The Devil's Apprentice

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Nicholas Bracewell had walked only fifty yards from the house when he saw the dead body. Covered in frost and spattered with mud, the old man lay in a narrow lane, huddled against a wall in a vain attempt to ward off the severe cold. Nicholas had seen death too many times to be shocked by its handiwork but he heaved a sigh of compassion at this latest example of its random cruelty. Its victim had been defenceless, an elderly beggar with no home to shelter him, no family to protect him, no warm food to sustain him and no clothing beyond a few pitiful rags to keep the icy fangs of winter at bay. When he bent over the corpse, Nicholas was surprised to see a farewell smile etched into the haggard face. Here was a willing sacrifice, a creature so tormented by the miseries of his life and the extremities of the weather that he could not endure them another day. The grotesque, toothless, frozen smile signalled his escape and added a poignancy to his grim demise. Closing his eyes, Nicholas offered up a silent prayer for the soul of the dead man.

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