As darkness crept across the sky, the man in the flowing black cape sat up and made his way downstairs.

The building’s steps were rotten and many had fallen through. Snorting in disgust, he jumped lightly to the floor below, then again to the ground floor.

A door stood askew, off its hinges, and he walked through the squalor of the stairwell out onto the street level.

Here the floor stood firmer, and the decrepit building’s residents rustled awake.

The first one he came across was a woman, in her 20s and dressed in rags. She had made some effort at presenting herself, though. The old stained skirt she wore was hemmed far too short for modesty, coming up near to her knees. While she had no corset, obviously, the blouse she wore was cinched tight with an old worn belt, likely thrown out by some lady of means after it no longer served its purpose.

She had not bathed in many days, by her looks and smell, not that bathing was very common in the northern climes anyway. But her hair looked particularly vile, unkempt and full of lice.

“Oh, hallo. And who are you?”

The man smiled and gave her his best look of class superiority.

“I am Neill Cream, a physicker.”

“Physicker, ay? Mightn’t you have anything for the clap?”

He raised his eyebrows and his lips quirked up in a smile.

“As a matter of fact, my dear, I do.”

He opened his cloak and reached inside, unlatching some padded vial cases. Pulling out a tiny bottle, he presented it to her with a flourish.

“Drink this tonic and rest. Before the night is through, all that ails you will be gone.”

“Oh! Well, thank y’ guvnor! And how much do I owe you for this medicine?”

She gave him the jaded look of a streetwise whore. This was no fool he spoke to, her eyes seemed to convey.

He smiled with a hint of indulgence.

“You can give me a turn for free, once your maladies are gone. Pray tell show me you room, so I can visit on the morrow.”

She smiled back with a knowing look. This was what men wanted, after all.

“Very well, guvner. Come along and I’ll show you me room.”

He followed her down a hall. Most of the doors opened onto empty spaces, cluttered with debris. But the one she showed him had a serviceable down-stuffed mattress, a table and a rickety chair.

“Thank you, my dear. I shall return later and you can pay me back.”

She smiled and stepped inside, carrying the little bottle of tonic along with her.

Cream systematically examined the other rooms on the ground floor. He found an older woman in one, who looked like she was just moving in, throwing an old smelly quilt on the floor.

“Out!”

She opened her mouth to protest, then saw the look in his eyes and the fine clothes he wore. Without saying a word, she scrunched up the quilt and threw it in an old linen bag along with her other belongings. She scurried past him and out to the street.

He found one more occupied room, with a wino passed out from the night before, empty bottles all around him.

When Cream opened the door to the room the old drunkard had taken, the smell of stale urine assaulted his senses. The man’s pants were still wet.

The fellow blinked, clawing his way back to consciousness. His eyes widened at the sight of a man wearing a billowing black cape standing in his doorway. He pulled out a knife before staggering to his feet.

Cream produced his razor, unfolding it and walking fearlessly into the room.

The drunkard’s eyes shifted down to the enhanced blade, and he backed up against the wall. Cream punched the blade in the man’s sternum and cut up, eviscerating the heart. The man bled out almost instantly.

Eyeing the wino’s knife on the floor, Cream raised a thoughtful eyebrow. He reached down and grabbed it, then picked up the fresh corpse.

Going outside, he moved to the alley behind the dilapidated apartment building, dumping the drunk’s body unceremoniously to the ground.

Then he walked out to the street and stood at the corner for a moment, taking a look up at the sky and all around.

The morning denizens of Whitechapel noticed him. Indeed, the cloak made him stick out like a sore thumb.

After remaining visible in public for what he deemed a suitable period of time, Cream returned to the alley, slowly walking back toward the dead man he left there.

He heard the scuff of a boot behind him and he smiled. Turning, he found a small gang of cutpurses, five in all. They had made him out on the street.

He continued walking.

As he approached the body the boys moved, pulling out their own daggers. He turned and in a swirl of motion, the black cape blurred as he stabbed and slashed each one.

The last boy fell, surprise still showing on his face.

Cream smiled and looked back at the wino, several feet away.

He raised an eyebrow in consideration, then walked over and picked up the body. He pulled it closer to the others and placed the man’s knife in an open palm.

At last, Cream re-entered the building and made his way down to the prostitute’s quarters. It was the nicest room in the place, definitely benefiting from a woman’s touch, he thought.

He knocked at the door. When no one answered, he eased it open.

As expected, he found the whore dead, foam frothing at her mouth from the mixture of arsenic and citrus flavoring he had prepared.

Cream opened a chest of drawers and took out one of her blouses, using it to wipe her mouth. Then he picked the body up and made his way out to the alley again.

He put this one on the other end, far from the staged knife fight. He leaned her up against a wall and covered her in trash. She looked like just another bum who had died in the night.

Smiling again, he made his way back to the now-vacant building. He looked forward to taking the prostitute’s room as his own.