The Badlings

Chapter 7. The Creepy Masquerade

Life goes out of a book that has lost all of its pages, unless you collect them and rebind them in a new cover. But if you tear or crumple or bend even one page, its characters will suffer mutilation and thirst for revenge. Imagine them lurking on paper, looking for you. It's an unsettling thought.

This is what flitted through Peacock's mind for reasons I'm not going to disclose. Not yet.

He quailed, reluctant to go farther. Endless pairs of eyes fastened on him. Eyes of pomaded partygoers dressed in wigs, ladies in gowns, jugglers in leotards, musicians, magicians, dancers, performers, stoutly matrons sipping drinks and gossiping in sibilant whispers. Everyone present wore a mask, which made the entire congregation seem eccentric and eerie.

Spooked, Peacock hurried behind the man in velvet, gawking at the costumes and the getups and the lavish disguises the kind you see in illustrated history books.

"Prince Prospero," spoke the voices around—

"Who do you bring in our midst, Prince Prospero?"

"Why are they unmasked?"

"Where is their respect for our etiquette?"

"How dare they—"

"Who speaks?" commanded Prince Prospero. "Be grateful. I'm bringing you new badlings. Soon we shall divide them among ourselves and you will thank me for my generosity. Now hush!"

The voices dropped and the crowd parted for them like a silky feathery river.

"Divide us?" whispered Peacock.

"I don't like it either," admitted Grand.

Peacock felt unnerved. "What is this, murderers' ball? Are they going to kill us, is that why they're wearing masks?"

"No, they're not going to kill us," explained Grand patiently. "They're wearing masks because it's a masquerade."

Peacock shook his head, not convinced. His eyes fell on a man in a black cape that folded down like leathery wings, each wrinkle a rigid bone. His face was hidden behind an animal mask frozen in a snarl. "Is that a bat?"

"No, it's a nice cuddly puppy," scoffed Bells.

"That's not funny."

"Okay, chill, it was a joke. Obviously, it's a man in a costume of a bat with a bat mask. What else could it be? See the wings on the back?"

"Why is he following us?"

"He's not following us. Why would he be following us? You're being paranoid."

"Yes, he is," insisted Peacock, anxiously watching the man's cape flicker behind them. The man, sensing the stare, hissed, and Peacock flinched, his heart pounding.

The prince led them on through a vista of rooms, each a new dazzling color: blue, purple, green, orange, white, violet. At last they entered a spacious suite decorated in black. Everything was black here, everything except the windows, their tinted panes glowing disturbingly red.

"This is hideous," said Bells in a loud whisper.

"What is this place?" asked Peacock.

Before Grand could answer, a heavy chime of a clock shook the walls. It rung out one creepy ding and stilled. Thick silence enveloped the abbey.

Prince Prospero spoke. "Go on. Get on with it already. We do not have the luxury to dally."

Peacock couldn't see whom he talked to. Masked guests blocked his view. They pressed through the doorway, steadily edging closer.