“Sir Charles, it’s wonderful to see you!”
“Harry, you old scallywag! How have things been?”
The two men walked across the well manicured lawn towards each other and shook hands. Behind them loomed the imposing mass of brickwork that was their host’s modest country estate. Ahead lay the edge of a dense, managed forest. Beside them, the rest of the hunting party milled about, a dozen or so men and women dressed in the traditional red coats, white pants and black caps.
“What are you packing today?” Sir Charles asked, pointing to the gun under the crook of Harry’s arm.
The other man took the rifle out and presented the gleaming piece of polished brass and wood. “Messir’s Babcock and Smithes latest air-powered dart gun. Hundred yard range with an integrated magazine holding half a dozen darts guaranteed to drop them in ten paces or less!”
Sir Charles whistled, showing off his own. “I’m sticking with my trusty net gone myself. Bit of a struggle once you’ve bagged ‘em, but it means you don’t need to hand around waiting for ‘em to come to after words.”
“Speaking of prey...” Harry asked, “Where has our host procured the game for this little hunting party? I hope it’s better then Lord Filvea’s where it seemed he had scoured the gutters of London for every poxy whore and gin-soaked strumpet.”
“You need not fear there, my good man. I have it on good authority he’s contracted a reputable outfit to supply the game today. I’m told they get most through orphanages, when they age out, or through newspaper advertisements.”
“Jolly good! And I say, unless I’m mistaken, there they come now!”
He pointed. Coming up to the house was a gleaming steam auto chugging up the road, pulling a wheeled trailer which had been converted into a large mobile cage. Huddled inside were a dozen or so naked female figures. They oldest couple looked to be about 20 or 21, the rest just a year or two younger. The captives had their hands tied behind their backs and leather muzzles muffling anything they might be trying to say, though at the moment they were too far from the hunters to be audible anyway.
“At least there’s plenty of prey this time.” Harris comment, pleased. “Nothing worse then coming out to one of these to find there’s only one girl for every three or four hunters. Here, if you don’t bag anything, it’s your own damn fault.”
The auto pulled to a halt, some dozen or so yards from the hunting party. A pair of workmen got out and walked round to the back. They opened the cage and shouted to the frightened occupants inside. Awkwardly, the young women tumbled out of the cage, hampered somewhat by their bound hands. One of the hunters in red, the host, hurried over. He spoke briefly to the men, then turned and addressed the girls who listened with expressions of mute horror.
“Probably the usual spiel, telling them if they can make it off the grounds they’re free to go.” Sir Charles whispered to Harris. Both men sniggered. There was little chance of that happening. With a word and a gesture from the host, the girls took off, some sprinting, others walking a little more awkwardly towards the forest. He took out a gleaming gold pocketwatch as he and the rest of the hunters watched the last of the naked girls disappear among the trees.
“Well gentlemen, ladies.” The host said, still holding his watch out as he rejoined the party and motioned them closer. “I’ve told the prey they may have a three minute head start. After that the game is on. As usual, once you’ve bagged your girl, bring her back here to record, then you may leave her here with the staff to watch and resume hunting or you may call it and enjoy your prize. Any questions? No? Well then, have fun, drinks will be at six, dinner is served at seven. May the best hunters win.”
They waited as he eyes his watch, counting down the seconds. At what was probably closer to two and a half, he put the watch away and nodded. With a loud huzzah, the hunters sprang forward for the woods. Sir Charles nodded to Harris as the two men dashed, weapons out and ready. “Tally ho, Harry! The game’s afoot!”