The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Days later

“WHY HAS SHE NOT COME?”

Mutton Chops had shown up at the Institute, breaking the protocol he himself had set. While his face seemed as placid as ever, his voice was highly agitated. “I have spent the last two years in study of her psyche......she should have attempted an infiltration by now.”

”Well, I must say, Count, you can’t possibly blame me or my Angels for your miscalculation.” Dorvak looked at his watch. “Really, Old Chap, basing your plans on the subject’s Penny Dreadfuls was questionable at best. I mean, though competently written, their plots are fantastical to the extreme. Perhaps it is time to count your winnings and step away from the table. You’ve all but destroyed you most dangerous competition, the Tong.......The smart play is for me and my ladies to relocate, and for you to move on with further, more profitable, enterprises.”

”I HAVE TOLD YOU.” The Count screamed. There was a pause as he gathered himself. “I have told you, I have a higher purpose, and until it is accomplished, so do you, Doctor. Your life depends on it....as does your lovely Lorna’s.”

At the mention of his wife, Dorvak stood suddenly. The Count met his glare. After a moment, defeated, the Doctor slipped back down into his chair. When the Count continued, he spoke to himself.

“The lovely Miss Gasdsen needs a slight push......So how to deliver it?” He closed his eyes for a time, when they reopened they were bright. He went over to the stack of books. He looked for a particular one.

”You’re wrong, Doctor. As an oft subject of Miss Gasdsen’s writing, I can testify as to the veracity of her literary work. Now.....here.” He pointed to a passage that had been underlined. ”She is impetuous, yet does have some patterns......including a penchant for Sunday promenades by herself. Yes...that’s the ticket....here’s what I want you and your ladies to do.”

Armand was surprised when the hansom cab pulled to a stop far from his destination. He was about to call out when a man entered and pressed the barrel of small caliber pistol against his side.

The intruder was an impeccably dressed Chinese man in his thirties. He was handsome despite the scar that was only partially hidden by an eye patch.

“Hello, Wei Fang.” Dupuis sounded as if he was addressing a business colleague.

”Your presence is required.” The intruder handed Armand a hood. Dupuis put it over his

head and settled back. He knew there’d be no further conversation with the infamous assassin.

After an hour, the cab halted, and Wei Fang helped Armand from the carriage. They entered a building. After trekking through a labyrinth, they carefully descended a long stairway. Finally Armand sensed they were in a large hall. Someone pulled the hood from his head.

From the dampness on the bricks and the stench, Armand surmised they were in an adjunct sewer chamber. Before him sat a wizened and emaciated old man in black silk and a skull cap. Before the old man stood a boy in a pigtail. The old man spoke quietly in his native tongue. The boy translated in perfect English:

”The Celestial greets you as his guest, and apologizes for the manner of invitation.” Armand hid his amazement. The legendary criminal mastermind never exposed himself in this manner.

Armand covered his surprise by smirking and responding in perfect Mandarin:

”He should apologize instead that he pretends not knowing I am fluent in three Chinese dialects, and that I know he learned his English at Oxford.”

The old man cackled, then answered in cultured English:

”You have me there, Mr. Dupuis....good show. You will forgive me, my great, great grandson loves to practice his English.” He snapped his fingers and the boy exited. “I would offer you hospitality and tea, but I know such pleasantries would only serve to annoy you. Let us not delay. You are here because a grievous wrong has been perpetrated upon myself and the other innocents under my benevolent protection.....”

”Do stop, Celestial. No soul in your orbit is innocent, but if you are saying you did not take the Eye of Morgana, I quite agree.”

The old man sighed. “This false accusation has driven this frail old man literally underground. I would generously reward you should you bring the real culprit to account.”

”Let us be clear, sir. Your organization has been a vile leech sucking life from Chinatown and this city for far too long. Opium addiction, white slavery, indenturing your own suffering countrymen, extortion and murder are your stock in trade. I wouldn’t accept a copper to assist you, if my life depended on it.”

Wei Fang drew a vicious looking curved dagger.

”ENOUGH....Grandfather......please, I beg you...let me slit the throat of this rude barbarian!”

The Celestial suddenly rose and pointed a long nailed finger at his henchman. For a moment he appeared as his old, powerful self.

”You will be silent, Great Grandson. Mr. Dupuis, you are uncouth and rude...but I know you will come to my family’s aid. Not for our money or any affection for us....but because you are devoted to the Truth. As much as you hate me....you hate more that a true perpetrator remains triumphant. It gnaws you like a cancer in your soul. You do not wish my money...very well. But you shall take my gifts. First of all, I know you suspect this Dorvak and his Institute. My first gift to you is the knowledge that even the puppeteer has strings on his arms. Our true foe is the Dark Count.”

Armand shook his head. “That is impossible.....I saw his body myself at his fortress.”

”I do not doubt you saw a body....and that you concluded it was him. I tell you it was not, and all of this....the theft.....my involvement...is nothing more than a Balinese Shadow Play meant to achieve his revenge on you and Miss Gasdsen.”

”I tell you I.......”

”In Miss Gasdsen’s books, you often say that a great detective does not see things as he prefers them to be, but as they actually are. Heed your own advice, sir. Now for the second gift....”

Wei Fang came forward with a package wrapped in brown paper and twine.

”I told you Celestial, I want nothing from you.”

The old man closed his eyes, looking again his hundred years.

”Take it, please, Dupuis. Take it as insurance against your arrogant over confidence, and your unfailing trust of those you love.”

It was a balmy spring Sunday, perfect for a stroll through Central Park. Briar wore a beautiful white dress with matching broad hat. A pretty parasol shielded her from the sun.

Briar needed her solitary walk this day, more than ever. Despite all they had learned, it seemed the investigation of Dorvak had died with the recovery of the Eye. It seemed obvious to her that the Tong was a false lead, but nobody would listen. Sanderson was basking in the adulation of both his department and the Public. Singh kept his thoughts to himself. When Briar swallowed her pride and finally spoken to Armand, he had summarily dismissed her with a curt “Leave this business to me.”

The truth was their partnership had never recovered from their last encounter with Spenzini, the Dark Count. (“The Mysteries of Armand Dupuis #36: The Fatal Rendezvous”). The final battle with the villain had ended with his horrible death. Despite their triumph, both had been tested mentally and physically to their limits. Perhaps, she thought, he had grown reluctant to expose her to danger. She knew, deep down, he had feelings for her, though she would probably a crone by the time he was able to confess it.

She had just past the Lake and it’s smattering of boats when she heard a commotion. As she turned a corner, she saw a demonstration on a stage temporarily erected on the lawn. A large banner read “THE DORVAK INSTITUTE: EXALTING ALL WOMEN.” A small crowd, mostly female and many with baby carriages, stood about. A smattering of men were also present. Briar suspected that some of these were more interested in the glimpses bare female flesh than any interest in either the Arts or Suffrage. A chamber group of five female musicians were playing lovely music. Four graceful women, barefoot and in togas were engaged in a free style interpretive dance.

Kathleen Murdoch was one of the dancers.

Briar felt a dark pang of guilt. Regardless of the recovery of the Eye, she and her friends had all but abandoned Kathleen and the other Institute ladies to whatever Dorvak was doing to them. Briar had always trusted Armand’s strategic plans and followed them. Increasingly, however, she felt the urge to act on her own.

Her reverie was broken when she sensed she wasn’t alone.. She turned and saw a man dressed as a park groundskeeper was standing close. He tipped his cap over neat white hair, and his face ruddy with a benevolent smile.

“Good day, Miss”. He had a thick Central European accent.

”Good day to you sir. Quite a show......don’t you think?”

“Yes. The Boss don’t like me not working, but I love music such as this......and the dance, of course.”

Briar was charmed by his earnestness. “Well, I won’t tell your boss. I’m glad for your company.”

”And I yours, Miss. You like this music as well? These musicians....especially the harpist, have very real talent.”

”Very much.....the music...it’s Rimsky-Korsakov is it not?”

”No, it’s one of the ‘Polovtsian Dances’ by Borodin. Haunting and exotic....it takes me to the grass steppes of Russia. And the dancers...they so complement the gorgeous melody.”

Briar focused on the prancing girls. “Yes.....not at all like ballet...”

”Yes....you have a good eye, Miss, nothing at all like ballet. See how they glide across the damp grass, their bare soles barely touching the lawn. So light, so free, so perfectly in step with the gorgeous music..”

”Yes.....free.” Briar’s voice was just above a whisper.

The old man’s accented voice had fallen into a rhythmic patter.

“The music and dance together....combining to captivate.....uplift....enchant. The allow you to drift....drift away from all cares and worries. Drifting now into the music and the dance, letting my voice guide you....your breathing slowing as you drift......drift....drift.

Briar did not answer. She just stood still, her breathing quite slow.

Dorvak gently took her parasol from her unresisting hand and closed it. He didn’t want it to fall and disturb her at this critical stage. Then the dance ended to a smattering of applause. The clapping began to rouse Briar. Dorvak restarted his rhythmic patter, and soon Briar stood still as a statute, both arms hanging loosely at her sides.

The Harpist began a solo piece.

He studied her beautiful face with its heavily dilated blue eyes. He felt a tremor of prurient desire ripple through him, but forced it down. His voice remained calm and even.

“Listen now to Beethoven’s masterpiece, ‘Fur Elise’. Written for the piano.......but so pretty on the harp. The melody stays with you, sinking deeply into the deepest recesses of your mind. Once you hear, it stays with you forever.......helping you drift even deeper....ever deeper.”

He kept his patter going until the Beethoven piece was done. This time, the applause had no effect on Briar at all. Lorna, barefoot in her nursing kit, was striding to the center of the platform.

”Now Miss.....you really must listen carefully........This speech is so important......so full of truth for you.”

Lorna began:

“Ladies...and gentlemen.....I thank you all for joining us. We do not seek to take anything from Men. We simply seek an equal opportunity to contribute as equal partners in this world. Equal Partners!”

Briar silently formed the word “Equal”.

”We must not wait for the Man to act....we must show the initiative and act on our own!”

Briar slightly nodded her head. The Nurse’s words only promoted the thoughts she already had, so they easily took root in her mind.

Briar blinked, as the speaker went on and on about how the Institute empowered women. She looked down and saw her parasol on the ground. She paused before bending down. She had an eerie sense someone else had been there. That concern faded as she glanced at Kathleen in her toga, raptly watching Lorna Dorvak give her oration. She knew the girl was in some peril. Armand only saw her as a suspect, a pawn. It was time for Briar Gasdsen to take matters in her own hands and, if need be, rescue her.

She decisively retrieved the sun umbrella, and headed out of the park.

On the water, the cloaked figure put down the spyglass and rowed the rented skiff back to the boathouse.