Page 97 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
“Worthington!” the Marquess exclaimed, his face growing bright.
“Oy!” the first thug shouted. “He's the bloke the doc told Rip 'bout.”
“Idiot!” the second shouted back. “Now we got to kill 'em all.”
“So, you two gentlemen are associates of Riphook?” Kenneth casually unpinned his riding jacket, letting it fall to the street beneath him. The moonlight danced off the handle of his pistol.
“Poor, dumb, rich man.” the first thug snarled, brandishing a knife. “I bet Rip'd like to gut you like he did that traitor Nash, but it looks like we gon' get the pleasure all ourselves.”
“Nash is dead?” Kenneth's jaw hardened and his hand went to his weapon. The air was still and bitter; it tasted of humanities cruel tendrils slunk across the fire.
“Dead as door nails.” the first thug spat, and lunged.
Kenneth let the pistol belt fall from his shoulder as he sidestepped and fired with uncanny speed, sending the first thug spiraling off, clutching at his side.
The second came at Kenneth, screaming out in a guttural tone. Kenneth moved to block his first strike, but the man hit with such power that the now empty pistol went flying from his hands, clattering against the cobblestones.
Then they were at blows, ducking left and right, sweeping out and stepping back. The man was strong, much stronger than Kenneth, and so he tried to rely on his speed, dancing just out of reach as this lumbering giant swung again and again, forcing him backwards.
I cannot hold my ground against him.
Crack! The brute connected a solid strike, and Kenneth spun a full circle around before stumbling backwards. Although he had only spun round the once, the world was still moving all around him when he tripped up with his back against a brick wall.
“Winchester!” he shouted, ducking another overhead jab. “The pistol!”
Winchester had heard him, but so had the first of Riphook's thugs, who now looked longingly to the firearm from his place on the ground, clutching his abdomen.
Kenneth had no time to think on the Marquess. He only had to keep dodging these goliath's punches. He was slow, but when he connected, Kenneth's world was utterly rocked.
I cannot keep at this forever.
“Getting tired?” the thug crackled, swinging his fists again and forcing Kenneth to duck under him and swing about. Kenneth landed two good blows to his side before stepping out of range of his great, sweeping, club of a hand.
“Are you?” Kenneth jeered back.I am growing tired, and I fear he is not at all.
From the corner of his eye, Kenneth saw the Marquess clambering down from the coach. The driver had leaped down from the roof after the pistol shot and tore off down the street the way they had come.
The Marquess moved for the discarded pistol and the bag of shot. The bag he reached first.
An explosion of bells and lights erupted behind Kenneth's ears and eyes as the thug connected another strike. It sent him reeling to the floor, and he crawled wildly away from the thug, trying to stand up.
“Get off you devil!” he heard the Marquess shouting and saw that he and the first thug were struggling over the pistol.
“I've got you now!” the second grabbed Kenneth up by the back of his shirt and hauled him against the wall, throwing a blow into his stomach.
“Villain!” Winchester could be heard shouting, followed by the crack of something striking hard.
Kenneth's vision was terribly blurry, and his ears popped and fluctuated all sorts of strange rings and pops as another strike connected with his ribs.
“Worthington!” the Marquess shouted. He brandished the loaded pistol.
Come on lad,he could hear his commander from the war, urging the battalion over the rise at Talavera.The enemy is there! And they wait for no man! For king and country! And whatever else it is you bloody well care about! On and up lads! Give me that bloody hill!Then as the company charged over that battle-torn valley, the bullets whipping by all around them and peppering holes in their glorious standards, Kenneth saw Leah's great green eyes urging him onwards, and he knew that he had to survive. He had to win.
The thug swung again, and let his body go limp, dropping faster as dead weight than the thug's fist could travel. He tucked, and rolled beneath the giant's legs, popping up behind him.
The Marquess tossed the pistol, the thug spun about, Kenneth caught the gun, and fired.
The thug came crashing down, and the street was suddenly still again.
