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Earlier, the Murderer had watched the Earl of Diggar leave. He’d already been walking in the odd fashion of those who are on their way to being very drunk. That was when the Murderer slipped in.
The door opened, and Lord Diggar walked inside. He was ugly, on both the inside and the outside. His jowls sank into the collar of his expensive shirt. He was wearing a dark crimson velvet jacket. He glanced down at his golden pocket watch, then closed the door, swaying ominously.
In the darkness, Lord Diggar didn’t see the Murderer, who could easily smell him, though.
The Earl has been drinking. He’s made my work that much easier.
In the shadows, the Murderer moved quietly, standing behind him. The Murderer raised the knife to Lord Diggar’s throat. The Lord tensed. The smell of liquor and tobacco was strong. It was almost as if he had sat in a bath filled with them.
It makes my stomach turn.
“What do you want?” Lord Diggar demanded. “How did you get in here?”
“I think you know, My Lord,” The Murderer said. “I know you’ve gotten my letters.”
“Nemesis,” Lord Diggar whispered.
“Yes.”
“Money? I have…nearly three hundred pounds with me...”
“I only want your death,” the Murderer whispered in his ear, drawing the blade across Lord Diggar’s throat. A small amount of hot blood splattered across the Murderer’s hand and cheek. The Murderer let go, and the Earl slumped forward, landing heavily on his knees as he died. He made an odd, gurgling noise, then fell onto his face.
Reaching into his pocket, the Murderer took his fancy golden watch, wiping the bloody knife clean on the back of Lord Diggar’s expensive jacket.
Soft, luscious velvet, of course. Only the best for the Earl of Diggar, who is now food for worms.
Slipping the knife into an inside jacket pocket, the Murderer put the pocket watch into an outside pocket, like a gentleman would. The Murderer would never be a gentleman, in truth. The Murderer could pretend, just for the night.
The Murderer stepped out into the hall, which was dark, lit only by the light that spilled beneath the doors of the rooms. The Murderer could see shadows, from where persons walked about in the safety behind those doors.
No one has heard a sound that they find alarming.
It would be a while before Lord Diggar was noticed missing, but that is what happens when someone has a secret life. Sometimes, that secret life puts that person in the way of an avenger.
The Murderer walked down the stairs, glancing at the crowded pub, and then outside. The streets were full at that hour. Many people were rushing to and fro. Carriages raced by, sending up a spray of mud. The Murderer was unseen, veins filled with a quicksilver feeling—that rush that accompanied a successful kill.
As the Murderer walked through the street, a man collided with them.
“Watch where you’re going,” the Murderer hissed.
“Sorry,” he muttered, as he continued to rush.
There was a clatter as something fell. The Murderer presumed that it was the man’s. The man was just lucky that he wasn’t on his kill list.
When the Murderer reached the end of the street, they noticed that Montagu’s watch had fallen out of their pocket. Disappointment seared through Nemesis. It was supposed to pay for Nemesis’s new life. The one that Nemesis would have after the successful completion of the kill list.
Looking back, the crowd in the street moved along apace.
I can’t risk going back and being seen.
Usually, the Murderer was invisible to all. But now that an Earl lay murdered on the floor of his room at the inn, everyone would be visible, no matter their status. Nemesis kept walking.
There will be other trinkets, just as there will be other deaths.
