Regicide
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This is what happened before I found the map.
I went out with Annie Risk. I’d met her only two days earlier at Jaz’s party. We went out to a pub and for something to eat in the West End, and then afterwards I was leading the way back to her hotel because I thought I knew where I was going. I should have done, having worked as a cycle courier in a former life. Still, there would always be one or two areas where my sense of direction would fail me. Grey areas between districts, where the streets appeared indistinguishable from each other.
Annie Risk didn’t know this part of London at all, so she was relying on me. It was only sensible, although she clearly didn’t like giving up responsibility, especially to a man. But by the end of the evening I think she’d decided I was probably all right. She could trust me this far. In any case, now that I’d lost my way, we were equals again.
One street turned into another at a right angle. None of them appeared to be named and the Georgian terraces that lined them looked identical. The windows were dark, the doors locked tight. The air was warm. We turned right and right again, then went straight on and turned right once more.