Sorry it took months for me to update this, this chapter is mostly in game dialogue to push the story along a bit and I just got bored writing it out so it took ages 💀
Jonathan’s footsteps were cautious as he took in the scene of the—quaint?—pub. The dimly lit space was sparsely occupied, its patrons barely sparing him a glance before returning to their own business, just as the man had said they would.
Slightly reassuring, he supposed. But then, another thought quickly shattered that sense of ease.
What was he supposed to do now?
He barely knew where he was, had nothing on him except a pocket watch and a syringe—not exactly items he could brandish in public—and now, he was essentially alone.
And those blood splatters outside weren’t doing much to calm his already frayed nerves.
"Whoa you look like shit."
Jonathan’s attention snapped toward the man leaning against the counter—the same drunk he had noted earlier, possibly a dockworker.
"Yes...I apologise for my outfit. It's been a long night."
He had bigger things to worry about than his appearance, but that didn't stop the flush of shame he felt at being perceived in such a state.
The drunkard scoffed, though there was a note of agreement in it.
"Where is everyone? It's like everyone is hiding."
"You must be new here...Haven't you heard about the murders? Everyone fears the Sewer Dog."
Murders? Sewer Dog? Jonathan couldn't decide whether there was any sense in what the man was saying or if he was just entertaining a drunk man's imagination. But then again—what had made sense tonight?
"The Sewer Dog? What is that?"
He’d bite—better to entertain the idea than ignore something that might actually be relevant.
"It's the local boogeyman. The convenient answer for every crime that happened for decades. You murdered someone? Blame the Sewer Dog, hah!"
He continued, his words getting more and more blended together as he spoke and swayed on his feet.
"Pah! People will always believe in monsters...it's easier than accepting their own darkness. We can all be monsters."
Jonathan wondered how much of that was true.
"Have you seen anyone come through here tonight, sir?"
Maybe there was a reason for all the blood outside—one that wasn’t just a drunken tale of a boogeyman.
"Can't say, sorry. Spent the night makin' love to that gorgeous bottle, see?"
"This is important, sir. Are you sure no one has come in here in the last few hours?"
If anyone had been here all day, Jonathan would wager it was this man.
"I don't know and I don't care! This is a free country, people still have the right to come and go, don't they?"
The gent was clearly getting annoyed. Best to leave him be, at least for now.
Jonathan doubted he'd get anything more coherent out of him tonight anyway.
He stepped away, glancing around the dimly lit pub. His eyes landed on a young woman on the other side of the pub, sweeping the floor—the barmaid, he surmised. She moved quickly, with a practiced motion, though her gaze flickered toward him now and then, wary but not hostile.
He approached, keeping his movements measured. She stopped sweeping as soon as she caught sight of him coming over.
"Hello, sir. Are you all right? Is there any way I can help you?"
"I don't know, maybe you could just... talk to me?"
"Maybe you'd prefer to speak to Tom, then. He's more agreeable talking to strangers." She's uncomfortable, clearly.
"I just want to talk. I didn't mean to scare you."
The barmaid straightened, easing her tight grip on the broom a bit before meeting his gaze.
"I'm not afraid, sir. It's just... I've other customers to take care of."
Jonathan glanced around the near-empty pub. The only other notable patron was the drunk he'd just spoken to.
"I only see one customer."
"Oh yes, of course. I mean...I must take care of this customer."
"You don't seem to have much business. Where is everybody?"
She hesitated, then sighed.
"Most people are sleeping right now. And those that are awake tend to avoid going out."
Her voice carried a quiet tension, a kind of forced normalcy layered over deeper worry.
Jonathan nodded slightly, taking in her words. It made sense—the streets weren’t exactly welcoming tonight.
"This is Tom's bar, the Turquoise Turtle. I'm the barmaid here, Sabrina, if you wanna know."
Jonathan inclined his head in acknowledgment. "And you keep the place running, I take it?"
She gave a small, tight-lipped smile. "Tom does most of the running. I just keep the drinks flowing and the place tidy. Well, as much as I can anyway."
Her attempt at casual conversation was thinly veiled, but Jonathan didn’t press. Instead, he leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice.
"Has it always been this quiet?"
"No, it's only since the epidemic started. Tom thought that people may need a safe place to stay."
Jonathan’s expression darkened.
"What have you heard about the epidemic?"
"The Spanish Flu, yeah..." She exhaled. "Killed so many last summer. I thought we'd seen the last of it. Dozens dying every week."
"Are the authorities doing anything about it?"
"Nothing... There are so many quarantine zones in London now, it's got really hard to travel across town."
Jonathan could believe that. Even getting here had been...eventful.
But it wasn’t just the flu that troubled these people. He could sense the weight in her voice, the unease just beneath the surface.
"Too many dead, sir," she murmured after a pause. "First the epidemic, and now all these terrible murders."
Jonathan stiffened slightly. So it wasn't just some drunk's delusions, there was some truth to it.
Sabrina nodded grimly, voice lowering as if speaking the words aloud might summon something worse.
"Bodies found in the streets every morning. Drained of blood, it's just horrible."
His fingers curled slightly on the counter. Drained of blood.
"Some say the Sewer Dog is back."
Jonathan met her gaze, searching for any trace of doubt. There was none—only fear.
"The Sewer Dog? What is that?"
"No one knows," she admitted. "People have always disappeared around these parts. The ancients say it's the Sewer Dog coming out to feed. But now he's killing in the streets."
Jonathan let the words settle, his mind racing. A local legend? Or something else entirely?
He needed to learn more. And he had a feeling someone knew something.
"I'll leave you to your work then. Thank you."
Suppose there was only one more person to talk to. He approached the man behind the counter—this must be Tom.
"My God, sir! You look like Jonah's whale just spat you out of hell! Can I get you a drink?"
Drinking was certainly the last thing on his mind right now.
"No...No, I'm not thirsty."
"Well, grab a chair and get some rest. This is going to be another long night." Tom said with a resigned sigh.
"Why is it going to be another long night?"
"You must be new around here. Don't you know about the murders?"
Finally, his 'acquaintance' from earlier seemed sure that Tom knew a lot of what went on around here and about the sorts of people that came in here—he has to know something, surely.
"Tell me about these murders."
"Every morning for the last few weeks, bodies have been found, and those poor sods didn't die of the flu."
He seems so sure it's homicide, even with the daily growing Influenza death rate.
"Do the authorities have any leads on a suspect?"
"Nah. Even before the outbreak, coppers never came around here, we're on our own. People die in these parts all the time and no one cares."
Jonathan could tell it was probably time to stop pushing the topic, especially if they all could already tell he wasn't from the area—as everyone he's met tonight has graciously pointed out. He didn’t need any more people wanting to see him lying in the streets tonight.
"So, you're open all night?"
"Yep, figured people might need a place to rest in these dark times."
"Scared? Of what? All the bad shit happens out on the foggy streets, and I never go outside." Tom let out a slight laugh. A way of lightening the mood, perhaps.
Jonathan couldn't tell if Tom's dismissiveness of danger was due to foolishness or bravery.
"Have you seen anyone else come through here tonight?"
"It's been quiet tonight. The only other person I've seen went straight up to his room. Thought it was quite rude, actually."
"You mean he's still here?" He would've come straight to Tom if he'd knew that.
"Well, yes. He paid for the entire week." Tom paused for a moment, probably wondering if it was wise to tell Jonathan.
"He rented the room a few days ago and he didn't say when he'd leave."
"Who is this man? What does he look like?"
"Like a gentleman, I guess? Well dressed and quite polite."
"A professor or something fancy like that, always writing and reading notes."
"I need to meet this man. I have questions."
"Just climb the stairs and knock on the first door. I heard him open his window so I guess he's still awake...And sir?
No funny business, you hear me? This is a respectable establishment."
Jonathan wasn't quite sure how to take that. But he gave a nod regardless.
Jonathan could hear a man talking before he was even half way up the stairs. This mystery individual wasn't discreet clearly.
The words became clearer to him as he crept closer to the door.
"This is no place for you. Priwen has several patrols roaming the area."
"They do not pursue me." A woman's voice?
A lot more faint than the man's.
"But, they are looking for vampires and they are most efficient!"
"They'll not relent until the killer has been identified."
"I have a common objective, but I require more time-"
"Shh! I think someone is eavesdropping."
If the man is surprised, he hides it fairly well.
"You might as well come in, whoever you are."
After a brief moment of hesitation, Jonathan willed himself to open the door. He needed to speak to this man, even if he was in the presence of a lady. A lady, Tom hadn't mentioned going upstairs with this man.
But, as Jonathan opened the door, it was almost as if he was bolted to the floor, as he was accosted with a bright light, in the shape of a crucifix.
"Slowly, vampire! Who are you?"
"I-I mean you no harm." It was a struggle to get the words out.
"Sayeth the vampire. Present yourself."
The man kept Jonathan at a distance, slowly making his way to one side of the room, as Jonathan continued being blinded.
"I need a word, with anyone."
As the man took a seat at the desk, and put the blasted crucifix down, it felt like Jonathan had been released from near drowning. He took deep breaths, as if he needed too, and gasped and let out what sounded like a wheeze. It was almost human.
"Well, that's something I can do for you"
Jonathan almost resented how chipper the man sounded saying that, after that whole debacle.
The man gestured to the chair in front, which Jonathan took.
"I'm not sure I know anymore?" And Jonathan hated that answer, but he couldn't think of another one. For it was true regardless, what was he now?
"Might I at least learn the reason of your presence?"
"That's none of your concern."
"Sir, you have entered my room in the middle of the night, pale as a corpse and shaking like a tree. So please, indulge me."
"Someone—something—is molesting people. In fact, killing them. Biting them."
"The calling card of a vampire, like you..."
The tone in which that was said seemed to grate on Jonathan’s already frayed nerves.
"I've been hunted down in the streets and attacked. I'm a victim here to."
The man seemed taken aback.
Jonathan wasn't sure he believed that.
"Then if you are not a vampire, who or what are you?"
"Dr Edgar Swansea of the Brotherhood of Saint Paul. I'm preforming an independent investigation here in an attempt to understand precisely what is going on."
"What have you uncovered concerning the murders?"
"It started a few nights ago. Rumours of violent murders."
"The docks have always been, shall we say somewhat unsavoury, but this is different."
"A vampire is at work here. Famished. Reckless. It must be brought to ground and quickly."
At least they could agree on that.
But, the voice he heard before coming in here was still bothering him. Who was this man hiding?
"I heard another voice, that of a woman. Who were you talking to?"
"Ridiculous! I've no idea what you're talking about."
"Something tells me not to trust you."
"Then the feeling is mutual."
"And what exactly is this Brotherhood?"
"Sir, if the name is not familiar to you, then we shall discuss it another time."
"Then help me find the culprit!"
"I may, if you'll first tell me why you opened this door?"
"There was a trail throughout the docks, the scent of blood from a recent victim. It led here."
Jonathan thought it best to not mention his scandalous 'escort'.
"You thought I was you aggressor. That explains a great deal. We're both chasing the same shadow."
"A shadow. Indeed. Yet, I heard his voice in my head. There was a moment I believed I was mad."
That moment had yet to pass.
Edgar studied his face for a moment, his folded hands tensing for a moment, his nails lightly scratching the desk. And when he spoke next, his voice was solemn.
"You should let me handle this affair. You have no idea what you're up against."
"No! I will find the monster. He's mine."
"How will you do any better than I? But then let me ask you this: what are your intentions if you find the killer?"
What would he do? Slay it? Demand answers? Pity it?
"Hmm. Then I can only wish you good hunting and pray we shall meet again."
"Quite." And with that note, Jonathan quickly departed the room. Feeling the eyes of this Edgar Swansea, following him the entire way intill the door closed behind him.
'If Swansea is not my attacker. It means somebody else came here tonight. Someone must know something'
Sabrina, the barmaid, was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. Not that it made much of an improvement—more like an idle task to keep her hands busy than any genuine attempt at actual cleaning. She had to have seen whoever was here previously, and chosen to not say.
She quickly stood when he approached.
"Evening, sir. What can I do for you?"
"I have a few questions for you." Her shoulders stiffened even more at that, but with a sigh, she relented.
"I spoke to Dr Swansea. He's not the man I'm looking for. Now, I want the truth."
"The truth? What do you mean?"
"I suspect that someone else was here tonight—and I don't think Tom wants to tell me about it."
"I'm just the barmaid here, okay? If Tom says you're the only visitor we've had, then you're the only visitor we've had."
"I can see your apprehension, Miss. Tell me what's really going on."
"It's Will...William Bishop. He came in earlier tonight and he-" She paused, considering her words.
"Well, I thought he was going to clock someone."
"Why are you so afraid?" Surely she'd be use to drunken disorder as a barmaid?
Her face twisted in disgust.
"I mean his skin—his hands. I scrubbed every glass and chair he touched. God, I hope he's not contagious."
"He was dead drunk, as usual. But my God, his eyes...his face. He must've caught something awful. He shouted and cried. It was terrible."
"Tell me about this William Bishop. Generally."
"William was a sailor—worked at the canning factory before he lost that job. A nice bloke, really. He's never been violent—'til tonight."
"Why keep it a secret? Why not tell me about it?" Might've saved him an awkward encounter with a certain frustrating gentleman.
"Tom's nothing if not loyal. When William lost his job, he offered him one here. They use to be good mates, but recently, well, Will started to get very aggressive."
"I see. Thank you for your candour. I'll be sure to talk to Tom."
Tom had clearly noticed Jonathan speaking with Sabrina. As he approached, Tom set down the glass he was cleaning and looked up.
"Welcome back. Did you find what you were after?"
"I can't say I have. Are you sure no one else came into your bar before my arrival?"
"Hey, I told you—you were the only other stranger I've had."
"I know your friend William Bishop was here earlier tonight."
Tom's expression hardened, as he'd been caught.
"Fine. Will came by tonight. But he's not my friend anymore."
"Why lie to me, then, if he's not your friend?"
"I didn't lie! I said you were my only unannounced customer and that's the truth."
"Nah. Like most drunks, he's all bark and no bite. He can barely stand up most of the time."
"How was he tonight? Was he different?"
"Sicker than usual, perhaps. He whined and mumbled about how mean people were to him, and how he wanted to talk to me outside, then he left after I refused."
"I need to find him. It's a matter of urgency. Do you know where he is?"
"Suppose you could try his boat. It's up by the North pier, he sleeps there when he's too drunk to get home."
"Please describe him to me."
"What do you expect? He's a tall, sick, bastard with a bad rash and torn old clothes? William use to be strong, now he's a mess."
"If you see him... tell him I don’t want to see him round here until he sorts himself out, yeah?"
The name lingered as he stepped away from the bar once more.
William Bishop. North Pier.
The North Pier wasn’t far, but something told him this wouldn’t be simple. Nothing had recently. Not with that hunger still gnawing at him. Not with the blood still calling.
He was hunting answers, not just a man, and he was unsure if he'd like the outcome of either.
Not proof read so my apologies for any mistakes.
I'll try to not take months to write Chp 7, Ik this is like really slow paced but thank you to anyone who's actually reading this series, I appreciate it.
