Dream London Read Free

Christine. Of course I’ll meet strangers. This is a city.”
    “This Stranger will be special.”
    “Can’t you see, Christine? This is all made up. You’ve been going downhill ever since you bought that stupid parchment. Why did you bother? We had everything we needed.”
    She looked at me with real pity then.
    “James,” she said, sadly. “Don’t you see? I didn’t buy the parchment to confirm that you were going to be my husband. I bought it to confirm that you weren’t.”
    “Oh.”
    I couldn’t meet her eye. I felt sick and lost and detached from everything. She folded her hands over the parchment in my own.
    “Promise me you’ll read it, Jim. It will help you. I still worry about you.”
    “The parchment is just stories. It doesn’t mean anything!”
    She fixed me with a gaze. Memory imposed the blue of her eyes over the dim light.
    “Please, James. Promise me you’ll read it.”
    “I promise,” I said. Not that a promise from Jim Wedderburn means anything.
    She gave me a brittle little smile.
    “I have to be off,” she said. “I’ll see you around.”
    I watched her walk off up the street, leaving me alone and lost in the middle of the city, uncertain even of the time of night and, now that the poison was sweating from my system, with an empty stomach that was telling me just how hungry it was.
    It growled at a changing world, one which was moulding me into someone I didn’t want to be.
    I took another look at the top line of the parchment.
    You will meet a Stranger.
    I shook my head sadly at the words, and pushed the parchment into my pocket.
    Just then the door of the inn opened once more, and the stranger who was to change my life stepped out into the night.
    The man was unmistakably a Molly. Framed by the light of the door I could see his dark red velvet suit, the striped golden shirt and tie. His red top hat was tilted at a rakish angle, but it was the foundation, the hint of eyeliner and lipstick that confirmed it. He was a good looking man, in an effeminate sort of way. And he was gazing right at me.
    “Captain Jim Wedderburn, I believe!” he said, holding out a hand for me to shake.
    “It’s James Wedderburn,” I replied, but I took his hand anyway. It was warm and smooth.
    “Jim, James, what’s a name to a Jolly Japer like you, eh? Jim, I’d like to invite you to dinner. What do you say? A little convivial company and conversation over comestibles?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I was thinking of heading for bed.”
    My stomach rumbled, making its own views known.
    “I don’t think so,” he said. “In fact I know that you weren’t. I’ve been watching you, my Jolly Jim. Seven nights now, I’ve come to this pub, sat in the seat by the door through the lost hours, looking through the glass, just waiting to see if you would step into the night. Six whores have come and gone from your room, but no sign of the gallant captain in the night hours. Then finally, this very evening, I saw Luke Pennies enter your building, half hidden by a glamour, and I knew that this night would be make or break. I had a bet with myself that you would survive his dreadful attempts upon your person, and look if I wasn’t right!”
    “What do you want with me?”
    “I want your help,” he said.
    “Help with what?”
    The Molly waved a hand around the elongated buildings of Dream London, stretched out thin and sharp against the deep purple sky, the moon an over-large crescent that threatened to impale the city itself on its horns.
    “Look at this place,” he said. “I want you to help me to find out what happened to us.”

 
     

    RED
    ALPHONSE/ALAN
     
     
    “C OME ALONG, J OLLY Jim!”
    The stranger folded my hand in his arm and walked me down the street, strolling in and out of the pools of light cast by the gas lamps. Everything about him craved attention – his flamboyant dress: the velvet top hat and gloves; the eyeliner and mascara; the richness of his voice. He spoke like