Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick.
10:01.
Such a wonderful time, is it not? Forward or backward it remains the same number, the same time. A palindrome.
Perfection.
The guest of honor would be arriving soon. Thousands of string lights sparkled like stars across the ceiling and along the walls, giving the illusion of twilight, while six space heaters kept the winter chill away. The floor had been scrubbed spotless and covered in rose petals; their sweet scent haunted the air. Garland had been hung from the rafters and the formal table had been set according to the most civilized standards: oyster fork, fish knife, dinner knife, napkin on top of the charger, salad fork, dinner fork, and fish fork along with the champagne flute, white wine glass, red wine glass, and water goblet all arranged in their proper place. Only the freshest cuts of white and red roses had been used to accent the gold tablecloth.
Who would ever believe just a few months ago this model of sophistication had been a ransacked, abandoned warehouse?
The guests had already taken their seats. I, their humble hostess, oversaw their comfort personally. We made small talk; I blushed as all my hard work was praised. "Your enjoyment is reward itself," I repeated, taking my bows.
The clock ticked in my mind. Any moment now... He would be here any moment...
We few humble do call, the invitation had read. Mistress Noon offers to provide the comfort, meal, and musical accompaniment and requests of you to bring the entertainment. Suit and tie required. The letters of gold on cream-colored parchment had been as pure as fresh ore pulled from the ground. In my own hand I wrote my personal greeting: Are we not drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to new era?
The time and date noted this day at precisely 11:11 post meridiem, a fine time for dinner and evening wine.
The clock ticked. Had an hour gone by already? Oh dear. I must check the menu once more. Today was such a big day. Surely he would not be late. Not this time.
I hated when he was late.
11:10 and the food was served. Eight waiters dressed in tightly pressed white and black uniforms, matching string ties, and black masks moved with rehearsed precision, bringing steaming plates to the waiting guests. I watched from my place under the balcony. From this spot alone I could see into the kitchen through the back door as well as the entire dining room area. A decorative mirror behind the magnificent mahogany chair placed for the guest of honor allowed me to see if anyone happened to be sneaking about up on the balcony.
One minute to go. Surely he would not be late.
That man, that special, special man, had touched me. So deep and private... Ah, the thought sends shivers down my spine and makes me all tingly inside. Really, a gentleman should know better. He touched me deep down inside... Down and down... Ah, ah, it had hurt. I cried out for the pain to stop but still he pushed in deeper and deeper...
The knife had missed my heart by seven point seven centimeters.
So he was a little flawed. I could easily fix that.
The guests were having a grand time. They stared at the colorfully portioned plates with hungry eyes. Only the finest foods flown in from all over the world would do for my dinner: lobsters plucked straight from the ocean only moments ago; the finest cuts of lamb, beef, and pork oozing with juices; a kaleidoscope of vegetables grilled, steamed, soaked in butter, and heaped into steaming piles alongside bowls of cool salads; loaves and rolls of bread fresh baked from Italy, still warm; and, of course, fruit pies bleeding with sticky sweetness, and chocolate cakes dipped in chocolate, with a chocolate glaze, and more chocolate drizzled on top.
The exclamations at the rich meal were lively. Granted it was a little difficult to understand exactly what compliments the guests were giving me through the cloth gags, but I could feel their sincerity all the same. It warmed my heart.
11:11.
11:12.
Twitch.
Every.
Time.
Every time! The Gentleman indeed! Oh sure, now he is the city's hero and become so big and important, but does that excuse him from standing a woman up? No. No, it does not. Important business meeting? Another lady on his arm? Saving a baby from a burning building? Stopping Theresa Heartshear from setting off another bomb in the Back Ends? None of those excuses were good enough! Without punctuality, this world would have no order. Imagine if there were no clocks and so no time to tell. How would you know when to serve dinner? Or when the 9 o'clock train would set off if you did not know when 9 o'clock would be? How, then, could you properly teach a newbie a lesson when he 'forgot' to pay back a little loan? How could you dangle him over the tracks and threaten him with the oncoming train if you did not know when the oncoming train was coming? Why, you might as well just shoot him and get it over with, and then you would never get what you are owed. You would be out of that money forever and what if that was all the money you had and without it you are forced to peddle on the streets, begging for scraps? So you are forced to start from the bottom, again. Not that there was anything wrong with murder on the streets - it is important to remember one's roots and relive them from time to time so one does not become too haughty by one's current position. But because you are forced to relive your roots and are not running the City from the top, the whole system begins to fall apart as madness runs rampant, all because you did not know when the 9 o'clock train came in!
The invitation said... it said 'promptly' 11:11. The food was going to get cold. The music from the string quartet I kidnapped would be offset. The whole party would be ruined! Ruined, I say!
All because of that man... That... That... infuriating man!
The clock struck twelve. The chimes rang out: BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!
I had to do something. I had to fix this. I had to somehow salvage what was left of my beautiful dinner party. I had to... I had to...
Oh dear, there was a spot on one of the spoons. With a "Please, excuse me" I rushed across the room and began rubbing the silverware furiously with the spare handkerchief I kept tucked in my cleavage for such an occasion as this.
BONG! BONG! BONG!
Oh dear, one of the guests had fallen over. No doubt too much wine. A snap of my fingers summoned one of the masked servers, who gave the tipsy college professor a few kicks to teach him proper manners before helping him up. I personally treated the small cut on the guest's head before the blood could ruin his suit.
"Please be more careful, Dr. Harberin," I said. "Your wellbeing is very important to me. I would hate to see you injured before your scheduled death. Next time you feel excitable, I ask that you think of your lovely daughter and remember to be a good father figure so that she may grow up with proper morals and etiquette."
I smiled pleasantly while applying antibacterial cream and a secure bandage just below the good professor's receding hairline. He was a decent man, a distinguished fellow of the University of Vexus, one of the most prestigious universities in the country. He was a sciences man who dabbled in inventing and, as a hobby, amateur sleuthing. A dangerous pastime in a dangerous city.
BONG! BONG! BONG!
But poor Dr. Harberin was such a shy man. That was why I had invited his sweet daughter to dinner as well. He seemed to gain so much confidence when she was near.
Little Amelia Harberin. Ah, there was no more perfect child: stunning green eyes, hair as red as blood, skin as soft as silk, every feature of her face perfectly proportioned. A perfect little doll. Ever since the little darling's mother died three years ago I had developed a strong kinship with Amelia. This was the fifth time I had kidnapped her and still I did not have the heart to kill her.
I tightened the knots both on the professor's hands and feet, promptly wiping away any blood where the rope had cut in too tightly. "We would not want another accident, now would we?" I said, replacing the napkin on his lap.
I returned to my post beneath the balcony.
BONG! BONG!
The clock fell silent, waiting. I resisted the urge to pace, turning to stone beneath the balcony, waiting. The guests' eyes darted back and forth, waiting.
He didn't come.
Three days later one of the servers tapped on my shoulder as I still stood, still waited. "Boss, ma'am, sir," he muttered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other men hovering around the kitchen door. "There's a little... We, ah, need to - that is, the others told me to tell ya that we need - they need - to have a chat with ya."
My finger tap, tap, tapped against my leg. A good hostess would stay. A good hostess would wait for however long it took. A good hostess would be forgiving.
I was through waiting.
"Please excuse me," I said to my guests.
The kitchen was ice cold and smelled of filth. The eight men were gathered together in a small mob, gripping their automatic weapons like children clinging to their teddy bears. None of them could look me in the eye.
The door clicked shut and I shot the interrupter in the head with the .38 I kept in my dress sleeve. The sight and scent of blood helped cover the stink of sweat and stupid. "Now," I said, irritated, "who wants to explain to me why you all felt the desire to intrude on my most perfect night?" Shuffling feet. Eyes to the floor.
"SPEAK!"
A large, thuggish man who had clearly exchanged his brains for brawn stepped forward. "Boss, me 'n the boys'r jus' talkin'," he growled in a voice so thick with street accent it was hardly recognizable as human sound. "We ain't think he's comin'. Probably got scared somethin'. It ain't a trap 'thout the Gent. Maybe we'sha pack up an-"
I shot the thuggish server.
"Any other suggestions?" I asked as two men's blood soaked into my high heels. "No? Then listen closely. You will do as you are ordered, exactly the way you are ordered, and not a hair out of place from my grand design."
I threw the gun away. "I am out of bullets, so the next interruption will require a more creative death on my part. I have had six years in a padded cell to imagine special ways to kill those who irritate me. Tell me, are any of you eager to learn what I have come up with?"
Some nodded, ready to agree with anything I said, while other shook their head furiously. One man peed himself.
"No, ma'am. No, boss. No, ma'am," they said.
"Shut up," I snapped. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I thought long and hard about what was happening right now and finally reached the only conclusion I could live with. "Cut the guests loose."
"But our hostages-!" The man bit his tongue too late to stop the outburst.
"I SAID CUT THEM LOOSE" Six grown men cowered before me. They dipped and bowed like a bunch of pecking hens and ran for the dining room where the guests sat at a table of rotting food.
My night...
My dinner...
Everything...
Ruined...
No.
No, it was not ruined. Just... postponed.
Yes, that was it. Postponed. My guest of honor must have gotten lost. As hostess, it was my duty to check up on his well-being.
Yes, yes, how foolish I was to have forgotten it! In the midst of all the excitement, the scared duties bestowed upon me by my status as mistress of ceremonies must have slipped my mind.
Grabbing my red overcoat, I let the door slam behind me with an echoing boom. I no longer cared about the fates of the guests or those thuggish brutes. They bored me.
I was tired of waiting.
I was going to find that man.
My guest of honor.
And when I did...
Someone was going to die.