The evening was late and most had retired to the comfort of their homes, leaving only those, too busy to sleep, to socialise in their favoured establishments. Darkness had long settled, covering the city in its blanket, accompanied by an eerie mist that floated, suspended in animation, above the ground.
A gentleman walked down a quiet cobbled street, not passing a soul as he approached the entrance to the Juror’s inn on the waterfront; a popular haunt not far from the bustle of Westminster. As he strode, the mist parted subserviently, creating a path for him, swirling back into its place as he passed. His swift footsteps echoed against the surrounding buildings, jarring against the gentle rhythm of the flowing river. He paused at the entrance of the inn as the warm light from inside bathed him, offering a welcome sanctuary from the cold glare of the moonlight. The light and noise of the conversations from within briefly escaped into the night, becoming contained once again as he entered and the door swung closed behind him.
He stood in the doorway, unnoticed, as his eyes scanned the room. There were only a handful of men, all engaged in conversation. These particular men were politicians; well dressed, but dishevelled and weary from a long day of heated debate. It seemed that they had not concluded their business and had retired to the inn to continue.
Two men in particular were engaged in a drunken heated debate, with a third sat nearby watching them with disgruntled intent. The gentleman gave him a knowing look, with a hint of contempt, as their eyes met, his youthful features masking a timeless truth that his eyes betrayed. Feeling uneasy at this, the man raised from his seat. He fumbled with some coins, placing two of them on the corner of the table of his two compatriots, returning another to his breast pocket, then politely made his leave. The gentleman did not move, but watched impassively as the man walked by, no longer able to meet his eyes.
The gentleman returned his attention to the two men sat down. They were still debating their recent parliamentary triumph and rise in power, sloshing their almost empty glasses as they spoke. He made his way over to their table, seating himself opposite. Their conversation trailed off as they noticed the intruder. They both stared at him, mouths open, until one of them asked:
“Can I help?”
The tone of the man’s voice did not infer a willingness to help, but rather an annoyance. The gentleman replied in an authoritative tone.
“It is not your help that I am after.”
“Well, spit it out then man; can’t you see that we are busy?” the other snapped, irritated.
There was a brief silence before the gentleman collected the coins from the table. He appeared to be studying them, as there was no need to recount them. It was as if he were making sure of their authenticity. The coins appeared dull and scrawled with unfamiliar inscriptions, which the man seemed to be reading to himself, muttering words under his breath that the men did not understand. After a pause, he tucked the coins into his coat pocket and addressed the men once again.
“Acceptible payment has been made for your lives.” he said matter of fact.
“What?” exclaimed both men at the same time.
“I apologise. It is not supposed to be your time.” he continued.
The first man began to laugh nervously.
“Is this some kind of joke? Who put you up to this?”
“That is none of your concern.” the gentleman replied as he stood. “Please come with me.”
Both men looked at each other incredulously.
“We’ll do no such thing.”
If the gentleman was irritated, he did not show it.
What happened next, nobody could agree upon. Although there were others present, not a soul could claim to have borne witness. If pressed, all anybody could hazily recount was the two men falling asleep in a drunken stupor as the stranger left the inn. Arguments later broke out between anyone attempting to describe the gentleman to the authorities, or when regaling their account of the evening. The only thing that could be agreed upon was that the men never woke up.
The door closed behind the gentleman, sealing in the light and noise from the unsuspicious patrons inside. He breathed in the cold air of the night once again as he walked to the water’s edge and stood next to the man who had made payment. The man was now visibly shaking, not just from the cold, watching the flowing river in an attempt to calm himself.
“Is it done?” asked the man.
“It is.” the gentleman replied, a sternness in his voice.
The man let out a deep sigh of relief, steam bellowing out from his lips into the cold air. He turned and took a step to walk away in the belief that their transaction was now complete.
“You have what you want,” the gentleman began, stopping the man in his tracks, “but do not think for one moment that this concludes our business.”
“What do you mean?” The man now had a look of fear on his face as he spun round in surprise. “I have made payment.”
“You fail to understand. Death is not a business, or something you can strike a bargain with.” the gentleman began to explain. “You believe that these coins would bring you good fortune. There is an irony in that.”
“H.h.how do you mean?” the man stumbled.
“Mankind has such an insatiable thirst for power and wealth it blinds you to the true cost of such desire. If only you had opened your eyes before dealing in matters that you do not understand.”
The man’s face turned to confusion as the gentleman continued.
“I thank you for retrieving these coins for me; there aren’t many of them left you see, and they must all be returned to me. To show my gratitude I have carried out the task that you have asked of me, but do not think for one moment that such payment is enough for another’s life.” he said as he wrapped his arm around the man.
A cold chill enveloped the man, as he felt the weight of the final dull silver coin he had returned to his breast pocket.
“The third coin is for you.”
