Chapter One
The
Rotting Apple
PRINCE PROSPERO was an indefatigable， some might say an imper-
vious man. The plague of the \"Red Death\" had entered the homes
of half his minions， causing rapid bleeding and sudden death. But
Prince Prospero remained undaunted. As told by Edgar Allan Poe
in The Masque of the Red Death， the Prince blithely summoned a
thousand of his heartiest knights and dames and retreated to a
magnificent castle， where they would defy the contagion.
A lofty wall stood between them and the populace， its gates
made of iron and， as an extra precaution， sealed with sturdy bolts.
There was no need to step outside the palace:
it was folly to grieve， or to think. The prince had provided all the ap-
pliances of pleasure. There were buffoons， there were improvisatori，
there were ballet-dancers， there were musicians， there was Beauty，
there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the
\"Red Death.\"
Gaiety prevailed. For six months， they partied and danced to the
music of a full orchestra， waltzed freely through the seven brightly
colored chambers， paused to listen to the chimes from the giant
ebony clock， ignored the bright sun which was tamed by thick，
beautiful stained-glass Gothic windows. Prince Prospero was con-
tent. Yet he wished to do something new， something different， some-
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