Chapter 1 - Revised 01/08/2016

This is a short sample of a chapter I'm working on.

Chapter 1

 

Butterwick stood over the corpse and watched as the pool of blood crept outwards and seeped into the dusty, tapestry rug. He sighed, another unfortunate victim who had happened to get caught in the crossfire. Turning to the mirror, he fixed his hat and made sure that his collar was folded correctly. He had been quick to strip the man of his clothing as he wanted minimal blood staining the cotton, these clothes would be with him for the foreseeable future.

“I apologise deeply to you sir for neither you nor I could have foreseen the events that have befallen you. Never the less I will be sure to continue your name in good faith”. He said.

Butterwick had been paying a close ear to the pronunciation and inflections used by the dead man for the past three weeks. He had met him purely by chance but had decided quickly that if things went south then he would need to adopt his persona quickly. A few bottles of whisky and three weeks in a ten by ten room was enough time to learn anyone’s nuances. He had barely left the room since they’d set sail for fear of being caught and the thought of being thrown overboard in the middle of the ocean without a paddle was not a place he wanted to find himself.

It had been a long three weeks but he’d spent his time wisely, drinking as often as possible, sleeping whenever he could and studying his occupant at every opportunity. He’d even grown to like the poor sod and dare he think it, maybe even miss him now that he was gone. But his memory would live on and to a certain degree so would his lifestyle, Butterwick would personally see to that.

“You must understand it was never my intention for you to be caught in the crossfire” Butterwick said to the body. It had been an unfortunate turn of events that had led the assassin to this room. The way he saw it, it had been nothing more than a mistake in identity and luckily it had been a fortunate one. Had he not stepped outside onto the balcony when he did, it would be him lying on the floor instead.

He sat down on the dead man’s bunk and gave the mattress a gentle bounce, it seemed a little more comfy than the top bunk he’d been sleeping in. He reached under the bed and pulled out a brown leather doctor’s bag which the man had been carrying with him. He supposed he should start thinking of himself as Dr Butterwick from now on.

He twisted the brass strap and the case popped open, releasing a cacophonous assault of aromas, many of which he couldn’t even identify. It was as if the various jars and tubes which held the pills and medicines had formed together to create some sort of deadly elixir which could be inhaled at a moment’s notice.

Holding his breath he pulled the case open. A very neatly arranged bag indeed. The base of the bag housed a wooden box with a glass lid; the sides of the bag were felt lined and had looping compartments which held bottles and vials. Each bottle held pills of different shapes, colours and sizes, topped off with a ball of cotton wool and a cork stuffed into the top.

Oh yes, Butterwick thought, some of these might be very useful.

With that, he snapped the case shut and made for the door, unfortunately the room had now served its purpose and he was to be on his way. The ship would be docking shortly and the quicker he could be out onto the bustling streets and amongst the crowds the better. He took one last look around the tiny room he had called home for the past twenty days, tilted his hat to the corpse and closed the door behind him.

Moving swiftly down the corridor he made sure to keep the brim of the hat low on his brow as to avoid any direct eye contact with anyone. He had watched the good doctor come and go for breakfast, afternoon tea and supper and so he couldn’t be sure who he had made contact with and if anyone would recognise his clothing. Worse, the assassin would still be aboard and would no doubt be lurking in a dark corner somewhere like a spider waiting for its prey.

As he navigated the grand hallways he found it hard to believe that he was on a ship. The corridors seemed to continue on in all directions leading off onto yet more corridors. No wonder the doctor was always out so long, it would take a map and a compass to find someone out here. He couldn’t help but be in awe of the grandness of the ship. The hallways were lined with paintings surrounded by gold frames and rich carpets that ran the length of the ship. It was truly a breathtaking sight, now if only I could roll a length of this carpet without anyone noticing.

He eventually navigated his way to the upper deck and to the bow of the ship. Closing his eyes he felt the breeze on his face for the first time in weeks and it felt magnificent. Hearing a flock of gulls overhead he opened his eyes to see the coast faintly in the distance.

The deck below was slowly becoming crowded as more passengers began to come outside to see the sight. Butterwick watched with fascination as he scanned from person to person, imagining what story lies in front of them and what it was they were leaving behind. He was momentarily drawn towards a large man standing at least a foot taller than anyone else on deck. He recognised his large, battered bowler hat in an instance and was suddenly unable to breath. The tall, hulking mass of a man was none other than Silverthorne, the notorious assassin and warrior from the East Coast.

Everyone had heard of him but few had actually seen him, least of all Butterwick. Anyone fortunate enough to witness the man was usually not around long enough to report on it. In a way he felt an unusual sense of pride wash over him that such a famous assassin would be assigned to him. I didn’t realise I was such a wanted man.

Author's Note

It has steampunk/fantasy/urban fantasy elements to it but I'm also trying to make it my own. Any feedback welcome as this is my first attempt at writing something so I'm trying to take my time and get a feel for the process.