Art by Frank Frazetta
(I’d been lying low, ghosts circling, when the call came. Amadi simpered through our talk, powdered hands rubbing in anticipation. Kot was missing, family excuse. Then Darce entered: cream suit, lavender silk, storm in her eyes. She cut to it, no blood, just pleasure in pain. A dungeon portfolio for the hotels. Victorian elegance, she insisted. Amadi blurted it out: “A house of pain.” They wanted my designs.)
As I watched Amadi rub his hands in anticipation of what I’d say to his lady’s request, I realized that we were at the beginning of another of his performances.
Well, I think I need to say something a little more about this Amadi guy. I have mentioned a few of our interactions and alluded to his personality. But for you to understand the source of my tragedy, he deserves a little more sentence.
I am ashamed of keeping my readers’ attention so long occupied with these common menials, but I will go back to my story momentarily.
Now, Amadi liked to put himself forward and entertain the company, ostensibly on equal terms, of course, though in reality, I later learnt that he was on a servile footing.
He was a simpering buffoon with lofty insecurities. I have to confess, to date, I do not understand why an heir to a listed empire, with everything he’d ever want and power to accompany it, was a prey to his complexes. Maybe we will never know, or maybe we’ll learn more, why, in the course of my bard.
“What say you, Obi?” Amadi asked animatedly.
I took a sip of my water, lulled it in my tongue like a gulp of wine, and sat back, watching them stew in their curiosity.
“I have a few ideas on the dungeon setup, but since we have a plethora of hotels, each set up needs to be unique. None is identical to the other, to keep the experience fresh. We need you and yours for this,” Darce went on.
I took another sip, watching her. It was that purr when she talked, the tempest underneath the dark almond eyes, and the impending storm that felt so real, I could almost feel it in my bones, that invited me to the trouble.
Beauty! The awful thing is that beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. And sensual lust is a tempest worse than a tempest.
And I love vice. The ignominy of vice. I love cruelty. And these are found in side-paths, little dark back-alleys behind the main road, in the moral sense. There, one finds adventures and surprises, precious little stones in the dirt.
“The plans, please.” I signaled to the folder on her lap.
She reached across and handed it to me. They looked on, expecting me to open and look at the details, but no, I wouldn’t give them that pleasure.
“I’ll take it with me, share it with Kot, before giving you our thoughts on it,” I said, draining the glass and sitting back in the chair. I could feel the linen sticking to my back.
“Are you not going to look at it and tell us your thoughts on the plans?” Amadi asked.
“I’ll look at them at my pleasure, that way you're sure to have the best feedback.”
“But you're doing it for my lady, yes?” he seemed to be ready to jump from his seat if the answer wasn’t what he expected.
Darce laid a hand on his left shoulder and purred, “Of course, he’ll do it, just needs some time to go over the plans.”
Then he burst into a manic laughter, pointing a fat stub of a finger at me, “You go over the plans, Obi, and give my baby what she wants.”
I felt the fire in my pits stir. I rose from the seat, dipped my head in respect, and wished them good health, ready to leave.
“Now wait, Obi! You haven’t said when we’ll hear from you?” Amadi asked.
“My assistant is on your payroll, trust me, my itinerary revolves around you and yours,” I replied calmly.
“Oh, I almost forgot, you're the smart one,” he commented, with his usual undertone.
As I walked to the stairs, I wondered how many contradictions existed side by side. It’s terrible what mysteries there are, too many riddles weighing men down on earth. We must solve them as we can and try to keep a dry skin in the water.
