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  AS LUCKY drove, he called over his shoulder. "You'll need a trainer, and I know just the man. Jeremiah, the man you bested in the pub the other night. They call him the Ox. He's trained some of the best."

  Lucky stopped in front of a pub that made me chilled. I recognized the place immediately, where I had my first fight. When I walked into the pub, the crowds immediately fell silent. All eyes turned to me, then to the large man hunched over the bar.

  The man turned to glare at me, then brightened. "Ah, my old friend, Jekyll? You look scrawnier than usual. Have you not drunk me under the tables enough for this lifetime?"

  "I have not come to shame you. I came for your help."

  The man's beady eyes narrowed. "What kind of help?"

  "You fought me well. I wish to become a professional fighter. I believe you can teach me. And I'll pay you well for it."

  Jeremiah roared with laughter. "Well, you certainly made mincemeat of me. I should like to see you in the ring. Very well. I'll be your second. Come."

  I followed Jeremiah back to Lucky's cab. The cab carried us through the streets of London, exchanging ribald stories and fantasies about the women we saw along the way. We finally arrived at a gymnasium, where a boxing ring waited for us.

  At the gymnasium, Jeremiah pulled on his gloves as he spoke. "I been watching you, Hyde. You're a swarmer, a pressure fighter. We can use your small stature to your advantage. You'll do best to stay close to your opponent where a larger opponent's longer arms will work against him. A lot of big fighters are trained to swing wide, but will have trouble in close. You'll get hit a lot trying to get in, but you got a good chin, can take a punch really well. "

  He began to throw quick punches at shadows. "We're going to teach you the punches, so you can use combinations of hooks and uppercuts. What I'm gonna teach you is to just keep punching. Never stop."

  That night, he taught me to employ a bob-and-weave defense by bending at the waist to slip underneath or to the sides of incoming punches. He taught me to get the opponent to miss instead of blocking, which causes my opponent to lose their balance, permits forward movement past the opponent's extended arm and keeps the hands free. He taught me the right way to throw different punches like uppercuts and hooks.

  It was an exhausting night, but the next night I returned, and the next. Ox trained me hard, knowing we had only a short time for me to learn the basics before the fight. He was shocked by how quickly I learned.

  "I'll say this for you, Hyde," Ox said. "You're a quick learner. You've learned more in one night than most of my boys learn in a week."

  * * *

  The night of my weigh-in came quicker than expected. Lucky drove Bruno and myself down Rose Street to the Calf and Flag. Before we even reached the doors of the pub, I knew I had arrived. The roads approaching the pub were a sea of rowdy, drunken men. Easily thousands of them could be seen, and of a caliber lower even than myself. We passed scenes of them shouting, swearing, fighting amongst themselves to cheers and shouts. Police scattered throughout the mob, shouting, dragging men to waiting wagons, or standing aside to simply watch the chaos. The shops had mostly shuttered their doors, and windows hid terrified neighbours.

  As we rode through the rabble, I found myself wondering at the fact that I would be a paid fighter, while so many others fought for free.

  We entered the pub to find fully forty people drinking and carousing. Some cheered when I came in, but most ignored me. I expect that few would have taken me for a fighter.

  Jeremiah conducted us through the pub to a locker room in the back, where he handed me a set of trunks. "You'll be fightin' Nathan Rodriguez. They call him 'the Spaniard.' He's somewhat bigger than you, but definitely within your weight class, which is flyweight. He's not Labonte's most seasoned fighter, but not his worst, either. You have a decent chance of winning this fight."

  "A decent chance," I repeated as I stripped myself down to my underclothes. "Such enthusiasm."

  I looked into a mirror at the emaciated frame that faced me. For the first time, I wondered if this was a wise course of action, but no matter. I donned the trunks Jeremiah provided me and left for the back room.

  "Ready, Hyde?" Jeremiah asked.

  "Call me Devlin," I murmured.

  As I walked out of the back room, the crowd in the pub roared with laughter at the sight of me. I smiled to the crowd, making a show of blowing kisses. We all crowded up the creaky stairs into the back room, the so-called Bucket of Blood. The blood stains on the ring's canvas confirmed this to be no mere moniker. It was a standard ring of twenty-four feet square with ropes bordering the edges. By the ring, a scale waited, along with a referee. Next to the referee stood my opponent, Antonio Rodriguez.

  Rodriguez faced me, wearing red trunks. Labonte had vastly underplayed his appearance. He was a shorter man than average, but still towered over me. His body was lean but carved with muscle. His eyes blazed with rage and bloodlust, made more fearsome by the shock of red hair on his head.

  "Here is your opportunity, little man," Rodriguez growled. "You can leave now. You shall be called a coward, but walk away with your life intact."

  I smiled up at him. "I would offer you the same opportunity."

  The crowds howled. I heard someone yell, "With a spirit such as this, he might have a chance," and others seemed to take the same position. Money flew across hands as bets were made. From the shouts, I could tell the odds were still definitely not in my favour.

  I stepped upon the scales. They added weights, but the needle scarcely seemed to move.

  The referee nodded. "Six stone. He's in the weight class. Just barely."

  Rodriguez stepped on the scales and took his weight. He fell under the flyweight class as well, but still far outweighing me.

  The referee called out to the crowds, "The fight shall be set for next Tuesday."

  I retreated from the room and changed into my standard fare. I instructed Lucky to take me to Rebecca's flat.

  When the door opened, I said, "I'm here to see Rebecca."

  Elizabeth cocked her head to one side as she said, "I'm sorry, that won't be possible. She's busy tonight, Edward."

  Her expression and tone gave me her meaning immediately. Rage filled me like an inferno. I shoved her aside and charged into the flat. I found Rebecca's door closed and locked. I pounded on it with my fist until it opened slightly. A woman peered through the open crack. I recognised Rebecca's eyes.

  "Edward?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"

  I pushed both hands hard against the door, flinging it open. As I barged into the room, I saw her clad in flimsy negligee. A man wearing only pants with no shirt or shoes sat on her bed. He pulled his suspenders over his shoulders as he stood up.

  "Here," the man yelled. "What's all this then? Who's this bloke?"

  "Who are you?" I roared.

  The man held up his hands. "Hey, I paid for a full hour. He'll have to wait his turn or I'll want me money back."

  I lunged at him, my fingers straining to tear him apart. Only Rebecca's hands on my arm prevented me. She held me back, dragging me from the room.

  "I won't be a moment, love," Rebecca said as she closed her bedroom door. Then she whirled to face me with her hands on her hips. "What are you doing, Edward?"

  "What are you doing with him?" I yelled.

  She folded her arms. "Edward, you know my profession."

  I glared at Elizabeth standing nearby until she turned away and fled to her own bedroom. Then I faced Rebecca. "I knew you were a whore."

  "I am a whore," she said. "Nothing has changed."

  "I suppose I thought you might have the decency to correct that failing."

  Rebecca raised her eyebrows. "For what reason? Because of our relationship? I still have needs that must be filled. There is no other employment that I can pursue."

  "I can provide you with money."

  "From what? Where does your wealth come from?"

  "Why does it matter?"

 
"Because if I am going to abandon my way of life, I need to know that what replaces it will keep me secure. Where does your wealth come from?"

  I paused before answering, "A relative. He is quite wealthy. He provides me with a stipend."

  She shook her head. "That is not a reliable source of income. What if your relative chose to cut you off?"

  "He would never do that."

  "How can you be sure? Does he know what activities he finances?"

  I looked away with gritted teeth. "His feelings on my ventures are beside the point. I have information that could be quite damaging to his reputation. As long as I hold his secret, he will provide me with all the money I need."

  Rebecca shook her head. "I'm sorry, Edward, I cannot abandon my career for vague promises of wealth from a blackmailed relative."

  "So money is all you crave?"

  "More than that. You once told me that you are who you are, and I must accept that at face value. I would give you the same advise. If you cannot accept me, then perhaps you should find another."

  I took hold of her bare arm and drew her close, inhaling her perfume. "There is no other."

  Rebecca pulled her arm from my grasp and spat back, "Then perhaps you should start treating me as such."

  She stormed back into her bedroom and slammed the door.

  I had nothing left to say. I stared at the closed door, unable to keep from imagining what might be transpiring on the other side. I left the flat and found the nearest tavern, where I tried to drink myself to unconsciousness. I didn't even stir up a fight with other men, but sat apart from them and alone.

  It seemed that everything in my life had fallen apart. I could not conceive of an escape. It seemed clear to me that my life was unsustainable. I could not share a complete life with Jekyll, just as he could not share one with me. Rebecca deserved more than just a few hours every night. She deserved a whole person.

  I wanted to spend my life with Rebecca. I even thought of marrying her. Yet how could I as long as Jekyll dominated my existence? It seemed clear to me that my only hope would be to shed Jekyll as a snake would shed its skin, and be reborn as Edward Hyde alone. But how could that be possible? I knew not, yet hoped the answer would come to me in time.

  Just as I stood up to leave the tavern, I heard a cry, followed by a thunder of footsteps and blowing whistles.

  "There he is," a voice yelled. "Edward Hyde! Halt!"

  I turned to see the crowds shoved aside with several police officers rushing through the crowds towards me, blowing their whistles and waving truncheons. I immediately leapt upon a table and used it to jump over the heads of startled on-lookers. I landed on another table, snatched up a stool, and hurled it through a nearby window. The stool crashed through the glass onto the cold winter streets. I followed, landed, rolled, and jumped to my feet in a run.

  I charged through the crowds on the streets of London, shoving aside men and women heedlessly. A child happened to wander into my path and I shoved him with an elbow, sending him screaming into the mud. Cries of outrage fell upon my ears, but I ignored them, focused instead on the whistles blowing in my wake. The pounding of boots came quickly on the pavement behind me, drawing closer.

  A carriage rolled nearby, forcing me to change my course to dash across its path. The horses reared up in alarm. Their hooves flailed over my head. I managed to avoid the hard hooves as they came down, but my ears rang with the cries of one of the police officers apparently trampled under the horses' hooves.

  My flight was drawing attention from on-lookers. The crowds began to call out encouragement to the police and hurled threats and insults at me.

  "Here, that man's wanted!" called one man.

  "Somebody stop him," cried another.

  A large man selling fruit at a stand moved into my path with his hands up to grab me. I wasted no time, but clubbed him across the head with my cane. He went down, clutching his bleeding scalp. That put an end to his and any other acts of heroism.

  Exhaustion began to set upon me. My legs ached as I ran down random streets. I could hear the footsteps of my pursuers growing louder as the police gained upon me. It seemed only a matter of time before they would seize me.

  A foul odor began to creep into my lungs that nauseated but also thrilled me. I headed towards it, and was rewarded when the fog broke apart to reveal the boiling waves of the river Thames. I knew what I had to do.

  I raced to the river's edge, took and held a deep breath, closed my eyes, and leapt off the stones into the water. I landed with a splash and suddenly the foul waters filled my nose and ears. My clothes became as lead weights upon me. The current pulled at me like a thousand hands dragging me below. I thrashed as I struggled against the tide. I opened my eyes and they burned like acid flushed upon them, but I could see a faint light in the distance. I fought down my panic and began to swim towards the light. The river fought to drown me, but I managed to make my way up until my head broke the surface.

  I emerged to see I had been washed out further down the Thames into an unfamiliar part of London, several miles from where I had entered. I spat out a mouthful of foul-tasting water and began to swim towards the river's banks.

  I finally reached the shore and dragged myself onto the pavement. I lay there, gasping for air and dripping with water. I staggered to my feet, searching for police who may have followed the current and waited for me. I saw no one. I ran off into the streets, shrouded in the fog.

  When I found myself home, I took a moment by the fire to recoup. It seemed foolish now that I had entered the contest under my real name, knowing the police would be looking for me. I knew I would have to be more careful in the future.

  Chapter Sixteen - The Dinner Party

  JEKYLL DID not take the drug the next night, nor the next. It seemed to be a terrible strain on him, as he was given to tremors and sweating at night, but he somehow resisted. I can only assume his desire to assert his control over me tempered any physical or emotional difficulties Jekyll endured.

  At any rate, Jekyll had other concerns. He attempted to visit with his fiancee' the day after his encounter with the inspector, but each time was advised that she was not home. Jekyll despaired that she was refusing to see him because of his lack of self-control. I cared little for his troubles.

  Jekyll also found himself occupied with the planning for his dinner party. He received replies from everyone he invited, and the night came when he walked through his study, finding it full of laughing, drinking men. The air hung heavy with tobacco smoke from various lit pipes and cigars.

  As he entered, Lanyon called out, "Well, if it isn't Saint Jekyll! I would have thought you would be spending the night in prayer instead of carousing with us."

  Jekyll laughed as he shook Lanyon's hand. "Nice to see you as well, Neville."

  One of Jekyll's neighbors Cranston came forward, smoking a cigar and grinning. "Saint Jekyll? I daresay that's a fair name for him."

  Jekyll shook a finger. "Now let's not that start that again. No one has called me Saint Jekyll since university."

  Lanyon laughed and pointed at him. "You should have seen this old boy back then. While the rest of us lads were out drinking and chasing after young ladies, this fellow would spend all night reading books. One might have thought Jekyll preparing to don vestments rather than becoming a doctor."

  Cranston clapped Jekyll on the shoulder. "I can assure you, little has changed. And now he's on the verge of getting married, so his opportunities for sin are well behind him."

  Lanyon widened his eyes. "Married? First I've heard of it. Seems the ranks of the confirmed bachelors have lost another one. Congratulations, Jekyll, old boy. Who's the lucky girl?"

  Jekyll looked down at his drink. "Charlotte Glass. She's a widow. I met her at a charity event."

  "Ah, I know of her. She's the daughter of General Stone, isn't she? Husband died of malaria in India?"

  "The very same."

  "Well, she's a capital girl. My hat's off to you. Fr
om what I hear of her reputation, she's just as chaste and innocent as you are. You two should make the perfect match."

  "I should certainly hope so."

  Lanyon's smile fell as he regarded Jekyll with a new seriousness. "And what of your research. Are you still researching the nature of evil?"

  "Quite," said Jekyll. "I've actually made some significant breakthroughs."

  Cranston raised an eyebrow. "What's this about evil?"

  Lanyon gave him a dry look. "It seems that Jekyll is not satisfied with the standard definition of good and evil, but wishes to know what it is and where it lies."

  Jekyll brightened as he said, "Indeed. It started in university, actually, when I would run chemical tests on the brains of cadavers to try to understand their structure and where such moral aspects might be contained. I eventually moved on to the study of living specimens, such as madmen in the asylums and criminals in the gallows. With the use of certain drugs, I noted their impact on their behaviour, which led my research towards hallucinogens. I noted their powerful effect on altering the personality and came to believe that they may, in fact, be affecting--"

  "Spare us your heresies, Jekyll," said Lanyon. "You know my feelings on this matter. Your research treads on ground that Man was not intended for us to walk. Mark my words when I say that if you do not end your experiments, you shall find yourself doing the Devil's work."

  "Oh, bother," Jekyll snorted. "And you call me the saint. Science cannot and should not be deterred by matters of morality or theology."

  "That is your opinion, not mine."

  Jekyll was about to launch into a greater defense when he looked across the room at an older man smoking a pipe and looking into the fireplace. I recognised him from the boarding house, Sir Danvers Carew. Apparently, Jekyll recognised him as well, because he excused himself and approached him.

  "Good evening, Sir Carew," said Jekyll. "I trust you're having a pleasant evening."

  Carew raised his bushy eyebrows at Jekyll. "What? Oh, yes, fine."