Of Stolen Glances and Midnight Schemes

Chapter 1 - Letters from the Dead

Dry, thin parchment crackled in Evie Frye's gloved hands as she swept off the Blighter schemes off the wooden desk. Grabbing her lighter, she quietly produced a flame and set the plans ablaze. She watched as the carefully drawn sketches dissipated into ashes. Almost done, thought Evie to herself as she jumped out the window of the house and onto an adjacent roof.

She allowed herself a moment of respite, quickly scanning the scene below her. The gang stronghold was significantly weakened, she had narrowed down her opponents to three skinny men dressed in garish red clothing. They were conveniently huddled in a small clearing beneath her, forming a ring around a smoking brazier to ward off the autumn chill.

Evie aimed and shot her grappling hook to the roof across from her, jumping off the crumbling roof tiles and gliding along the rope like a skilled acrobat. She dropped down on two of the men, who quickly met their demise. The third one wasn't nearly fast enough to avoid Evie's roundhouse kick, dropping to the ground. There, thought Evie. That'll teach them to stand in my way. She whistled loudly, signalling to her band of Rooks to help her clean up the stronghold. There was something oddly satisfying about taking down the red banners to replace them with rich green ones. Suddenly, a shout broke out.

"Oy, you there, Frye! You really think you can take over London right beneath our feet, do you?"

Evie looked to the entrance of the fort, only to notice a large group of Blighters, led by no one else but Bloody Nora. An ambush!

"Get'em!" Screeched the London gang boss, taking out her shining pistol. There was a moment of tense silence before chaos broke out.

Evie remained focused, gracefully parrying attacks and striking with calculated precision, a deadly ballerina on her stage. A bead of sweat traced its way down her temple. She sidestepped one Blighter, tripped another one and slammed the butt of her cane-sword in the jaw of her third opponent, in a rush to get to Bloody Nora. She couldn't let her get away.

The scrawny woman sneered at her pursuit, taking off into a shady alleyway. Evie rushed after her, hairs flying out of her intricate braids. "You think you can outrun me?" She shouted, vaulting over an upturned chariot blocking her way. Bloody Nora didn't grace her with a response, instead whirling around to throw a sharp knife.

The blade cut through the air, slicing Evie's arm. She hissed, sprinting faster. Her legs burnt. The alleyway was coming to an end. If she let Bloody Nora run out into the main streets of London, Evie knew she would disappear in instants. A Blighter carriage was never far off, especially since dear Jacob had put an end to the crooked Attaway Transport omnibuses.

Evie scanned her surroundings, spotting a loose beam over the archway separating the dirty alleyway from the main street. Just before the black-haired gang boss ran through the passage, Evie shot out her grappling hook. It latched onto the beam, and the pressure was enough to sever the piece of rotting wood, landing onto Nora and incapacitating her with a muted thud.

Evie rushed over, examining the grisly scene. Bloody Nora was well and dead. Her nickname followed her to the end, it appears. Finally, the assassins could consider the City of London liberated. Not by lack of work, evidently. It had taken about a month to clean out the vermin-infested district.

Evie glanced over the woman's body, and raised her eyebrows as a detail caught her attention. Something was sticking out of her coat pocket. The assassin took it gingerly, pocketing what appeared to be a folded square of paper. Evie scanned the narrow alley, searching for any sign of trouble. She clambered up onto a roof and perched herself, unfurling the mysterious scrap of parchment.

The cargo will be delivered at eleven bells with the moon's rise, as discussed, under the shadow of the London bridge. If you should dare not to come, we have other associates who benefit from the same shipment. They'll take your share of it as well. I suggest you don't keep me waiting.

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"What do you reckon we should do?" Asked Evie, leaning against the wall of her train compartment, looking over the stolen correspondence.

Jacob stole the letter, sat down in a chair, putting his dirty boots on her desk. She glared at him as he skimmed it. He glanced at her, grinning devilishly.

"I'm sure they won't mind an uninvited guest. What is it they say, the more the merrier? Who are you to refuse a nice cruise down the River Thames?"

"We can't exactly barge in, they're expecting a dead woman to show up."

Jacob's face lit up. "Of course not, sister dearest, but what if we disguise ourselves as Blighters? We can steal the cargo and use it for ourselves. I have found myself running low on explosives lately. "

Evie rolled her eyes. It was a good idea to disguise themselves, she had to admit, but she was curious about the "other associates" the mystery smuggler had mentioned.

"We need to find out the new players we're working with. We'll infiltrate the boat. Stealthily." Evie said pointedly. "The smuggler mentioned he was supplying other customers. They could be Templars, for all we know. What are they up to now?"

Jacob shrugged. "Mayhem, undoubtedly. But it so happens that I'm itching for a fight." He cracked his knuckles and extended a hand. "Let's go boating, shall we?"