The Scientist's Cultist

i - buck's row.

- - - - - - AUGUST 31, 1888 - - - - - -

Whitechapel, London 2:30 a.m.

THE LIGHTS LINING the Street slipped in and out of Mary's focus as she stumbled down the narrow path. The street was dead silent at this time of night, and the chances of her earning another fourpence were becoming more unlikely as the minutes passed. Whether she could afford a bed or not, Mary was certain she could fall asleep anywhere. With every step, her head sank lower and lower, until suddenly she was no longer moving.

"Mary, are you all right?" The voice made Mary jolt upright, where she was met with the blurred face of her former bedmate, Emily, standing in front of her.

"Mm-hmm," Mary hummed, so entertained by the way her lips tickled when they buzzed together that she repeated the word three times. She felt Emily's fingers curl around her forearm in a somewhat vain attempt to help Mary stand upright. Her hand was warm and soft, a sharp contrast to the cold brick wall she'd been leaning against.

"Did you pay your fourpence tonight?" Emily looked concerned, her eyebrows knitted together and the wrinkles on her forehead pronounced. She had a heart-shaped face, a feature Mary had always found flattering.

Mary couldn't help but giggle. "It's a funny story, you see. I have had my lodging money three times today, and I have spent it. That's why I'm out here, picking up gentlemen." Mary gestured to the empty street and nearly lost her balance doing so. That, mixed with the subtle irony of the lack of male company amused Mary once more, and she giggled so hard she began to cough.

"You are quite inebriated," said Emily. "We should retire for the evening."

"I'm quite all right, I assure you. I will earn the money, just you wait," Mary promised.

"Do you even know where we are?" Emily asked.

Mary lifted her gaze to the street sign, the letters warped and fuzzy. "Ozzzborn."

Emily sighed, clearly growing irritated from the conversation. Mary could understand the concern. Everyone knew about Whitechapel at night. But if there was any chance she was to earn any money, Whitechapel was the place to get it. There would be men there, men willing to pay for her services. Mary could turn a blind eye to the crime and the rats if it meant she didn't have to sleep on the street.

"I can't," Mary decided. "Don't you worry, Nelly, I'll be back before you know it."

"Be careful," warned Emily. "I don't want to be reading about you in the bloody papers, you hear me?"

Mary nodded and Emily turned away, shuffling along the cobblestones in the opposite direction. Emily was quite elderly, but Mary had no doubts that Emily was here for the same reasons as her. In Whitechapel, you did what you had to do to get by.

The nighttime summer breeze raised goosebumps on Mary's skin as she walked, though she did not necessarily feel the wind. To be sober in Whitechapel was discouraged and uncommon. A clear mind at night exposed the rotten underbelly of London, something all the important people in London worked far too hard to conceal.

As Mary ambled past an alcove, she was not surprised to see a group of others who likely could not afford a bed huddled together. It was dark and Mary's vision was still spinning, but she caught sight of them turning to watch her pass. She made eye contact with a skeleton of a woman with dark, tangled hair and a face as pale as a ghost. Her eyes were bloodshot and empty, though they followed Mary eerily as she passed. Whether in judgment or warning, Mary was not sober enough to tell.

For a moment, she considered joining them. That is, until she caught sight of a male figure up ahead turning onto Buck's Row. This could be her last chance to earn back her lodging money before sunrise, Mary thought. From afar, the figure appeared to be well-dressed, with a tall hat and confident stride. Even intoxicated, Mary could identify a good mark.