The doubtful murmurs in the audience swelled into cheers of agreement as they all realized the scheme.
“Well, well!” the magician exclaimed. “What an intelligent crowd! I suppose it is only fair!” The audience cheered, and I thanked my drunken friends before scurrying down the aisle to get a closer look.
With flair, he flung away the mask to reveal a long, pale, bearded face with a protruding brow that looked nothing at all like the Mr. Cheval I met. I stared in disbelief for a moment, then found myself storming out of the theater, crumpling up my program as furiously as one could crumple up a sheet of paper. A fitting waste of time to end a perfectly useless day.
Once I was outside in the cold, my worries overtook my anger. Perhaps Cheval really was a common name. Or did the giant at the ball lie to us about every little detail? If he were stealing my sister away to London, it would make sense for him to take on an alias. What better than a magician who put on an act and, before you realized it, disappeared?
I searched for a cab along the silent road, but the traffic had vanished within the past couple of worthless hours. A group of rowdy men hollered to me as they entered a nearby tavern, so I started in the other direction, hoping to avoid unwanted attention. The echo of a distant carriage called me down one unfamiliar street, then another. An attempt to retrace my steps only got me more lost and disoriented. Nothing kindled my memories. Not the darkened shop windows, not the half-torn advertisements covering every wall, not the slivers of gaslight casting shadows that twisted at my feet. After far too many turned corners, a familiar half-open window brought me down a lifeless alley littered with trash, vomit, and what looked like two vacant eyes staring up at me.
I did not remember that.
Shivering, I hurried away, splashing through foul puddles and dank recesses without hesitation. I rounded a corner chemist shop, found that the next street looked completely wrong, spun around to retrace my steps, and crashed right into the two reeking men from the magic show. My muttered apologies and attempts to slip by failed as their wide, swaggering frames blocked my path. They didn’t look to be the friendliest of guides.
“ ’Ere she is! ’Ello, poppet. Whereya runnin’ off to?” one voice scratched like sandpaper.
“ ’Ow much fer the both o’ us?” the other said.
I endeavored to turn around, but one shuffled in front of me. “Oy, take a look at those lips! Come on, darlin’, ’ow much?” he yelled.
My heart started to pound, furiously begging my legs to move. I made a dash, but the men were faster than drunkards rightfully should have been. One seized my arm and swung me back while the other clutched my neck with his grimy fingers. I struggled to utter words, sounds, anything as I heard the metal clang of a dropped blade and scraping as one of them picked it up.
“Lucky us. No one’s ’ere,” a voice in my ear cackled to the other man. “Who needs a room?”
“No, no! Please—”
The taste of dirt hit me as a thick, fetid hand smothered my cry for help. Another hand pulled my neckline apart with a horrifying tear, and my final, frantic lunge away was stopped short by two hairy arms pinning me to a strange, damp body. The edge of the knife pricked my burning throat as their whispered threats lingered in my ear. The suffocating stench of tobacco and ale filled my lungs, violating all my senses.
I kicked. I kicked so hard, and it did nothing but hurry them along. Hands seized my feet, and a voice cursed at me as they carried me off the sidewalk and down an alley—an alley far too dark to see what they would do next.
AND FAR TOO dark for them to see me.
My hand flew up, clawing at the closest face, fingers digging into hair, flesh, eyes with every shred of fury I could summon from within. Thick wetness dribbled down my palm, and a loud, gruff scream tore straight through my ears. The blade dropped away, and the holds on me loosened for a brief, startling second.
My feet kicked hard again, flailing and hitting and thrusting into what felt like a face, a stomach, a groin, and then they touched solid ground. I scrambled backward, bumping into a body and shoving it away and spinning around in the dark, looking for the yellow glow of gaslight. Hearing grunts and footsteps behind me, I dashed toward the street, my skirts tangling, my slippers half sliding off, my balance and breath leaving me. If I could just make it down the street, a constable would hear me. Someone. Anyone. And that was when a third silhouetted man arrived, standing between me and my freedom.