The Book of Whistles : Prologue: Blood on the balcony

With his eyes fixed intently on the balcony stretching high over the frosty water, out of habit, he brought the newly lit pipe to his lips. The smoked filled his mouth and crept down his throat. In surprise, he jerked forward in his seat. As he spluttered to drive out the smoke and fill his craving lungs with air, the chair shock, bashing into the table, knocking his flask off the table. Although the contents spluttered all over the ground, the man’s attention was on the girl.

The metallic clink did reach the girl over the chatter between rocks and river. She glanced up, in the same movement with drawing her head and sholuders for between two bars of the railing. She scanned either side of the corridors of houses and balconies. It was fortunate for the building that blocked her view of her watcher. He could see her but she could not see him.

Her face, damp from the spray off the water crashing past the rocks, glistened with moisture and was framed by her wild, wind swept hair. Her eyes also sparkled with the excitement and anticipation from leaning out over the deadly river. If you fell and neither the rocks nor leeches tore you to pieces, the cold would finish you off, slowly. But behind the thrill, there was a faint cloud of fear in her vision. But fear of what?

Once the girl had finished her scanning and returned to her former position, the man leant back in his chair and pondered that question.  Scratching his grey beard, he quickly concluded it was not a fear of falling because there had been plenty of that present of the surface of those deep blue eyes. No, it was different. He drew in another mouthful of smoke, properly this time, before blowing it back out again. The cloud of jasmine scented smoke billowed around him and he gave a satisfied sniff.

Deep in thought, time past unnoticed. Several minutes and several puffs later, his brooding was disturbed by voices across the river. Looking up, he saw the girl was standing, deep in conversation with a boy about her age. The man shifted slightly and smirked to himself. At last, the show had begun.

At first, the words spoken were washed out by the rushing of water. However as tension across the river grew and voices were raised, some conversation – rather argument – reached him.

The girl shouted, “Stop. You must stop this. Too much you have gotten away with, but not this. This is too far.”

“I told you to mind your own business. I told you to keep your mouth closed”

“Can you not be reasoned with?” The girl stumbled over to the railing and clutched it desperately.”

After pausing, her back still turned to the boy, she continued, her voice no louder than a whisper, inaudible to the spectator. However, her pleading eyes once again revealed her emotions and spoke as clearly as her words.

Facing the river, she did not see the boy reach into his jacket. She did not see the knife he withdrew. She did not see him approach her slowly, knife aimed at the middle of her back. But the old man did. He did not try and warn her. Instead he smoked and waited. A few more moments and it would all be over. Just as the knife was thrust, perhaps by chance or by instinct, the girl, still unaware, slowly spun around. Instead of entering her back, the knife slashed through her left arm, splattering blood over the ground. Her scream echoed up and down the alley of walls. Her other arm, still carried with the motion of her turn, swung round and struck the boy in the side of the head.

The unexpected blow dazed him for a moment and knocked the knife out of his hand. But only a moment was necessary for the girl to dive forward. The girl’s lunge was uncoordinated and she instead crashed her head in a pot plant near where the knife lay. As she drew her hand to her head, her wrist skimmed against the handle of the knife. It skittered forward, under the railing, and tumbled over the edge of the balcony into the rapids below.

Filled with a sudden fury, the girl grabbed her attacker and shoved him aggressively against the railing. To prevent his struggles she shoved him back harder. Yet as she began to heave him over the edge, there was a sudden crack. The whole railing broke away and tumbled in to the river below, two children cascading after it, wrapped in locked arms, falling to their deaths.

The old man took one last puff of his pipe before standing. Although the occurrences he had just witnessed had not gone to plan, he was satisified. If nothing else the cold would finish them both off. And the whole thing could now be passed off as an unfortunate accident, for the rain had begun to fall heavily, washing away all traces of blood on the balcony.