View of Delft

Falco looked out the window into the familiar cityscape of Delft. It was a warm, practically windless day, and the surface of the waterway rippled only slightly. The clouds were puffy whites and grays, and between them the light blue sky smiled softly. Falco looked over to the far banks where the magnificent Rotterdam and Schiedam Gates stood. In the distance, he spotted the Oude Kerk looking out over Amsterdam.
The city looked so peaceful in this still, frozen moment that he wanted to laugh. No, Delft was not a quiet, peaceful little town. It was always busy and swarming with people. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he saw people coming out to the near bank of the waterway. A small boat was already in the canal toward which three finely dressed men were walking. Even from his distance away from them, Falco could hear bits and pieces of the men’s loud, jolly conversation as they called out greetings to one another and boarded the boat. Two peasant women holding baskets walked by each other, past the men, probably going to and from the market.
Their lives were so normal, so routine, that Falco envied them. He had never lived in one place for more than five years, and Delft was where he had lived the longest. Though he had his complaints about living here, he truly loved the place, and the thought that this was the last time he would look out this window and see the same people and buildings was saddening. As he contemplated what his next home would be like, a loud voice broke into his thoughts.
"Master! It's time to leave!" called Pier, Falco's servant.
With a sigh, Falco turned away and went down the steps. Everything was packed and they were ready to go.
"I must visit van Leeuwenhoek first," said Falco as he reached the door. "You are to stay here until I get back."
"The optics, sir?" asked Pier.
"Yes," Falco replied quietly.
Pier nodded, bowed, and stepped back from the door. Falco left the house to his servant and stepped out. He was not worried that Pier would steal something - no, he trusted Pier. Quietly he walked away, off to visit his friend, the great Antonie van Leeuwenhoek.
He had gone no farther than ten steps away from the door of his last home when suddenly he was dragged into the alley right next to his house. He was picked up and he felt his body thud against the brick wall. A knife immediately touched his neck. The cold, sharp blade was so fine that, as soon as it lightly touched him, he felt a trickle of blood roll down his neck. He tried looking up to see who had captured him, but the knife prevented him from looking anywhere but down at his shoes and the bare, filthy feet of whoever his captor was.
"Hello, my darling," said a gruff, mocking voice. Falco nearly jumped - it was the voice of a woman! As the woman spoke, her knife moved ever so slightly, allowing Falco to see who was talking to him. To his utter disbelief, it was the woman he had just seen from the window only moments before. He was sure it was she – the same starch white cap, yellow blouse, and blue skirt told him it was the same woman. She even had the basket in her other hand. Falco wanted to cry out to Pier - he was sure his servant would hear him, being inside the building his own back was against. If only he could disarm her somehow...
As if reading his mind, she smiled cruelly and said, "My dear friend has come into the building from the other side - your faithful servant is being taken care of this very moment."
As if on cue, Falco heard a shriek cut off midway, and his face paled. He didn't even think about how these women knew about Pier. He realized that the "dear friend" mentioned must have been the other woman, who had been wearing black. She had just killed his best friend.
She was too strong to disarm anyway. She had picked him up, after all, and she had pushed his body against the wall, holding his hands together in place, making sure she stepped over his feet. She was too strong and heavy for him kick her off his feet or wrench his hands away from hers. And, of course, there was still the small matter of the knife she held against his throat.
Without warning, she stabbed the knife into his throat, and before his scream of agony could come out, she made a quick job of severing his head form his shoulders.
I'm pathetic, wandering from place to place and dying at the hands of some peasant woman.
Those were Falco's last thoughts.