“Here,” Blitzer called from his nook on the other side of the tunnel, fifteen feet deeper in.
“Mrs. Rennegal, please get off that ladder and tend the dynamo.”
Rennegal adjusted one more Cooper Hewitt, descended the ladder reluctantly, and carried it out of the tunnel.
Kellan, Davidson’s assistant, hurried outside to run the wind machine.
“Mr. Barrett?”
Barrett saluted her with his saber. He was the image of a hallucinogenic swordsman, in a plumed musketeer’s hat, thigh-high black boots, and white shirt with puffed sleeves. Above his head, Rennegal’s ribbons stirred in the draft of air drifting from the back of the tunnel.
“Where’s Mr. Young? . . . Is Mr. Young making up at the hotel?”
“Hyde here! Sorry I’m late.”
Mr. Hyde squeezed past the wind machine, observed the various fencing weapons laid out on the prop table, noted that Barrett was holding a weapon with a flat blade and knuckle guard, perfect for thrusting and cutting actions, a dueling saber. He selected a weapon that felt as if it was born in his hand and took his place facing Dr. Jekyll.
Head to toe, his costume was black, his shirt and trousers as tight-fitting as a dancer’s, his hat, helmet-like and unadorned, a stark frame for his grotesquely bloated face mask. He wore a cape that came below his knees.
Marion picked up the megaphone she would need when the wind machine crackled and whirled into action.
“Ready, Mrs. Bell!”
“Lights!”
“Dynamo ready!” Rennegal called.
“Kellan, start the motor!”
“Contact!”
Mrs. Rennegal threw an electrical switch placed well out of range of the propeller. Its violent whirlwind yet to come.
Young Kellan gave the propeller a couple of turns, and when he reached a compression-resistance point, tugged up hard. Two more pulls and the Curtiss clattered to life, pistons popping, valves rattling, propeller building a stiff breeze. Even at idling speed, the silk strips danced and Jekyll’s and Hyde’s capes fluttered.
“Lights!”
Mrs. Rennegal engaged the belt drive powering the dynamo. The Cooper Hewitts flooded a harsh blue-green glare on Jekyll and Hyde.
“Cameras!”
Davidson and Blitzer began to crank slowly.
Marion shouted, “Mr. Barrett, Mr. Young: Good and evil battle to the death. Be ferocious—just please don’t accidentally kill each other, because we have a lot more film to make—if it ever stops raining.”
Jekyll and Hyde poised for engagement.
“Speed!”
Davidson and Blitzer cranked their cameras to take twenty frames per second.
Jekyll and Hyde saluted each other as a gesture of respect by raising the blades in front of their faces. The scenario, adapted loosely from the play, called for their first exchange to be aggressive. No hallucinogenic flouncing about, but good and evil tested severely. The hard beats of saber on saber rang loudly.
Jackson Barrett was still getting used to the idea that the audience in a movie would not hear the actual steely battle clang of the sabers, but the orchestra’s sound effects. On the other hand, the fact that they would not hear any words the actors spoke made for a rather fun game.
“Are you up for a fencing lesson, Mr. Young?”
In answer, the stage manager attacked without engaging in any feint, and Barrett was stunned to see Young use a counterbeat that swept under Barrett’s blade.