When I arrive I choose a ramshackle tavern near the boat as a likely source of food. That's where I first notice him. His face is flushed with liquor, he is brawling and his clothing is dishevelled, but he still manages to look like a peacock who has strutted in amongst the chickens.
He is magnificent.
I say so to the young woman who serves me my unwanted drink, and she gives me her grudging agreement. She describes him as "God's gift" and I make some slight remark in return. At that moment the youth wins the fight and turns, his arms spread wide, as if inviting the congratulations of the assembled company. Mostly, the drunkards and slatterns who drown their sorrows here ignore him. Well, why should they appreciate true beauty, when their lives have been so empty of it?
The barmaid (who I find is called Molly when some of the men pathetically try to entice her over to sit with them) goes on to say "Oh, his lies sound pretty when the stars are out. But he forgets every promise he's made when the sun comes up again."
Perfect.
I take a moment to savour the feathered tickle of anticipation that spreads over my famished skin. I will arrange a meeting. I will strike up a conversation with him, and if his talk is as appealing as his person... Well, maybe I will have found him at last. Someone worthy. At the very least, I will eat something pretty.
My eyes take in his broad shoulders, slender waist, shock of brown hair and the proportions of his face, as beautiful as if a sculptor had chiselled them and they had later come to life through some bewitchment. Soon, soon, I will make his flesh as cold as marble, and as pale, and it will be for me to decide whether it is animated again, or left for the worms. As I gaze, his eyes meet mine and a flash of recognition flies between us. I whisper the words "darling boy, come to me" and prepare to rise and leave, knowing he will follow.
Then, a man comes up and slaps him on the shoulder. He turns away from me and greets him like a brother. There is another round of drinks, and then another. I seize Molly by the hand as she passes and ask who it is that takes so much of my prize's attention.
She shrugs and tells me it is some thug who has befriended him. They've been inseparable for over a month. It would not surprise her if he were a robber, and the next day, or the next, we were to find Liam dead in the streets after the ruffian has felt the weight of his purse and killed him for the contents. For a moment, her hard little face looks concerned, and I wonder if they have been lovers in the past and she still carries a torch for him.
I keep my own counsel and plan. No, Molly, it will not be a surprise to find him dead; but it won't be tonight, nor in the manner you suggest.