The Seamstress of Hulda Street(8-Chapter Challenge for @justwriteit)

Chapter Three

Pushing a rickety old cart, a lantern perched on one of its corners and its wheels appearing as if they could fall off at any moment, Rose crept into the alleyway behind her shop. And as a thick fog began to drift through the night, through the city, she funnelled down a path pressed between the sleeping homeless, drunkards and addicts, continuing until she caught a whiff of more prey. Quite far off, she could still tell it was a lone werewolf, like the young man, Mr Edwards. Being they were easier targets that brought little to no attention, they were her usual game. 

Making her old, brittle and bowed legs groan, Rose changed course. She entered a side passage and followed the assaulting pong. Around a corner and down a dilapidated street, she eventually arrived at Fouler's Square, the usual illegal market bustling as always with more of the city's destitute. 

'Health tonic,' a seller called out from a stall close by. Resembling a vulture, the gaunt man craned over the masses as he clutched a vial with his brown jagged fingernails. 'Get your health tonic. One sip of my finest will bring you sweet relief for whatever ails you.' 

The sweet relief of death no doubt, thought Rose. 

From the other side, a woman as cadaverous and wicked looking, called out, 'Cheap meat. Get your cheap meat.' 

Rose glanced at her table and saw chunks of flesh sitting in the open, flies buzzing all around. The hunks and lumps looked moldy, rotten, and not fit for consumption. 

'What meat are you selling?' came a scruffy, bearded man. 'Beef? Pork?' 

'Does it matter? Meat is meat,' the woman replied with a rasp. 'It will fill your belly or your family's bellies.' 

Despite surely knowing the horror that would await anyone who would eat such fare, the bearded man bought a scraggly leg of some mystery animal, stuffing it inside his coat as if covering it would help slow its decay. 

The next stall took more of Rose's attention and she stopped to spy the goods that the one armed man was selling. Splayed out was an array of weapons. 

'Now what would an old lady like yourself do with what I have?' asked the man. 'Want to do away with your husband?' He gave out a shrill laugh. 'If that's what you want, may I suggest a poison. Something quick and easy with no mess and no suspicion falling on you.' 

Rose didn't ape his amusement and asked, 'Anything silver? I need silver.' 

'Silver?' The man laughed again, his roar turning to a barking hack. 'Are you mad? If I had anything made of silver, do you think I'd be here? But if you are truly looking for a weapon may I suggest this.' He grabbed a dagger and held it out. 

With a crumble, Rose waved it from her face and carried on through the square until a familiar voice made her stop once more. She turned and saw Mr Fry ogling a display of bottles set out above a sign that read, 'Strong Liquor for Sale.' He was licking his lips and swaying with a smile on his face. 

'Be gone, you ragamuffin,' said the seller, a hefty woman, her mouth missing several teeth. 'If you're just going to stand there and not buy anything–' 

'Who are you calling a ragamuffin, you ugly wench?' Mr Fry slurred. 'And I am here to buy.' 

'Let me see your money then.' 

Now looking pleased with himself, Mr Fry pulled out a handful of coins, coins Rose was sure were the ones she had given him. 

The seamstress frowned. 

'There you go,' said Mr Fry. 'Will that be enough?' 

'Indeed,' replied the woman. 'But it will only get you one bottle.'