the photographic artist. But I have not been honored with the acquaintance of your beautiful companion."
f
They entered the room. While Frederick explained who Sally was and what they wanted, Sally looked around in wonder. The light was very dim; only two or three Chinese lanterns f)enetrated the smoky darkness. Everything that could be painted or lacquered in the room was the same deep blood red, and the doorposts and ceiling beams were carved with curling, snarling dragons painted in gold. It gave her a sense of oppressive richness; it seemed as if the room had taken on the shape of the collective dreams of all those who had ever gone there to seek oblivion. At intervals along the walls—it was a large, long room—were low couches, and on each of them was lying a man, apparently asleep. But no! There was a woman hardly older than Sally herself, and another, in middle age; respectably dressed, too. And then one of the sleepers stirred, and the old servant hastened up with a long pipe and knelt on the floor to prepare it.
Frederick and Madame Chang were speaking in low voices behind her, discussing the price of opium and how much Mr. Bedwell might need. Sally looked for somewhere to sit; she felt dizzy. The smoke from the newly lit pipe drifted up to her, sweet and enticing and curious. She breathed in once, and then again, and . . .
Darkness suddenly. Stifling heat.
She was in the Nightmare.
She found herself lying still, with her eyes wide open, searching the darkness. An enormous convulsive fear was squeezing her heart. She tried to move, but could not— and yet it didn't feel as if she were bound; her limbs were too weak to move.
And she knew that only a moment earlier, she'd been awake. . . .
But she was so afraid. The fear grew and grew. It was
loo The Ruby in the Smoke
worse than ever this time, because it was so much clearer. She knew that any second, close to her in the darkness, a man would begin to scream, and she began to cry in pure fear of it. And then it started.
The scream ripped through the darkness like a sharp sword. She thought she would die from fear. But voices were speaking! This was new—and they were not speaking in English—and yet she could understand them—
''Where is it?''
''Not with me! I pray —/ beg of you — it is with a friend —"
"They are coming! Be quick!'''
And then a hideous sound, the sound of a sharp instrument sinking into meat—a sort of tearing sound, followed by a sudden gasp and groan as if all the breath had been forced out of a man's lungs at once: and then a gushing, splashing sound that quickly died away into a trickle.
Light.
There was a tiny spark of light somewhere.
(Oh, but she was awake, in the opium den! This was impossible—)
And she could not escape from the dream. It unwound ceaselessly, and she had to live through it. She knew what was coming next: a guttering candle, a man's voice—
"Look! Look at him! My God—"
It was the voice of Major Marchbanks!
This was the point where she had always woken up before—but now something else happened. The light came closer and was held out to one side, and the face of a young man looked down at her: fierce, darkly mustached, with glittering eyes and a trickle of blood down his cheek.
All at once she was awash with fear. She was almost
Madame Chang loi
mad with it. She thought, Vm going to die — no one can be afraid like this and not die or go mad. . . .
There was a sharp blow on her cheek. She heard the sound of it a second later; things were out of joint, and everything was dark again. She felt a desolating sense of loss—
And then she was awake, on her knees, her face streaming with tears. Frederick was kneeling beside her, and without thinking she flung her arms around his neck and sobbed. He held her tightly and said nothing. They were in the hall—when had she moved out there? Madame Chang stood a little way off, watching closely.
When she saw that Sally was conscious again,
f
They entered the room. While Frederick explained who Sally was and what they wanted, Sally looked around in wonder. The light was very dim; only two or three Chinese lanterns f)enetrated the smoky darkness. Everything that could be painted or lacquered in the room was the same deep blood red, and the doorposts and ceiling beams were carved with curling, snarling dragons painted in gold. It gave her a sense of oppressive richness; it seemed as if the room had taken on the shape of the collective dreams of all those who had ever gone there to seek oblivion. At intervals along the walls—it was a large, long room—were low couches, and on each of them was lying a man, apparently asleep. But no! There was a woman hardly older than Sally herself, and another, in middle age; respectably dressed, too. And then one of the sleepers stirred, and the old servant hastened up with a long pipe and knelt on the floor to prepare it.
Frederick and Madame Chang were speaking in low voices behind her, discussing the price of opium and how much Mr. Bedwell might need. Sally looked for somewhere to sit; she felt dizzy. The smoke from the newly lit pipe drifted up to her, sweet and enticing and curious. She breathed in once, and then again, and . . .
Darkness suddenly. Stifling heat.
She was in the Nightmare.
She found herself lying still, with her eyes wide open, searching the darkness. An enormous convulsive fear was squeezing her heart. She tried to move, but could not— and yet it didn't feel as if she were bound; her limbs were too weak to move.
And she knew that only a moment earlier, she'd been awake. . . .
But she was so afraid. The fear grew and grew. It was
loo The Ruby in the Smoke
worse than ever this time, because it was so much clearer. She knew that any second, close to her in the darkness, a man would begin to scream, and she began to cry in pure fear of it. And then it started.
The scream ripped through the darkness like a sharp sword. She thought she would die from fear. But voices were speaking! This was new—and they were not speaking in English—and yet she could understand them—
''Where is it?''
''Not with me! I pray —/ beg of you — it is with a friend —"
"They are coming! Be quick!'''
And then a hideous sound, the sound of a sharp instrument sinking into meat—a sort of tearing sound, followed by a sudden gasp and groan as if all the breath had been forced out of a man's lungs at once: and then a gushing, splashing sound that quickly died away into a trickle.
Light.
There was a tiny spark of light somewhere.
(Oh, but she was awake, in the opium den! This was impossible—)
And she could not escape from the dream. It unwound ceaselessly, and she had to live through it. She knew what was coming next: a guttering candle, a man's voice—
"Look! Look at him! My God—"
It was the voice of Major Marchbanks!
This was the point where she had always woken up before—but now something else happened. The light came closer and was held out to one side, and the face of a young man looked down at her: fierce, darkly mustached, with glittering eyes and a trickle of blood down his cheek.
All at once she was awash with fear. She was almost
Madame Chang loi
mad with it. She thought, Vm going to die — no one can be afraid like this and not die or go mad. . . .
There was a sharp blow on her cheek. She heard the sound of it a second later; things were out of joint, and everything was dark again. She felt a desolating sense of loss—
And then she was awake, on her knees, her face streaming with tears. Frederick was kneeling beside her, and without thinking she flung her arms around his neck and sobbed. He held her tightly and said nothing. They were in the hall—when had she moved out there? Madame Chang stood a little way off, watching closely.
When she saw that Sally was conscious again,
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