The Journal of Larkin Claydon

April 3rd

My sister and I were saddened this week to learn of the passing of our Uncle George. He was not well regarded among our family, in fact he was very much seen as the black sheep, a strange eccentric who never married, lived in a twisting old house with few servants and whose contact with us had been sparse indeed. This was actually due to the direct intervention of our Father, who had threatened him with dire consequences were he to come near either of us.

Apparently there was something of the night about Uncle George, but on the occasions we had met him we'd found him perfectly charming. He was certainly unconventional and fomented in us a spirit of adventure that was singularly discouraged by our parents, who demanded we be obedient, ladylike members of polite society uncorrupted by anything more exciting than a difficult cross-stitch. But our Father could not block the final wishes of a dying man, and could hardly continue to threaten him.

The named location was Morior Hall, a large house set in grounds just outside of the city, where the ball being held rejoiced in the sinister title of The Mortal Masquerade. Uncle George had long ago spoken to us of a club he belonged to that met outside the restrictions of prescriptive Christian society, dedicated to self-improvement through artistic engagement with mortality. This must have been the world our Father had been so desperate to keep us from, so of course we were eager to see it.

Had Father forbade us from attending he would have done so in vain. We are both of the age of majority and if he doesn't realise by now that we will not quietly wait at home to be married off to whatever bland business associate he brings forth there is no hope for him. We did not tell him all the details of Mr. Makabra's strange letter, just that we had been invited to a society ball where we would learn of a possible inheritance. Of course it sounded odd put like that, but our Father was as amenable to the prospect of large sums of money as he was incompetent at controlling us. Bottom line, we were going whether he liked it or not.

We made the necessary transport arrangements, selected gowns and sewed black velvet masks to wear for the big night.

The Journal of Adelia Claydon

April 4th

As the elder sister, it has always fallen upon me to be the responsible one, the conduit between the impetuous instincts of my sister and the craven ennui of our family. I yearn for adventure just as Larkin does – how could one not in the age of enlightenment and discovery – though I fear she is prone to overestimate her defences if trouble were to arise. My sister has the pluck and guile of ten men, but physically we remain the weaker sex, however galling that may be.

Uncle George was an enigmatic and enthralling influence on our formative years, promising a forbidden world of excitement and romance we dreamed of exploring, we could barely wait to follow the trail to see where it led. I was intrigued by the author of the letter, this Elbert Makabra, who claimed to be the executor to our uncle's estate but who I suspected had more of a stake in this than he let on.

Morior Hall was abuzz with activity as we arrived. The dress code demanded that we remained masked throughout, there was to be no midnight unmasking at this ball. Strange music could be heard playing in the hall performed by unseen musicians on harsh metallic sounding instruments. I must confess that it stirred something within me quite different to the ordered composition of the string quartet. Whatever this night had in store for us, it would be far different from anything our upbringing had prepared us for.

Larkin Claydon

Elbert Makabra turned out to be a tall, slim gentleman in opera dress with white gloves and eye mask. His associate was a middle aged lady in a fiery red dress, who looked us up and down like a tiger might view its next meal. He thanked us for coming, introduced his companion as Ms. Annie Winterburn and suggested we retire to a side room to discuss the matter that had brought us here.

Mr. Makabra produced an ornate envelope. Written on the front was the legend, "To Mr E Makabra and Misses L and A Claydon, to be opened on the occasion of my death at the site of the Mortal Masquerade, in the presence of all addressees. Signed, Mr. George M. Fairhurst."

Inside were two sealed letters, respectively addressed to Mr. Makabra and ourselves. Mr. Makabra took a letter opener from his pocket, slitted open his envelope and offered the opener for us to open ours. As he read his letter I noticed his brow briefly furrow and the suggestion of a scowl form around his lips – something in that letter was causing him annoyance, but when he saw me watching he quickly corrected his expression to that of a calm smile.

This is what was in our letter:

"To my dearest Larkin and Adelia,

I regret that I have not been able to have greater contact with my favourite nieces, but as you know my Brother, your Father, made that impossible. You may have heard some lurid rumours about me and my lifestyle, but please rest assured that in my life I have harmed nobody and would never wish to see any harm befall you. If you wish to stare into the face of darkness you may select any conforming member of society hiding their demons beneath the mask of the Done Thing, pursuing avarice while weekly abdicating their own responsibility at the altar of man long ago tortured and executed. I reject all lectures on morality from such hypocrites, and know from our conversations that you also possess the intelligence to see beyond such things.

I wish to grant you the opportunity to see life and death in a new way, and make you independently wealthy enough that you might rise above the restrictions society places upon your sex. You are both stronger and more intelligent than those that would seek to tame and enslave you, please never forget that.

I must warn you immediately that the man you see before you is not to be trusted. Elbert Makabra had been my faithful servant and companion for many years, but as my health diminished I began to notice signs that his interest was less in my goodwill and more in securing the assets of my estate. He is, or certainly was, a dutiful man and I had planned to see him rewarded appropriately, but then he began dropping certain hints at moments when I was vulnerable. I also heard him speaking in conspiratorial tones with a woman outside my room, whose existence he denied when I asked about her. I may be of failing health, but my mind remains competent. If Elbert wished to bring a lady friend into my home he knew he had only to ask. I can only guess at his reasons for lying to me, but I fear he has become corrupted by material greed and am not sure of what he is now capable.

A person you might well encounter is a lady by the name of "Amethyst" Annie Winterburn, who once tried to tempt me to marriage in order to access my assets. She did not succeed, partly because she did not bargain for the unconventional nature of my romantic preferences. I subsequently discovered that she is a notorious rogue and suspected murderess and that I had made a lucky escape. I would not put it past her to make another attempt at my fortune, it might even have been her voice that I had heard outside my door. If this were so it would mean Elbert truly has sold his soul. If you do meet this woman, be forewarned: she is dangerous.

I made Elbert the executor to my estate so that he will be forced to follow my wishes and unable to challenge the will. He will still have a claim to a substantial sum if he fulfills certain obligations – he is my longtime companion after all, also I fear what he would do if truly desperate.

In case he does attempt any kind of shenanigans I want you to be in a position to thwart him, while simultaneously proving yourselves worthy of the faith I have placed upon you. The three of you (four, if you-know-who should make an appearance as I suspect she might) are to compete in a series of tests which will determine the final division of my estate. The path ahead will be difficult and perilous and if you desire you may refuse the challenge, accept a more modest inheritance and return to the tedious safety of respectable society. But I hope and believe you will choose the path of adventure and greater reward.

The place you find yourself in is known as the Mortal Masquerade, a society run by a dear friend of mine who will guide you through the challenges to come, should you choose to accept them. Please listen carefully to what he says, for he and I have agreed certain codes which may be of service to you. This is the club I spoke of to you many years ago, much of what you see here is an illusion but you will need the courage and resolve to look death in the face if you are to succeed. When you do, as I am confident that you will, you will emerge as strong, confident and powerful people able to make your way in whatever way you see fit.

Whatever you choose to do, may I wish you good fortune in all of your coming endeavours.

Your loving Uncle,

Mr. George M. Fairhurst."

As we set down the letter, Adelia's eyes were fixed upon the woman sat across the table.

"Amethyst Annie, I presume?" she said icily.

"OK, fine, the old fruit was on to me," she snapped. "For what it's worth, he did see me once more before he died. Very briefly, but long enough to know who I was."

I gave a start. Had she just confessed to finishing him off, or was this just her mind games? As she watched my reaction she smiled like a serpent.

"You hold that thought, my dear," she said. "Maybe I am just playing with you, or maybe I'm capable of every vile deed you're imagining right now. The important thing is, how badly do you want to find out?"

Elbert Makabra sat quietly, he had clearly been shaken by the contents of his own letter but was trying not to show it. He had the look of the man caught on the backfoot and now having to change his plans on the fly. He looked across at Annie before, finally, he spoke.

"Twenty-five years I gave to that man," he said. "Twenty-five years of loyalty, of companionship. I was there when his family disowned him, when he was made a pariah just for who he was. I knew he was fond of the two of you, but you were still a part of the wider family that mistreated the man I love... there, I've said it, I loved him and believed he loved me. I nursed him through his sickness, I looked after him, but every time he talked it was Larkin this and Adelia that. You weren't there! I hated your whole family for what you did to him, and what about me? Was I really just a servant to him?

"Well, whatever the truth, I remain his servant, but I am definitely not yours. If my old master wishes to pit us against each other for the trappings of his estate, I accept the challenge, and believe me when I say that I will pull no punches. I understand he has offered you a token sum to walk away and I suggest you take it, lest all the hatred I have for your family come down upon your heads with a financial incentive to boot."

Adelia and I looked at each other. That was quite a candid speech for someone who had just been caught in a deceptive and possibly murderous plot. He hadn't mentioned why he chose to align himself with someone who had already plotted against the man he claimed to love, but as the bard observed, misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. It was quite clear that before us sat a bitter shell of a man, his willing association with Amethyst Annie removed any doubt of the darkness that now consumed him.

Uncle George had seen his servant and companion change before his eyes, but was unable to see him off in his weakened state. In a final act of defiance he had summoned us personally and clearly wished for us to defeat this villain, we might even have been his final hope.

"Mr. Makabra, we do not appreciate being threatened," I told him in no uncertain terms. "And quite frankly, how you feel about our family is neither here nor there."

"We accept the challenge," said Adelia. "You may do your worst".

An evil grin spread across the features of Elbert Makabra.

"I'm so glad to hear you say that," he said. "I absolutely intend to."

Adelia Claydon

We were joined in the room by a smartly dressed gentleman with a neat beard who introduced himself as Uncle Morbid, the friend our Uncle had written of who would act as adjudicator for our upcoming contest. He spoke fondly of Uncle George and offered his sincere condolences at his passing, but also wondered if we were fully aware of how death was approached here and whether we understood what we had let ourselves in for.

By way of illustration he took us to the main hall where some kind of cabaret was commencing. Set up on the stage was a scaffold with an array of four hangman's nooses suspended above trapdoors, tended by masked attendants in matching uniforms. Four people mounted the stage from the floor of the hall, each dressed like regular ballgoers. Each selected one of the four numbered nooses and allowed themselves to be fastened in. They did not wear hoods, nor were they bound like condemned prisoners – the whole performance was remarkable in the willingness and visible excitement of the victims.

A drumroll sounded and a lever was pulled on cue, releasing two of the trapdoors. The two unfortunate occupants dangled from their respective ropes as the other two were released, returning to the floor to die another day. Stagehands lifted up the two losers and took them away as the mechanisms were reset.

I asked Uncle Morbid if what we had just witnessed was genuine.

"Enough for our purposes," said Uncle Morbid. "If you are asking whether our stagehands are currently disposing of two cadavers, not as such. But death should be considered final as far as our games are concerned."

He turned to face us.

"This is your first test, by the way. You must each select a number from one to four, with a fifty percent chance of being hanged. If you wish you may decline this first round and forfeit the first score in your ongoing contest – this will not be an option in later rounds. But I hope you will want to take this opportunity to demonstrate your wit and courage. If you want to."

Elbert and Annie chose to refuse the game, putting the onus on the two of us to face the gallows and claim the first points in our contest. Or fall at the first hurdle and be hung up like sides of bacon. Were we really supposed to submit ourselves to what amounted to a morbid coin toss?

Before I could answer, Larkin spoke up for both of us.

"Yes. We will do it."

She gave a defiant glance at Elbert and Annie, grasped my hand and took me off across the floor in the direction of the gallows.

"Trust me," she said under her breath.

Since our opponents chose not to play, we were joined on the scaffold by two of the uniformed attendants, who Uncle Morbid had told us were referred to as "angels". Both were masked, wearing male and female versions of the same uniform – a skirt for one, trousers for the other. We were given the honours to choose the nooses we would put our heads into. Once again Larkin spoke up before I could, placing us on the first two trapdoors. I hoped to God she was correct.

Stagehands came to fasten us into the nooses, as they did so I felt a touch in the small of my back as if something was being attached there. Then the stagehands withdrew, leaving the four of us to our fate.

As the drumroll began, I saw Elbert and Annie stood in the audience, their faces dripping malevolence. I stared back, trying to hide my terror at the madness we had consented to. But my sister seemed strangely calm.

Larkin turned to me and smiled reassuringly. I drew strength from hers as we reached out to hold hands, hearts pounding as the drumroll climaxed.

The lever was pulled and the two angels beside us dropped away, dangling in the open space beneath the trapdoors. We were released from the nooses and headed back into the audience as our former opponents were taken away.

"How did you know?" I asked Larkin.

"I remembered Uncle George's words in that letter," she replied. "He wanted us to prove ourselves, so that first challenge had to be a test of courage, not dumb luck."

"But how did you know which numbers were safe?"

"I listened to Uncle Morbid, just as we were told. He made himself quite clear if you were paying attention".

I went over the conversation in my mind, searching for the numbers one and two.

He had said something about wanting to demonstrate our wit and courage, now I thought of it. But only if we wanted to.

Want to.

One, two.

So it was to be that kind of contest. I had to admit it had been a thrilling experience and wondered what more was in store for us. I also reflected that we now had the lead in our contest with Elbert and Annie.

I offered a silent prayer to Uncle George, wherever he was. I knew we would do him proud.