At the end of the first month, an oppressive August, the first victim, Mary Ann Nichols had been found. 'Leather Apron' was the name given to the murderer. Despite arrests and an inquest, nothing was found, no one charged, and the second victim, Annie Chapman was found murdered in a similar manner eleven days later.
A letter received three weeks later gave the murderer his moniker, Jack the Ripper, and panic tightened on Whitechapel.
The next two victims came in rapid succession: the same night Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, each given over the specter of death that loomed over that part of London.
October offered a blessed reprieve from the depredations of the Ripper, though no true measure of calm returned to the area. Death still hovered over the fog-choked streets of London, and none knew when it would descend, blade flashing in the darkness.
November 8th came marched to a close like many days preceding. Big Ben dutifully tolled the hour of Ten, and the sensible scurried to their homes, jumping and lurching in terror at the shadows thrown by the thick fog and scarce lighting, hurried at the sounds of footsteps on damp cobblestones, echoing down the narrow alleys and streets.
Anticipation crept into the thoughts of the restless: Would tonight be the night that Jack comes ripping?
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Roland sat on his favorite bench near the western edge of Hyde Park, watching the birds and people and nature around him. It was one of the few places he felt he could truly relax, and he loved the time spent here, his thoughts far from the horrors of the streets. All to soon he'd be back on that street, searching for leads on the increasingly deadly killer. 'Jack the Ripper' indeed. What kind of a man does those things to women? That was a question Roland had been asking himself more and more lately, every time he thought he began to understand and get close to this killer - his efforts ended up proving fruitless, as if the man (he was pretty certain it was a man) were a ghost slipping through his fingers.
The detective checked the knives at the small of his back and the brass knuckles in his left jacket pocket, reassuring himself at their familiar weight and feel. He was fairly certain he could handle himself, but the strength required to do some of the atrocities happening to those poor women... He shook the thought away and stood, his tranquility ruined by thinking too much about work. Perhaps it's time I visited Tommy McIntyre, just to see if there's been any news on his side of town. and began moving to do just that, intending to stop at one of the small markets on the way for a quick bite.
Cursing under his breath, Ang looks around the streets and then back at the delivery slip his grandfather had given him.
1256 Bell Lane - across from the Jewish Free School. But there is NO 1256...it stops at 1248!, Ang thinks angrily. He does not bother to ask any of the people in this area for fear of a beating, so he goes back down the row of buildings looking.
He stops at the entry to a narrow lane, Frying Pan Alley, and looks down it. Boarded on one side by the Jewish school, the shabby buildings all lean in close to one another, giving the feeling of entering a cavern. A few scattered harlots and their customers can be seen going about their business as the night wears on, but few 'respectable' people are on the streets this late. Laughter and singing can also be heard faintly to the north; probably some tavern holding a late-night revel.
Ang stands at the mouth of the alley, once again looking at the scrap of paper with the address on it, wondering if he should just return home and tell his grandfather that no such place exists.
Richard moved quickly through the streets, not quite running, ducking past people as he neared his goal. His coat was draw up high, obscuring a portion of his chin, the cap of a common man worn low to shield his eyes.
The street was relatively crowded near the tavern, as it usually was at this time of day. Even with his limited vision from within the folds of his disguise, he found it easy to weave past them, moving in tune with the flow of people going this way or that.
Turning into Frying Pan Alley he spied the familiar shape of the tavern Ok Richard, remember, dont insult the man, just be straightforward and ask which one of his mates took your money. He clutched his revolver tightly in his pocket. He couldnt think of any reason why he would need it, but its presence reassured him all the same, as it had done so often before. Truth be told he was more afraid of this "Ripper" character than anything else. Whos to say he doesnt decide to broaden his horizons? Have a go at the male population? Better safe than sorry.
Deep in thought and not expecting to come across someone standing still in the middle of the street, he suddenly collided with something. Taking a few more steps forward, flailing wildly with his hands in an attempt to regain his balance, he finally came to a halt as he fell on his rear with a hollow thud.
Looking up to see what he had run into, he saw an asian looking man who looked both lost and surprised. Making sure his face was still obscured he got to his feet.
Terribly sorry about that, ahem, I had only eyes for the tavern and the promise of ale.
Ang quickly bends to help the man up.
Very sorry sir. Me not watch were me going. You ok?
It is surprising how quickly he can fall into the 'dumb chink' routine. He tries to dust the man off while keeping his eyes open for the inevitable clout-to-the-head.
No trouble, im quite alright thank you.
Accepting the mans hand to get up, Richard softly brushed the mans hands aside when he attempted to dust him off. Maybe a pickpocket? He quickly stuffed his hands down his pockets, making sure everything was where it should be. Taking a few wary glances to either side, he pulled his cap lower and made to leave the man to his business.
However he froze mid turn, eyeing the man for another few seconds.
Do I know you? You look familiar somehow.
Tommy shook his head and trudged down the alley, after failing once again to convince Annie to stay home with Ma. Not that he could blame her, Ma had turned into a right old witch since she retired, and there was no way of escaping her without leaving the house. Then you were out on the street, and on these streets, if you weren't working, you were getting worked.
A thump was enough to make him spin, the walking stick he carried as a cudgel raised, but it was just some chinaman tripped an Englishman, not worth his time. Unless a scuffle started. The last time he'd seen a chink fight it had been truly a sight to see. As he looked closer, he thought this one even looked like the other one, but who could tell them apart?
As the sassenach stood and dusted himself off, Tommy smirked. Old Dick Foxworthy, come down to chase the dragon again. He wondered if the chinaman was in the trade, and then he scowled. Frying Pan Alley belonged to Ma McIntyre and her boys (well, boy, now that the others were in the grave or the gaol) and nobody did business without permission. No whore, no pickpocket, no opium merchant, not even the beggars. He started towards them, his walking stick resting against his shoulder.
"Everything all right, then, lads?" he said. No reason things had to get bloody, as long as everyone was reasonable.
Jossem opens the door to the carriage angrily. ”Lord above, Mary! She came over to talk to me! I didn’t know Kara was going to be at the show! We have nothing to do with one another anymore! She came over just to say hello!” Sobbing came from inside the carriage along with some muffled words. ”Fine then! I’ll just walk home.” He climbs out frustrated and in his haste, his foot catches on the step and he goes sprawling into the street. A second later, a dark object comes flying out of the coach, missing his head by just inches. The man ducks down, hoping nothing else will follow. ”Bloody Hell! You almost took my head off!” The door slams shut and the coachman glances down with a bit of a smirk before moving the horses quickly away.
Jossem Rook stands up and dusts his clothes off, checking to see if his coat was torn from the fall. Thankfully nothing seemed ruined. He looks over at the object Mary had flung out of the carriage and picks up his walking cane. ”At least she didn’t take it. Then there would be hell to pay.” He hefts the ebony cane. It had a silver cap on top with the Rook family symbol. While they weren’t nobility, it didn’t hurt to have the trappings of a noble family in high society. A castle tower with a crow’s head embossed behind it. It was both elegant and simple, though a carrion eater wasn’t always the best image to have.
He looked around to get his bearings. Where the hell am I? Joss walks down one of the streets to get a look at an address.
Gloucester Place?! Bloody hell! The coachman must have cut through Whitechapel rather than going around it like a sensible fellow. And he enjoyed every part of leaving me here! The bastard. I guess I do walk home. Hell, I’m in Whitechapel, maybe I can find a less jealous companion for the night anyway. It wasn’t my fault Kara was there tonight. He smirks for a moment. It might have been my fault that she was in my lap. He shakes his head and sighs. ”You might actually have deserved this one tonight, Joss.”
He begins walking north toward the park. After a block, he spots a few men talking at the mouth of an alley. Not the companionship I was hoping for. Best just walk on by. If they try anything they’ll find steel quickly. He taps his cane lightly.
Ang starts as he hears another voice coming from the surrounding alley. What had he stumbled upon!
"No, no good sirs. Nothing wrong. Man just trip. I help he up. No trouble."
He tries his best to look innocent and unassuming. The look in the new blokes eye was not very encouraging. And now what! Another fellow approaching! Well at least if that Jack-whatever fellow tried anything tonight, the place would be full of bloody englishmen!
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Picking at his fish and chips while trying to hold the remains of the greasy newspaper in place, Father Paidrig walks along the bustling streets of London. Turning towards a commotion seen out of the corner of his eye, he notices Tommy McIntyre approaching a discheavled chinaman with his cudgel at the ready.
Looks like the heathen is about to get a drubbing... Ah Tommy, always quick with the temper when he sees something out of place in his neighborhood.
Sighing, the priest tosses pops the last few chips into his mouth and tosses the paper into the sewers as he hails Tommy while closing the gap before violence can ensue.
"Cheers Tommy, how are things?"
Seeing the good Father coming his way, Richard was surprised to hear him yell out Tommys name.Tommy? Where? Turning around to look in the direction the Father was looking, he saw Tommy strolling towards him, walking stick held in the manner he had come to associate with the man looking for trouble.Did I make him angry last night? Is that why I was out cold? Or was it the alcohol?
Oh, hello there Tommy.
He couldnt think of anything else to say, so he just stood there like an idiot, one hand half raised in greeting. In his pocket, his other hand handled the revolver nervously.
Roland was nearing Tommy's usual stomping ground, just passing Frying Pan Alley when he passed a lane with an increasingly large group gathering. He turned to continue ahead instead of heading down the lane, that looked like a gathering he'd like to avoid, but then he spotted Tommy's tall figure semi-accosting a well dressed man in a low cap with one hand in his pocket. I know what I'd be doing with one hand in my pocket with Tommy coming at me... But still he kept a discreet distance at the end of the lane, watching the entertaining little show unfold.
He still wanted to talk to Tommy, but he could wait, plus a holy man who seemed to know Tommy had shown up -- and Roland figured he had a much better chance at keeping things civil than he himself did. Not to mention, that if there was a scuffle, Roland was fairly sure Tommy would be standing at the end. I wonder how I'd look with a walking stick... he thought to himself for the dozenth time.
Jossem picked up the pace as more figures began to gather. One of them spoke with a bit of a hard Irish accent. Great, kicked out a carriage by a woman and now if they're not after me, I might just get caught up in it.
Joss manages to get past the group and turns his head to look back at them, just in case they make a break in his direction. He has his head turned, so he doesn't see the tall, thin man in the long coat in the shadow. Jossem slams into the man's shoulder, sending himself spinning into the street and again he's lying on the ground. Expecting trouble, he brings up his cane quickly.
His eyes narrowed, trying to get a clearer picture of the situation. Dick standing there with that vacant look, instead of hurrying off to smoke like he would if he had what he needed. He gave the chinaman another quick glance and hesitated. The opium pushers tended towards gaudy silks and flashy jewelry, not at all like this. Still, you couldn't be too sure...
Just then he heard his name, and saw Father Paidraig approaching, licking his fingers. Quickly he lowered the cudgel and crossed himself.
"Cheers, Father," he said, reaching in a pocket for a nip. "Just keeping me eye on things around the block." He thumbed the cap off of an old pewter flask and offered it to the priest. "Drop of the dew, Father?"
At that point, Dick seemed to notice he was there, greeting Tommy. He had his hand on the pistol in his pocket though, and Tommy took a step closer giving him a cool smile. "Hello Dick. Something you're looking for then?"
Roland was so absorbed by the happenings between Tommy, the Father, and the well-dressed man that he didn't notice can-carrying Jossem approaching on a collision course until the last moment. By then it's too late, and the impact sits Roland down - hard. He winces as his posterior bounces off the solid sidewalk, and he reaches instinctively for one of his knives. But then he notices the other man, rather than an assailant continuing an attack, is also sprawled out on the ground a few feet away, holding an ornate cane warily. Roland smiles, the expression a bit strained with pain, and stands gingerly, offering his hand to lift the well-dressed Jossem from the ground, "My pardon sir, I didn't see your approach, quite clumsy of me."
Joss is entirely ready to bare steel and defend himself, so the outstretched hand is a surprise to him. "Uh, yes. My apologies. I seem to have been distracted." He takes the man's hand and stands. He's checks himself, and throws a glance back at the other men. This could still all be a scam.
He looks back at the taller man to study his face in case the worst does happen, but immediately he's struck by something familiar. Tall, long coat, that hardened look in his eyes. Slightly shabby hat, and a slight protrusion from the coat. If it's to be believed, it was knives and not a gun.
"Detective Roland Clive, yes? Jossem Rook. Don't be so surprised. Your reputation precedes you." He glances back at the men in the alley.
Richard couldnt help but sigh audibly when Tommy lowered his cudgel.Trust the fear of God to pacify a man. With some effort he forced his hand to let go of the revolver, before taking the hand out of his pocket and offering it to Tommy in greeting. He noded at the priest to greet him.
Uhm, yes, I am looking for something, or rather someone. He waited a moment untill the Father reached them. Im looking for you Tommy...and a bit of ale. Might we retire to the tavern and have a talk and a pint then? Instead of standing here and blocking the street.
Noticing the chinaman still stood next to them, warily glancing around, he turned to the man, a look of curiosity and slight annoyance on his face.
Im sorry, can I help you with something?
Another bump nearly made Tommy jump out of his skin, but it was just a dandy with a pretty cane knocking over and getting knocked over by a big man in a long coat. Again? I haven't seen this many people tripping over each other since the last time I went to the Vaudeville stage.
He glowers darkly at the two, and takes a swig of whiskey, before he hears the dandy say the word Detective. As if he needed anything to make him even more jumpy this night. Except it was Roland. They really were all coming out of the woodwork tonight.
"I can't go in," he said to Dick. "I'm on the lookout for ... Oh, sod it. Let's go in for a pint, but it'll have to be quick."
Ang looks nervously at the growing crowd of Englishmen. When the fellow that ran into him ask if he need help, he gives a weary sigh and holds out the paper with the address, then realizing it is written in cantonese says, "I am looking for address, but no can find. Have order to deliver." He takes out a wrapped vial of medicine his grandfather made for the client as proof he was not lying.
Roland's grin broadens as Jossem recognizes him, "Jossem Rook? THE Jossem Rook - the professor? Well it's a right pleasure to meet you." He follows Jossem's gaze back towards the waning confrontation, "What a bleery bunch of ruckus that is, any idea what they're on about?"
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The priest smiles and waves Tommy and his friend on, "I'll catch up Tommy, could use a pint. Let me help this one so he can get on back home to his own kind."
Turning to the chinaman, Father Paidraig gets a little more serious. "Let me see that medicine there, stranger. We don't take kindly to all sorts of "medicine" in these neighborhoods."
If he's pushing opium or laudnum in this neighborhood, I just might be calling Tommy back to deal with him.
What sound could be more dreaded in this part of London?
A scream, a woman's scream, given volume and and range by an obvious terror--wordless, just a long string of hysterical syllables comes tearing through the darkness and fog. It ricochets among the sagging buildings and off the cobblestones, slick with precipitation.
From the East? Or the north?
North, aye, and close. Too close.
As the scream dies away, there is a long moment of terrified silence in the area. Expectation has given way to dread. Has the Ripper come again?
The moment fades with the jangling shrieks of whistles. The Bobbies or, the Whitechapel Vigilance committee, maybe both, were en route.
Rolland, stiffens and stands bolt upright at the horrifying sound. Oh no, he thinks as the hair-raising sound dies out. He ducks his head at Jossem quickly, the commotion and Tommy forgotten, "A pleasure professor!" he calls over his shoulder as he takes off northward up Bell Lane in the direction of the scream, listening to the whistles to eliminate their direction as the location of the victim.
Annie! was Tommy's first thought, but no. She was still in sight, down the alley, lifting the watch off a sport whose head had turned to hear the scream.
"Jack!" was his second thought, and he tore away before the echoes have died.
He cut hard to the left up Bell Lane and glanced down White's Row, but the scream wasn't that close. Next was Dorset street, and he barreled around the corner as fast as he could run, shoving himself off the brick wall as he ran too fast to make the corner.
Let him still be here, Lord, he thought, staring down the narrow street. Just let me get my hands on him, please.
Richard was not generally the kind to feel safe unless he was safely at home, and even then the knowledge that he would have to go outside at some point would make him nervous.
So it would have been no surprise to those few who knew him, when he heard a womans scream ring through the evening streets, he leapt back in fear, revolver drawn and cocked in a split second.
Waving his weapon around like a maniac, pointing it in random directions, some of those lining up with the men standing around him, he blurted out a gasped question.
What was that!? The Ripper?
As Tommy tore off towards the sound of whistles in the distance, Richard snapped out of it.
Wait, Tommy, come back here, I still need to talk to you!Ripper or no Ripper, I need that money!
Not even thinking to conceal his weapon again, he set off after the large man.
"You know me, Det-" Jossem's question is cut off by the sound of the scream and Clive turning and running towards it. In fact, as Jossem looked around, two other men took off running in the same direction.
Are they mad? What if it's the Ripper? Jossem stood frozen.
What if it is? What if these fellow catch him? You could see it before any of the papers! Maybe find a piece of the crime scene? I wonder if that would sell for someone's collection. A little grin forms on his face.
He looks back to the alley. A lone Chinaman stood still looking lost. "Come on! Let's go see what the devil is going on! Maybe these blokes are going to be heroes." He waves at him to come with him as he trots after the other three.
Ang, shaking his head at the insanity of these Englishmen, trots along side of one of the men.
In China we run away from blood curdling screams. What am I getting myself into??
The fog seems to grow thicker, even having travelled so short a distance. The intersection of Bell Lane and Crispin street to the north swaddled in the thick clouds. Behind, Bell lane fades to gray.
Dorset street lay ahead of them, a narrow path through looming tenement houses. Between the cobblestones, some accumulations of filthy water catch the light of the gas lamps at the near and far end of the street.
Somewhere past halfway down the street just past where Miller's court spurs off to the left, a woman lies prone on the ground. One arm raised up as if to ward off the tall thin gentleman who looms over her. A tall hat and high collar coat are all that can be seen of him; his back faces the group.
Roland skids to a stop and turns slightly as others join him, he has to peer closely through the sudden and troubling fog to recognize Tommy, Jossem, the well-dressed fellow, the Father and... the random chinaman? He spared them all just a glance before turning his attention back to Dorset Street, and seeing the tense scene halfway down the street. he shouts loudly, surprising himself at the volume of his own voice, and raises his open palm high, as if the gesture alone would protect the young lady on the ground. He decides not to waste any more time, and starts jogging towards the people, hand reaching behind his coat for one of his knives even as he hurries forward.
Jossem trots into the fog. Damn, the Chinaman is fast. He's already ahead of me. Suddenly he makes out Detective Clive stopped just ahead. Joss walks closer to see what's there, when Roland shouts. Then the Detective moves towards it and Jossem sees a man standing over a woman's body.
Is that him? He's the monster?
Joss moves lightly behind the Detective, holding his cane in the left hand now, leaving his right free.
Mad dogs and Englishmen indeed! This is lunacy. Ang thinks as they run towards the fog swaddled figure. He threatens a woman who is lying on the ground. The shout of one of the men startles him, and he increases his speed to overtake the lead investigator.
Rounding the corner in hot pursuit of Tommy, Richard froze as he spied the scene half way down the narrow street. His eyes saw the woman on the ground, the man looming over her, but his mind...his mind saw something else. Tortured sleep, empty stomach, short of breath from the frantic run and a few to many hours past since he had last smoked. Circumstances that all conspired against him to warp his view of what lay before him.
Dear God no...
There on the ground was not a woman, but a man. A soldier, his arm held up before him, pleading Sir, help me!!
The figure stood above him turned, a featureless face save for two blazing red eyes. The heavy mist turned a deep crimson, as if a fire lay behind it. The sound of crackling flames rose in his ears.
Then came the screaming.Wake up Richard, oh God make it stop!!
The figure took a step towards him, a wicked curved blade held in it hand.
NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!!
The sound of a revolver firing rang down the street.
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Running in pursuit and after the scream following reflexes of a younger man, Father Paidraig quickly finds himself panting as he comes upon the scene. The priest's face pales as he beholds the scene.
Is this the ripper?
"Show us your hands man!" the priest shouts as he tries to edge his way around toward the woman on the ground.
If she is alive, I have to try and save her. God, please let her be alive!
Sprinting around the corner of the alley, Tommy sees all he needs to. The gaunt figure stooped over the woman has to be Jack. Tommy raises the cudgel to strike it when someone yells Stop! and he realizes that he's near surrounded.
Half London is in the alley tonight. Accomplices? Not the Father.
A shot rings out, and Tommy has had enough. He charges the man he believes to be The Ripper, howling like a banshee in his fury.
[ooc]I assume since you did not make an attack roll, Richard wasn't really aiming at the man, so I'll proceed as such.
The man flinches, ducking to the ground as the shot rings out. The woman, apparently still alive, screams again, recoiling from the newcomers and her apparent attacker by crab-walking backwards against one of the houses. Tommy closes quickly on the crouching man, his cudgel raised threateningly.
The man, eyes wide with fear, holds up his hands in a pitiful showing of self-defense.
At the sound of the gunshot, the whistles begin to sing anew, their shrill songs sounding closer and closer. They are but a moment away.
Jossem looks at the man with a hard stare. Was this him? Whatever was going on, decorum said he should at least be able to explain himself.
"Alright man. We don't mean to presume anything. Just explain what happened to the Detective here." Jossem indicates Clive.
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Thank God, she is alive! Hrm... this man appears to not be the Ripper, at least not by the way he is acting.
Father Paidraig rushes to the woman, quickly making certain that she appears unharmed and treating her if she is injured.
Attempthing to comfort the woman and calm her down, the priest begins speaking soothingly, "Peace lady, peace, I am a man of God and you are safe now... calm yourself... tell us what happened here."
Roland rushes forward with the others, ducking instinctively when the shot rings out, he looks back to see a gun-toting, wild-eyed Richard fading into obscurity in the thick mists. Turning back towards the woman he approaches cautiously, one hand still at the small of his back and a calming hand towards the terrified woman, but his full attention on the apparently terrified man with the tall hat and high collar. "I'm detective Roland Clive. Sir, what's going on here and why is this woman so terrified?!" Internally he's relieved at the extra presences and familiar faces as he tries to deal with the situation until the authorities arrive.
The woman's fear seems to subside, slowly, at the sight of Father Paidraig. She wraps her arms around herself, hugging her shoddy, wet clothes close.
"The Ripper! He came leering out o' the darkness at me. Thank God you came!" she sobs.
The man stands slowly and backs away from Clive and Tommy, his eyes still wide, his hands still raised in defense.
Red sores, probably Syphilitic in nature, dot his skin and face.
The man is disoriented and confused. He has several gummas - bright red sores on his hands and face. All of this is indicative of late-stage syphilis
And the bobbies arrive, not timely, but in number, six of them converge at the end of Dorset street. Whistles in mouths and billy clubs at the ready, the gather. They take in the scene for a moment, before one of them steps forward, assuming an air of command.
"Wot's all this, then eh?" he recites, automatically.
Tommy pulls up just short of the man and hesitates. The woman's alive, and "Jack" looks to be sick with the French disease. Could be him, could be half mad from the pox and scared a whore. Likely better off dead anyhow, but there's just no way to be sure. If he had a blade in his hand, or some sort of proof.
Too many bloody witnesses and the coppers are too bloody close.
He lowers the cudgel and lets out a growl of exasperation. For a moment, his shoulders sag as the heat of the moment passes, and then it strikes him.
"Annie," he whispers.
But the police are here already.
Roland relaxes a little as the bobbies show up, removing his hand from the small of his back and the blades sitting there. He takes a slow non-threatening step towards the officer. "Officer, I'm detective Roland Clive. These gentleman and I were around the corner on Frying Pan Alley when we heard this poor woman scream. We, concerned for her safety, came running as quickly as possible. This man," and he points at the man with the tall hat, "was standing over her, in a most menacing fashion - in my opinion." He presses his lips together in suspicion as the diseased man continues to back away, "I suggest you detain this diseased fellow before he makes a break for it!"
Finished with his explanation, he turns to the woman, "Ma'am, nothing will hurt you now. Is that man," and points to the diseased fellow, "the Ripper that you saw?" After he asks he studies her face, using his skills and experience to try to glean the most truthful information possible from this bizarre evening.
He does hear Tommy's whisper, and looks up at him, but he can't tell if the street-tough is referring to the woman on the ground or not. Somehow, Roland doesn't think so.
Lost in his own personal hell, Richard retreated to the nearest doorway, staggering and huddling into the niche. There he remained, sobbing and shaking like a frightened child.
The figure moved towards him leasurely, every step seeming to take forever, all the while looking at him with those burning eyes.
Its not real, its not real, its not real he whispered, over and over again. It cant be real!
As the bobbies show up, Ang quietly melds into the shadows. He can hear the fellow that ran into him muttering in a nearby doorway. The only thing that keeps him here is the retrieval of the medicine the other Englishman took from him.
Thats 5 pounds worth and Grandfather will have my ears if I do not return with the money or the medicine!
He keeps his eye on the priest and waits for a moment to ask for the vial back.