The fog in London was thick enough to taste. It clung to the cobblestones and swirled around the gas lamps, turning the afternoon into a premature twilight. In a secluded alleyway behind the park, a black carriage sat waiting. There was no crest on the door. The curtains were drawn tight.
Parker stood shivering next to the carriage wheel. He hugged the brown paper package to his chest. He looked left, then right. He felt important, like a spy in a grand novel, but mostly he felt cold.
The carriage window slid down just an inch.
"Well?" a female voice asked from the darkness inside. The voice was sharp and impatient.
Parker stepped closer. He licked his dry lips. "I have it, My Lady. Just as you asked."
"Pass it through," the voice commanded.
Parker hesitated. "The... the payment? You promised fifty guineas."
