A short, balding man was scurrying hurriedly along the slippery pier, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. He was quite alone in the dark, cold, black night; the moon and stars were covered by a blanket of thick clouds, and the rest of the city seemed to have gone to sleep already.
"Please," the man muttered frantically, throwing another frightened glance over his shoulder, his feet sliding under him as he scrambled down the pier, "please, not me, not today…"
"It's too late, Mr. Mason," said a calm, velvety voice. The man jumped, startled.
A tall man, his face cast in shadows, had appeared suddenly before him, looking down at the frightened man.
The other man was shaking; his face gleaming with perspiration, his eyes wide and pale with horror.
"P-please," stammered the man, "s-spare me…"
But he had begun to shake uncontrollably now, his arms twitching, his legs collapsing under him, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Nooo…." he moaned, falling onto his back, the color draining from his face as his mouth lolled open.
The tall man watched, unmoving and emotionless, as the other lay seized up on the ground before him, his fingers jerking wildly.
"H-help m-me," the man croaked, foam dripping from his open mouth onto the wet pier.
"I told you, it is already too late," said the tall man smoothly.
And suddenly, the man stopped twitching on the ground. A single cloud of breath escaped from his mouth, floating into the air, and his body lay limp and motionless upon the ground.
"I warned you, Mr. Mason," said the tall man quietly. "Do not go around meddling with business that isn't yours."
The tall man took something out from his coat pocket with a gloved hand, bent low over the body, and slipped something into the dead man's pocket. Then, without a single backwards glance, he turned to walk back down the pier and disappeared into the night.
"Read this," said a tall, boyish-looking, brown-haired man as he paced the room. He tossed a newspaper to a stately-looking young lady sitting in a plush chair, her graceful features drawn in an intense, serious-looking expression.
The lady had very fair skin and silken golden hair that fell in waves down her back—not dull, common blond hair, or lusterless, platinum-colored hair—but gold, as if it were woven from gold-spun thread. Her eyes, too, were a magnificent gold color, and they pierced through the room like the eyes of a lioness.
Behind her stood her butler, who provided a sort of balance to the lady's almost overwhelmingly bright golden appearance; he had ebony hair and his crimson eyes carried a permanent, dark amusement in their depths; he was dressed in all black, with the a silver crest pinned to the lapel of his tailcoat.
The lady shook out the paper in her hands and read the headline: 'Mysterious Murder of Ministry Mediary Maxwell Mason'
Clearing her throat, she read aloud in her elegant, aristocratic accent:
"'The fourth in a series of murders is none other than Mr. Maxwell Mason, an obscure court official serving under the King. According to the medical reports, he died at midnight last night on Blackpool Pier due to asphyxiation. There was no sign of a struggle, but the lack of bruising around his throat suggests that he was not choked to death, but killed using poison or drugs.
Mr. Mason was found by a fisherman, Samuel Higgins (age sixty-two, known by locals as 'Sam') at dawn the next morning, who reported that he'd heard nothing the previous night. "The nigh' was dead quiet, alrigh'," says Sam. "I ain't heard nuthin."
The killer, whom the public has dubbed, "The Silencer", left his signature sign on Mason's body: a card depicting the grim reaper and the words, "SILENT TO THE GRAVE" written in black ink on its surface and a fresh-cut chrysanthemum flower; this suggests that Mason may have been killed because he was in possession of dangerous intelligence.
The Scotland Yard have yet to bring a conclusion to these mystifying murders. "We're working on it," says Officer Grant, bleary-eyed and tired-looking. "The killer's bound to show themselves soon."
Meanwhile, we ask citizens to please be vigilant, as there is a serial killer out loose on the streets….'"
The golden-eyed lady raised her eyebrows. "'The Silencer', eh?" she said, setting the paper down.
"Indeed," said the boyish man. "He has caused quite a scare in London."
"So then, Mr. Phillip Blackwood," said the lady, turning to him questioningly. "What would you have me do?"
"Your first assignment, Lady Clara Nightcrow," said Phillip to the golden-haired lady, "will be to investigate these murders going on in London. Remember your mission, Nightcrow. You are to—"
"I know, I know. I'll get started on it straightaway." snapped Clara, the golden-haired lady, as she stood up impatiently and fastened her white cloak. "Sebastian," Clara continued sharply. "Do you understand the mission?"
"Yes, my lady," said Sebastian silkily, bowing.
"Good," said Clara, ushering her company outside. "Then we should be off now. Billie will have a carriage waiting outside."
"Hello, Billie," the lady said briskly to the stable boy once they were all outside. Billie was about her own age, gangling tall, and he had freckled skin and a nest of ginger hair. Clara had known Billie since she was fifteen, and she found him to be quite likeable and genial.
He waved at her in greeting, already sitting at the driver's box. "Good day, m'lady," he said.
Clara inclined her head politely. "We'll be heading to London today, Billie. Take the fastest route."
"Alrigh'. We'll be goin' as soon as yer in the carriage," said Billie in his heavy West Country accent, much unlike Clara's aristocratic one that always gave away her elite background.
The three of them clambered into the carriage, and once it was underway, Clara turned to face her butler and said, "Sebastian. Will you go to the police and obtain all the information you can on the four victims? Use any means necessary, but do not arouse suspicion. I will go to the pier with Blackwood," she added, gesturing to the brown-haired man beside her. "Meet me there as soon as you're finished."
Sebastian nodded. "Yes, my lady."
Phillip raised his eyebrows. "But Blackpool Pier's miles away from the police station. I don't think he'll be able to make it in time."
"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Blackwood," said Sebastian, smiling. "But there will be more than sufficient time.
"You see, I am simply one hell of a butler."
And he climbed out of the compartment, bowed to the lady, and vanished from the speeding carriage.