Ice pick

She leaped out of the shadows and raised her
makeshift weapon at the Man: a domineering figure with a pencil mustache, dark slicked-back hair, and a black suit. The ice pick made a satisfying thunk as she slammed it directly into his left breast, just to the side of his violet cravat. The pick ground bone as it sank in deeply.

The Man froze. She seemed to have genuinely surprised him, judging by the look of shock on his face. His lips parted, but he didn’t move.Could she . . . could she have pierced his heart? Could she have actually managed to—

“Miss Highwater!” the Man called over his shoulder. “There is a peasant girl in my washroom!”

Chapter 3