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

Part II - Chapter XXI: Markets & Murders

“There’s been another one,” Arthur announced, cracking open his morning paper. His glasses hung on the tip of his nose and he tilted his head up to glance at the paper through the lenses.

Evelyn did not even look up from her knitting. “Another what?” 

“Death.” Arthur’s eyes glanced over the top of his paper to gauge his wife’s reaction. He flipped the page and licked his lips.

She put down her needles and her lips pursed together so tightly that Eugene feared they might simply disappear off her face. “Where?”

“Whitechapel district. Quite a ways away, don’t you think, dear? Nothing to worry about.”

“Well, the poor man’s family must be completely devastated.” She looked back down and undid a knot. 

“It wasn’t a man. It was a woman. Apparently a prostitute. The paper doesn’t say much else. But, I’m sure there will be another article as soon as more information is discovered.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing we are far from Whitechapel. I’d worry about you.”

“I’m sure it is nothing to worry about on any scale, Evie, dear. We don’t even know if it was a murder. The paper only says ‘death’.” He folded his newspaper and tucked it under his arm. He stood and kissed his wife on the top of her head. 

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes, I have work. A couple has taken ill a few streets over, on Chiltern Street.”

“The Hartmans’ live there. I hope they’re all right.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll call on them and make sure they are in good health.” He patted her shoulder and headed through the hallway. Eugene gently slipped from his chair and followed him.

Arthur put on his coat at the front entrance and spotted Eugene out of the corner of his eye. “Anything I can do for you, Eugene?”

Eugene leaned against the wall and stuck his hands into his pockets. “Yes, I was just wondering if that was all you knew about the Whitechapel murder. I mean, I doubt they’d print a front page article merely stating the location and gender of a victim.”

Arthur sighed as if he had just been caught sneaking a slice of bread from Evelyn’s fresh baked loaf. “Yes, there is quite a bit more, unfortunately. Much more than any editor should allow to be printed. Children might read this paper, for goodness sakes! I merely did not want to trouble or worry Evelyn with such information.”

“What does it say?”

Arthur re-opened the paper and once more tipping his head back, he said, “Female, forty-three years of age, a side-walk prostitute. Her name was Mary Ann Nichols. Her body was discovered at about half past three on Friday morning --that was only three days ago-- in Buck’s Row, Whitechapel. Here is where it should have been censored: Her throat was severed by two cuts, and her lower abdomen was partially ripped open by a deep and jagged wound. There were several other cuts on her abdomen by the same knife. Horrible stuff, really. I know that death is quite common in Whitechapel, but whoever did this could have at least refrained from making it into a barbaric past-time.”

“May I see the paper?” 

Arthur wiped his forehead and handed it over. “You can have it. Unless I’m personally called to be a part of this business of murders, I want nothing more to do with it. In fact, could you please be the one to fetch the paper, and if there is anything, anything at all, to do with these murders, I want you to rip out the page before letting me read the rest of it. Is that all right?”