The Redemption of Alexander Seaton

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The younger of the two whores rifled the man’s pockets with expert fingers. She cursed softly. Nothing.

‘Leave off, then,’ said her sister. ‘The baillie will be here any minute.’

Mary Dawson rolled the man back over onto his face. He groaned, then retched, and she cursed once more as he vomited bile over her foot. ‘Pig,’ she said, and kicked him. The wind sent a barrel careering past them down the brae to smash into a wall below. Somewhere, a dog took up a demented howling.

‘Leave off,’ insisted her sister.

Mary turned away from the form slumped in the overflowing gutter. Janet was right: there was nothing to be gained here tonight. A quarter-hour would see them out of this tempest. She took her sister’s arm, ready to make for home, and then she froze. A hand had come from the ground and held her ankle. The words came in a ghostly rasp. ‘Help me,’ he said.

Unable to shift her foot, Mary looked to her sister in silent, distilled fear. The other lifted a finger to her lips and came slowly towards the dying man. Mindless of her already filthy clothes, Janet knelt down in the gutter and brought her mouth to his ear. ‘Say it again.’

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