The Garret Window

I threw her out of a garret window, watching as she fell. She landed cat-like, uninjured and ready to rebound.

I slunk back, hiding behind the curtain as people reacted; looking up, looking down, as she slowly stood, staring back up at the window she had hastily exited the room from, hair a mess, ruffled and a twig sticking out from her landing.

Help rushed to assist, a persistent pounding at the door below started to entre my consciousness. Someone draped a cloak round her; the unnamed assassin. Disarmed and clothes ruined from my defence.

Let them think further, closer and more importantly realise it’s just not worth the effort.

This was the third such I’d deposited onto the pavement below in the last two weeks, none of them skilled in any way and in need of the instructions I gladly gave.

The pounding on the door stopped, and the solid tread of feet on the stairs began. Time for me to disappear, the hidden door passing though the wall to Mrs Jenkins on the left, of which she did not have a clue existed, would provide me ample time to be safe. And once again confuse and disoriented the inept and frankly useless local police.

Their muffled shouts drew closer and using my pullies I hid my departure.

Settling into my chair, I picked up the interrupted glass and took a sip. The wonderful meal in front of me now far too cold to eat. What a waste.

I’d have to add that to the bill I’d be presenting tomorrow morn.

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