Olivia Dunne scanned the narrow corridor in the dim light; it seemed to run the width of the east side of the Heron sisters' mansion, so far as she could tell. As she had expected, it was painted black, and heavily muffled with cloth to allow Mircea Heron's assistants to move freely without disturbing the séances that would take place on the opposite side of the wall. A glance at her pocket watch confirmed that Eden and Miss Blakely would be arriving shortly, and she had determined to conceal herself before that.
The door-sized panel at the end was clearly the secret rear entrance to the spirit cabinet; doubtless Mircea Heron would be placed inside it, and once the door was closed, she would be joined by a confederate who would either undo her bonds to allow her to create the "spirit" effects, or simply perform those tricks themselves.
The observations she had made on her visit to the Herons' house on the previous day had allowed her to deduce the location of this secret passageway, and a further day of scouting had shown her the way in. Now, she settled back into the darkness, against the wall, waiting.
For her expedition that day, she had spent the afternoon in and around St. James's and The Green Park, dressed conventionally enough not to attract attention. At dusk, she had found a secluded place to change into the black sweep's clothing that had so often proved useful in her "second-story" work on behalf of the Crown, with her long hair stuffed up under the battered cap, and to don the soft-soled leather boots. Around her waist, a pouched leather belt held her tools for housebreaking and other contingencies.
The afternoon's reconnoiter had shown her that the Heron sisters seemed to take security for granted, as Olivia had her choice of unobserved entry points. When half an hour remained before Eden and Miss Blakeley were to arrive, she scaled the side of the house facing away from the road, and slithered in through an easily-jimmied window.
Inside, she had paused long enough to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light, and realized she had been correct: the most secluded section of the house's exterior held the secret passages that she was sure would be essential to the Heron Sisters' deceptions. It was now just a matter of waiting until the séance was under way, and Mircea was bound and gagged in the spirit cabinet. Olivia would give the charlatan the surprise of her life when she appeared instead of whoever the designated stooge was to have been.
And unless I am much mistaken, here she comes now.
From her seclusion in the shadows, Olivia spotted the red-haired figure of the secretary, Grizelda, making her way up the stairs with a small candle in hand. She extinguished it once she reached the top of the landing, and Olivia realized that the woman had probably effected this ruse so many times that she needed little or no light to find her way.
Which suits me quite well, the detective thought dryly. All the better to surprise her.
The young ginger woman had backed to within inches of Olivia's position when the detective darted out her right hand, strong fingers clamping the cluster of nerves at the base of the woman's neck: Grizelda dropped to the floor like a sack of laundry, and Olivia once more reflected on the usefulness in keeping up with the frontiers of the 19th century's most advanced theories of medical science: research into the nervous system that allowed doctors to heal could also be a powerful weapon.
Grizelda was quivering, half-conscious, as Olivia grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her up to a sitting position; the woman's brown eyes were watery and her eyelids fluttered, but even though the haze of her paralysis, the anger could easily be read.
Ignoring that, Olivia seated the dazed woman up against the banister, pulling her arms back and joining her wrists together so that they met behind one of the railing posts. Holding Grizelda's wrists together with her left hand, Olivia slipped a pair of handcuffs out of belt pouch with the right hand, and cuffed the woman's hands to the pole behind her. The wood seemed heavy enough to resist a 90-pound woman's attempts to yank a handcuff chain free.
Olivia stepped around in front of her captive, and knelt down, looking into the bleary, hate-filled eyes.
"You needn't worry: I've done you no permanent damage; in fact, you'll be back to your normal self in a few minutes." She reached again to her belt. "Which is why I'm going to have to make sure you don't cause any disturbances while I 'assist' your employers with their performance."
With her left hand, she drew from one of the pouches a device of her own construction: a thick black India-rubber ball, through which she had drilled a hole to accommodate a leather strap. Modeled on the leather bits which were sometimes used to prevent madhouse inmates from hurting themselves, its round shape, additional thickness and flexibility, allowed it to fill the wearer's mouth more completely and effectively than a leather bit, making it much more useful at stifling speech.
She took Grizelda's chin in her hand, the woman's mouth slack and drooling from the paralyzing attack. Olivia's deft fingers fixed the thick rubber carefully in the woman's mouth, fitting it so that it rested against her back teeth, wedging it firmly in place. She pressed Grizelda's unresisting head down so that she could buckle the gag strap at the nape of her neck. She patted her captive's head.
"Be a good girl, now. Try looking down at the floor: you won't choke on your own saliva if you let it drip down your front."
Something that might have been a strangled gurgling sound was her only response; Olivia could see the woman flexing her arms as feeling returned, but she was still firmly handcuffed in place.
Olivia slipped along the dark corridor, until she came to the panel that led to the false back of the spirit cabinet: from here, Mircea Heron would expect Grizelda to help her perform many of her miraculous effects. This time, though, the medium would find something that the spirits could not have predicted: Olivia Dunne, ready to insure that the bound and gagged medium remained bound and gagged, and unable to perpetrate her frauds.
She slid the silent panel open, seeing a small alcove where Grizelda would have hidden, and beyond that, the panel that would appear to observers as the real "back" of the cabinet. She examined the paraphernalia of deception, including the speaking trumpet that was intended to distort the medium's voice, or Grizelda's, enough to pass herself off as Miss Blakeley's late sister.
From the other side of the cabinet, she could hear Sabinia Heron addressing Eden and Miss Blakely; likely sowing the seeds of credulity that would carry them through their "supernatural" evening. Her highly trained nostrils also picked up a faint scent coming from the other side: dark, woody; some diluted blend of henbane and belladonna, she'd wager, probably embedded in the candle wax, and used to befuddle a client's senses, and heighten their susceptibility to "mystical" suggestion and visions. Doubtless the Heron sisters and their minions had, over the months, inhaled small doses to build their resistance to the point that it no longer affected them, only the poor gulls they fleeced.
Olivia gritted her teeth, wanting nothing more than to emerge and smash the damned charade before it even began. But she knew that Eden and Miss Blakeley would need to first believe what they were seeing was truly supernatural; it would then make Olivia's exposure of the imposture even more convincing. Silently, she slid back the panel and slipped into the alcove; once she heard the door to the cabinet shut from the other side, she would emerge and join the bound, gagged, and astonished Mircea in the main part of the cabinet.
She had settled back on her haunches, looking for a more comfortable position, when she felt, more than heard, the panel slide back open behind her, and felt herself yanked back into the soundproofed corridor.
The hand that stopped her mouth was huge, covering near half her face: Sykes, that was obvious, both from the size of the palm and the terrible strength of the arm that encircled her waist and pulled her back through the portal, the panel gliding silently closed as someone else slid it to.
Olivia twisted her head, gasping for air under the suffocating paw. She pulled both feet up underneath her, so that her attacker had to bear all her weight; as he staggered slightly in surprise, she drove back with one booted toe, and stamped down hard with the other, twisting her body with the flexibility of a dancer. Sykes spasmed as pain racked his instep and groin simultaneously. His grip on Olivia loosened, and she slithered from his grasp, landing on the balls of her feet. She pivoted, ducking low to avoid his spasmodic lunge at her. Facing him, she formed her right hand into the "gypsy's blade" taught her by the warrior monks of Perseigne, and drove it at the soft flesh below her foe's breastbone.
The shock of the contact shuddered down her arm; the huge man might have been built of stone, so numb was her hand. He staggered, though, and glared in astonishment at the skilled and resourceful woman who was proving his match. Giving him no time to react, Olivia drove another boot to the groin. This time, he reacted quickly enough to block her kick with his arm, but the sole of her boot absorbed the shock as it cracked the inside of his elbow. He grunted, his eyes tearing, and Olivia realized that, despite all the soundproofing of the corridor, he was desperate not to cry out and spoil his mistress' séance. She lowered a shoulder, and drove at his midriff; if he wanted to play quietly, so be it. She'd be happy to let the séance play out before tearing the curtain away from the Heron sisters' deceptions. She drew in breath to focus her energies for one last crippling blow, when it suddenly felt as though a thunderstorm had exploded against the back of her head.
Sykes growled triumphantly as Olivia was knocked forward, dazed, into his arms. The kosh had slammed down from behind against the back of her head and the mass of her hair stuffed up under her hat; if its thickness saved her from a completely cracked skull, the force of the blow sent her cap flying, and the loosened tresses spilling free gave the monster extra purchase for his grip on her.
Grabbing the stunned detective by her now-streaming hair, he slammed her forehead hard against the barrel of his chest. Pools of light alternated with alarming blackness as Olivia's vision swam, and she was struggling to retain consciousness when she felt a pair of wiry, strong hands yank her arms behind her back. Sykes held her pressed to his chest, half-suffocating her, and Olivia was dimly aware of some kind of stout cord encircling her wrists. The fibers scraped across her skin, and she found herself recognizing the unique weave of the Magyar sailor's rope as she was bound with it, for whatever good that might do her; not that it seemed like much.
Having her arms pinned behind her back impaired not only her fighting, but her balance, and her attempts to once more deliver painful blows with her feet were laughably weak. She kicked Sykes in the shin and got only a cuff across the back of the head for her pains; she threw one foot back to try and interrupt her unseen binder's work, but her foot was kicked away with a crack against her ankle.
One final tug seemed to satisfy her captor that Olivia's hands were secure, and in her dizzied state, she could scarcely even conceive of trying to work on the bonds. Sykes spun her around in his massive arms, and pulled her up with her back against his chest. In the dim light, she saw Grizelda! The woman was dirty and disheveled, her red hair awry… and Oliva's handcuffs were now dangling from only her left wrist.
Of course! Olivia cursed herself for a fool. She's spent years in the employ of these women who are little better than music-hall conjurers: doubtless a handcuff escape had figured in the act at some point.
In the heat of the fight, Olivia had given little thought to the séance taking place below them. Now, though, she was beginning to sense that a cry for aid might not be out of place here.
She opened her mouth to call out to Eden, but the grinning Grizelda had evidently been waiting for just that opportunity to fill the struggling detective's mouth with the India rubber ball, still damp with her own saliva. Olivia choked as the slimy rubber invaded her mouth and fit against her back teeth with a depressing efficiency. Her eyes swam with tears as she fought down her gag reflex, and Grizelda's bony fingers and sharp nails pushed the rubber ball gag deeper into Olivia's mouth, muffling her futile cry for aid.
Sykes then forced Olivia's head down and swept her long hair aside as Grizelda cinched the buckle at the back of her neck; Olivia felt the leather scrape against the nape of her neck as the strap tightened, ensuring that her mouth would remain stifled by the foul-tasting ball of rubber.
After securing the gag, Grizelda stepped back, smirking, as the captive detective threw her head up, tossing her tumbled locks back from her face, glaring at her captor. Olivia made a reflexive pull to try to free herself, but even at her best, she'd have had difficulty breaking the grip the hulking giant had on her shoulders… and bound, gagged, and half-dazed, she was far from at her best.
"What do we do with her?" Sykes's voice was a low grumble, with a tone that hinted he could suggest a few things, if solicited.
Grizelda smirked. "We put her in storage until the evening's done." She paused, listening; it sounded as though Sabinia was still setting the scene for the mystical revelations that were to come. "I'm not needed for about fifteen minutes, so we can make sure she's secure before I have to perform."
She jerked her head in the direction from which she'd come, and Sykes's massive fingers nearly crushed Olivia's shoulders as she was hustled down the dim corridor. She was losing feeling in her hands and arms from his fierce grip and the tight cord cutting into her wrists, and breathing with the huge gag in her mouth was becoming an almost desperate chore as she staggered helplessly along in his grasp.
Grizelda opened the door to what appeared to be a small storeroom, and helped Sykes to drag their dazed captive stumbling inside.
Once inside, Olivia could see that the room evidently doubled as some kind of workshop--fashioning the devices that allowed Mircea Heron to effect her fraudulent schemes--and the breath flew from her lungs as Sykes heaved her up and deposited her, face down, on the table, her breasts crushed painfully beneath her.
While Olivia was trying to catch her breath around her gag, Grizelda had opened a drawer in the table, and drawn out a ring of small keys, trying one after another until finding one that allowed her to unlock Olivia's handcuffs that still hung from her left wrist. Clicking both cuffs open, she snapped them around the prone detective's booted ankles, ratcheting them tightly enough that Olivia grunted with pain into the thick rubber ball.
As Sykes's huge palms pressed down on Olivia's shoulders, holding her in place, Grizelda gathered some of the thin cord for that was used for "levitation" effects during séances; she wrapped it several times around the links between Olivia's cuffs, then pulled on it, bowing the detective's body as her trapped feet were pulled up her back towards her head. Grizelda then fastened the taut cord to the bonds at Olivia's wrists.
"Her legs. Hold them down." It wasn't enough that her body was bent to the whim of being tied wrists to ankles: Sykes put his weight on Olivia's shins, pressing her calves now against her thighs, and crushing her against the table. Grizelda took a leather belt and wrapped it around Olivia's legs, cinching it and fastening the buckle so that her legs were folded in two and clamped tightly to each other.
"Now, just in case she knows a few tricks of her own…"
Olivia sagged a bit in her bonds as she felt Grizelda grasp her thumbs and twist some of the thin cord around them at their base, and at the knuckle, rendering them virtually useless. It was not really surprising--Grizelda had already demonstrated her knowledge of the escape artist's techniques--but Olivia had clung to the hope that she might have some opportunity, if left alone, to manipulate her bonds. Now, unable to bring her thumbs to bear, she was truly helpless. And while the binding of her thumbs alone might have sufficed to defeat her, her captor was taking no chances: she produced a roll of surgical tape, tore off a strip, and wrapped it around the tied thumbs, and around the fingers of both of Olivia's hands, the sticky adhesive making her hands no more use to her than a seal's flippers.
As she was fighting down panic, Olivia felt the woman's fingernails graze the back of her neck as she swept Olivia's long hair forward, over her face, spilling across the table, and clearing the way for Sykes to tug at the buckle of the gag, driving it deeper yet into Olivia's mouth. Grizelda's hands busied themselves with something Olivia couldn't see, and she felt the cool caress of slim cord being wound about her throat. In seconds, the secretary's deft fingers had formed the cord into a loose version of a hangman's noose. She handed the free end to Sykes, who was easily able to reach up and loop it over a beam in the ceiling, and tie it off.
Grizelda bent down, her mouth at Olivia's ear. "I shouldn't struggle if I were you. Lie still and you'll be all right. But roll off this table and you'll hang yourself."
Olivia growled in her throat; that calculation had been obvious: unless she could somehow get her legs free and feet on the floor, a fall off the table would snap the noose taut. And freeing either her legs from the leather straps that strained her muscles to agony, or her ankles from the metal handcuffs that encircled them, would be nearly impossible in her present state… and to effect an escape without strangling herself, she'd have to do both.
"Of course," Grizelda went on, "I wouldn't be at all surprised if that might be preferable to whatever Mircea and Sabinia decide to do with you." She gave a low chuckle, and turned to leave. Sykes paused long enough to run a meaty paw through the silky dark tresses that spilled across the table, then joined Grizelda, pulling the door closed behind him.