WHISPERING HUNTERS - Ch.2 - Pub (2)

WHISPERING HUNTERS - Ch.2 - Pub (2)

The world had changed in the span of a single generation, twisted by the the iron gears and steam engines of the industrial revolution. Nowhere was that more true than the heart of the Britannic Empire. The city of where the birth of the machines Linsfield.

The black chimneys rose like crooked fingers into the sky, belching endless clouds of smoke that turned morning to dusk. Once a land of green fields and quiet villages, had remade itself into the crucible of progress or, as many in the lower quarters muttered, a machine that devoured men as readily as it did coal.

The gap between the glittering halls of the upper class and the reeking alleys of the poor yawned wider with each year. Steam carriages clattered past lines of ragged children begging for crusts. 

Barons and magnates dined by crystal lamps while whole families huddled in cellars, coughing blood into rags. The promise of the city was a lie, the lie, the gleaming facades hid streets buried in soot, where the sun itself struggled to pierce the smog that clung to every brick and beam.

Gregor's family had once dreamed of something better. Far from the choking streets of Britannic industrial heart, they had lived in a quiet village where dawn meant birdsong instead of the shriek of factory whistles.

But with the spread of machinery came promises of prosperity, promises their family believed. They packed their few belongings and made their way to the sprawling city, chasing a future that was never meant for people like them.

Instead, they found themselves in Linsfield, a warren of cracked tenements and narrow alleys that stank of rot and smoke. Work was plentiful but dangerous and deadly.

Gregor's father labored until a machine claimed him in a storm of shrieking metal, and the foreman paid out not a single penny of compensation.

His mother wasted away coughing in a cold room, unable to afford a doctor's visit or a warm blanket.

Now, Gregor and his sister survived in a city that was both wonder and nightmare, a place where factories burned day and night and every breath tasted of coal dust. Enormous steel frameworks arched above the streets, throwing shadows that swallowed entire blocks.

Pipes leaked boiling steam into alleys, and gutters ran black with runoff from workshops and slaughterhouses. The air itself seemed alive, thick with the grinding of gears and the ceaseless pounding of hammers, the heartbeat of a city that thrived on misery.

Here, in the empire's proud city, progress had a price and it was always paid in the blood of the poor.

Gregor's eyes locked on the pair across the pub. Smoke curled between swaying oil lamps, shadows dancing like spectres in the choking haze. The tall gentleman leaned in close to Amelia, his pale hand tracing slow, possessive circles across her shoulder before drifting lower to her waist.

His crimson lint glasses caught the lamplight, throwing blood-red gleams across the table. His tongue, too long, too thin, slipped out to taste the air between whispered words Gregor couldn't hear.

One by one, the tables nearby emptied. The closest drunks shifted uneasily, glancing at Gregor's face as his eyes burned a deeper shade of red. Muttered curses spilled into their mugs as they scooted their chairs back, eager to find other seats anywhere but near him. It was as if his foul mood alone poisoned the air, a silent storm darkening the room.

A wide ring of emptiness spread around his stool, the other patrons parting like the sea around a sinking ship. Even the barmaid hesitated to approach, her eyes darting nervously between Gregor's clenched jaw and his crimson gaze.

Gregor's lips twitched, but not into a smile.

"Easy now…" he told himself, breathing shallowly.

"Scaring the piss out of drunks won't help her. Just breathe… Just… breathe…"

He glanced at the space growing around him, the chairs scraping back.

Amelia kept her brittle, hollow smile fixed in place, eyes flitting once just once to Gregor. A trapped bird meeting the gaze of another caged soul.

Gregor's knuckles whitened on the handle of his mug.

"Look at him!" he thought, rage flickering under his calm exterior. 

"Strutting in here like he owns the place. Hat tipped just so. A coat worth more than a year's rent. Smells like some bloody perfumed prince."

His gaze flicked back to Amelia's face, reading every tiny twitch.

There she's tipping her head. She only does that when she's lying.

He watched the man's hand drift lower, watched Amelia's shoulders stiffen as she tried to shift subtly away. The gentleman only smirked wider, leaning in to murmur words that made her eyes flicker like candle flames in a draft.

The air thickened with every heartbeat. Smoke coiled tighter around Gregor's chest, as if the city itself wanted to choke him. 

A stray beam of lamplight flashed across his eyes, catching a glint of dark crimson, red like old blood under moonlight. A ripple of unease spread through the last few patrons, and they too found excuses to slip away, until only Gregor remained, the quiet hiss of the oil lamps filling the silence.

His fingers drummed the bar.

"I could follow them." he mused, pulse thrumming.

"Slip into the fog, stick to the shadows, like Father's old stories." he thought, jaw tight. 

"A quick stab in an alley, no speeches, no glory. Just one less bastard breathing."

He let the thought settle, dark and tempting.

"Of course, knowing my luck, I'd find out he was some rich bastard son and I'd be dangling from a rope before Monday's bells finished ringing."

A humorless smile ghosted across his lips as he tipped his empty mug back, eyes never leaving the booth.

"Or maybe I'll just follow him home. Learn his name. Where he sleeps. Perfectly legal. Perfectly safe."

A quiet, bitter laugh rattled in his chest.

"Perfectly unhinged." he added. But then, who in this cursed city isn't?

He set the mug down with a soft clink, the sound echoing in the noisy pub. His gaze stayed locked on the two figures cloaked in the lamplight.

If this city wanted to crush him, it would have to catch him first, and tonight, Gregor intended to be faster than the darkness.

•••

He wears his peaked cap, tight-fitting with a low brim hat stepped out into the cold night, the pub door creaking shut behind him with a hollow thud. He lingered for a moment beneath the sickly yellow glow of the gaslamp, breath misting in the damp air. He cast one last glance back through the grimy pub window at the two figures cloaked in swirling smoke and lamplight.

Inside, Amelia caught his eye. Relief flickered across her face like a candle sputtering in the wind, a momentary softening of her sharp, guarded features. Her shoulders eased, if only slightly.

Beside her, the tall gentleman leaned in close. His crimson glasses caught the lamplight, and his smile stretched unnaturally wide as his hand traced the line of her jaw.

"You know," he drawled, voice low and purring.

 "You shine brighter than every star in the sky tonight."

Amelia forced a laugh, sweet and airy, even as her skin crawled at the touch.

Two nights ago, she had met this man Jack while waiting near one of the city's better lit squares, hoping to catch the eye of a merchant or clerk with money to spare. 

Jack was different from the usual drink stinking laborers he was clean, well-dressed, and carried himself like a noble slumming it for amusement. He had flashed enough notes to make her dizzy nearly twenty five pounds in two nights. That kind of money could feed her and Gregor for months, even years if she was careful.

Jack was polite at first almost charming, offering his arm like a gentleman and complimenting her smile. But he was also touchy, never keeping his hands still for long. His words were smooth as velvet, but beneath them lingered something slippery, like oil on water. 

And there was a creeping wrongness to his eyes. They watched her not like a man watching a woman, but like a predator studying prey.

Tonight was the third night. She had thought about avoiding him. But the promise of money had been too tempting. 

She needed the money. 

Gregor needed the money.

Seeing her brother's face in the bar had made her heart stop. She'd felt a rush of panic. She knew what he was doing in places like this listening, watching, risking his neck for scraps of information to sell. She wanted to drag him home, lock the door, and never let him out again. He was smarter than she ever was, sharper with numbers, better with words. He should have been in a school, not a pub full of wolves.

She forced herself to stay seated, to keep smiling, to let Jack's hand roam her waist as he whispered syrupy nonsense. It was the only way to fill their stomachs, to keep a roof however leaky over their heads.

She just has one simple wish.

Just to have a better life with her brother.