The Camden Turkish Baths has a simple exterior, but the elegant Victorian wood and brick facade welcomes visitors into a lavish setting. The dark wood, plush carpet, and velvet drapes promise a lush and soothing experience. Upon entering, through the foyer, we come into a room with marble floors and pillars adorned with bronze statues. I haven't seen this kind of opulence in a long time.
Having removed my gear and mask, stowing them in one bag before crossing the threshold, I put my eye patch back on; we didn't want to draw attention in a place such as this. I had checked Warren out and besides being green around the gills, he didn't have anything out to cause questions to be raised at admittance.
I explained, as best I could with a voice like grating gravel, that we had a long train trip and the steamer had undesirable accommodations; hence, losing my voice and my associate feeling poorly, and la-de-da.
I completely understand sir, travel these days can border on the diabolical. We, here at the baths, want to revive you and make your visit a memorable one. With a smile and a wave of his hand, we followed him through the sitting rooms to a space that I, or even Warren, hadn't expected. Great carved beams of wood, reaching up and creating trusses, holding up a glass sky that seemed to go on forever. Below was a pool of azure liquid, steam curling and swirling just above the wet surface, the length of two rugby fields (200 meters.) To the sides were small Meshlakh (cooling rooms) with white drapes flowing and giving privacy, if one wanted a massage. Potted palms dotted the expansive room, giving it a slight tropical atmosphere. The air was hot, dry, and I could feel the tension begin to ebb.
The attendant snapped his fingers and another man appeared, bowed, and asked us to follow him. I glanced back at Warren and he was looking rather dazed by the surroundings. Realizing my gaze was upon him, he came to stand next to me. In a hushed voice, he said, I don't know quite what to make of this Jack, but I really want a hot bath after that bloody sewer walk. Smiling, I nodded, and we caught up with the patiently waiting attendant.
Showing us to a small room, which had some chairs, a lounger, and low side tables, he pointed out the closets and towels. In your own time gentlemen, he said in a slight french accent, and when you require anything, just wave in the great room, or press this bell; he pointed to a wall device which protruded out from the wall with a small black dot in the center. Controlling my urge to push it, I kindly said, Thank you, we will.
A frivolous mood was beginning to fill my dried out soul. Turning, I found exhausted former Detective Warren slumped in a chair of plush cushions. I put our bags in the closet and grabed a couple of towels. Squatting down, next to Warren's fluffy supporter of tired bones, I place a towel on his lap. In a jovial, yet gravel sounding voice, 'come on old chum, you wanted a bath...I guarantee you'll feel 'revived', ha-ha.' Oh, yes...very funny Jack; your brains don't feel like scrambled eggs cooked with firecrackers.
Having stripped off all my my clothes and towel wrapped around my too skinny waist, I walk out the door, calling back...'last one is a rotten egg!'
Why do I bet that Norman didn't end up in a shite hole and have to deal with rats as long as a man's arm. I really hate rats...at least this isn't the era of the black plague. Using a handy feature, I built into the wrist device, the rats scamper off...it's the little things that make this whole ripping party bearable.
Pushing the manhole cover over, I call out to Warren to hand up the bags; one by one, I toss them to the black road surface and pull myself out, followed by Warren. Out of that hell hole, Warren seems more relaxed, but his disorientation sickness will have other side affects.
The area we seem to be in, is not an optimal place to stay long. According to my scanning sensors, and the map to correspond, roughly, we've come up near the City Prison on Park and Camden Roads, with St. Luke's Church directly across it. Odd; is it just a coincidence that the prison and church are together? Norman shouldn't be interested in either of these types of establishments. The whip end of the rip usually corresponds with the core rip location in some way, which is never clear, until the core location is worked out. Some triangulation will need to be calculated, but not now.
First order is new clothes and rest. Several blocks, south of our present location, should be a man's dress shop called Cargill's Haberdashery. I hope that data is correct since I don't know what year it is and businesses can change; there was a limit to the information we downloaded before our first rip...that was a happier time for all.
Motioning Warren to follow, we make our way down back streets and quiet alleys, before finding the shop. Standing at the entrance, Warren looks at me with a perplexed, mixed with concern expression hanging on his pale face. Afraid he will break the long silence we have shared since arriving, I shake my head sideways and lift a finger to my lips; pointing to the time distortion device, he nods an understanding response to my plan. Pressing the trigger, everything stops and a dense silence surrounds us; I jimmy open the door and we let our bags drop to the carpeted floor. Quickly stripping off our shoes, socks, and trousers, we locate each of these replacement items and finish up by leaving some cash with our putrid clothing remains. The shop keeper will have a fine time dealing with that mystery.
Exiting, I pull Warren along to get us as far away as possible. He can't take any more of this today and vomits in confirmation of my deep concern. Human beings may not be well suited for time travel. Muttering, Sorry, Warren pulls himself together again and we press on. As we continue walking South West on Camden Road, I note a place we can get cleaned up and rest for the day. Not much farther, I croak, we will recover at the Camden Turkish Baths on Kentish Road.
As the sky becomes lighter, we hear a train whistle; we are close now.
St. Luke's stands like a citadel facing me in the night; lamp flames flicker as though they were burning demons eyes, daring the brave knight to enter...
Good evening, I am Dr. Namron and I have brought a patient of mine, as well as my nurse, to see Dr. Jekeyll. I can see charm and directness is needed in this situation and pour it on to make the right impression. Please pardon our appearance, but my patient had a severe episode and attacked me. It was all we could do to get her under control, the cab drove off in fear, and I was cut in the process of subduing her; a rather unpleasant ordeal, I must say, and I require medical attention.
The night attendant looked skeptical, but buzzed us through to the waiting room. You'll need to wait here doctor. Yes, of course, I replied, smiling slightly to show my appreciation for his courtesy. But, I said with a hitch, could I trouble you for a straight jacket, we don't want to risk another 'incident.' I give that knowing look as I wave my bloody shirt sleeve to impress upon the dolt. His eyes widen at the scarlet stain and quickly departs the room. Within minutes, two men come in with the jacket, wheelchair, and a syringe. Oh, good gentlemen, just what is needed. These folks understand all too well and it will be a pleasure involving myself in the operations of this fine establishment.
Turning, I move toward Grace and Stella; nurse, I say to Grace, and giving her my sternest look, to impress upon her the part she is to play, please hold out the patient's arm. Grace looks at me with cold eyes and complies; the two attendants administer the medication and strap on the jacket, making it secure. Without a sound, Stella sits down in the wheelchair, head hung down and hair wildly flowing about her face and shoulders. I find that momentarily appealing somehow.
My amusing thoughts are broken by Grace. I will take Stella, the patient, to her room; show me the way. Her commanding voice alerted the attendants and they look to me for comment. I nod my approval. As the party of four begin to leave the waiting room, I say, in my most gracious manner, ah, could you also take our bags, as we will need accommodations as well. Yes, sir. I need my arm attended to also. The attendant replies dryly, If you'll follow me, the night duty doctor can see to it, sir. Ah, good, good, thank you kindly.
I watch Grace disappear, down the hall, with Stella. This was easier than I thought...how utterly gratifying! This is too much fun!!
This is a fine mess and now, I've got someone else to protect. Why the hell did I let Warren come? He didn't need to leave...he wanted to leave. He will regret that choice, sooner or later; we all have.
Wearing my helmet, I don't need the flashlight, so I stop and hand it to Warren. With the infrared vision, he looks like a scared animal, except his eyes don't really reflect and they look lifeless, hollow, and flat. The fear is written on his face...I need to get him topside.
Proceeding down the tunnel, we come to a split; according to my arm band sensors, we need to follow the right tunnel another 500 yards, which will lead us to a ladder. As we slog along the dark and dank slim covered brick passage, I feel the damp creeping up my pant legs. We are going to stink and our clothes will have to be thrown away; there will be no way to explain our appearance or putrid fragrance. Warren follows along, silently, uncomplaining; he doesn't belong in this mess...what have I done to him?
I need to focus! Redirecting my thoughts, I recheck my sensors. If my time piece is correct, then it is about 2 a.m. If we have any luck with us, then we will come up near a clothing shop or stores.
Stopping below the ladder, I hand Warren my bags and instruct him to wait; I need to check the situation on the surface. I feel the ache in my ribs climbing up the rusting rungs, God, I feel like hell. The manhole cover pushes up easily and I tilt it enough to peek out. Sensors indicate no movement by any lifeforms...no, wait...rats.
Delirium. I can't explain it any other way. We are walking in what appears to be a corridor, but the 'walls' are transparent, with tiny lights glinting. They are speeding up now, but I don't feel like I am walking any faster. Jack is becoming a blur in front of me and as I reach out for him, my hand doesn't seem my own. I can't sense anything; no hearing, feeling, or smells. This strange vacuum seems to be getting smaller now and a darkness swallows Jack. Unable to react, I feel a force sucking me forward and suddenly I am standing in total darkness. My stomach feels like it's inside out and the stench that rushes my nostrils, causes me to vomit.
Oh god! What the hell is going on?! Panic sets in and an uncontrollable fear causes me to cry out for Jack. A blinding light shines in my eyes and I step back for fear of attack. I hear sloshing in what I believe must be water and realize I am standing in something very wet, cold, and it's up to my calves; another wave of nausea envelopes me and I turn to the side, only to face a brick wall. Closing my eyes from the glare and praying I won't be attacked or murdered, I lean my forehead to the wall and discover it is curved.
The sloshing is closer to me now and my disorientation is shaking me, but I grip the handle of my bag tight and prepare to defend myself. The light is lowered and a somewhat familiar voice penetrates my muddled brain.
I am sorry for the rough trip and this location was not expected. My eyes fly open and I turn to see my friend. Jack's voice is still very hoarse; I want to reach out and hug him, but I don't. It's a relief just seeing his face. Jack's hoarse whisper explains, The nausea will pass soon, but the smell won't; we have to get out of here.
I agreed wholeheartedly and regained as much of my composure as I could muster. Realizing there was no immediate threat and allowing my eyes to adjust, the lantern's light cast an eerie glow to the brick sphere surrounding us. For all that's holy...we are in a sewer system!
The air is cool and crisp, ground damp from a recent rainfall. The night glows with prisms as the portal opens and out emerges three figures, a little worse for wear. Stella clings to her sister Grace who holds two bags in either hand, who is clinging to what sanity she has left. Ahead of them is Norman, still cursing to himself like the madman he is.
Bastard, bastard,...f'ing b-a-s-t-a-r-d! How could he do that to me...me?! Throwing down my bag, I grasp my arm, wincing at the pain. I need to get my wound attended to, will need stitches...damn it! Turning, I glare at the two women. The portal dissipates behind them like scattering fireflies casting an eerie glow to the monuments in the cemetery. Any other time I would have been amused at the sight, like ghosts walking from their graves, we would scare any passersby to their own grave, no doubt. At least we arrived where I expected; Bunhill Field Burial Ground, just two blocks from St. Luke's Hospital for Lunatics, on Old Street, City Road, London.
Stella won't look at me and falls to a heap next to her sister's feet, facing me in defiance, Grace lets the bags drop. I can see she has something to express, so I prompt her to speak. What choice words do you have for me this time Grace?
Setting her jaw, Grace bores her glowing vampire eyes into my mortal ones. Jack is not to blame. Unsurprised by her statement, but curious about the explanation, I wait for her to continue without comment. Taking a step closer to me, she clenches her fists as her arms dangle at her sides. Jack followed your instructions, I ran into him when I heard Stella scream and he was alone. For fear of discovery and my safety, he made me return to the rooms and we stayed there until Stella came in.
This time I walked closer to her. I needed to see her eyes better and the darkness enveloped her at this angle of the graveyard making that impossible. Walking, so as to cause her to turn into the moon's light, I could see her eyes, like a wild cats, glowing, reflecting the light. How strange vampires are. My silence seemed to confuse her and was unnerving Stella, as she started to whimper. Grace continued her story. Jack couldn't understand why you gave him the time and place to rip; I had no explanation for him since you did not leave that in your instructions to us. Grace squats down and hugs her sister, now rocking back and forth.
Looking around, I orientate my self and see the gate in the distance. A few lights illuminate the street and our path, which will lead us to St. Luke's. Completely calm and composed now, I retrieve my bag, from the pile, and command the women to follow. Grace speaks one more time. I am sure that other man came on his own...he was in the alley before, watching me...probably hunting for you. I could feel a vicious smile spread across my face...how I enjoy a good hunt! As we all begin our departure from the graveyard, my eye is caught by a headstone in the glow of moonlight, now very bright, the occupant is the famous writer Daniel Defoe. Now that does amuse me and with that, I swing my bag in glee of anticipation for this most excellent adventure ahead.
Greetings fellow travelers! We find our villain, hero, and associates ripping back through time. Where will they end up and what adventures await them, I wonder.
Will Jack and Warren prevail or end up in a mess they can't escape this time? Are Grace and Stella doomed by Norman's insane and fiendish plans? Who will they meet and will they be even crazier and secretly diabolical in nature?
Hard to say, at this point, but when you try to mess with history or time itself, the consequences can be dangerous...
