London in the 21st century was a city that never truly experienced darkness. Even in the longest winter nights the streetlamps and office buildings kept much of the metropolis bathed in an orange tinted half-light. During those rare cold spells when it snowed the glistening white streets and parks reflected the gaudy mix of neon and halogen even more, creating the impression that the weak winter sun had never set.
Despite this, people of a fearless nature or those engaged in criminal activity could find plenty of nooks and crannies in the ancient city where even the lights of the modern world had failed to penetrate. Darkened alleyways and inky black railway arches formed a spiders web that stretched across the urban landscape, allowing those who embraced the anonymity of the night to move free from the scrutiny of the crowd. Furthermore, whole lakes of darkness had pooled in the suburbs and districts beyond the old city walls. Growing out of a Victorian desire to rid the city of disease London's municipal cemeteries had enjoyed a renaissance recently as day time attractions for tourists but, at night, unlit, barred and gated, they were turned back in to villages of the dead, places where the average London resident wouldn't dream of setting foot.
Not surprising then that on this particular November night, the two men standing in the far eastern corner of Highgate cemetery were far from tax-paying, law-abiding citizens. In front of them was an open grave and, at the bottom of the grave, encrusted in dirt and slime was a battered, worm-eaten coffin. It had taken the two men much longer to uncover their prize than they had anticipated. The icy winter air had left the ground half frozen and, despite the cold, both men were sweating and panting from their exertions shifting the compacted earth. One of the men, the younger of the two, leaned against his shovel, his knees trembling not only from exhaustion, but from the sickly sweet smell of putrefaction now rising from the grave.
"Are you sure about this?" he murmered.
His companion grunted disapprovingly at this display of squeamishness. They were being paid handsomely for this spot of grave robbing and the man who had employed them did not take kindly to failure. Stooping down he fumbled in the canvas bag at his feet, finally extracting a heavy duty torch which he thrust into the hands of his reluctant accomplice.
"Scafidi wants everything." he growled. "So we take everything."