Hoell pulled the blackened tin from his coat. He looked at it a moment, trying to decide what he should be feeling. Then he passed it to Rhodius. The ringmaster didn't even open it, passed it behind him to the girl.
Whitechapel's mouth opened and shut. "But. . . . But my faithfulness! My service!"
Rhodius raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. . . ."
"I watched over that box! I brought the boy here! I've toiled in this cesspool years for you! Surely I am owed my due?!"
Rhodius remained unmoved by the tirade. He flicked an eyebrow, and then bent back over the cigar that had gone out. "You're quite right. Kelly, my dear, please give Mr. Whitechapel what he is owed."
In a unified moment the Queen of Knives stepped forward and plunged a little penknife into Whitechapel's left breast. The only sound was grunted exhalation of breath as she stuck the knife in again and again, a pantomime of feral sex. She stopped, wiped the blade on his jacket with an expression of satisfaction dissonant to his look of confusion, and let what was left of Whitechapel drop to the dust.
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