The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 6

I felt Harper's hand squeeze mine hard.

"Stand your ground. He isn't going to do anything here, they wouldn't risk it," he said, glaring defiantly at the Varúlfur.

As the young beast got closer, I saw that he was carrying something in his right hand. It was a file, similar to the type of official court file that you would see in a law firm, garnished with red ribbon. I'd seen enough of them from my time with Brandon to know what it was.

And what's more, the boy was scared. Oh, he was doing his best to keep it under check as he tried to portray an air of arrogant confidence but I could detect the fear. His heart beat loud and hard with every step forward. The closer he got, the more I could smell the stench of anxious sweat mixed together with that foul Varúlfur odour and I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose in disgust.  A sheen of perspiration slicked across his forehead and nose and I noticed how his eyes darted around as if it were him that was expecting an ambush and not us.

He reached our side of the street and mounted the pavement, careful to stand a few metres away as we faced each other. For a moment, nobody spoke, we just stood there in some surreal frozen stand-off and the world moved around us as if we weren't even there. The snow drifted down, harder now, settling on the shoulders of his black coat and dampening his hair. He was young, maybe even younger than I had first thought and his skin was smooth and flawless. I didn't recognise him at all from the Walter and Noble social engagements I had attended so assumed he was a new recruit; one of the younglings ready to start his career in the bosom of the family business.

"I b-bring you this," he stuttered, his voice high-pitched and shaky. He held the file out in front of him but made no move to step closer. I noticed how his hand shook and how he swallowed hard as if trying to ease an arid throat.

Harper stared at the file but didn't take it. Instead his gaze drifted back up to the Varúlfur's face and his eyes narrowed to dark slits.

"What is it?"

"You have to t-take it," the boy insisted, shaking the file. His panic levels were increasing by the second although what he thought we were going to do in full view of a packed London street, I had no idea.

"I will take it when I know what it contains." Harper was unflustered.

The Varúlfur's cheek muscles tensed and he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his immaculately polished brogues smudging patterns in the light layer of snow that had already settled on the ground.

"I don't know what's in it," he squeaked. "I was just told to bring it to you."

"And you found us, how?"

"We know your places, assassin." A smug tone crept into the boy's voice, clearly feeling this was his crutch to gain some semblance of power.

"And you expect me to believe that the Varúlfur would send you? A whelp? Well, they're either particularly fucking stupid or you're just very dispensable."

The boy's face dropped and his eyes widened for a moment, realisation sweeping through him. Harper snorted and shook his head in disgust.

"Give me the file, boy." He held out his hand but made no move to take it from the Varúlfur. The boy knew he was going to have to step closer and he did, but only to the point where he could lean forward and place the file within Harper's reach and as soon as he had done so, he stepped back, seeking sanctuary in distance.

Harper untied the loose ribbon and opened the file. Quickly he scanned the documents inside and looked back up at the Varúlfur, with one eyebrow raised.