Sorry for the late update. I had a rough weekend and was having issues uploading docs. But anyway, apologies and enjoy.
The thick blankets trapped Will onto the bed, making panic rise in his lungs. He tore through the layers until the cool night air engulfed his burning body. His own panting filled the quiet of the night. The door to the balcony slowly tapped back and forth against the wind. Will brushed a curl doused in sweat away from his face.
He waited several anxious minutes for guards to come bursting in or Hannibal, awakened by his scream, to open the door. But the night was still.
Finally, he rose from the bed and walked to the open balcony door, his feet leaving heat marks on the icy polished wood. Will had the intention of returning to bed after closing the door, but instead found himself standing outside the hidden door. Beyond it he heard nothing but silence. He knew there must be a reason why Hannibal had not stirred at his yells.
Will wiped the sweat from his palm, and quietly opened the door. All the curtains were shut in the room, enfolding it in darkness which seeped into Will's room. He peered in and endured the momentary strain of the blackness until his eyes could adjust. When they did, he glanced over to Hannibal's bed and noticed it was empty.
Even though he had discovered what he had come for, Will's feet continued into the room. They propelled him across the soft rug to the bed, and then his hands were spreading themselves across it, searching for the missing king. When he was sure that there was nothing to be found, he remained hunched over the bed worried about the king, but not necessarily the king's safety.
He only stirred when he heard footsteps coming down the wall. He quickly flattened out the bedspread and slipped out of the room, leaving it as he found it.
Will laid back on his bed and stared at the fresco wrapped in golden frame above him. All plans of sleep were abandoned when he heard someone enter the room next door. There was purposeful shuffling, the usual routines of preparing for sleep, before it fell silent again. It hung heavy as Will imagined where the king had wandered off to during the night, and who Will would find in the morning.
The quiet of the morning was unsettling compared to the usual hustle of Will's neighborhood. Unable to fall back asleep, he decided to rise and prepare for the day. After changing into fresh clothes, he donned the new sword. It was much lighter on his waist than the other had been. He could easily forget it was there for it was built much more like a fencing sword than the typical royal guard sword.
Although the sun had not yet risen, he slipped into the hallway to discover several nobles already awaiting His Royal Majesty. Freddie had said the king rises at exactly seven, so shortly Will could let them in. He fought to hide his confusion at their insistence to be the first to see the king at the start of the day. Hannibal's words from the night before rung in his ears.
"How was your first night sleeping in the palace?" Freddie asked, appearing from nowhere.
"It was fine, thank you," Will said, staying guard at Hannibal's door. There was a maid behind Freddie that timidly held a tray of tea and what Will assumed was Hannibal's breakfast.
"The transition can be traumatic for some," she said. "The pillows are just too soft. I can arrange for any adjustments, if you'd like."
"I'm fine, thank you," Will said, his eyes heavy and circled with dark shadows. He was put off by the glint in Freddie's eyes, the look of a gambler who can see the other players' cards.
"Let me know if you change your mind," she said. "Although, I doubt if there will be many people sleeping comfortably tonight."
"Why?" Will asked, his curiosity making him forgo his attempt to discourage Freddie from conversation.
"The Ripper killed again last night," she said. Will's last traces of sleep were shuddered off.
"You don't seem very surprised," Freddie said. Will's mouth twitched with concern, Freddie suddenly fading further into the background. But he quickly realized the deadliness of her question and knew he must respond.
"The Ripper always kills in series. This one is just starting, and it was inevitable that he would kill again," Will said, staring beyond Freddie. "The question is: when will he kill next, and how long will this period last before he stops or is stopped?"
"An interesting point," Freddie said, watching out of the side of her eye as more nobles arrived. "One you could have shared with Commander Crawford, but you didn't. Why not?"
"I don't need to explain myself, or my actions," Will said. Freddie's face didn't move, yet her eyes look up at him slyly. She only looked away when the bell of Big Ben began to ring, vibrating the hallways slightly as the other clocks in the palace chimed along with it.
"Good luck on your first day," she said, her words curling off her tongue like a curse. Will knocked twice on the door before opening it. Hannibal stared out his window, already dressed. His head turned so he could smile at Will. Freddie and her maid stepped past Will, into the room.
"Good morning, Your Highness," she said as the maid set the tray down with a bow before exiting. Freddie held up a letter with a seal on it. "The morning report."
"Thank you," he said, taking the letter in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Will remained at the door, his hand resting on his sword. He could hear the nobles outside, their excitement growing. Hannibal set his tea down and looked up from the letter to Will.
"It seems the Ripper has killed again," he said. Freddie feigned surprise and gave Will a sideways glance. He remained silent and stony-faced.
"I feel I must take more action," he said. "Perhaps by sending a personal representative to the investigation. Will?"
"Certainly," he said.
"I'll arrange a carriage for him, Your Highness," Freddie offered.
"Thank you. That will be all Freddie," Hannibal said. Freddie bowed and left the room. "And Will, at noon we have a meeting with the Archbishop of Canterbury."
"I won't be late," Will said. "What will you do before then?"
"I will be spending the morning writing drafts of the first proposal to Parliament for my campaign to beautify London," Hannibal said. "My study is well guarded, so your services would do better elsewhere. However, you are still welcome to escort me."
"Those nobles are sounding a little jumpy this morning," Will said, opening the door for Hannibal. The polite applause began when he appeared. He greeted a few of the nobles as Will closed the door behind them. Finally, he broke away and headed down the hallway. Will followed him until they reached the study.
"Drugging me last night was unnecessary," Will said when they were out of hearing range from any nobles, guards, or servants.
"Forgive me," Hannibal said. "It was only a light sedative. I thought it might relieve some of your nightmares, and I knew you would be apprehensive."
"Who told you about my nightmares?" Will asked, knowing that wasn't the real reason Hannibal slipped whatever it was into his wine.
"As a king it is my duty to show concern," Hannibal said. "And that requires using my resources effectively."
"Freddie." Will stated. Hannibal didn't contradict him. "How does she know?"
"She is a knowledgeable woman," Hannibal said. "There isn't much she doesn't know. And that has its uses."
"You could just ask," Will said.
"Would you tell me truthfully if I did?" Hannibal asked.
"As your personal guard I would be compelled to," Will pointed out.
"But as a friend?" Hannibal asked. Will didn't respond, and they had reached the study anyway. Hannibal opened the door but before entering said, "I look forward to hearing your report."
Will remained standing outside the door for a moment before leaving to find the carriage.
"I'll be damned," Price said, shaking his head at the carriage that had just dropped off Will Graham.
"Glad to have you back," Zeller said. Will returned his smile.
"I knew you wouldn't abandon this case," Crawford said, stepping forward. "But I like being kept informed."
"You're talking about the new job." Will said. "I was actually sent by the king himself. As his representative."
"The king's taken personal notice?" Zeller asked. "I don't know whether to be honored or scared."
"A little of both," Will said. Crawford's mouth hung dryly in a frown.
"Jack, I know you don't like the idea of the king interfering, but I'm asking you to trust me here," Will said. "You know how much I want to catch the Ripper."
"And I know you're probably our best chance of that," he said and gave a deep sigh. "Alright, well, the body's this way."
He led Will towards the church, and Will was briefly reminded of the meeting later today with the Archbishop. He shook the thought away. The light filtered through the colored stained glass windows, and the large circular window above the altar seemed to stare down the pews like the eye of God.
A figure sat in the front pew on the edge of the ring of light from the windows. He was dressed in a white tie and a tailcoat. There was a small stain of red above his chest.
"The sound of harpists, musicians, flutists, and trumpeters will never be heard in you again…" Will mumbled.
"I'm sorry?" The Commander asked. Will shook his head, having recognized the dead man's face.
"He's a flutist. Look at his fingers," he pointed to the small circles on the tips of his finger. "He had recently finished playing before he was killed."
"How do you know it was a flute?" Zeller asked. "There are other instruments that have holes."
"Only his thumbs have marks, and only the thumb holes are open on flutes," Price explained.
"Well, we searched his pockets and found this watch," Crawford said, unfolding a handkerchief to reveal a silver watch with a name engraved on it.
"Benjamin René Raspail," Will read. "Do we know cause of death or if he's missing any organs?"
"Not yet, but Beverly will help us figure it out once we get the body back," Zeller said.
"Alright," Will said, taking a deep breath of the dank church air that had been sitting too long in the stone walls like a tomb.
"Let him do his work," Jack said, guiding Zeller and Price out.
The rainbow light warmed Will's skin. A golden pendulum swung across his vision, and the light began to fade away, his skin chilling. He walked backwards and the room darkened as night rose once more. Raspail rolled himself up till he was standing, then retraced his steps, flute clutched in hand. As he exited the church, Will blended into the shadow of a pillar and waited for his prey to arrive.
The wooden door, saturated with London dampness, creaked open as Raspail stepped into the church where he lived in exchange for his services during mass. His footsteps echoed in the empty cavern. Will's eyes trailed him. There was a heaviness to his footsteps, a recent disappointment or embarrassment.
Will emerged from the shadows. Raspail's eyes narrowed slightly, triggered by faint recognition.
"Do I kno-"
"The flute is an elegant instrument, when played correctly," Will said, slithering closer. "But an instrument is only as talented as its player."
Raspail clutched his instrument, his fingers naturally fitting over the keys in a mix of muscle memory and comfort in familiarity.
"Luckily for you, I am a very talented musician," Will said, grabbing Raspail's shoulder with one hand to pull him closer and quickly piercing his heart with a thick needle all in an instant. Will pulled the needle out, causing a spurt of blood to fountain out and onto the stone floor. Raspail gasped for breath, unable to scream for help. He stumbled and threatened to crash to the floor in a messy puddle, so Will caught him and set him on the pew. It was much neater that way.
Raspail's body shrunk over like a raisin drying in the sun until the last of his life seeped away. His flute now sat stiffly in his hand. Will reached out and cleaned a drop of blood from it. The metal was cheap and worn away by years of mistreatment. He disassembled it and set it down on the pew.
Then he took out his surgeon kit.
"After removing the desired organs, I button his shirt and leave him for the priest to find before Sunday mass," Will stood and picked up the flute pieces.
"I dispose of the second-rate instruments in pieces. Scattering it across London. One in the open sewer. One in the pile of horse manure. And one in the Thames, where it will sink to the bottom and rust so there will be no chance of any other mediocre musicians putting it to use.
"This..." Will trailed off, realizing he'd missed a detail. There was no coat on the body, but Raspail must have been wearing one in the rainy London night before.
"I take off your coat. Why?" He asked. "And where did I put it?"
From his limited experience with churches, Will Graham guessed where the living quarters were located and wandered off down the hall to the left of the pulpit. There was a single drop of blood lying forlornly in the hallway.
"I take your coat back to your room," he said, easily finding Raspail's mess of a room. This was the kind of mess that accumulated after years with a cluttered mind, not the mess of someone searching for something. There was no coat. Then he closed the door and found it hanging on the hook, hiding behind the door like a frightened child. His hands reached, as if to comfort it, but instead patted it down in search of evidence. He heard a crinkle from a pocket as his hand passed over it, and found a letter and a ring concealed within.
The ring was golden and rather high quality. It's design was identical to the seal on the stamp. The seal had been broken, but Will could make out what appeared to be a dragon in the dried red wax, arching its back as fire from its mouth curved around its body and over its wings. He quickly read the letter, written in unfamiliar and sloppy handwriting.
B. Raspail,
Your accusation of the king's role in his predecessor's passing confirmed by coroner. Your payment is left in the normal meeting spot.
-G.R.D.
Will's eyes poured over the painfully short letter several times. Clearly the payment mentioned had been the ring. The sentences in the letter were short and clearly written in a rush. The use of passive tense was unusual, perhaps G.R.D didn't naturally speak English and had recently learned it. The initials G.R.D. were puzzling for now. What was even more puzzling was the accusation. Did Hannibal murder his uncle?
But it was clear that this coat had been put here for Will to find, and why would Hannibal want Will to discover that? He returned to the church very disgruntled.
A stream of light leaked in when Jack opened the door cautiously. Will nodded that it was alright to enter.
"Anything?" He asked and Will held up the letter for him.
"Looks like a conspiracy against the king," Jack said.
"A conspiracy? Jack, I don't think it's a lie," Will said. "I think it's at least worth checking into."
"I'll check into it," Jack said, tucking the letter into his chest pocket. Lines appeared around Will's eyes as he watched the letter disappear. "Anything else?"
"The Ripper killed him because he felt disrespected by him," Will said after a moment, deciding that if Jack was going to be thick-headed then he didn't need his authority or the letter to investigate it. A hushed voice pointed out that Jack was displaying a noticeable pattern of defending Hannibal, but Will didn't acknowledge it. "He left him dead for the priest to find him after his final judgment."
"So the Ripper thinks he's God?" Jack asked. Will shook his head.
"No, the Ripper thinks he's better than God," he said. "He separated the three flute pieces across the city. One's almost definitely in the Thames. The others are more unpredictable. Maybe a sewer, some back alley."
"I'll send some men to check out the docks, see if any suspicious men were seen throwing things into the river," Jack said. After a moment of silence he added, "Do you know when the next murder will be? Or who?"
"It's impossible to tell," he said. "At first I thought the periods were getting shorter, but now I'm not so sure. His murders are erratic and difficult to decipher because they are emotionally driven by specific encounters he's had with the victims. When and who it'll be next is impossible to predict."
"All we can do is wait?" Jack asked. Will gazed at Raspail's body and remembered the thrill of the needle in his hand.
"I suppose so," he said. You can wait. I'm going to find G.R.D.
Will adjusted his coat and headed for the heavy church door. The church bells began to ring, sending a shudder through the chamber. As he stepped into the sun, Zeller intercepted him before he reached his carriage.
"Find anything good?" He asked. Will shook his head.
"Not particularly," he said. "The Ripper's kills are all unique. He'll never kill this way again. Makes it hard to guess what he'll do next."
"Mm…" he said. His tone shifted as he walked with Will towards the carriage. He rummaged through his pockets and pulled a crinkled letter out. "Beverly wrote you."
"Thank you," Will said, recognizing Beverly's familiar calligraphy.
"She told me what's in it. She insists you come to dinner soon," Zeller said, his right eye squinting more than his left. It always did that when he was in a good mood. Will considered the dinner he'd be spending in isolation at the palace and easily accepted.
"She'll be so happy," he said. "Honestly that was easier than I was expecting. And between you and me, I was a little worried about going home without getting you to come."
"I'll try to send you a letter ahead of time when I'll be dropping by," Will said. "The palace schedule is very tight."
"I'll let her know, don't worry," Zeller said. He clasped Will's shoulder as a goodbye. Will gave him a nod as he bent back into the carriage.
Will was lucky to steal a loaf of bread from the kitchen before the meeting with the archbishop. He found Hannibal in the study where he'd left him. He gave a knock on the door before entering.
"How was it?" Hannibal asked, his eyes not leaving the paper he was writing on as Will entered the room.
"The murder was neat," Will said, searching his head for the appropriate adjective. Hannibal looked up. "Barely a blood stain out of place. Certainly an impressive feat. Although, you'll never guess who the victim was."
"Oh?" Hannibal asked, eyes returning to the paper.
"A flutist named Raspail. Same flutist that played at dinner."
"That is most unfortunate for him. Yet I cannot say I did not foresee some harm befalling him," Hannibal said. "As payment for his services, I offered him a golden necklace but warned him against wearing it openly on his return home. He did not listen. I assume the necklace was gone when you examined him?"
"No. There was no necklace," Will said. His voice almost stumbled over itself at how flawlessly Hannibal could lie.
"What is Crawford's plan of action?" Hannibal asked.
"Search for witnesses near the Thames where a piece of the flute was likely thrown into the river," Will said, his mind still wrapping itself around the necklace. He did not notice Hannibal's eyes brighten with the knowledge of Will's withholding of information from him.
"I am almost done with this draft," Hannibal said. "I hope you'll read it, I'd appreciate your opinion. But now we have a meeting."
Hannibal left the draft to dry. Then they headed down the hallway.
"I must warn you beforehand," Hannibal said. "The Archbishop's many years of correspondence with his holiness above seemed to have sapped some of his sanity."
"I'll keep that in mind," Will said. "However, I barely feel it is my place to speak during your meeting. I'm only there for protection."
"I value your insight," Hannibal said when they reached a small meeting room. Will knocked on the door and from the other side heard an excited voice say, "Come in."
Will opened the door for Hannibal and followed him in. He was taken aback for a moment at the Archbishop's disheveled hair and wrinkled robe. Even more, the Archbishop remained sitting when Hannibal entered. He held up his hand, offering the golden cross on his ring for Hannibal to kiss. Will watched with a mixture of bewilderment and quiet satisfaction as Hannibal was forced to kneel and kiss his ring.
"Hello, Your Majesty," the Archbishop said, his voice too jittery. Hannibal sat down opposite him and greeted him with strained effort.
"Archbishop Mason," he said. Will watched the exchange with slight disinterest from the corner. "How have you been?"
"Horrible," Mason said. "Simply horrible. The churches are running out of funding, and our missionaries keep getting killed or married. Only yesterday I visited a city orphanage, and the children couldn't stop crying because their favorite nun was just transferred. You see, we were rearranging certain dioses to make up for the lack of funding."
"And how has your sister been?" Hannibal asked.
"Margot?" Mason asked. "She has been doing fantastically. You know how she was always so distanced from Our Lord and Savior? Well, I'm very glad to say that she's seen the light and become a nun. She's now living in an abby somewhere in the countryside. To think, she sacrificed the possibility of inheriting our family's great fortune for Jesus. If that's not faith, I don't know what is."
The way Mason squeezed his words from his mouth irritated Will like a lemon being dripped into his eye. He felt every inflection like a nail in his temple. It was obvious Hannibal felt it too.
"I'm sorry for poor Margot," he said. "She always struck me as a maternal woman."
"Well, now she can use her maternity for Jesus," Mason said, now eyeing Will and apparently no longer interested in the topic of his sister. "Who's the new lapdog?"
At the condescending question, Will looked directly at the Archbishop and fought the urge to try out his new sword on him. Hannibal met the question with his usual poise and slight flutter of his hand, "Sir William Graham is not a lapdog. He is my personal guard and anything you can tell me you can also tell him."
"And anything you can tell me," Mason said and pointed towards the heavens with an amused smile, "you can also tell him."
"I will keep that in mind," Hannibal said. "Was there a specific reason for this meeting request?"
"Ah yes," Mason said, rolling his eyes as if it would somehow trigger his memory. "I wanted to ask for funding for another church. But this one is going to be even bigger than the last."
"Is that so? And why is this church necessary?"
"Why, to better connect your subjects to his holiness," Mason said. "I assume you want your subjects to receive salvation from eternal damnation?"
Hannibal took a deep breath, and sighed inwardly, a reaction slightly dulled by repetition.
"You know I want the best for my subjects," Hannibal said. Will paid close attention, curious as to Hannibal's interaction with this infernal bishop. "And in this case that is saving funding for more immediate projects."
"Like your parks proposal?" Mason asked. "I think the people would prefer spending eternity in his kingdom."
"In the meantime they can have a taste of it on Earth," Hannibal said. Mason lips stuck together like two curled worms.
"And what if Parliament deems it a waste of money?" Archbishop Mason inquired, reaching for a glass of wine.
"That does not worry me," Hannibal said, beginning to rise. Mason had barely sipped his wine. "If there is nothing else, I will excuse myself."
"I suppose that's all I have for today," the Archbishop said, not hiding the disdain in his voice. "I'll tell Margot you wished her well."
Hannibal bowed his head, and swept his cape with a flourish as he left the room. As he closed the door, Will heard Mason loudly sipping the wine.
"Quite a holy figure," Will said. Hannibal brushed a speck of dust from the fur trimming of his cape.
"As the head of the church, I must also manage the dioceses. And sometimes that requires doing a noble a favor by giving his son a position as bishop," Hannibal said. Will ignored his instinct to glance back down the hallway. "Or Archbishop."
"Necessary sacrifice for your bill to pass in Parliament," Will said keeping the thin edge off his words.
"For a bill to pass, it most importantly must be well-written," Hannibal said. Will hid his irritation at Hannibal's ability to dodge questions as swiftly as he dodged opponent's swings while fencing. "I'm sure it'd benefit from your knowledge."
Hannibal gazed at Will until he nodded in agreeance.
