We found our way over to the “Towne Square”, which was one of the fully realized buildings to eat. The Royal Hall, as the sign announced, was deceptively small on the outside, but after passing into the foyer, a series of stairwells and ramps inside led to a massive subterranean complex. It was like a Union Station for corndogs and churros. Our group had gone down the different directions, but all of them put us at the base of a central stem, which we circled, noting the various thoroughfares that dumped you at Victoria’s Kitchen or the Pizza of Parliament. Marcus led us into the area called Tiny’s Tavern, which had long benches and tables and an impressive mahogany bar that wrapped along the walls and created a enclosure to the main dining area. Where we had entered looked like a pair of large doors and the grungy face of a watering hole, but being on the other side revealed the exterior to be some kind of one-sided mirror, allowing a clear view of the other eateries and diminishing the claustrophobic feelings that would occur once these chambers filled will thousands of people.
“Nice design with the walls,” I said to Marcus, who looked impressed at his accomplishments – even if he was manipulating the hands that designed and built it.
“It’s something that we wanted to do to create a private, intimate dining area but not seal it off from the rest of the space. Lets light in but keeps you from being able to look through, unless we want to change the opacity. We put the same stuff in the ceilings to give the impression that you’re not underground.”
“Sure, that too. I was actually marveling at the bar tops lining the joint,” I admitted, hoping he’d magically produce somebody behind there to get a pint or three. We were in a tavern.
Marcus ignored my meaning and went right on ahead with the scheme he intended, trying to impress Nell and show off his playground. “You can see in the skylights and even in the windows,” which Marcus pointed to as he proudly waltzed between the rows of furniture, “it looks just like you’re in an above-ground building.” He turned to Tawny, “We also have mirrors reflecting through.”
Gorin interrupted the display, “Yes. A periscope. We all know how that works. Do you have somebody who can get us a something to eat?”
Marcus pulled out a touchscreen phone and jabbed at it before burying it in his frock. A gaggle of wenches came out with plastinated parchments with our dining options. A man in a period suit observed from the recesses of the bar, and after they returned to him with our orders it appeared they were in training. More servers appeared to deliver the food and clear the plates, and aside from the random workman crossing outside, we were undisturbed.
The conversation was forgettable, and I had little to add as Marcus attempted to charm the literal pants off Nell while Gorin made his subtle digs, trying to dispel the magic and nuance that was being built up around us. Fortunately, the food was better than anticipated, and in addition to each of the entrées we wanted, the rest of the menu was made, allowing us to taste such epicurean delights as roasted suckling and rare fowls. My greatest hit was commending Marcus for providing utensils so that we didn’t need to eat with our hands like they did at Medieval Times, which sparked a lengthy oration on the historical detail he was paying to this project. It allowed for my mind to wander and shut off unnecessary parts to conserve energy. Currently, it was all power to the guts to process the feast.
I was thinking it was close to midnight, but we were only on the cusp of nine, and the coffee enema I’d had earlier was fading, coupled with the food coma. I still had that pill from Nell, and figured I wouldn’t need it if we spent much longer. By some miracle, Marcus stood and graciously elicited thanks for the meal, and told us to explore the rest of the grounds, but to be mindful of the construction and only go where it was not taped off. Nell got up to leave as well, but Marcus gently restrained her by the arm. I could see the disparagement in her eyes, but as our leader, she sacrificed herself to the clumsy charms of our host in order for us to make a clean break for freedom.
“We’ve got to be back by 10:30, so let’s reconvene at the gate mouth by 10,” she instructed, fashioning her own exit strategy.
The bickering between Gorin and Tawny continued once we got away from Nell, losing it’s charm and driving me into the heart of jolly ol’ nineteenth century England. It was nice to see so much disposable income and wealth being funneled into a boyhood fantasy that, when completed, could bilk families of their vacation dollars and create more delusion in the minds of children experiencing the park. I stopped by Yorkshire Park, which was only paved paths around an unfilled lake and post-braced saplings. A hedge maze was still being shaped, but the sod was partially rolled out and piles of it were still waiting to be spread in different parts of the quad.
Beyond that was what was probably their version of the Thames, which was filled with water, and there were some men in hip-waders making adjustments to the London Bridge supports, though they waved me across towards Big Ben Plaza, dispelling my concern that it was falling down. Below the clock tower was a post full of signs, their arrows directing traffic to almost a dozen side streets and alleys. It was a brisk evening – why not head down Jack’s Alley to cut through the buildings to get back to where everybody else is?
In my overtired mind, I was followed by a sheet of fog, and midway down the 500 winding yards of businesses and buildings, that cool film was quite real as it settled in around chest and head level. Behind me, I heard the echo of construction, but ahead there were some shapes moving in the vapor, outlined by the gas lamps periodically spaced down the row. About 15 feet away from the forms it became clear it was two people getting amorous on top of a barrel. Wearing period clothing. I tried to blend back into the shadows and mist, but my modern shoes made enough noise to call attention to my intrusion, and the obviously dressed prostitute turned to cry for help as she kept flailing beneath a man who was wearing a long coat.
“Sorry there guv’nah,” I said for interrupting their little scene, “but if the park’s not open, ain’t it a little early to be dispatching whores?”
Jack the Wannabe turned and scowled at me, and even in the shitty, replicated conditions of London weather, I could see the anger and mayhem in his eyes. He raised a ham hock sized fist and struck the whore-girl to quiet her before giving me his full attention. He menaced me with that fist, and fished a decently long shank out of his coat, gripping the rag-wrapped handle tightly. If you told me this morning I would be staring down a man wearing nothing but a coat and emulating one of history’s most enthralling killers, I’d have first laughed at the preposterousness of it, and then figured I was still on that bender from the night before.
I can’t speak too much for fight styles, technique, or having much experience in dust ups, but there are two things that I could recall at the moment. The first was an interview with Charlie Iron Horse, a bare-knuckle fighting champion on the Jemez Puelbo. He was a spirited old fella who was still tossing blows with guys a third his age. I asked him what the best advice he could give to somebody who knew nothing of pugilism.
“Sometimes, you’re just going to have to take a hit,” he said. “But, you can minimize how bad it will be if you’re moving towards your attacker. It makes it harder for them to hit you if you’re not in the place they were aiming for, and they may miss you entirely.”
“But if you still get hit?”
“What would you rather have, a car accelerating 10 feet and hit you, or give it another 50 or 60?”
“Can I just not get hit,” I asked.
“If you can, then you’re not in a fight.”
The second thing I recall was a gal who was my neighbor some years back. She and her roommate were living in El Paso before they came to know me, and this was back around the time there was a guy doing B+E’s the local papers called the Naked Burglar; yes, on account of his buck naked ass rummaging through homes. He picked the wrong window to pop the screen off and found himself bleeding from the groin when he realized the place wasn’t empty as he’d thought. Having something dangling and unprotected makes for a good target, and takes the spirit right outta ya.
So back to my predicament…
Lunging towards me was the madman, coat flapping like a cape, bits waving like a flag, looking to ventilate me more than I already was. Running, which is always a great option didn’t sound so great, because getting stabbed in the back, defenseless, is probably the worst way to start and finish a fight. So was getting stabbed in the face, bur you could throw more punches that way. I took and few steps forward, threw up my left forearm in anticipation of his thrust. I came off my feet and drove my right hand up. My balled fist made contact with Jack’s jaw and his head rolled back as my momentum pushed him off the ground and backwards. He landed hard on his back with me falling on top of him even harder. We were both winded, but he was stunned. And vulnerable.
I was happy to have the jolt of adrenaline coursing through my fist as well as the numbing shock of jawbone on bones, because the feeling of stranger’s cock against your hand is something you definitely do not want much sensation of. A few major league swings and there was no joy in Mudville for Jack. He was moaning and no longer as eager to dimple me with his shank, so I got up and went to check on the streetwalker, who was shivering with fear.
“You’re okay now,” I said, offering her my hand to help her up.
“Nice design with the walls,” I said to Marcus, who looked impressed at his accomplishments – even if he was manipulating the hands that designed and built it.
“It’s something that we wanted to do to create a private, intimate dining area but not seal it off from the rest of the space. Lets light in but keeps you from being able to look through, unless we want to change the opacity. We put the same stuff in the ceilings to give the impression that you’re not underground.”
“Sure, that too. I was actually marveling at the bar tops lining the joint,” I admitted, hoping he’d magically produce somebody behind there to get a pint or three. We were in a tavern.
Marcus ignored my meaning and went right on ahead with the scheme he intended, trying to impress Nell and show off his playground. “You can see in the skylights and even in the windows,” which Marcus pointed to as he proudly waltzed between the rows of furniture, “it looks just like you’re in an above-ground building.” He turned to Tawny, “We also have mirrors reflecting through.”
Gorin interrupted the display, “Yes. A periscope. We all know how that works. Do you have somebody who can get us a something to eat?”
Marcus pulled out a touchscreen phone and jabbed at it before burying it in his frock. A gaggle of wenches came out with plastinated parchments with our dining options. A man in a period suit observed from the recesses of the bar, and after they returned to him with our orders it appeared they were in training. More servers appeared to deliver the food and clear the plates, and aside from the random workman crossing outside, we were undisturbed.
The conversation was forgettable, and I had little to add as Marcus attempted to charm the literal pants off Nell while Gorin made his subtle digs, trying to dispel the magic and nuance that was being built up around us. Fortunately, the food was better than anticipated, and in addition to each of the entrées we wanted, the rest of the menu was made, allowing us to taste such epicurean delights as roasted suckling and rare fowls. My greatest hit was commending Marcus for providing utensils so that we didn’t need to eat with our hands like they did at Medieval Times, which sparked a lengthy oration on the historical detail he was paying to this project. It allowed for my mind to wander and shut off unnecessary parts to conserve energy. Currently, it was all power to the guts to process the feast.
I was thinking it was close to midnight, but we were only on the cusp of nine, and the coffee enema I’d had earlier was fading, coupled with the food coma. I still had that pill from Nell, and figured I wouldn’t need it if we spent much longer. By some miracle, Marcus stood and graciously elicited thanks for the meal, and told us to explore the rest of the grounds, but to be mindful of the construction and only go where it was not taped off. Nell got up to leave as well, but Marcus gently restrained her by the arm. I could see the disparagement in her eyes, but as our leader, she sacrificed herself to the clumsy charms of our host in order for us to make a clean break for freedom.
“We’ve got to be back by 10:30, so let’s reconvene at the gate mouth by 10,” she instructed, fashioning her own exit strategy.
The bickering between Gorin and Tawny continued once we got away from Nell, losing it’s charm and driving me into the heart of jolly ol’ nineteenth century England. It was nice to see so much disposable income and wealth being funneled into a boyhood fantasy that, when completed, could bilk families of their vacation dollars and create more delusion in the minds of children experiencing the park. I stopped by Yorkshire Park, which was only paved paths around an unfilled lake and post-braced saplings. A hedge maze was still being shaped, but the sod was partially rolled out and piles of it were still waiting to be spread in different parts of the quad.
Beyond that was what was probably their version of the Thames, which was filled with water, and there were some men in hip-waders making adjustments to the London Bridge supports, though they waved me across towards Big Ben Plaza, dispelling my concern that it was falling down. Below the clock tower was a post full of signs, their arrows directing traffic to almost a dozen side streets and alleys. It was a brisk evening – why not head down Jack’s Alley to cut through the buildings to get back to where everybody else is?
In my overtired mind, I was followed by a sheet of fog, and midway down the 500 winding yards of businesses and buildings, that cool film was quite real as it settled in around chest and head level. Behind me, I heard the echo of construction, but ahead there were some shapes moving in the vapor, outlined by the gas lamps periodically spaced down the row. About 15 feet away from the forms it became clear it was two people getting amorous on top of a barrel. Wearing period clothing. I tried to blend back into the shadows and mist, but my modern shoes made enough noise to call attention to my intrusion, and the obviously dressed prostitute turned to cry for help as she kept flailing beneath a man who was wearing a long coat.
“Sorry there guv’nah,” I said for interrupting their little scene, “but if the park’s not open, ain’t it a little early to be dispatching whores?”
Jack the Wannabe turned and scowled at me, and even in the shitty, replicated conditions of London weather, I could see the anger and mayhem in his eyes. He raised a ham hock sized fist and struck the whore-girl to quiet her before giving me his full attention. He menaced me with that fist, and fished a decently long shank out of his coat, gripping the rag-wrapped handle tightly. If you told me this morning I would be staring down a man wearing nothing but a coat and emulating one of history’s most enthralling killers, I’d have first laughed at the preposterousness of it, and then figured I was still on that bender from the night before.
I can’t speak too much for fight styles, technique, or having much experience in dust ups, but there are two things that I could recall at the moment. The first was an interview with Charlie Iron Horse, a bare-knuckle fighting champion on the Jemez Puelbo. He was a spirited old fella who was still tossing blows with guys a third his age. I asked him what the best advice he could give to somebody who knew nothing of pugilism.
“Sometimes, you’re just going to have to take a hit,” he said. “But, you can minimize how bad it will be if you’re moving towards your attacker. It makes it harder for them to hit you if you’re not in the place they were aiming for, and they may miss you entirely.”
“But if you still get hit?”
“What would you rather have, a car accelerating 10 feet and hit you, or give it another 50 or 60?”
“Can I just not get hit,” I asked.
“If you can, then you’re not in a fight.”
The second thing I recall was a gal who was my neighbor some years back. She and her roommate were living in El Paso before they came to know me, and this was back around the time there was a guy doing B+E’s the local papers called the Naked Burglar; yes, on account of his buck naked ass rummaging through homes. He picked the wrong window to pop the screen off and found himself bleeding from the groin when he realized the place wasn’t empty as he’d thought. Having something dangling and unprotected makes for a good target, and takes the spirit right outta ya.
So back to my predicament…
Lunging towards me was the madman, coat flapping like a cape, bits waving like a flag, looking to ventilate me more than I already was. Running, which is always a great option didn’t sound so great, because getting stabbed in the back, defenseless, is probably the worst way to start and finish a fight. So was getting stabbed in the face, bur you could throw more punches that way. I took and few steps forward, threw up my left forearm in anticipation of his thrust. I came off my feet and drove my right hand up. My balled fist made contact with Jack’s jaw and his head rolled back as my momentum pushed him off the ground and backwards. He landed hard on his back with me falling on top of him even harder. We were both winded, but he was stunned. And vulnerable.
I was happy to have the jolt of adrenaline coursing through my fist as well as the numbing shock of jawbone on bones, because the feeling of stranger’s cock against your hand is something you definitely do not want much sensation of. A few major league swings and there was no joy in Mudville for Jack. He was moaning and no longer as eager to dimple me with his shank, so I got up and went to check on the streetwalker, who was shivering with fear.
“You’re okay now,” I said, offering her my hand to help her up.
---
“Way to go, hero.”
There wasn’t a whole lot of pride in the way Nell said it. I was in a hospital bed, with a large roll of gauze wrapped around my left thigh.
“That definitely changed my plans for the evening,” Nell admitted to me.
“Yeah,” I said, pushing myself in to a sitting position. “I was really looking forward to going to sleep in a bigger bed. I thought the park wasn’t open. How’d I end up in the show?”
“As you probably figured, Marcus had employees there doing training while the construction was being done. But those two were having too much fun on their break.”
“It didn’t look like much fun.”
“And it probably won’t feel like it either when they both get out of here. They’re on another floor getting detoxified.”
“Detox?”
“Yes. Apparently a little angel dust goes a long way,” Nell said unimpressed.
“That’s not going to go over too well as an attraction once they open.”
“They’ve been fired and are going to have drug and assault charges brought up. I told Marcus that this isn’t going to me an issue for you…you’re not going to make a liar out of me?”
“You mean, make it a press issue?”
“Correct.”
“How about I not do the Burnett Media gig and we call it even?”
“Nice try, Sheldon. I feel bad this happened to you, but you to get Burnett for us, and it will go a long way for both of us.”
“Really,” I questioned.
“This isn’t a gilded cage I’m keeping you in,” Nell argued. “You may want to return to the business one day, and showing them you’ve moved past what happened won’t hurt those chances.”
“You’ve got an answer for every time I tell you I don’t want to do it, don’t you?”
“Absolutely. You can keep fighting it, and I’ll come right back at you with more reasons why you’re going to do it. Good reasons.”
“Fine,” I said defeated, as I rubbed my leg and didn’t feel any pain. “I don’t remember too much after taking Jackie-boy down.”
“That’s shock. You wandered out of there with that blade sticking into your leg, not to mention plenty of blood you lost along the way. Add the morphine that you’ve got in you, and right there’s a good couple of hazy hours you’re not going getting back right away.
“Just keep me on this drip for another week and I won’t bring up the Burnett gig again.”
“You may get to dodge the last day of the convention, but you’re coming back with us after. I need you to be clear headed and thinking about what you’re going to say. Once we get back, your only focus is going to be that night. So for the next two weeks, all you have to do is prepare the best speech you’ve ever made for me, and not pick at your stitches.”
There wasn’t a whole lot of pride in the way Nell said it. I was in a hospital bed, with a large roll of gauze wrapped around my left thigh.
“That definitely changed my plans for the evening,” Nell admitted to me.
“Yeah,” I said, pushing myself in to a sitting position. “I was really looking forward to going to sleep in a bigger bed. I thought the park wasn’t open. How’d I end up in the show?”
“As you probably figured, Marcus had employees there doing training while the construction was being done. But those two were having too much fun on their break.”
“It didn’t look like much fun.”
“And it probably won’t feel like it either when they both get out of here. They’re on another floor getting detoxified.”
“Detox?”
“Yes. Apparently a little angel dust goes a long way,” Nell said unimpressed.
“That’s not going to go over too well as an attraction once they open.”
“They’ve been fired and are going to have drug and assault charges brought up. I told Marcus that this isn’t going to me an issue for you…you’re not going to make a liar out of me?”
“You mean, make it a press issue?”
“Correct.”
“How about I not do the Burnett Media gig and we call it even?”
“Nice try, Sheldon. I feel bad this happened to you, but you to get Burnett for us, and it will go a long way for both of us.”
“Really,” I questioned.
“This isn’t a gilded cage I’m keeping you in,” Nell argued. “You may want to return to the business one day, and showing them you’ve moved past what happened won’t hurt those chances.”
“You’ve got an answer for every time I tell you I don’t want to do it, don’t you?”
“Absolutely. You can keep fighting it, and I’ll come right back at you with more reasons why you’re going to do it. Good reasons.”
“Fine,” I said defeated, as I rubbed my leg and didn’t feel any pain. “I don’t remember too much after taking Jackie-boy down.”
“That’s shock. You wandered out of there with that blade sticking into your leg, not to mention plenty of blood you lost along the way. Add the morphine that you’ve got in you, and right there’s a good couple of hazy hours you’re not going getting back right away.
“Just keep me on this drip for another week and I won’t bring up the Burnett gig again.”
“You may get to dodge the last day of the convention, but you’re coming back with us after. I need you to be clear headed and thinking about what you’re going to say. Once we get back, your only focus is going to be that night. So for the next two weeks, all you have to do is prepare the best speech you’ve ever made for me, and not pick at your stitches.”
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