Chapter Two
Ambrose was tugging back on his shirt, tucking the tails into his unbuttoned pants as he stood up from the bed he tried to ignore the feeling filth that still hung on his skin.
"So what was this favor that you wanted so desperately?" Elizabeth asked with a satisfied sigh as she gathered the sheets around her body, her hair matted and make up smudged slightly. She looked the way a lioness would after devouring an antelope, licking her maw with a gratified growl. Ambrose was quiet for a moment as he buttoned his shirt slowly, the weak feeling of exhaustion pulling at his limbs making him wish that getting the things that he desired didn't involve him having to stoop as low as soliciting locations of well loaded shops and homes with sex, but alas the world was an imperfect place and these types of tribulations Ambrose had to suffer in stewing silence.
"I need a more money. I'm running low and the everyday coin filching isn't enough anymore. At least not enough to get me to where I'm going" He said simply, fastening the last button on his shirt, he shook his hair out of his face and looked at Elizabeth impassively. She stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, tapping her long fingers against her thin lips.
"And where is it that you plan on going Ambrose?" Elizabeth asked in what she tried to pass off as a nonchalant tone but the curious, borderline possessive glint Ambrose saw in her eye told him that she wasn't asking out of mere curiosity so much as cultivating information.
"That is of no concern to you, my lady" Ambrose said a tone of sarcasm at the proper address of the woman was poorly hidden, in fact Ambrose didn't even bother trying to hide the contempt of the woman, using the term of description very loosely, standing in front of him. She shrugged the slight off, seemingly unfazed she continued on with the conversation.
"A new heist? You've spent all your hard earned wages giving to every groveling scrap of flesh you pass on the streets have you?" she asked playfully, standing up from the bed as well, the sheet falling away. Ambrose averted his eyes, not out of courtesy but instead disgust.
"What I do with my money is also no concern for you to have, I give you your commission for the information I acquire and the rest I spend at my leisure" he said curtly, the coldness in his voice was like knives. He saw Elizabeth drawback slightly, just a moment of hesitation before she walked across the room and grabbed the silk robe that was hanging across the back of the bed's headboard.
"Well there is a new shipment of antiques being delivered to Jones and Burke's this evening at midnight. Jewelry, furniture, and many other treasures all rumored to be reserved for the royal family's first pick." Elizabeth said as she tied the robe closed and walked her way up to Ambrose's side, placing a hand on his arm. "They won't be there until tomorrow at midnight so you can stay…" Elizabeth said suggestively as her hands crept to his chest, tugging at the buttons once more. Ambrose grabbed her hands, pulling them from him firmly as he kept his face coolly expressionless. Disgust threatening to make his very skin crawl off his bones, his arms covered in goose flesh.
"No thank you." He said and made a step towards the door thinking that he was home free, but the candle light glinted gold off of the rings on his left hand and without warning Elizabeth caught his hand with a strangled gasp.
"You still wear these? Why! Take them off, she's gone Ambrose, you have me now. Take them off!" she screamed, pulling savagely at the golden bands around his finger. Ambrose hardly ever got angry, he never felt anything as passionate as anger anymore, but the sight of Elizabeth touching the rings on his hand enraged him. Quickly he grabbed both of her hands, holding them painfully tight, he stared at her coldly. She met his stare defiantly despite the sight of his tightly clenched jaw and the anger simmering in his eyes.
"Don't." he said the one word with all the finality of a clap of thunder or the shattering of a mirror, unmistakable.
"You're living in the past Ambrose, I could be…" Elizabeth cried but Ambrose cut her off with a curt reply.
"You can't be! You never could!" He roared and flung her away, passing from her Ambrose was seeing the room bathed in red and realizing he was seeing nothing. He turned back to Elizabeth and saw the tears rushing down her face, the wistful tears of a woman scorned and despite himself Ambrose felt the anger be replaced with shame. He may have been a common thief but there was still a part of him that would never harm a woman, the fact that he had just raised his voice against one was beyond deplorable.
"I can't give you was you are after, what you are looking for in me doesn't exist." He said quietly in an attempt to make up for his harsh tone only moments ago, his eyes were dull, they betrayed none of the pain that he felt in his chest. Ambrose knew those things had existed, but by now it seemed like a different world, a different life that was far removed from the one he was living now. Without another look at Elizabeth he turned and headed for the door, this time she didn't try to stop him.
"I expect half of the cut from this excursion Ambrose." Elizabeth said, her voice tight with an edge to it. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned he thought wincing with a sudden sense of apprehensive, not for himself but for the little boy he had sent from the home just hours ago, James. He was sure that Elizabeth would take out her wrath from is rejection on the next poor creature that crossed her path, Ambrose knew her tendencies from his own experiences as a child; growing up in this house was a hell all its own. Ambrose prayed that the boy was not the first to cross Elizabeth's path.
"I expected nothing less, my lady." He said resigned and with that opened the door and stepped out into the hall way letting the door close, cutting off the soft sobs that were floating from the room and then he was gone, down the hall and out of the house with no thoughts of looking back.
Elizabeth had been right about one thing; Ambrose couldn't pull off the heist for at least another day and with dusk already settling in the sky and exhaustion clouding his mind, there was nothing more he could do but return home and prepare for his excursion tomorrow. Shrugging his shoulder Ambrose cracked his knuckles and headed off down then slick and foggy streets disappearing in the gloom of the impending night.
"Ambrose…where did you go?" The serene phantom like voice called out forcing Ambrose to open his eyes. He found himself walking the length of a candle lit hallway. It was filled with doors, looked and imposing with one door at the end of the hall, cracked slightly, just enough for a sliver of light to break free into the hallway serving as a beacon. His heart beat was leaping madly in his throat but his feet refused to move faster than the slow steps that dragged him further down the hall. All Ambrose knew was that he needed to get to that door no matter what. It felt as though his life depended on it… or maybe someone else's.
"Ambrose, please come back." The voice called out once more, it was a woman's cry and the sound of it almost wrenched his heart out of his chest. I'm coming! He opened his mouth the answer back but his voice was trapped, held hostage in his throat almost choking him. The familiarity of the call teased Ambrose's memory, faintly forming the visage of a person in the back of Ambrose's mind but their face remained hidden, clouded in confusion and uncertainty.
"Ambrose." The sound was growing fainter the close Ambrose got, and suddenly it seemed as though he were making no more progress, stuck in the perpetual motion of walking while gaining no ground.
"Wait! Please wait!" he finally cried out but the hall was already growing fuzzy, fading like the chalk drawn portraits in the midst of a thunderstorm. Slowly but surely the picture would soon be washed away, the slate cleaned. It felt as though Ambrose was in a lake, treading water desperately, but only making himself drown faster. Desperation pushed his heart into his mouth, the blood rushing in his ear.
"AMBROSE!" The scream pierced the air.
"WAIT!" Ambrose screamed, jolting straight up. The sheen of cold sweat cover his bare chest as he tried to catch the breath that had escaped his lungs. The echo of the ghost scream rang in his ears, louder than his own heartbeat. Gasping he rubbed his face with both hands, trying to shake off the rising nausea.
"Damn it!" He roared picking up and flinging the drinking glass sitting on the rickety bed side table across the room. He watched it shatter into a million pieces, the shards scattering across the scratched wooden floor. He sat there for a moment, waiting until he could finally stand the pace of his own heartbeat. Finally when he could hear something other than the pulsing of his own heart in his ears he whipped the tatter sheet off of himself and threw on his clothes, trying to shake the last remnants of the dream from his thoughts. He looked to the window of the tiny cage like apartment, the sky was alight with the pale sun as it crossed high into the sky.
"Noon already." He whispered to himself pulling on his coat, h had time to kill and he knew just what to do. He walked across the floor, his boots crushing the glass underfoot into fine powder. Grabbing hold of the handle he threw the door open almost walking straight into an old crone of a woman, the land lady.
"You're rent is due sir, pay now or leave now it is your choice." She crooned, her voice creaked like an old house in the wind. She repulsed Ambrose any other time, but today Ambrose felt different, the prospect of what was to come today thrilled Ambrose's otherwise steady heart. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the coin purse he had stolen from the gentleman the other night and handed it all to the woman. Shocked the woman looked at the purse dumbfounded.
"But sir, this is too much." She protested half-heartedly.
"Keep it, I won't be coming back." He said determinedly and pushed himself past the old woman rushing down the steep steps taking them two at a time, Ambrose headed for London's streets once more.
The sun was stretching itself across the sky, but none of its fiery warmth made its way down to these lowly London streets. Ambrose hunched his shoulders and dug his hands deep into his pockets as he made his way down the street, his fingers once more bust at work, twirling the rings around and around, comforting him slightly Ambrose headed towards the only place in London where he could find even a sense of belonging. The trees of the nearby offered a dense shaded canopy that covered the walkway leading into the park. Ambrose always paused to take in the marvel of the leafy tunnel that had somehow grown out of the decrepit crumbling world around it.
As he made his way into the tunnel he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the moist air that surrounded him, it felt like he was in a forest, a refreshing change from the usual stale smoke filled smog that had seemed to have permanently settled over London. This was Ambrose's oasis in the brick and steel desert that was London, and it held the only company that Ambrose very sought. He made his way deeper into the park until he came upon a bench where an old man was sitting, the only person to be found in the park. He was bundled up with a coat, a pair of ratty old mittens on his hands, and a patched blanket covering his thin legs. On his head he wore a midnight black top hat with a blood red rose tucked within the sash tied around it. The man sat still, his wiry white hair swaying in the breeze beneath his hat. The faint sound of humming filled the air as Ambrose drew closer.
"Ah, Kingsford, I was wondering if you'd be coming by this evening." The old man called out before Ambrose had even said anything, turning his head and training his milky white eyes on Ambrose as though he could see him; the old man was blind.
"How did you know it was me Mr. Smith?" a hint of a smile crossed Ambrose's face as the man held is hand out towards him, just as he did every day, and waited until Ambrose deposited a fresh loaf o bread into the old man's aged palm.
"Because I can smell you, along with that thick moldy flower of a perfume that god awful woman wears. What favor has she granted you this time m'boy?" Mr. Smith asked with a toothless grin as he broke the bread into pieces, handing one to Ambrose. Ambrose stopped, taking a moment to sniff the clothes that he had worn last night, the only thing he had to weat at all. There was a faint trace of the Elizabeth's perfume lingering on the lapel of his tattered jacket.
"Just another heist, I'm hoping this one will get me out of this god forsaken pit." Ambrose said contemptuously as he accepted the offered bread, taking his customary place next to Mr. Smith on the old bench.
"Oh Ambrose you think God has forsaken you, not London, you're not considerate enough to include the whole of London in your complaining." Smith joked in a nonchalant manner and bit into his bread. Ambrose sat quietly for a moment as he considered Smith's words, was he right? Was that how he saw the world now, as just a toy that God played with, a game that he could break at any moment? Ambrose shrugged, conceding to Smith's words.
"Regardless, I want something better, there has to be something better out there away from here. I need things to be different." Ambrose spoke to his feet as he thought of what his life would be like away from the dark streets of London; away from the memories that haunted his every step.
"Are you looking for something different or something better?" Smith mused curiously, his tone level, but Ambrose had known Smith long enough to hear the slight hitch in his voice.
"I don't see the difference between the two. I'd take anything over this." Ambrose responded with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.
"Be careful what you wish for m'boy, you might just get it." he said ominously, but before Ambrose could say anything a gust of wind buffeted the two, snatching Smith's hat from his head and sending it skidding across the walk way. Ambrose leapt to his feet, rushing after the runaway top hat before it was whisked away completely by the turbulent winds. He returned to the bench with a small laugh as he dusted off the top of the hat.
"Fickle things aren't they?" Smith said quietly as he titled his head back, basking in the waning sunlight, his wrinkled face stretching and refolding itself back into a carefree smile.
"What's that?" Ambrose asked curiously as he twirled the brim of Smith's hat around his finger causally.
"The winds," Smith replied, eyes still closed. "They move so restlessly so free, blowing away the old, bringing new life with them, new changes. Do you feel that Ambrose?" Ambrose raised himself up from the bench once more and crouched down in front of Smith, placing a comforting hand on the old man's knee.
"Feel what Smith?" Ambrose asked humoring the old man, Ambrose knew how much Smith loved his riddles and poetry, he remembered the many evenings the two of them had spent on this same bench as Smith recanted stories and recited his own poems.
"Change my dear boy, the winds of change." Smith said with a giddy laugh, clapping Ambrose's shoulder with his withered hands, his sightless eyes gazing at something only he could see. Patting smith's knee Ambrose stood.
"I think you're right Smith, things are about to change tonight." Ambrose said, and for the first time in years he felt the faint flutter of hope stir in his chest. Looking up into the sky Ambrose noted the falling sun. "I'd better get on with it Smith, 'fore I lose my chance."
"Aye that you should son, that you should, but can I ask you one thing m'boy?" Smith spoke quietly taking Ambrose's arm with a steady grip. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?" For a moment Ambrose just starred at the old man thoroughly perplexed before the two of them began to laugh, heartily, at each other for a decent couple of minutes. Wiping his eyes Ambrose patted Smith's shoulder affectionately.
"I'll be seeing you, old friend." He said trying to leave the top hat on Smith's lap but he wouldn't accept it.
"Keep it, think of it as the start of your change." He said with a sad smile. Compliant but curious Ambrose placed the old hat on his head and, for a brief moment, felt as though he had been struck by lightning in the briefest of moments. The energy was coursing through him, making the tips of his fingers tingle and go numb.
"Very becoming, it suits you." Smith murmured almost inaudible as Ambrose nodded and turned away looking at his fingers oddly, not noticing the curiosity of a blind man commenting on the appearance of another man. Just as he was about to leave the park Ambrose turned to wave goodbye to the old man whom he had spent countless hours telling him numerous stories for almost all of his life, but when he looked at the familiar old bench; it was empty. Smith was gone, leaving nothing behind but the wind to mourn his absence.