This was to be done, he'd explained, by garbing eight men to resemble the simians and equipping them in chains connecting them in pairs. At a signal, they would rush into the hall uttering savage cries. He suggested the effect to be exquisite in the way of producing fright.
I gather that Prospero was quite taken with the idea, to the extent of ordering Peters to provide costuming for such an entertainment that very evening, for himself and his seven ministers to enact these roles.
Now, I was to be present in the great hall myself that night, with Emerson, to provide an acrobatic entertainment and some mummery.
This, he felt, was excellent timing, filling the audience's eyes and minds with images and notions of hairy, man-like beasts. In fact, he suggested I preface the performance with an observation that we had eight others of Emerson's sort but that they were untrained, far too vicious to be loosed in public and, so, kept chained.
I suggested he make me party to whatever he was planning but he refused, only going so far as to suggest I find a way to get my saber into the hall beforehand and conceal it there, "Just in case," as he put it.
I did not like the sound of this, but, as he refused to elaborate, I contrived to enter the hall while it was deserted that morning and hung the weapon in the hall amid a display of ancient shields and armor, near to where I'd be performing, covering it with a shield so that only the hilt protruded.
That evening, I arrived ahead of time, Emerson in tow, hoping to discover just what Peters had in mind, to assist if I might, foil if I must, avoid if necessary. But the only change in decor that I could discover was that the massive chandelier had been removed (at Peters' suggestion), its drippings in an unusually warm April to have been impossible to prevent upon the rich garb of the guests, to be replaced by a flambeau, emitting sweet odor, in the right hand of each of the Caryatids which stood against the wall—some 50 or 60, I'd say.
During my act, at some sign from Peters, the prince and his seven ministers absented themselves for their costuming—which, I later learned, consisted of their donning tight-fitting stockinet shirts and drawers. They were daubed with tar which was then covered with a coating of flax. They were then tied together with chains (by Peters) and formed into a circle, their chains crossing at its center. Peters had intended their entrance to occur at midnight, but the men's eagerness to astound and affright prompted them to shamble into the great hall ahead of schedule. My prefatory remarks had been made, however, and the resulting shrieks and tumult arose as anticipated.
The excitement was immense, the prince and his cohorts amusing themselves prodigiously with each fresh swooning or outcry. As anticipated, there had been a general rush for the doors; but Prospero had ordered them locked immediately on his entrance, and Peters had picked up the keys in the absence of pockets to the prince's costume.
At some time during this activity Peters vanished, to be replaced by yet another hairy form. Emerson had left me, though by now no one was paying any heed to what had been our act. He cavorted with the fake apes, and I noted after a time that the chain from which the chandelier normally depended, and which had been drawn up on its removal, was lowered slowly till its hooked end hovered near the floor.
I sought about for Annie who had been present in a simple scarlet Harlequin mask, accompanied by three fully costumed individuals who could only have been Templeton, Griswold, and Von Kempelen.
All of them appeared already to have departed, however.
The chains which bound the ape-mummers moved about at the center of the circle they formed. All of them did not quite coincide in their crossings, though. Emerson took hold of the hook, and to it he affixed a chain, a second chain, a third chain. Though he caught hold of the fourth one on several occasions he could not draw it near enough to the hook to suspend it therefrom. There simply was not sufficient slack.
Finally, the three snagged chains were drawn taut. Their wearers felt the tension, began glancing back to the thing which seemed to have restricted their movement. At this, the hook began to rise. I looked upward, then down again in another direction to the place where the other end of the chain was wrapped about a drum, off in a shadowy corner where a diminutive figure in motley turned a crank.
Six of the ministers were hoisted into the air.
Prince Prospero and the minister to whom he was attached remained grounded. A shadow flashed by me. I moved to my shield.
Peters had rushed to the wall where he wrenched a flambeau from the hands of its Caryatid. He moved to a central position, to the place where now hung the six of the ministers who had watched Trippetta dance to her death.
He applied his torch to each in turn. The tar proved very flammable. Each burst into flame.
Shouts of fear rose on every hand, but these were submerged by the cries and moans of the living candles which turned and writhed overhead. The chains clinked and rasped; shadows darted like crazed spirits about the hall. And a hellish sound penetrated everywhere. It was several moments before I realized it to be Peters' mirthless laughter.
Turning, the prince took in the situation quickly. Reaching inside his costume, he withdrew a pistol. He raised it, then took aim in Peters' direction. A hairy form interposed itself, rushed toward him. He fired.
Emerson fell.
There followed total panic. I had my saber in my hand. The six ministers twisted, screamed and blazed overhead. Peters bellowed, locked the winch he'd operated and rose. He attempted to move forward then, but his way was blocked by a rush of bodies.
Then commenced the striking of midnight upon the great, dark clock.
Before the final echoes of the last chime faded the entire assembly had grown still. I was not certain what had occurred. It was as if some psychic wind had blown through the hall, touching upon everyone present, disarming us of sound and movement.
Save for one. I first became aware of the figure because it was the only thing moving, from out a dark corner which might well have concealed a passage; second, the grotesque costume it had on held every gaze from the moment of beholding. In all respects it was the form of one long dead, most likely from the very cause this crowd was here assembled to avoid—the Red Death.
Its gait was ungainly, lurching, its skin both pale as a toadstool and bright as blood as it passed from shadow to glare and back again, reflective of the blazing spectacle overhead; progress stumping, terrible, within a cloud of charnel-house smells which only then reached my nostrils; guise maggoty, moldy; manner single-minded; mien horrific. It came on, perfect embodiment of the group's nemesis.
But even more than the great horror this presence evoked was the revelation, to me, that this was not a matter of mask, makeup, or costuming. I knew this man, having seen him at our tunnel's farther end, where Peters had stripped him of his motley, his cap and bells. For this was Fortunato—plaguey, drunken associate of Montresor, dead, dead, dead, yet some how animate, moving down the aisle which opened before him, lurching subject of every stare as he reached to embrace Prospero, who shrieked at the contact and fell to the floor, retreating feet tangled in his chains, dragging his final minister with him.
The spell was broken. The noise and tumult returned. Daggers appeared in shaking hands. I brandished my blade and called to Peters. I snatched a torch, and when he looked my way I gestured in the direction where I thought the hidden passage lay. Casting a final look at his handiwork and a lingering one at his whilom companion, dead Emerson, Peters beat his way through the crowd and followed me into the passage.
These recent days be bloody stuff, And also recent dreams.