3

It appeared as though an unseen cage had closed in on Eleanor in the little square where she had stopped. A warped shadow was cast across the shining cobblestones by the dried-up fountain in the middle with its eroded sculptures reduced to blurry shapes by the low light. It appeared as though the buildings around it their facades blackened by years of neglect and soot were leaning toward her their boarded-up windows suggesting eyes. Along with a subtle hint of decay that came from the gutters the air was heavy with the smell of damp stone and sea salt. Following the overwhelming feeling that she was being followed Eleanor lay still still attempting to quiet her racing heart. She wanted to convince herself that it was nothing that it was just a shadow a trick of the light or an unreasonable fear brought on by her fathers tales. However a few meters ahead of her a figure appeared out of a recess shattering the nights quiet like a thunderclap before she could continue walking. In addition to being broad-shouldered and stocky the man who blocked her path had a stooped posture that suggested both chronic fatigue and brute strength. His face illuminated by the faint glow of a dying streetlamp bore the scars of years of hard life: a scruffy beard covered a square chin and scars lined his left cheek. His deep-set small eyes gleamed with a sinister gleam akin to that of a predator who has snagged easy prey. In addition to threadbare pants that hung loosely on his thick legs he wore a patched canvas jacket that was smeared with mud and other materials Eleanor declined to name. However the knife in his right hand immediately drew her attention. It had a rusty jagged blade and the edge appeared to have been dulled by unsavory use. The streetlamps flickering light danced across the steel creating ominous reflections on the cobblestones. Eleanor felt her breath catch in her throat as though her windpipe had been sealed off by an unseen hand. Her back struck the edge of the fountain behind her as she took an automatic step backward her boots slipping a little on a puddle. She snapped back to reality when she felt the icy touch of stone through her shawl. Since she had nowhere else to go but to turn her back on this man the thought of giving him a chance made her even more nervous. Her eyes darted around the square in a flash looking for a way out—a side alley a door that was half-open anything—but the shadows seemed to work against her making every corner more dangerous than the one before. As though he had spent the evening shouting in a tavern before coming here the man growled his voice hoarse and raspy Give me your bag or Ill cut you good and deep pretty girl. . His words were accompanied by a smell of foul breath a concoction of cheap alcohol and something more acrid possibly dirty hands or spoiled fish. Despite feeling her stomach turn Eleanor kept her mouth shut and refrained from screaming or whimpering to show her fear. In a pointless but natural gesture she held her velvet bag tightly to her chest as though the fabric would shield her from the blade glinting in her assailants hand. I. . . I have nothing of value she answered her voice shaking even as she tried to steady it. She didnt like the trembling and the weakness in her voice but her body seemed to be doing things without her consent. But she still raised her chin and looked directly into the mans eyes which was both defiant and desperate. Please allow me to pass. She hoped that her politeness no matter how fake would help to defuse the situation but she knew deep down that this man wasnt the kind to be won over by pleading. 

A guttural sound that sounded like an animal growl reverberated through the humid air as he snorted. Nothing worthwhile huh? Well check on that. He stepped forward his knife swinging slightly in his hand as though he was pondering whether to use it right away or to extend this terrifying moment. A chill of disgust colder than fear swept through Eleanor as his eyes swept her up and down in a look that was anything but subtle. He was pursuing more than just her bag she realized at that moment there was a darker side to his face a greed that went beyond simple theft. With her fingers searching for the edge of the fountain behind her she took another step back hoping to find something—a foothold an improvised weapon anything. Her mind was racing trying to find an answer a way out. The taverns were too far away and the people living in the nearby tenements had most likely learned to keep their windows closed and their ears shut to the sounds of the night so she considered screaming but who would hear her in this desolate area of the Bowery at this hour? She could try running but her bulky skirts and low-heeled ankle boots were more appropriate for a walk than a last-ditch escape. And then there was that knife—a blade that could instantly cause a fatal wound even if it was rusty. Despite the chilly wind that blew across the square she felt a cold sweat appear on her forehead. By taking another step the man reduced the distance between them to less than three meters. He cocked his head slightly a gloomy smile pulling at his dry lips. I think youre a really well-behaved young woman. If you dont have any change you might have something else to offer. His strongly implied remarks struck Eleanor like a physical blow. She experienced a wave of nausea along with a dull anger and indignation that gave her back some of her courage. At this time she was not a victim. She insisted on not being. This time her voice was firmer but still tinged with fear as she yelled Keep away from me!. She frantically searched his mind for anything that would cause him to hesitate such as a threat or a lie. My father is a powerful man! He will have you prosecuted and hanged if you touch me! was a half-truth. Only a modest scholar Theodore Blake was more at ease in his books than in the halls of power but he knew judges attorneys and other people with whom he had collaborated on his research. This man might be sufficiently frightened by that. However the assailant appeared unimpressed. A dry laugh more akin to a bark than a joyful expression erupted from him. Your father huh? I dont see a father here sweetie. Its just you me and my little buddy. To add emphasis he waved his knife causing the blade to flash with a threatening gleam. Subsequently he abruptly advanced almost bringing them closer together. As Eleanors legs refused to move in spite of the desperate order her brain was screaming at them she felt her heart briefly stop. When he raised his weapon ready to strike—or perhaps just intimidate her further she couldnt tell—she opened her mouth to scream but the sound died in her throat. All she knew was that there was no way out of the danger which was real and tangible. In an attempt to combat the terror that was gripping her she clenched her fingers on her bag and dug her fingernails into the velvet. Out of instinct she closed her eyes for a brief moment anticipating what would happen. However the inevitable didnt materialize. No not yet.