smell of tobacco.
James’ lips parted as he looked up at Ira in silence. “Yes...” he said finally. “Men cannot be trusted.” He continued sorting the juiciest pages into a neat pile, next to a suitcase with a lock.
Ira snorted, feeling his lungs being filled with warm, pleasant smoke. “That’s true,” he said quietly, looking out the window.
*
July 5th, 1893
'The Three Shovels' was located in a narrow, dark street in the area of St. Gile’s cathedral. After the Undead Plague had hit Europe six years ago, an enormous number of people fled to the cities from the countryside, overcrowding them and making places like the Old Nichol area a hell on earth. Due to lack of work, malnutrition and lack of hygiene, people were dying in dark alleys of the neighborhood every day. Those who survived were forced to live in permanent darkness, as the area of cheap tenement housing was blocked from daylight by giant constructions of steel and brick. Due to lack of space, the platforms were built over and on top of the existing ones to support newer buildings for middle and upper class immigrants from the countryside. It was horrid to walk those streets, as full of dirty children in rags and their tired mothers, as they were of cheap harlots and drunkards. It was virtually impossible to imagine how those poor creatures managed to survive in the sparse light of gas lamps, which not only posed a fire hazard, but also filled the space with choking smoke. Fortunately, thanks to charity, at least a good percentage of the poor had cheap, simple gas masks.
Someone like James Hurst would not normally be found in this part of town. He was well dressed, but still had enough sensibility to not show off his wealth. Cautiousness was a matter of great importance in poorer areas, especially when someone looked like they had money. Even if he wasn’t assaulted, many times a prostitute or beggar would approach him. Because of that, James tried to move fast, like a man who knows where he’s going, even though he had already gotten lost several times this evening. It took him over two hours to find The Three Shovels, but he didn’t dare to ask for a guide or a carriage, as he didn’t want to attract attention. He was looking for a man named Ira Russell. A few days ago he had overheard his servants’ conversation about a man who would go on search missions outside of the city walls. If offered enough for his services, he helped the wealthy to retrieve their possessions or still living relatives from the countryside! As an ex-sailor, he was experienced in dealing with the most unusual situations.
James lost hope of getting back any of his old belongings after the Plague had hit, but the amazing stories he had heard from the servants, made him start believing that it was indeed possible. As an aristocrat, he still managed to live with his wife and child in quite a wealthy part of town, but what his family didn’t know, was that their resources were diminishing with every month. The lands that had earned them their large income until six years ago, had been consumed by the undead and thus, were now completely unproductive. He knew if he didn’t find a way to retrieve some of the valuables stuck in his deserted mansion in Kent, he may be forced to let some of the staff go. Word of that would get out fast and their friends would see that they had become penniless. He dreaded even the thought of it and this man, Ira Russell, could be the one to save him.
A simple metal sign depicting three shovels hung from the side of a wooden hut that seemed to be slowly bending towards the other side of the street. When James finally saw it, he felt as if salvation was near. Swallowing, James ignored a red-haired harlot, whose tired face was spotted with two large sores at the sides of her mouth, clearly visible in the light from the freehouse and pushed at the door. When entering, he had to bend down to get through its low frame.
James’ lips parted as he looked up at Ira in silence. “Yes...” he said finally. “Men cannot be trusted.” He continued sorting the juiciest pages into a neat pile, next to a suitcase with a lock.
Ira snorted, feeling his lungs being filled with warm, pleasant smoke. “That’s true,” he said quietly, looking out the window.
*
July 5th, 1893
'The Three Shovels' was located in a narrow, dark street in the area of St. Gile’s cathedral. After the Undead Plague had hit Europe six years ago, an enormous number of people fled to the cities from the countryside, overcrowding them and making places like the Old Nichol area a hell on earth. Due to lack of work, malnutrition and lack of hygiene, people were dying in dark alleys of the neighborhood every day. Those who survived were forced to live in permanent darkness, as the area of cheap tenement housing was blocked from daylight by giant constructions of steel and brick. Due to lack of space, the platforms were built over and on top of the existing ones to support newer buildings for middle and upper class immigrants from the countryside. It was horrid to walk those streets, as full of dirty children in rags and their tired mothers, as they were of cheap harlots and drunkards. It was virtually impossible to imagine how those poor creatures managed to survive in the sparse light of gas lamps, which not only posed a fire hazard, but also filled the space with choking smoke. Fortunately, thanks to charity, at least a good percentage of the poor had cheap, simple gas masks.
Someone like James Hurst would not normally be found in this part of town. He was well dressed, but still had enough sensibility to not show off his wealth. Cautiousness was a matter of great importance in poorer areas, especially when someone looked like they had money. Even if he wasn’t assaulted, many times a prostitute or beggar would approach him. Because of that, James tried to move fast, like a man who knows where he’s going, even though he had already gotten lost several times this evening. It took him over two hours to find The Three Shovels, but he didn’t dare to ask for a guide or a carriage, as he didn’t want to attract attention. He was looking for a man named Ira Russell. A few days ago he had overheard his servants’ conversation about a man who would go on search missions outside of the city walls. If offered enough for his services, he helped the wealthy to retrieve their possessions or still living relatives from the countryside! As an ex-sailor, he was experienced in dealing with the most unusual situations.
James lost hope of getting back any of his old belongings after the Plague had hit, but the amazing stories he had heard from the servants, made him start believing that it was indeed possible. As an aristocrat, he still managed to live with his wife and child in quite a wealthy part of town, but what his family didn’t know, was that their resources were diminishing with every month. The lands that had earned them their large income until six years ago, had been consumed by the undead and thus, were now completely unproductive. He knew if he didn’t find a way to retrieve some of the valuables stuck in his deserted mansion in Kent, he may be forced to let some of the staff go. Word of that would get out fast and their friends would see that they had become penniless. He dreaded even the thought of it and this man, Ira Russell, could be the one to save him.
A simple metal sign depicting three shovels hung from the side of a wooden hut that seemed to be slowly bending towards the other side of the street. When James finally saw it, he felt as if salvation was near. Swallowing, James ignored a red-haired harlot, whose tired face was spotted with two large sores at the sides of her mouth, clearly visible in the light from the freehouse and pushed at the door. When entering, he had to bend down to get through its low frame.
Similar Books
