brought to mind our captor's glowing eyes.
"I take it this is his flat, what?" I added.
"Yes," the daroga said with a sigh. "I saved his life once, and have come to regret it ever since."
"Really?" I asked. "Say, then how did you find us here? You don't exactly sound like bosom pals."
"Erik has been restless. He mentioned an Englishman had come to Paris on whom he wanted revenge. When you went missing, I knew."
At this point, we passed out through the front door of the flat, not onto a Paresian rue, but onto a rocky island on the edge of a vast underground lake in an even more vast cavern.
"I say!" I exclaimed, stopping short on the threshold. "Where are we?"
"Deep under the opera house," the daroga said, "in Erik's domain."
"You mean to say that he lives down here?"
"Yes. Now, this way, quickly, before he discovers you are missing!" Without giving us another second to catch our breath, the dargoa hurried us to the shore of the lake, where a small rowboat sat waiting.
We ran to the shore, Jeeves and I stumbling as much as walking, my head still light for want of water - my throat felt as dry as it had in the endless desert. We had almost made it when Jeeves seemed to falter. I didn't see exactly what happened; I only belatedly turned around to find the daroga regaining his balance a few feet away, and Jeeves standing in front of me, as steady as ever, one of the daroga's pistols raised, pointed straight ahead, toward the house from which we had come.
Just a few yards away, between us and the house, was our captor, Erik, himself, his yellow eyes glinting in the light of the daroga's lamp as he approached.
I hardly had time to take in the scene before the daroga shouted, "No! Don't shoot him! Come, we must hurry!"
As far as I could see, Jeeves made no indication that he had so much as heard the chap. This was another side to the man that I had never seen before, but after everything that had occured, it no longer seemed so unlikely or even surprising that he might go through with it.
"Come on, Jeeves," I urged - not that I had any particular love for that Erik chap, in fact I may have rested better if he was gone, but the daroga's plea had struck something of a chord in me, and it suddenly seemed a terrible thing to do.
Jeeves didn't lower the gun, but he didn't shoot either.
At the daroga's exclamation, Erik had stopped in his tracks, still some yards away from us.
"Sir, the rowboat, if you will," Jeeves said, brooking no argument and not taking his eyes, or the pistol off of Erik.
"Jeeves," I attempted.
"Sir," Jeeves replied sharply.
I complied, and moving slowly backward, Jeeves followed me to the little boat, but didn't get in himself.
The daroga remained on the shore, glancing between Jeeves and Erik.
"I say, come on!" I called out to him.
"Sir," Jeeves cautioned.
"The chap saved our lives. And he must know the way out of here if anyone does!"
"Very good, sir," Jeeves said, but he sounded none too pleased about it. He motioned for the daroga to come over to us.
Between the two of them, they pushed the boat into the water and jumped inside, rather awkwardly on Jeeves's part, as he did all that without once taking the pistol off of Erik. Jeeves sat down beside me and directed the daroga to the other end of the boat.
"Jeeves," I protested, "this is bally rot!"
"We must move quickly," the daroga cut in. "He often swims in the water, waiting to trap trespassers."
Jeeves nodded for the daroga to go ahead and row us across the glassy subterranean lake. Though Jeeves sat tall in the bow, as it were, I could see that he was in no shape to do it - our ordeal had taken its toll. He wasn't the only one; the water lapping against the boat called to me and my parched and aching throat. The meager cups I had gulped down in the abandoned bedroom felt so far distant that I wondered if I hadn't dreamed it up entirely. A strange house on an island in the middle of an underground lake, that housed a desert and a jungle was more the stuff of dreams, or rather nightmares, than reality. I believe it was at this point that I also became keenly aware of a gnawing hunger. I didn't know how long it had been since I had last eaten.
"I would not advise it, sir," Jeeves said, having followed my longing gaze to the water below.
"You're right." I just had to pluck up the good old Wooster spirit and brave the trek across the lake.
It seemed immeasurably vast in the darkness, glassy and smooth, until it gave way to nothingness.
We were in the thick of it, adrift in the lonesome pool of light shed by the daroga's lantern, when the chap spoke up from his rowing.
"It really was you who did that to him?" the daroga asked, and I could tell he wasn't talking to me.
Jeeves remained silent, and I expected he wouldn't respond, but he inclined his head in a shallow nod. His features betrayed nothing.
"You have ruined his life," the daroga said. "If not for you, he could be like any ordinary man."
I made to protest, but Jeeves stayed me with a raised hand.
"I do not deny my part in E-Q's present state," Jeeves said, "but he could never have been an ordinary man."
"And Jeeves would know," I put in, "they are cousins after all."
The daroga nodded. "Erik told me that you are the same type of monster as he is; that you only hide it better."
"Now see here!" I exclaimed. "It's not right to judge a chap on his relations. Just because Jeeves and Erik are cousins, Jeeves doesn't go around kidnapping chaps and throwing them in torture chambers on his days off!"
The daroga seemed taken aback by my exclamation. "Perhaps you are right," he said, but still he eyed Jeeves warily.
"That is very kind, sir," Jeeves said quietly, his hand upon my sleeve.
I only remember the remainder of our journey in flashes. I don't know how he did it, the still expanse of water all looked the same to me, as though it were another infinite illusion in Erik's torture chamber, but the daroga steered us true, and eventually we landed on the opposite shore. From there we wound upward, along a long sloping path that went around the outside of the opera house. We stopped frequently, Jeeves and I both still wobbly, but never for long.
Finally the empty road gave way to a maze of furnaces. I was ready to cheer at our first sign of civilization, but the daroga warned that we had a long ways yet to go. As we passed by them, the furnaces burned with all the heat of the desert that stung my parched throat and made my head swim.
From there, we came upon a stairwell that went up into a cellar that served as storage for the opera house, full of set pieces from countless productions; medieval towers and grand country houses, and even a backdrop of a jungle that we hurried past. And then, it was but a quick jaunt up into the area behind the stage that we had been touring when Erik first overtook us. We could even hear the muffled sound of dancers practicing their routines as we scurried through the halls.
At last, we burst out, blinking, into the light of day.
The daroga tipped his hat to us and made to depart, as though he had merely chanced to make our acquaintance during the matinee, and now had another engagement to attend to.
"Thank you!" I said, shaking his hand, and I don't think I could ever thank him enough. In fact, I believe I said it as I tried to press on him some remuneration; however much I still had on me.
The daroga shook his head. "You are very kind, but I do not want for money."
"You're sure?" I insisted.
But the man held firm.
"I say," I said, "it was very preux of you to rescue us, risking a lot of personal danger, what? Why did you do it? I mean to say, we're not personal friends or anything. For all you knew, Jeeves was as bad as Erik."
"What else was I to do? Leave you to die?" the daroga said simply. And with that, he took his leave.