Lawrence Edgerton, in spirit form, shares more from his early years with the Illuminati-----
Besides Hefton, I made three other friends that night. They were all a bit older than I and called me 'little brother.' One was a 'lord,' since his father was an earl and, as elder son, he carried the secondary title. The other two were brothers hailing from an amazingly rich gentry clan. Now gentry families are a whole other thing. They bear no titles, but not due to any social deficiency. I suppose, they just don't need them. Everyone knows who they are. And not being peers allows them to pull strings in the commons, where it really counts. Besides, they often hold vaunted county seats, such as sheriff and that provides real power too. Tarlton, they were called. Twins, though not identical, if I recall correctly.
Why do I dwell on this?.... Well, that's due to what happened next. They took me to a secret establishment. London was filled with secret establishments, from hidden gambling dens to a variety of gimmicky whore houses and occult cellars where they (at least according to whispers) sewed live humans into the carcasses of gigantic Nile crocodiles, which were then slow roasted in a long narrow bed of red hot coals. They say a certain Upper Egyptian river deity appreciated the gesture and dispensed eternal largesse to all committed supplicants. Why they didn't just write him a nice fat check, I'll never know.
We went to a rare and new display, deep beneath the second cellar of an old country house (or what was once a country house) a bit to the west of Vaux Hall, a once esteemed pleasure garden with wine dispensaries, live music and lovely little boats for hire, as well as a festively decorated merry-go-round and other such fun-fair devices.
The place sat off beyond a dark, secluded copse patrolled by armed guards. Some said a Scots Laird paid them, others a gentleman close to the throne. Wise men said nothing, as it was their place to know nothing.
That night we travelled incognito, in a nondescript hired coach, devoid of ostentatious trim. The coachmen was a mute illiterate. Any secrets he might know were sealed within his bones. The two bodyguards, brought up from Palermo and blood members of The Black Hand were the best that money could buy.. So we rode through the gardens and passed through the trees, till we came to the house (still a large commodious affair) and entered through a discreet, little kitchen door 'round the back...... A quick race down two or three turns of an ancient, spiral stair delivered us to the spot.... How many similar places hid among the rabbit warrens of London, I do not know. In that age they were numerous and well frequented.... You might call them 'television' and 'internet.' So feign not exalted honor at our expense. You do the like, though from a proper distance.
None were witness, save myself, my four companions and a master of ceremonies done up like a cruel, dandy clown. The walls, thick, white washed, rough hewn stone. In the center of the chamber was a large, black, cast iron cage with a small narrow passage going off to the right and a matching one going off to the left. They floor was strewn with straw. A miserly bit of dull, orange light fell down from lanterns widely placed about the space. The cruel clown whistled. A door opened and a whimpering naked wretch crawled forth from the sinister side out into the round cage.... No one made a sound.... The wretch, in a barely audible voice, whispered - Please..... but in vain. No rescue there that night.... The clown sighed and the remaining door burst open, releasing a bristling, bounding ape, brought hence from the banks of a river deep within the fetid depths of an equatorial jungle... How it shrieked and rattled the bars.... The victim curled up like a nut and tried to disappear, but the keen eyed beast already knew his scent and studied him . It hissed. The man screamed. The carnage was on.
First they go for the scrotum (true). Do you know how easy it is for a one hundred and eighty pound thing with two and a half inch canines to do that? The immediate and prodigious fountain of red is absolutely amazing. One can see the heartbeat in each and every pulse. Very often other sex parts come off with it. Death, due to exsanguination is a given. The straw was completely blood soaked. The ape's head resembled nothing so much as a crazed, candied apple. One or two of my companions downed swigs from cunning, little flasks.... Then the ruined fetal human babbled in an unknown language, reigniting the ire of the troglodyte, which grabbed the doomed meat sludge by its ankles and swung him around in complete circles, like a frightful ballerino committed to smashing as much bone as possible against the bars. Finally, the dizzy, stumbling ape settled down and proceeded to strip the flesh from the skull. We heard weak, little moans as it sucked out the eyes. Hard to stomach the fact that any measure of consciousness still remained.
The small door at the end of the passage to the right scraped open. The ape grabbed his dead 'toy' by the mandible and quickly disappeared back to its den.
No one moved...
After a heartbeat the cruel, dandy clown clapped his hands and giggled with delight.... We freshened ourselves at the kitchen pump (fortunately no one was splattered... they obviously had this show down to a science) and left.
The cool, night air through the slightly opened coach windows felt good.
And the sound of lurid hurdy gurdy music (a Vaux Hall staple) played us down the lane and out to the streets.
Tomorrow, or some day soon after, I'd see the Tarltons about an investment. My Illuminati mentors need their money to proceed.
And I think I know how to approach them..
That's how it was... Witness a murder, make a friend....
'Society' in the capital, circa 1830's......
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