Chalice of the Dead # 4

04 – Arsonist

17th November 1904

THICK, damp fog drifted through the streets, coating everything with heavy droplets that slid from eaves and lanterns like ghostly rain. At this early hour, no decent citizen was abroad, save for a few late hunters who now had to hurry to avoid missing the start of the hunt.
No one noticed the man standing at the crossroads. His brown coat and wide-brimmed hat helped him blend into the darkness, his face little more than a shadow. A small, simple pipe rested at the corner of his mouth, which he nervously shifted from side to side, sometimes taking it out to inspect the cold tobacco, as if hoping to make the time pass more quickly.
Finally, he pulled matches from his coat and lit the pipe. For just this brief moment, as the match flared, his face became visible, dark circles under his eyes prominent. He looked anxiously along the street, checking for unwanted witnesses. Droplets of fogwater ran from his hat brim as he exhaled smoke through mouth and nose. With a loud, wet snort he hauled the slime into his throat and hacked it out onto the street.
“What’s taking so long?” he muttered nervously, turning toward the post office he was keeping watch over. During the day, the street had buzzed like a beehive, but now everything was swallowed by complete darkness.
Then he saw flames flickering in the narrow windows of the telegraph tower, its cables disappearing into the night like a web. “At last,” the man muttered, pulling the collar of his coat higher.
From another street came the sound of horse hooves, and he glanced along the road, alert. A carriage with yellow lanterns on the box approached the main street at some distance but, fortunately, turned off in another direction, vanishing into the darkness.
The man had little fear of policemen; their employer had assured them the constables would be stationed at the North Gate, busy overseeing the hunting party. That left the hour for men such as himself, who had come for one particular purpose. The nature of the job mattered little to him; only the payment did.
Three figures emerged from the post office’s cellar. Two carried lanterns. All were clad in black coats, hoods or hats pulled low to obscure their faces. They hurried over, and without a word, the lookout joined their flight.
Street after street they left behind at a run, until at last they neared the meeting place in the northern quarter, not far from the North Gate. Their employer waited at the far end of the alley, surrounded by stacked barrels. As at their first meeting in the tavern, he concealed himself behind a broad gray scarf and a hat pulled low. He was a huge bear of a man, his coat stretched tight across massive shoulders.
Beside him on the ground was a kerosene lamp, its dim light casting long, dark shadows in the alley. In one hand, the employer held a leather bag; the other was buried in the hair of a bound woman. She was gagged, her eyes covered with a tear-soaked blindfold, quietly sobbing.
For a brief moment the man felt a flicker of pity, but he pushed it aside irritably. Everyone took what they could. There was no room for softness in this trade.
“Were you successful?” asked the employer.
“The whole place will be ablaze soon,” the man with the pipe promised. “No one saw us.”
“Good.” The employer dropped the bag at his feet. “As agreed – eighty pounds. And this little apple tart as a bonus.”
He tilted the woman’s head to present her more clearly, then let go. She immediately tried to crawl away, but one of the accomplices, a heavyset fellow, stepped in swiftly and cut off her attempt.
The employer turned to leave. “Once you remove the blindfold, silence her. If you don’t, I’ll silence you.” The warning was clear, and all four exchanged knowing glances. None of them would risk offending him. The job had been highly profitable, and a man who paid this much surely had more to spend. They all hoped they had earned themselves a place in his future plans.
“I hope we’ve done this to your satisfaction,” the man with the pipe called after him.
“Certainly,” the employer replied before melting once more into the darkness. Immediately, the four opened the small bag and counted the money. Eighty pounds! Twenty apiece, plus a free fuck as a bonus. Could the day get any better?