His bewilderment was so great that Kolkamitza did not even register that someone was approaching him from behind, even though they were pushing a serving trolley whose wheels were audibly parched for grease.

The figure stepped out from behind this cart and struck the small gong that hung by the dining hall entrance. The reverberations echoed through the great corridor and although the sound startled Kolkamitza, he did not flinch.

“This way,” the servant said. A gloved hand was now at Kolkamitza’s back and was pushing him into the room. This gesture was more seductive than forceful. The very idea of resisting somehow eluded Kolkamitza as he carefully squeezed himself between the rows of throne-like chairs and the gorgeously tall china hutches that lined the walls. These cabinets looked to be of the same walnut that panelled the upper hallway. Kolkamitza counted seven of them.

The vacancy was at the head of the great table. Kolkamitza was expecting the chair to be more comfortable than it was. It felt like cold concrete beneath him. One of the hutches loomed behind his seat, limiting his movements. The plate before him was chipped and the flatware was mismatched. His napkin was of purple silk. A quick inventory of the other settings revealed that each guest had a different coloured napkin. Kolkamitza dearly hoped this did not mean there would be party games.

The squeaking cart was wheeled into the room. A large silver cloche sat atop it. When the servant gripped the server lid handle, everyone reached for their napkin. Kolkamitza followed suit, but where he draped his across his lap, the others raised theirs to their faces. In perfect unison, all the guests blindfolded themselves. They then turned their masked eyes toward Kolkamitza. They resembled two rows of the condemned awaiting the firing squad.

The server—or was he the host? —lifted the cloche.

Kolkamitza spied a nest of pulsating lights. They were smallish and bunched together like luminous grapes. They were of a colour he could not identify. They flexed and twitched like beached fish.

There came the sound of creaking wood. Kolkamitza tried to rise but was forcefully seized by someone from behind. Had the creak been that of a hutch opening? Before he could even resist, his assailant had snatched the blindfold from the floor where it had fallen and swiftly bound it across his eyes.

“Still…” a voice whispered in his ear. He almost recognized it.

The dining hall was now awash in rattling, scrapes, shuffling.

Someone announced, “This will do. I found it in the Uppers. His, no doubt.”

Hands were now pressing Kolkamitza firmly into that unforgiving chair. He then felt the pressure of the nylon rope he’d used to repel himself down here. It was now being used to lash his arms and his ankles to his seat.