They howled with laughter, not a care for the fact that they were discussing my life. But I took that as my cue—no more waiting. Slowly, I stepped from the shadows, clapping. “Well done, gentlemen,” I said smoothly.

They turned in unison, and their laughter faltered.

“Speak of the devil! Leech,” Whitmore said with that venomous sneer. “Come to haunt the stalls?”

“I only came to say,” I continued, approaching, “that I understand. Fear is a powerful motivator, and you are, after all, small men who have never known true courage.”

“Don’t get clever,” Hargrove warned, puffing his cigar. “You’re lucky we haven’t reported you for all we have been hearing.”

“To whom?” I raised a brow. “The public thinks I’m a lunatic. You made certain of that a long time ago.”

They all fell silent for a moment, unsure if I was jesting.

“Come now,” I added after a beat, adopting a tone of false cheer. “No hard feelings. Truly. In fact, I was on my way to the Vulture’s Flask for a drink. It’s just down the road. Perhaps I could buy you all one?”

Grimshaw looked to Whitmore, who offered a short laugh.

“You’ve got balls, Leech,” said Grimshaw.

Hargrove narrowed his eyes, and the men looked at each other.

“And why would we drink with you? You’ve just insulted us, called us cowards,” said Hargrove.

“Because drink is the common ground of men,” I said. “Besides, gentlemen like yourselves enjoy tales, and I have one you won’t want to miss.” Then I turned to Bertram. “Please wait by the carriage, Bertram.”

He turned away, and the men followed me, half-drunk and full of self-importance. We took a slow walk down a cobbled side street. As my boots clicked against the stones, I could feel the weight of the cane in my hand; my father’s old ivory-handled walking stick was the perfect accessory for this evening.

When we neared a lampless bend just before the pub’s orange glow came into view, I slowed.

“It was a fine show tonight,” I said.

Whitmore nodded then said, “A bit long, but the third act saved it.”

“I rather enjoyed the end,” I said quietly.

A sudden silence fell among us. Then, I turned and looked each of them in the face, observing their tense bodies, which were almost frozen. I smiled—the slow, lethal smile I had come to perfect when I felt joy for sordid things. The same smile my mother told me to keep in the face of turmoil.

Grimshaw did not move fast enough. Still smiling, I drove the cane hard into his throat just as he made a clumsy attempt to duck. It crushed inward with a horrible, wet snap. He collapsed, gurgling, then appeared stunned in place.

Hargrove stepped back, raising his arms.

“You devil!” He yelled, then turned to Whitmore in mad panic. “He’s mad!”

“No,” I said. “I’m angry.”

Whitmore tried to run, but I swung the cane low, smashing it into the side of his knee. He dropped with a cry, and I brought the cane down again and again until his face was no longer recognisable. By then, Hargrove was running, of course, but I had planned for that. He didn’t get far before I caught up and dragged him into the alley beside the tailor’s shop.

“I was only following orders, Leech. It wasn’t personal,” Hargrove begged.

“That’s the problem,” I hissed. “It should have been personal, then perhaps, you would have seen the importance.”

I silenced him with a stab of the cane to his chest. What a beautiful weapon, I thought as I dried it with my handkerchief. It was no longer merely polished wood; I had reinforced the shaft with a dense metal core, and the tip had been sharpened beneath its ornamental cap.

I stood in the alley, alone now. The echo of bludgeoned breath still hung in the air. My limbs were trembling, my hands were soaked in blood, and the cane was splintered at its base. Something warm trickled from my brow, but I couldn’t tell if it was blood or sweat. The fog had swallowed the street whole, and the shadows seemed to recoil from me as I stepped back out onto the cobblestones.