Victorian London. The air was barley breathable and thick with smog. Life was hard for everyone but especially young Myrtle; she and her brother live in a run down orphanage where she is hated by the majority of its inhabitance, she has struggled her way through her life orphan but it was about to get harder. Thieves. Rich. Poor. Hate. Love. Death. Her life had been turned upside down by one man...


2. The Night Crawler

Constantly checking his watch, Patrick hurtled down the dingy backstreets of the EastEnd. Pigeons scattered as he ran through flocks of them and rats squealed and retreated as he nearly tread on them. He ran out into the main street and almost got run over by a passing cab. The horses whinnied and the driver shouted curses after him. Ignoring the commotion he was causing he continued to run. He spotted his destination and burst inside. 

The Fox and Anchor pub grew quiet as Patrick entered, out of breath. It was dark inside though it was the almost the middle of the day. Drunken men hissed when the door opened as if they were vampires. Dirty tables were covered in empty glasses, Patrick quickly deciphered that these glasses were surely never washed by the state they were in. Broken glass covered the wooden floor like a carpet and darts poked out of the floor. Men with bloody noses snarled as Patrick entered. Treading carefully, Patrick wandered over to the bar, the bartender greeted him, "Patrick, son, how are you? How's ya girl? Wanna pint, on the house?" He winked. All the men in the pub had their eyes on him. "I'm good, Ginny's good and nah... I'm here on business." The bartender nodded and pointed at a door that led to a private room. 

Patrick nodded and shuffled over to the door, "Carry on gentlemen!" Patrick shouted as he slowly twisted the bronze door handle and took a deep breath. He pushed the door open. It was pitch black in here, he could barley see his hand in front of his face. While his eyes adjusted he said, trying to sound confident and unafraid, "Hello... Mister, I'm Patrick Henrys, I'm here about-"  
"Yes, yes, I know why your here, its about the job," he snapped, "Apparently your the best in these parts. Next to me obliviously, actually I'm the best in London. " the man boasted. Bewildered by the calm boyish tone of his client, he fumbled in his pocket for some matches. Patrick had heard rumours of a thief, a brilliant thief; could his mystery client be this man? This man was never seen, in the profession he was know as The Shadow or The Night Crawler.

Patrick had admired this man, his skill, his strength, his courage but feared him. Shaking, he scraped a match down the side of the box, "Scared of the dark?" His client fiendishly cackled, "Thieves should thrive in it... flower in it." Failing, he frustratedly threw the match to the floor and attempted again. The match lit. It revealed a young man (a similar age to him) with multiple scars and stress lines etched on his forehead. The mysterious man had thick fair hair with lots of split ends. He looked much older than he was; the typical thief. The Shadow covered his face, not wanting to be seen and blew the match out, plunging them back into darkness. Patrick gulped and asked, "What's the pay?" His boss coughed and chuckled evilly, "I haven't given you the run down yet. It's a complex situation. Dangerous. First and foremost, do you have an accomplice or an aid?" 
"No, I work alone and I prefer not to have a partner to get in my way," Patrick stated proudly, raising his head and upturning his nose. 
"Don't sound so cocky. You must have a partner to do my job," his client snapped. Irritated by his own incompetence, Patrick sighed and scratched his head. He had always been alone and liked it that way. No one in the EastEnd in their right mind would agree to help him, to work for The Night Crawler, they would be too afraid. It was quiet, the sounds of the rowdy pub seemed miles away. After minutes of contemplation, Patrick lied, "I've got good contacts, I can find a man by Friday." 
A smile spread across his clients face, his teeth glinting in the darkness, "Woman."
"What? Did I mishear you, I thought you said woman?" 
His client sighed and cracked his knuckles loudly, "I said woman, this task requires a female." Patrick racked his brain, desperately thinking of some girls that would be willing to risk imprisonment or an even worse punishment. He thought of the girls in the orphanage. First he thought of Ginny, but he didn't want to endanger her so he blurted out another name, "Myrtle." 
The Shadow grunted, "You have 'till Friday. I will send you the rest of the information. If ya don't contact me by then... I will ruin you. Leave now." As Patrick walked out the door he was hitting himself, Myrtle would never risk all that, especially since she would have to leave soon and support both herself and her brother. "Idiot," he muttered under his breath.

Brooding, Patrick dawdled over to the bar. All eyes were on him, "Pint please." The bartender nodded and busied himself. Everyone began shouting again. A drunken man hobbled over to the bar and blurted, "Me too!" The man sat himself next to Patrick and put his head on his shoulder, drooling. The man said something but his words were slurred so it was impossible to understand him. A beer was placed in front of them both. Patrick stared at it, still in deep thought. The drunk hobbled away, sloshing his beer all over himself. "What that weirdo want? He's creepy. He came in all in black, even his face covered," The bartender interrupted. Patrick took a swig of the pint and leaned in, "Can't tell ya Harry," He put his finger on his lips. He placed a couple of coins on the bar and walked out leaving half a pint in the glass. 

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