The Magician's Vow: A Retelling of The Pied Piper of Hamelin

Part II - Chapter XVI: Doctor & Death

London.

September, 1888.

"Your mother should be feeling much better on the morrow, Mrs. Peddleton," Doctor Montgomery said, snapping his bag shut and pushing his round glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "It is a good thing you found her when you did. It would not have ended well if she had come to and tried to move on her own."

"Thank you so much, doctor. You have no idea how worried I was when I found her laying at the bottom of the stairs."

"Yes, well, she will need some bed rest for the next few days due to her old age and delicate bones, but I believe she should be back to herself within a week. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon to check up on her."

"Very well. Our butler shall pay you at the door."

"No need for that." He waved his hand as if trying to expel the very thought of it. "Just add it to the monthly bill."

"Thank you, doctor. Have a good day."

"Any time. And you have a wonderful evening." The doctor tipped his hat and exited through the door of the bed chamber. He carefully made his way down the steep wooden steps to the first landing where a large grandfather clock leaned against the wall, ticking the time away. It was a grand piece and Mrs. Peddleton usually never missed a chance to recount its history through the generations of Peddletons.

He walked the final four steps to the first floor and turned to face the butler. One hand was on the door handle and the other held out an envelope.

"Your payment, doctor."

He made no motion to take it. "I've spoken to the lady. I will not be taking any payment today."

"Very well, sir." He opened the door. "Have a good day."

"You too."

Dr. Montgomery clutched his leather bag to his chest as he walked down the steps and into the current of the crowds. For a few moments, he was jostled from either side and his glasses nearly fell from his head. He grabbed them as they dangled from a single ear and shoved them back on. Pulling his coat tighter over his chest, he ducked his head into his collar and quickly felt the rhythm of the moving hordes. He snuggled deeper into the warmth of his woolen coat.

He felt a little out of place surrounded by such people. Tall men with impeccably ironed suits and top hats strode to his right, canes on their wrists and white gloves on their hands. They shoes reflected the light from the street lamps: dull and hazy. Brightly dressed women walked along to his left. Their heads held high and their hands playing with the satin of their little hand purses. Feathers stuck out of their heads --hats-- and their velvety coats seemed to do little for warmth.

London was uncommonly busy for a midweek evening. Usually all the lords, dukes, and earls were back in their homes at this time, sipping gin and discussing politics while their wives, fiancées, and daughters gossiped in the next room, untouched cups of tea in their hands. But this night, a new opera had opened. Everyone who was anyone had come out to see it.

It was difficult to tell the time in London's busy centre. With all the riverbank factories sending clouds of smog into the air, the sky itself be, came something that the people only associated with their summertime residences. Here, it was either foggy, or extremely foggy.

Dr. Montgomery reached into his coat and pulled out a gold pocket watch. Six o'clock.

He snapped it shut and tucked it back into his pocket. Mrs. Montgomery would be expecting him for supper soon.