Whispering Hunters

WHISPERING HUNTERS - Ch.3 - Pub (3)

He stood down to the street from the pub, pressed into a narrow alley where the light from the gas lamps barely reached. From here, he could see the crooked doorway of the White Angel Pub, but no one inside could see him. Perfect for watching. I was going to meet the gang tonight but I'd already made up my mind.

''Sorry, boss," I thought dryly, shifting my weight.

"Truly, from the depths of my heart… but not really."

The truth is, I only get paid for fresh, juicy information, the kind that could start fights or end lives for only about 5 shillings. The little bits, the stale rumors, I handed out for about 5 pence. Tonight would've been a great payday earning me about 3 pounds if I'm lucky because of the recent murder. By tomorrow? Even the best story would be worthless, and I'd be lucky to scrape a few shillings off it. Old news rotted faster than meat in this city.

I tucked my hands into my pockets, eyes fixed on the pub door. I wasn't leaving until Amelia came out. Someone had to watch her back from the shadows.

It wasn't the first time I'd waited like this. Hell, I'd followed her more times than I'd admit, just to see what kind of trouble she waded into.

Amelia was clever, bold as they come but her beauty was a curse sharper than any knife. Men were drawn to her like flies to sugar, tossing compliments and invitations thick as fog. Some tried force when words failed. If I was nearby, I'd drag them into an alley and make sure they didn't walk straight for a week. Because of this there is a rumor that she might still be a virgin. This got man riled up thinking they would be the one who bed her first.

Of course I would beat them to death.

It didn't help that her reputation spread faster than plague the other ladies hissed from their doorways, spat insults, or tugged their husbands away with murderous eyes. Amelia, though… she barely seemed to care. She used the rumors like bait, letting fools line up to shower her with money or gifts.

Upon thinking to himself. 

Gregor watched from the shadows as the pub door swung open with a dull creak. Two figures stepped into the misty street, Amelia, who was clutching her worn cloak around her slender frame, and the tall gentleman beside her, moving with a languid confidence that set Gregor's teeth on edge.

The man stood at least 1.85 meters, towering over Amelia's 1.63 meter, his long strides making her seem all the more fragile. Gregor himself barely reached 1.7 meters, but in that moment, it wasn't his own stature he cared about only the way Amelia looked so small next to that towering silhouette.

He slipped farther back into the alley, careful to stay beyond the lamplight's reach, eyes locked on the pair as they began walking down the damp, uneven cobbles.

"D*mm… I want to hit the tall b*sterd so badly…" Gregor thought, fingers flexing as he clenched his fist tight enough to sting.

A sharp gust of wind cut through his coat, carrying with it the bitter promise of winter. His mind flicked to Amelia's tattered winter clothes. 

How many shillings would it cost to buy her something decent? he wondered, stomach twisting at the thought of the weeks of wages it would take.

He patiently waited into the alley, boots silent on the slick dirty stones, keeping his distance as he watched from the waiting for the moment to strike if the tall bastard dared to lay a finger on his sister again!

From the shadows across the narrow, fog draped street, Gregor strained to catch the conversation drifting through the cold night air.

"I could take you home," Jack said, his voice low and smooth, each word rolling like warm honey. 

His hand hovered near Amelia's elbow, close but not quite touching yet possessive all the same.

Amelia shook her head, stepping half a pace back. "No, I'll walk myself," she said, her voice firm but then she forced a small, teasing smile.

"If you took me home, what would all the other girls think? You'd ruin your reputation as a mysterious, kind, handsome gentleman."

"Ah, so you do care about my reputation?"

Jack's eyes crinkled with amusement behind his red tinted glasses.

She let out a soft, nervous laugh, waving him off with a flutter of her fingers. 

"Hardly. I'd just hate to see your name dragged through the mud because of a little old me."

Jack chuckled softly, the sound oddly cheerful against the bleak backdrop of soot stained brick and drifting mist. He reached into his coat and produced a crisp bundle of notes, pressing them into Amelia's hand. 

"Here. Five pounds is a little something for your time."

Gregor saw her eyes widen in shock. "F-five pounds!?" she stammered.

"This is… this is twice what you gave me before!"

Gregor is shocked as well!

What a b*stard!

Jack's lips curled into an easy, almost boyish smile. He waved one hand dismissively. 

"Ah, don't worry about yourself. What's a few pounds here or there? I suppose you could call me comfortably well off." 

His red-tinted glasses caught the gaslight, making his eyes look like twin embers as he laughed softly.

Amelia's cheeks flushed pink.

"So… same time next week?" Jack asked, tilting his head.

She hesitated, staring down at the money clutched in her pale fingers. Gregor could almost hear her heart pounding from where he watched. Finally, her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and she nodded. 

"Yes… next week."

Jack's smile widened as he straightened his coat. He tipped his hat before striding gracefully down the street. A black carriage with polished brass fittings rolled up from the fog, its lanterns glinting. 

The tall gentleman Jack climbed inside, and with a crack of the driver's whip, the carriage rattled away into the night.

For a long moment, Amelia stood alone beneath the flickering gaslamp. Her blushing smile fell away, replaced by a cold, empty stare. She looked down at the neatly folded banknotes in her hand and clenched them until the paper crinkled sharply in the silence.

Catching a glimpse of herself in a muddy puddle, she leaned closer. The wavering reflection showed a woman who looked both older and more tired than she ever admitted. Her eyes darkened as she frowned at the woman staring back.

"I know you're out there. Come out," Amelia called sharply, her voice cutting through the quiet street with the unmistakable authority of an older sister.

Gregor froze in the shadows. For a moment, he thought about staying hidden but he knew better. With an awkward smile, he stepped into the gaslight, rubbing the back of his neck and letting out a nervous laugh. 

"How do you always know?"

"Hmph!" She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. 

"You were about to go berserk in that pub, weren't you? Do you know what happens if you smash up a place like that? They'd make us pay every last penny. We can't even afford winter coats, Gregor!"

He opened his mouth, then shut it again, cheeks flushing. He knew better than to interrupt her when she got going. Amelia's voice rose as she continued, words tumbling out like a dam bursting.

"And that b*stard tonight? He's a flirtatious, smug, rich snob! He thinks throwing pounds around makes him charming. Hah!"

Gregor didn't argue. He just smiled wide and cheeky because he knew this was her way of venting. Better she shout at him than bottle it up.

As she continued to vent in anger together, they started down the street, boots clicking softly on the cracked cobblestones. It wasn't long before they reached the ramshackle tenement they'd called home for the past three years.

Their two room flat sat on the third floor, the stairs creaking and groaning beneath every step. The building's roof had a hole big enough for the rain to seep in on stormy nights, staining the ceilings with brown blotches.

Cracks spidered across the walls like an old web, and the hallways echoed with the scurry of rats and the sudden yowls of feral cats fighting in the dark.

Even water wasn't free here, they paid dearly for every bucket. The gaslight in their apartment flickered weakly, the hiss of the pipes a constant reminder of how thin the walls were.

Rent cost them anywhere from two to five shillings each week, a sum that felt impossibly heavy some months. Yet this was home, the only place they had left.

Gregor paused at their door, eyes lingering on the warped wood and splintered frame. He let himself imagine something happening to pull them out of this rut. Some spark, some change, some miracle to wipe away the mold, the cold, the hunger gnawing at them both.

Across the street, a figure stood perfectly still in the shadows, half hidden by the drifting fog. The faint flicker of a distant lamplight caught on a sliver of dark, regal fabric a coat or dress that shimmered black as midnight, tailored to perfection.

In one gloved hand, the figure rested a slender, silverlane cane, its polished surface catching the light with an almost imperceptible gleam.

They patiently watched the two siblings climb the worn stairs to their apartment. For a moment, the figure shifted just enough for the lamplight to silhouette a poised, almost statuesque form.

Then, with the slightest rustle of fabric, the figure stepped backward, merging with the shadows until nothing remained but empty, silent darkness.