The First One

A smallish crowd had gathered around George Yard where the murder had occurred. Murders was common enough, but the nature of this particular event was what the fuss was about. Loki had been running an errand when he heard the ruckus, and stopped to discover the nature of the commotion.

"Well, Mr. Odinson, looks like a pretty gruesome one," said the constable.

"Indeed. A domestic?"

"Don't appear to be."

"No?" he looked over the heads of the onlookers, an easy enough feat, given his height. At six foot two, Loki was practically a giant in London…most men were barely five eight.

"Nah. Dunno what it is. But she was stabbed forty times."

"Forty…?" he breathed.

"Certain enough. Martha. Took to the streets for her doss."

He nodded. Many in the neighborhood sold themeless for a daily bed. "Well. That is a pity," Loki remarked. "Hope you get it all sorted."

"G'day then, govna."

And he left. He didn't think much of what had transpired. He knew Martha from George Yard. Her man was quick to temper, so he assumed that she had set him off, and he, unable to control himself, snuffed her out.

Evidently, he was mistaken.

But forty times…

The bell to Asgard rang as he returned from the market. "Fandral!" he called out. "Where on earth is that git?" Loki went to the back of the shop, and found the git in question sitting eating something…"So good to see you minding the shop you are paid to see to, my man. It sets my mind at ease that you take your job so seriously."

"Oh, Loki. Calm yourself," he stood and went back to the front. "I heard ye arrive. There's a bell, for god's sake."

Loki smirked to indicate that he wasn't that cross, but not enough to suggest he wasn't angry at all. He began unwrapping the goods from the market. "Have you heard, Fandral, about poor Martha of George Yard?"

"What? The drunkard with the crack husband?"

"The very person. She was found in the early hours, stabbed, forty times."

Fandral looked at him, disbelieving. "I…"

"Shocking, no?"

"Was it…?"

"That poor sod she was living with? The police don't seem to think so," and Loki took a bite of bread and handed the rest to Fandral.

He was shaking his head. "Just awful."

Loki seemed to be struck with an idea. "You know, as merchants in the neighborhood, I really should check on everyone. Form a supportive alliance in such a troublesome time…"

Fandral rolled his eyes. "Just go."

"I don't know what you mean," he smiled.

"It seems to me that a visit to the apothecary will set your mind at ease, Loki."

"You know, Fandral," he was putting on his cap. "Don't ever allow me to insult your intelligence. You are remarkably bright," he smirked. "Be certain to lock up, my man. I think that I'll not be returning after my visit."

He left the shop.

"Oh, yes. There is a crying need for books in Whitechapel. They'll be sitting just outside to pillage the place…"

…and the clock ticking in the corner was the only discernible sound.

Jane had just sent Mrs. Jameson away with some soothers and tea. Interestingly, or rather, concernedly, there had been quite a few more people in the shop expressing fear and horror at the murder.

Murder was, unfortunately, not an uncommon occurrence in the city. Jane had seen and known enough that in many ways she couldn't offer more than an "I'm terribly sorry" and be on her way. But there was something about this murder that was different. Something…sinister…

She had discovered that Martha had been stabbed thirty nine times. Her clothes had been hiked up, but no rape had occurred…Jane knew that Martha had occasionally resorted to prostitution to make ends meet, so there was nothing terribly shocking about that. Many women had to.

Thank heavens she wasn't one of them.

It was a sad story for many women in Whitechapel and surrounding areas. They lived day to day uncertain of where they would be sleeping that night…if they would have a bed, or if they'd be wandering the streets.

Jane sighed. She had a bed. A home…a steady job. She began to sweep the floor…

And the bell rang.

"Good to see you addressing the sorry state of your shop, Jane."

She rolled her eyes. She rather thought that she never rolled her eyes except when in Loki's company. She turned toward him. "When I said that we could continue our discussion later, I rather meant next week sometime," and she went to the back to put the broom and such away.

"Oh, Jane. You'd miss me," he sat at the window once more. "I am come to make certain that you are well, considering that such violence was committed so near to this place."

Jane emerged from the back with a sad look on her face. She leaned against the door jam, crossed her arms in front of her. "It's just awful, Loki. Everyone is so frightened."

"Everyone?"

"The women."

"That's hardly everyone," he responded, crossing his legs.

"You know what I mean," and she walked over and sat on the chair opposite him, on the other side of the shop. "The police know nothing. It wasn't domestic. It was so violent…" she ended in a hush.

"Indeed," he swallowed. "Jane, are you taking precautions? Perhaps having a man walk you home in the evening?"

"A man…?" she looked at him quizzically.

"I could offer such a service…being a man…" he smiled.

"Oh please. I'd be better with a knife of my own," she stood and went to the door, opening it. She longed for fresh air…she opened the door to the shop to no avail a few times a day. Even in the winter…but no freshness was to be enjoyed.

"I much prefer you without any knife, Jane," there was a smile in his voice.

She turned to see his smug expression. "You are a swine."

He stood. "In all seriousness, though, Jane. What says your father?"

"I do not know…I've been attending to nervous patients all day."

"Well. I do think that someone should walk with you."

"Loki…"

"What? What possible harm could come of this?"

She smiled. She had thought to close up early that day. The place had been quite busy and she was eager to get home to her father. "Oh all right," and she went about closing up the shop. "Ready?" she smiled.

"As ever," and he closed and locked the door behind them.

They began to walk toward her home about a ten minute journey from Spitalfields to Algate.

Jane was deep in thought…

"It is a bit more than a pity that women must always suffer at the hands of violent men," she observed after a moment.

"It may not have been a man, you know."

She looked at him crookedly. "Of course it was a man."

"How very narrow minded, Jane."

"You aren't serious," she laughed.

"What? There are many possibilities which exist in this world. A woman committing hideous murder is only one of them."

Jane shook her head, but smiled. Then she swallowed, and looked down at the road again. "I had seen her, you know…"

"She had been seen by many, I'd venture."

She ignored this. "Only last week I had said good morning to her…"

"You wish dozens of people a good morning every day," he muttered.

"I never really spoke to her, though…" she continued. "Not really. I wish that I would have; now that it is too late."

"What is your point, Jane?" Loki asked as they turned her corner.

"My point, Loki…" she said with emphasis. "Is that she was a person. A person who, only twenty four hours ago was alive. And now she is dead…and she died in a most awful, horrific fashion. And what will the police do to discover the villain? Nothing. They will hold some interviews, and an inquest…and she will fade into obscurity," they were at her house now. She faced Loki. "But she was a person. A person. And now she is a corpse."

"Now, Jane. People die every day. Sometimes they are old, and it is expected, sometimes it is a great shock and everything is very sad. But we work in an area which unfortunately holds much violence, and murder is a common enough occurrence."

"That doesn't make it right, you know."

"Right and wrong are relative terms. Is it wrong for a pauper to steal some bread to feed his starving family? It is to the shop owner whose livelihood depends on receiving funds for that bread."

"Humph," Jane grunted. "We are talking about vicious murder, Loki. You are talking about some bread."

"But perhaps…" and he leaned against the wall of her building. "Perhaps the baker decides to press charges on our hypothetical thief, and the police arrest him…however unlikely that particular event is…and they throw him in the cells…and his family, unable to feed themselves, starve to death. Is that murder? Inadvertently, of course," and he smiled.

"Good lord, Loki. You are something. Now you are going to tell me that the fiend wanted to feed poor Martha's flesh to his dying dogs and who are we to judge the value of a loyal dog to a worthless drunk?"

He tapped her nose, she smacked it away. "You read my mind," he returned. "How is Dr. Foster, by the bye?"

"Father is well enough," she looked at the door. She should be going in.

"Only well enough?"

"He longs to work, but there is simply no way for him to comfortably do so. He mumbles and moans…sometimes I think that we need someone other than Darcy in to help."

"Oh yes…you hired someone. How is she?"

"She's all right. She comes in every day for a couple of hours. Keeps her off the streets, at least."

"For toppens, I'm certain," he nodded. No answer. "Jane?"

"Bit more, then," she said. "What?"

"You aren't wealthy, Jane. Best watch your funds."

"I'll thank ye to mind your own business when it comes to my personal funds," she said with heat. "Well. I should be getting in."

"No offense meant, you know."

She nodded. "Of course," she began to ascend the stairs. "I'll be seeing you next week, then?"

"Oh…in the morning, I imagine…" he began to walk away.

"It'll be dreadful lonesome without your company all week, Loki!" she called after him.

"We can continue this riveting discussion in the morning. I'll bring you some bread!" as he walked away.

"Just be sure you don't nick it and cause some poor family to starve to death! I couldn't live with myself if you died in a cell!" she paused. "…on second thought….bread sounds lovely!" and she opened the door.

"You wouldn't know what to do with yourself, Miss Foster!" and he rounded the corner.

Jane went inside, took her hat and wrap off, and placed them on the small table in the hall. "Father?" she called.

"In here, child," his voice came from the sitting room.

She went in and pecked his cheek. He looked so pallid…"Have you eaten supper?"

"I have. There's some beef and potatoes on the stove…I think that the girl left some beans."

She smiled and went to the kitchen. "How was your day, father?" the small iron stove was still warm, Darcy must have left within the hour; it was early yet, so that was likely.

"Very good, Jane. Did you hear about poor Martha?" he called.

She winced. She had hoped that he would be spared that knowledge…but Darcy was a gossip. She should have known better. "I did," she sat next to him by the fire and tasted the salty beef. At least Darcy could cook. "Just awful."

"Truly. Be careful Jane. That took place so close to the shop."

"I know I know," she smiled. Then, a moment later, "Father…do you think it's possible that a woman did that terrible thing?"

"Not at all."

"No. And the police are so useless…they care for this part of London as much as her Majesty."

"Mind what you say, Jane. She is your Queen."

Jane shrugged. "What if someone else began to look into it?"

"Someone else?"

"Someone besides the police."

"Whom did you have in mind?"

Jane smiled. "Well…Mr Odinson…"

"If you mean Loki, Jane…he is rather useless. I know his father, and the stories I could tell…"

"He isn't useless! He's actually fairly smart. He's just…a bit lost."

"And you think that you can direct him?" he pulled the throw closer around him, feeling the chill of night descending.

"No. But maybe if he had a purpose…"

"To protect the slums of eastern London?" he laughed.

"No. To help me catch a villain."