Read Online City of Darkness (City of Mystery) by Kim Wright - Free Book Online
Authors: Kim Wright
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began to study the women in the station. No one
seemed to be looking for anyone, so Leanna walked over to a bench and dropped
her satchel. People were always commenting on how much she resembled Tom, so
perhaps if she stood here long enough her aunt would recognize her.
The activity of the station was
all-consuming. The babble of voices formed a non-language and a faintly acrid
smell filled the waiting area, some combination of cinnamon, coal dust, human
sweat, and rotting apples. Men pushing carts, women pushing prams, boys
selling papers, girls selling fruit. A group of people with yellow skin and
doll-like slanted eyes walked by Leanna, swathed in garish yellow and green
silks. She tried to keep from staring until she realized that in the easy
familiarity of the crowded station, staring was acceptable.
Suddenly, a loud noise, a woman’s
scream, came echoing through the hall, and this universal sound of fury seemed
to catch the attention of almost everyone. Leanna could not see what had
caused the commotion, and she wondered desperately if Aunt Geraldine could be
waiting outside in a coach. Groaning as she lifted the satchel, Leanna began
shuffling slowly toward the front of the building, and as she walked, the voice
became clearer.
“Who is responsible for this
outrage? Who is in charge here?” demanded the woman. “Stop right there!” she
said, as a single file line of a dozen dark-skinned men wearing white turbans
came abruptly to a halt. Leanna strained to look over the gathered heads to
see whose voice was so unrelenting, but the only thing in her line of vision
was another dark-skinned man, this one in a red turban, who was standing with
an air of offended dignity and an oversized umbrella pointed at his nose.
“My lady, we are in the employ of Sir
Randolph Walterbury,” replied the porter in a sing-song voice.
“And where might I find this coward?”
“I am Sir Randolph, Madame,” answered
a bald gentleman breaking through the crowd. “Rahaj, why aren’t these men
loading the transports outside?”
As the people had made way for Sir
Randolph, Leanna had been able to slip close enough to catch a glimpse of a
tall, broad-chested woman dressed in lavender with a matching hat and an
umbrella she used with skill. The umbrella was no longer at the nose of the
porter, but was now pointed at the face of Sir Randolph himself. The man in
the red turban signaled to the others to continue with the cargo.
“You stop right there!” shrieked the
lady, moving to block the progress of the workers with surprising agility,
considering her age and her size. “I have counted eighteen elephant tusks, four
tiger pelts, two water buffalo heads, and heaven knows what else. What could
possess a person of your stature in society to butcher these innocent animals?
They were put on this earth for all of mankind to study and appreciate, not
just for the wealthy to destroy and display in their drawing rooms. Well, what
do you have to say for yourself?”
“These beasts are trophies of sport,
taken on a hunting trip to East India,” answered the man, glaring down. “So if
you’ll let us pass, Madame-“
“Why is it every time an Englishman
goes out to prove his manhood, it involves killing? A hunting trip indeed! You
take every creature comfort you can from London with you, to be carried by
these men for miles in the hot sun, trampling the jungle as you go. No doubt you
paid them peanuts for their labor. And sport! You call it sport to hire a
hundred porters to chase a poor, defenseless animal in front of your rifle
sites to be slaughtered? Perhaps if the tigers had been given guns too it
would count as fair contest, but were they? I think not!” By now the crowd
was murmuring and, at least among a few of the listeners, sympathy seemed to be
switching to the side of the woman.
“What I think Madame, is that this is
all none of your business! I’ll not delay another
seemed to be looking for anyone, so Leanna walked over to a bench and dropped
her satchel. People were always commenting on how much she resembled Tom, so
perhaps if she stood here long enough her aunt would recognize her.
The activity of the station was
all-consuming. The babble of voices formed a non-language and a faintly acrid
smell filled the waiting area, some combination of cinnamon, coal dust, human
sweat, and rotting apples. Men pushing carts, women pushing prams, boys
selling papers, girls selling fruit. A group of people with yellow skin and
doll-like slanted eyes walked by Leanna, swathed in garish yellow and green
silks. She tried to keep from staring until she realized that in the easy
familiarity of the crowded station, staring was acceptable.
Suddenly, a loud noise, a woman’s
scream, came echoing through the hall, and this universal sound of fury seemed
to catch the attention of almost everyone. Leanna could not see what had
caused the commotion, and she wondered desperately if Aunt Geraldine could be
waiting outside in a coach. Groaning as she lifted the satchel, Leanna began
shuffling slowly toward the front of the building, and as she walked, the voice
became clearer.
“Who is responsible for this
outrage? Who is in charge here?” demanded the woman. “Stop right there!” she
said, as a single file line of a dozen dark-skinned men wearing white turbans
came abruptly to a halt. Leanna strained to look over the gathered heads to
see whose voice was so unrelenting, but the only thing in her line of vision
was another dark-skinned man, this one in a red turban, who was standing with
an air of offended dignity and an oversized umbrella pointed at his nose.
“My lady, we are in the employ of Sir
Randolph Walterbury,” replied the porter in a sing-song voice.
“And where might I find this coward?”
“I am Sir Randolph, Madame,” answered
a bald gentleman breaking through the crowd. “Rahaj, why aren’t these men
loading the transports outside?”
As the people had made way for Sir
Randolph, Leanna had been able to slip close enough to catch a glimpse of a
tall, broad-chested woman dressed in lavender with a matching hat and an
umbrella she used with skill. The umbrella was no longer at the nose of the
porter, but was now pointed at the face of Sir Randolph himself. The man in
the red turban signaled to the others to continue with the cargo.
“You stop right there!” shrieked the
lady, moving to block the progress of the workers with surprising agility,
considering her age and her size. “I have counted eighteen elephant tusks, four
tiger pelts, two water buffalo heads, and heaven knows what else. What could
possess a person of your stature in society to butcher these innocent animals?
They were put on this earth for all of mankind to study and appreciate, not
just for the wealthy to destroy and display in their drawing rooms. Well, what
do you have to say for yourself?”
“These beasts are trophies of sport,
taken on a hunting trip to East India,” answered the man, glaring down. “So if
you’ll let us pass, Madame-“
“Why is it every time an Englishman
goes out to prove his manhood, it involves killing? A hunting trip indeed! You
take every creature comfort you can from London with you, to be carried by
these men for miles in the hot sun, trampling the jungle as you go. No doubt you
paid them peanuts for their labor. And sport! You call it sport to hire a
hundred porters to chase a poor, defenseless animal in front of your rifle
sites to be slaughtered? Perhaps if the tigers had been given guns too it
would count as fair contest, but were they? I think not!” By now the crowd
was murmuring and, at least among a few of the listeners, sympathy seemed to be
switching to the side of the woman.
“What I think Madame, is that this is
all none of your business! I’ll not delay another
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