The room was empty. This must be where the Leopard Lady and her child and the others were exhibited during the shows. Before me was a small circular stage with chairs all around. When I’d seen her in the library, she’d averted her eyes while the show was at its worst, but in this set-up there’d be curious stares whichever way she turned. Beyond the stage, towards the back of the room, I counted eight metal cages. They barely looked big enough to house a greyhound and I shuddered at the thought of grown men and women forced to crouch down in them. They were lined with clean straw. If one of the poor souls wet themselves with fear, it would soak in. Turn dark and sodden. Attached to each cage was a collection of restraints. I counted three to each. Their occupants would be secured by their neck always and either hands or feet. A card was pinned to each cage. I couldn’t bring myself to read them; I knew they would tell a tale about a savage, a beast, a monster. How they’d been captured and subdued so they could be studied. There was no pretence here of consent like they had in the theatres, like I had offered with my own damnable act. I could hear the squeak of a cage door being pulled back, an exhibit shuffling out, Crillick’s voice declaring him dangerous, even deadly, while he stood there in his smalls and shivered. But it was all in my mind. The silence crept back in and, in some ways, it was even more threatening to be alone in the room with only my thoughts.

Where could she be? Black Bill had promised I would find her here. I looked around, and then I saw it: another door to go through. Awful as it was, the exhibition part was just the surface. I hadn’t reached the heart of the Odditorium yet.

Behind the next door was a glaring light. Where the anteroom and exhibition spaces were dim and red, this place was clean and bright. It smelt fresh like lemon and vinegar, but the familiar smells which should have given some relief made it all the more ominous. There were two rows of wooden benches, giant steps big enough for men to sit on. That would explain the sounds of hammering and sawing, then. The benches looked down on a large wooden table, its top scarred but well scrubbed. Again, there were the iron cuffs. Crillick’s captives would be strapped down while the gentlemen looked on.