”Are all guides and scouts Masons?” Margo asked, wondering with a sinking sensation if this would be yet another barrier to be overcome.
”No, but quite a few are. Don’t worry about it, Margo. Membership isn’t required.”
At the time, Margo had felt relieved, but now, reviewing the details of her costume again, she wondered if anyone down time would expect her to know secret rituals or anything. Maybe this uncertainty had been part of Kit’s plan? To impress upon her how much she had to learn? Margo shifted the carpet bag to her other hand and stiffened her back-although slouching was all but impossible, anyway, what with the horrid undergarments that were already pinching and chafing.
Doubtless physical discomfort was just another part of Kit Carson’s plan to discourage her. Well, it wasn’t going to work.
The air began to shimmer up near the ceiling. Well dressed men and women stirred excitedly. Then the gate began to cycle. Rather than opening out of the wall, darkness grew out of thin air right off the end of the high, gridwork platform, a ragged hole, a widening maw…
Margo gasped. Through it, she could make out the colors of twilight, the twinkle of a high, lonely star. Nearer at hand, a breeze stirred barren, low-hanging branches. She could see-but not hear-dead leaves which gusted into view. A warm, golden glow appeared, then a dark shape occluded the lantern light
Titters of laughter ran through the crowd when a figure in a tall hat and opera cape stepped through, rushing at them like an oncoming train. The gentleman doffed his hat politely to the waiting crowd below. “Your patience, please, ladies and gentlemen.”