Fresh
Victor Frankenstein.
His fingers itched for violence.
Instead, Elias played beggar for a day. Sat on the stoops of all seventeen taverns in Ingelstad, slipped the owners a fee to turn their gaze from him. Gave them more for information on repeat clientele.
It took until sundown to find the tavern where Victor often ate lunch and sometimes dinner. It was near midnight when he found the other tavern where four students came regularly.
The owner of that establishment did not let him stay; it was too nice a place for lepers to be skulking around.
But he did mention that university students rarely chose this place as it was expensive and frequented mostly by older men of modest means.
The boys stuck out, though they were no more of a nuisance than other customers.
For a fee that would pay for a week’s meat at his family’s tavern, the owner revealed overheard names and times of visitation.
Elias felt nothing. He didn’t feel excitement or anger or worse.
He paid for the upkeep of his horse, then slept in the stables and waited.
It did not take long.
The next evening, they trickled in, wan faced and twitchy. Elias watched them. Waited for them.
Followed them home each night, one after the other until he knew where they slept.
Petyr was bedded in a house shared by many unrelated people, bitterly poor.
Henry lived on his own in a house not unlike Victor’s.
Gregor lived with parents and siblings in a modest apartment.
Jonsi, the one who had dropped the champagne glass, was married with no children.