Dwynn Murphy stepped into a candle-lit room and was instantly flooded with a mixture of emotions so acute in their dissimilarities that she nearly collapsed. The full brunt of her mission’s purpose was finally weighing on her heart. From the corner of her eye she noticed the man, hands folded and legs crossed, to whom she was to sell herself for the good of her family. She felt naked standing there before him as he addressed her entrance, motionlessly and silently from a high-backed leather chair. She wanted to run right back, back through the black, empty hallway and down the enormously eerie staircase that she had only a minute ago so heroically conquered.
On the other hand, while her peripheral vision noted the nameless john, her full attention was drawn to the incredible wealth of books that lined the walls of the small room and littered the mahogany floors. It was as though she had stumbled upon a magnificent playground, a secret oasis of printed treasures. She immediately wanted to dive into the shelves and immerse herself in stories of far-off lands, ancient worlds, and the theories of enlightened men. “But where would I begin?” she thought to herself. “I could spend a lifetime here and not even scratch the surface of…”
“Good evening.” The man in the chair at last broke the silence in the room, a muteness to which Dwynn had not paid the slightest notice. The eagerness of her heart had been whispering – or whaling, more appropriately – for her to snatch the first book within arm’s reach, crack its cover, and delve deep into whatever may lie inside. His greeting startled her.
“Hello,” she said abruptly. She was unsure of what came next. Her past failed appointments with clients were always set in a dilapidated shack, where she would wait restlessly for whatever fiend may walk through the door. On this night, she was the visitor, unaware of the correct protocol. Her apprehension showed.
“Have a seat, dear.”
Dwynn looked about ignoring the bed completely, and the only chair in the room, save the fine leather one already occupied, was covered by a stack of books five high. She thanked the man and proceeded to remove the stack to the floor and take her seat facing him. Her unassuming innocence was met with a smile.
“How does the evening find you?”
“It’s a bit chilly,” she said as a matter of fact. His tone and composure had put her at a slight ease. Dwynn’s typical experience in this line of work did not include pleasantries or formalities. As soon as the shanty door was shut business was at hand. This welcomed departure from normalcy, combined with the pleasing environment, nearly put the thought of business out of her mind. “It’s quite a jaunt over here from Mile End, you know. Especially at this hour.”
“And I thank you for your perseverance,” he said sincerely.
The room fell silent once more as Dwynn felt his eyes scan over her, not lustfully by her estimation, but more observantly, as if she were being studied for some future experiment. Some may have taken offense at either manner of gazing, but Dwynn had too often been leered at by treacherous old men with debauchery on their lips. This young man’s stare, though uncomfortable enough, was far less unnerving than the standard.
The girl opened her mouth to speak, with what words she knew not, when the spectacled man spoke:
“Would you do me a favor, dear?”
“I suppose that’s why I’m here.” Dwynn’s pulse began to quicken. “At last it has come to it,” she thought. Only this time there was nobody to cry out to for rescue. No amount of struggling would save her now. Even a well-placed shot may only stagger the young man for a moment. And what then? Atop a dark labyrinth, miles from home, she would be overtaken in any effort to escape, likely before she ever made it to the door. Then, certainly, his disposition would not prove so kindly. “Calm, take heart,” she spoke to herself. “You’ll be the better for it.”
The man stood up and walked toward her. Kneeling down in front of her, he touched her knee. She involuntarily jerked her knee away to his apparent amusement.
“Would you mind reading something for me?” he asked.
Dwynn realized that she must have been holding her breath, for she let out a deep exhale. Her hands ached a little from gripping the seat as tightly as she could.
“Of course,” she said, delighted to keep the conversation away from sex.
The young man turned to a shelf behind him and returned to Dwynn’s side with a piece of parchment. During those few seconds of his short travel, countless thoughts raced through the mind of the girl waiting inquisitively upon the finely-upholstered armchair. His clothing was the first subject of her survey. He wore fine garments, indeed. Their quality was apparent even from a distance, but not in the same fashion as those upon the backs of the wealthier men to visit Devonshire. His brown jacket, constructed of thin-whale corduroy, fit him perfectly and appeared nearly black next to the red, silken tie that lay flat against his chest, save when he bent over to sit or kneel. Black shoes, poking out from a flawless cuff, flashed gold and yellow in the candlelight as he walked. The entire outfit amazed and perplexed the girl. For, though the cut and style of the garments would not be considered “formal” by the aristocratic elite, she could not help but think that their equal in caliber and make did not exist.
His face then drew her attention. Though his reflecting glasses often made an unobscured view difficult, she was able to draw, in her opinion, a sound conclusion on his features. He was by no means stout in the face, but he lacked a defining jawline. His cheekbones were soft and his nose well-proportioned. His forehead was concealed by a straight, thick crop of brown hair that ever-so-slightly perched upon the rim of his glasses. In the brief interchange that had just taken place, the young man had already managed to sweep the hair upward enough times for Dwynn to pick up on the habit. It was his eyes, though, that truly impressed the girl. It was as though the irises had no inner boundary. The ring of dusky blue simply faded darker into pupils black as midnight. She was afraid to stare so intensely when he came close, but looking away was not an option.
Dwynn felt his appearance soothing. His voice and expressions, thus far, bore not a single sign of the malice that she was too accustomed to in this line of work. Nor did his refined features hint of the arrogance and condescension that she would expect from a man of money or position. If she had to venture a hypothesis based upon first impressions, she would’ve said that he was an intelligent man, reasonable and unassuming, or so she hoped. “A man with all these books must at the least have an inclination for reading and education,” she wondered. “And I’ve been here for five minutes and he hasn’t even attempted anything. Perhaps…”
“Here you are,” he said jarring Dwynn from yet another round of musing. She accepted the single page that was held out to her and marveled at its character.
“Such elegant penmanship,” she thought. “And what curious material. I’m sure I’ve never seen quite anything like this before.” Many there were who had shared the girl’s sentiments.
“Would you mind reading it for me, dear?”
Dwynn instinctively cleared her throat and sat up straight to begin the reading, like a good girl. But the night’s strange effect on her had not completely worn off, and her brazen attitude reared up in passive defiance:
“Why?” she asked not unkindly.
The young man’s brows furrowed as he adjusted his glasses, and replied with equal civility:
“I would say as a favor. But seeing as you owe me none, and what’s more, I have paid handsomely for services rendered this evening, I will simply say that it is to be considered a duty hitherto undeclared in your job description.”
Dwynn shook her head in a motion imperceptible to the eye, as if the weight of his response had jostled her brain. “Flawless logic,” she thought. “I’m not sure if I care for the lordly tone, though. Then again, he could have slapped me by now fo…”
“Won’t you begin, then?” he asked without abandoning his gracious manner.
“Of course,” she said as she repositioned herself. She held the page before her and began in a voice that was both as sweet as the strum of a harp and commanding as a baroness:
Immortal life, a gift – bestowed
Upon your blessed head –
Which men would trade their very souls,
So ne’er to greet the Dead.
Search you must through filth and mire
Forbiddens’ castaways
A star is born in Nether’s womb
The moon from their shall raise.
A precipice we stand before
Tho’ few can see the edge
Return to us oh royal blood!
Pass through the Guarded Hedge!
With him shall come the Queen foretold
The errant princess found
The feet of the Forsaken Race
Shall grace our hallowed ground
A throne of gold awaits for him
The Realm’s Deliverer
He who’ll save the Blessed Land
To him the crown confer
By your line our doom shall pass
The shadow will recede
The ill we bore in cent’ries past
At last it shall concede.
There are many roads but only one Gate.
Dwynn finished her soliloquy and stared at the words, trying in vain to decipher their meaning. “How vague. Such peculiar terminology,” she whispered into the paper.
After a minute or two of quiet study, Dwynn became uncomfortably aware of the silence that smothered the small room. “Was that ok? Should I read it once mo…” But her question was abruptly curtailed by a single finger held up by the young man, still seated in the leather chair across from her. Reflections of flickering candlelight continued to obscure much of the eyes that lay behind the spectacles. Dwynn shifted in her chair, ducking as if to adjust her shoes. She looked up to see that his eyes were in fact closed. He appeared to be far more relaxed, less stately, than he had been when first she entered the room no more than a half hour prior. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses with a forefinger and a thumb.
“Your reading was excellent, dear,” he said at last with a formality that contradicted his current slouch. He sat up and reclaimed his former demeanor. “Forgive me for ignoring you for so long. That is no way to treat a guest of honor.”
“Honor?” she blurted out in a laugh that was altogether full of shock, incredulity, and mockery – a boisterous outburst in the still room that she quickly regretted.
“Yes, dear,” he assured her, unfazed by her cry. “I have not heard that poem recited so marvelously in many years. It does me well to hear it once more in its entirety from a woman as lovely as yourself.”
Dwynn blushed and turned away at the unsolicited compliment. As she turned her eyes away from the man, her line of sight stopped at the empty bed to her right. With that image her anxiety swiftly returned as she remembered the purpose for her being in that room in the first place. The circumstances of the night and the comforts of her surroundings had pushed the thought of work completely out of her mind. The poem itself played no small part in that fact. It had a strange and lasting effect on her that she could not have understood at the time. When Dwynn would recall that evening many years later, she never would remember the details leading up to the reading, though the poem itself and the events that followed were etched into her memory like a stone.
The man stood up and approached her. He reached out to her with his left hand. A sharp flash of light caught her eye as the hand came closer. A ring, golden and brilliant, he bore on his fourth finger – a ring like none she had ever had the privilege of beholding. Like intertwined branches of gold was the band, so finely wrought and detailed that she believed each tendril could be peeled away without destroying the others. Inlaid upon the band were red gems, like rubies that shone like stars on the clearest winter’s night. More fascinating than the craftsmanship itself was the fact that the gleaming of the stones did not seem to waiver with the shifting of light or the position of his hand.
The hand and its adornment were nearly upon her face when it stopped, grasped the parchment from her hands and retreated. The man set it on a stand near the chair and turned to address his guest.
Dwynn bit her lower lip and summoned her courage for what she believed would be the final time that night. “So shall we… begin?”
“Before anything is begun you must do one more thing for me. You must tell me your name,” he said with a clever grin, clearly entertained by her innocent proposition.
“Dwynn,” she said shyly, preparing herself for what was to come next.
“Lovely, Dwynn. I am Colin. And now, you must begin your walk home.”
Dwynn opened her mouth to speak, but her expression of confusion, (mixed with a dash of joy), said more than she could have attempted to put into words.
“You have done everything that I have invited you here to do. Here is the money that you were promised. I will accompany you to the door in a moment. But before you leave I must ask you to return tomorrow night. You will be paid the same rate for your time. So, will you join me again?”
“Yes, I suppose,” the words stumbled out of her mouth as she accepted the purse, heavy with many coins.
“Very good.” Colin opened the door and guided Dwynn out with a hand on the small of her back. “One moment, please.” The girl glanced down the hallway which, by the grace of the light escaping from the bedroom, lost all of its intimidation over her. It was actually quite a remarkable corridor, despite the decaying effects wrought upon it by time. Unlit golden sconces hung on either side. The wall she had once groped along was covered in a warm red wallpaper, with a pattern similar to one she had been caught admiring from a street-level window on the journey over.
Her companion then opened the door she had earlier been tempted to explore, wide enough so that she could see well enough into the room behind it. As he did, Dwynn gasped so loudly that both Colin and the man seated in the room simultaneously addressed her remarkable shudder and pale face, white with terror.
“I see Johns’ reputation precedes him,” said Colin dryly with eyebrows raised.
“Nonsense!” Johns rebutted. “The young lady and I made a pleasant acquaintanceship earlier.”
“I… I saw him kill two men earlier,” Dwynn whispered coarsely, attempting to hide her face from the seated man.
“Is that so Johns?” asked Colin sternly, yet without reproach.
“She’s the one isn’t she?” Johns asked rather humbly.
“Come, Dwynn,” said Colin as he pulled her gently from the door toward the stairway. As Dwynn watched her hands and feet slowly fade into oblivion she thought she could hear from behind her an aimless mutter followed by a snort:
“She wouldn’t be walking if she weren’t…”
Side-by-side the couple descended the staircase in darkness. No choreographed movements were necessary. The young man held the girl’s hand tightly as each foot landed safely on the next step. They turned through the dimly lit foyer and entered the shadow-strewn kitchen. With his hands on her hips he led Dwynn to the scullery from behind. He opened the door to the bitter spring air. The young lady found herself hesitant to step out, though not completely for climatic reasons.
“Your journey will be safe, I assure you,” said Colin. “Johns may have a temper, but he is loyal to me and my instruction. He will protect you at all cost, wherever it is you go from now on, though you will likely never have sight or sound of him. So do not worry, dear.” He kissed her hand. “Until tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she replied automatically.
“Goodnight.”
He shut and locked the door as Dwynn, through the glass, watched his shape disappear into the emptiness of the house.
The rest of the evening was a testament to the veracity of Colin’s pledge. Her trip home was as uneventful as could be asked. His word proved doubly true as Dwynn observed not a single sign of her alleged protector.
The empty and placid city streets stood in quiet contradiction to the bubbling and churning of Dwynn’s brain. A steady flow of thought swirled in her absent mind as her feet carried her home instinctively. Unlike her departing journey, the walk home was not marked by cynical analysis and unfounded judgements. Rather, this particular stream of consciousness passed through her head without her acknowledgment. It was as though she were passing silently through a gallery of portraits – paintings of figures and faces to which she were familiar, and others, unrecognizable and yet somehow undeniably significant. This mental stroll through the museum of faces – curious yet beautiful, austere yet alluring – continued for some time until at last her intuitive shoes had carried the rest of her body to her doorstep, where she presently found herself staring at an old wooden door, splintered and cracked so the fading light of a candle, long since lit, could be seen through the weathered planks. She could hear neither movement nor breath from the room on the other side. “They must all be asleep.”
Dwynn fumbled for the handle in the darkness. She unlatched the rusted lock and pushed the creaking door open slowly when suddenly she could see nothing.
B David Larson 
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