"Elrod, P.N. - Jonathan Barrett 04 - Dance of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

Jonathan Barret 4 - Dance of Death by P N Elrod

CHAPTER 1
London, December 1777
"You're certain that he's all right?" asked my cousin Oliver, shifting closer in an anxious effort to see better. "He looks like a dead fish."
Which was a perfectly accurate observation; however, I had no need to be reminded about the effect of my special influence on another person. I really had no need for Oliver's interruption, either, but he'd asked to watch and at the time there seemed no reason to deny his request. Now I was having second thoughts.
"Please," I said in a rather tight voice. "I must concentrate."
"Oh." His hushed tone was contrite, and he instantly subsided into silence and went very still, enabling me to put forth my full attention on the man sitting before us. Focusing my gaze hard upon his slack face, I softly spoke into his all too vulnerable mind.
You must listen very carefully to what I say....
In this moment I truly felt myself balanced on the edge of a knife. With Oliver along to witness things, I was steadier than if I'd been alone, and yet I was very much aware of the lamentable consequences should I make a mistake with this fellow. A single word on my part or a brief surge of uncontrolled rage let loose, and the man would most likely be plunged into a madness from which he might never recover. I'd done that once before unintentionally find would be a liar not to admit this present circumstance offered me a great temptation to repeat the action. God knows, I'd more than sufficient cause to justify such a malfeasance.
His name was Thomas Ridley, and last night he and his cousin Arthur Tyne had done their damnedest to try to murder me. For this and other crimes they'd committed or participated in, I had been informed it would be too much to expert a just retribution by means of the law; therefore I'd taken upon myself the responsibility to guarantee that they would commit no further mischiefs. Arthur had already been dealt with and would soon be sent away home when he was fit enough to travel. I'd drained quite a lot of blood from him last night surely for the purpose of survival, not revenge, and he'd been but half awake and easy to influence.
Ridley was another matter.
We'd confined him to one of the more remote cellar storage rooms far beneath Fonteyn House, well away from any ears with no business hearing his bellowed curses. When I'd awakened that evening, had finished with the befuddled Arthur, and was ready to deal with Ridley, he'd worked himself into a truly foul temper, if one might judge anything by the coarsely direct quality of his language. Much of his invective involved both general and specific profanities against myself and my many relatives for his treatment at our collective hands.
Coming down to the cellar together, Oliver and I had dismissed the five footmen detailed to stand watch, and announced our presence to Ridley through the stout oak timbers of the door to his makeshift prison. He responded with a statement to the effect that it would be his greatest pleasure to kill us both with his bare hands. He saw no humor in Oliver's comment that he'd just given us an excellent reason for keeping him incarcerated until he was starved into a better disposition. Ridley's reaction was another tirade against us, accompanied by a solid crashing and thumping to indicate that he'd found something in his cell with which to make an assault on the door.
"I think we should have the footmen back," Oliver advised, casting a nervous eye at me. "We won't be able to handle him alone, he's far too angry for reason.''
"He'll not be difficult for me once I'm inside."
"That's a proper lion's den in there and I must remind you that your name's Jonathan, not Daniel."
"And I must remind you that I have a bit more than just my faith to protect me in this instance."
"From the sound of things, you'll need it."
Ridley roared and smashed whatever weapon he'd found upon the door, causing it to rattle alarmingly. I hoped that his improvised club was not made of wood. For reasons unknown to me, wood presents a rare difficulty to my person when brought to bear with violence, and to it was I as susceptible to bodily harm as any ordinary man; I'd have to take care not to allow Ridley the least opening against me.
Easier said than done, Johnny Boy, I thought, steeling myself to enter. More out of trepidation of what was to come and to put it off just a bit longer than out of concern for Oliver, I paused to make an inquiry of him.
"You know what to expect, don't you?"
Ridley's commotion must have distracted him. "I expect he'll pulverize you, then come after me."
"He won't be able to. I was asking if you remembered what I was going to do to get inside.''
"Oh, that," he said with wan enthusiasm. "Yes, you've mentioned it, but I'm not so sure that I've quite taken it in."
"I've never had cause before to demonstrate it for you. You're not going to swoon or do anything silly, are you?''
''For God's sake, how bad can it be?''
"It's not bad, just something of a surprise if one is unprepared for it."
"I should be able to manage well enough. Once one's witnessed a few amputations there's little enough the world can do to shake one's calm. Nothing like seeing a man getting his leg sawed off for putting you in a proper mood to count your blessings and to ignore most troubles life has to fling at you." As if to give lie to his statement, Oliver jumped somewhat at Ridley's next fit of hammering.
"Steady on, Coz." I found myself near to smiling at his discomfiture and wondered if he was playing the ass on purpose just to lighten things.
He scowled, jerking his head in the direction of the, clamor. "Well, get on with it before he has the whole house down. Do what you must-just promise you'll try to come out in one piece."
"I promise." And with those words, I picked up one of the lighted candles left behind by the footmen and vanished.
Oliver emitted a sort of suppressed yelp, but held his ground as far as I could determine without benefit of sight. My hearing was somewhat impaired while in this bodiless state, but I could clearly sense his presence just in front of me-or what had been my front but a moment before. Now I floated, held in place by thought alone, and by that means did I propel myself to one side, find the crack between the cellar bricks and the wooden door, and sweep down and through to become solid once more in the little room beyond.
I say little, for Ridley seemed to fill the whole of its space. I was a tall man, but Ridley was just that much taller, possessing a large and fit body heavy with muscles and all of them full charged with his anger. The remains of some bandaging circled his head; he'd suffered injury last night and taken a shallow but colorful wound. It had probably opened again because of his exertions; the blood had soaked through, and I instantly picked up the scent of it. His right arm had been in a sling the last time I'd seen him. The sling
was gone now and his arm hung slack at his side. He still had much energy in him, for he slammed at the door again using his good arm and called us cowards and damned us thrice over. His back was to me when I caused myself to reappear.
The candle I held yet burned, and its sudden radiance drew his instant attention upon me. He whirled, one hand raised holding what had once been a table leg and the other shading his eyes from the brightness of the flame. We'd left him in the dark for the whole of the day lest he work some damage by having fire, and so my tiny light must have been utterly blinding to him. Despite this, he was very game for a fight, and without warning threw his improvised club right at me with a guttural snarl. I wasted no time vanishing again, an action that plunged his room into full darkness once more since I still clutched the candle.
He must have been so lost to his emotions that it had made little or no impression on him that I'd appeared from nowhere and departed in the same manner. I'd held some hope that the surprise alone might slow him enough for me to soothe him to quiescence, but was forced to abandon it as he charged over to the spot where I'd been standing and tried to grab hold of me. I felt his arms passing this way and that through my invisible and incorporeal body. He, I knew, would feel nothing but an unnatural coldness.
Now he blundered about trying to find me, cursing like a dozen sailors.
"Jonathan?'' Oliver called out in a worried voice.
I could not answer him in this form, nor could I count on him to be especially patient. We were as close as brothers, and his concern for me would soon cause him to fetch the footmen and come to my rescue. Even with the odds at seven to one Ridley would probably break some heads before being subdued.
I didn't care for that prospect one whit. When Ridley had crossed again to the door in his blind search, I allowed myself to assume a degree of visibility, but not solidity. He saw the candlelight immediately as before, but this time it was pale and watery, the brass holder in the hand of a ghost, not a man. This was so startling that he finally paused long enough to take in a good view of me. I was fairly transparent yet; doubtless he could see right through me to the damp brick wall at my back, an alarming effect that more than served. In the space of a moment Ridley went from a man who looked just short of bursting a blood vessel from his fury, to a man frozen with a profound astonishment beginning to edge into fear.
It was as close as I'd likely be able to come to a favorable condition for what needed to be accomplished. Quick as thought, I assumed full solidity, fastened my gaze unbreakably on to his, and told him to be still. Perhaps fed by my own heightened emotions, my order to him must have had more force to it than was necessary for he seemed to turn to cold marble right then and there. An abrupt twinge of dismay shot through me, and for an instant I thought I might have killed him, but this eased almost as quickly as it had come when my sharp ears detected the steady thunder of his heartbeat. I sagged from the relief.
"Jonathan?"
"I'm fine," I said loudly so Oliver could hear through the slab of oak between us. "It's safe now. You may unlock the door."
I heard the clink and rattle of brass, and the barrier between us swung hesitantly open. Oliver, his lanky frame blocking the lighted candles behind him, stood braced for trouble with a charged dueler in his hand.
"Where on earth did you get that?'' I asked, staring.
"F-from my coat pocket, where d'ye think?''
"You won't need it; Ridley's asleep on his feet, as you can see."
Oliver narrowly examined my charge, then reluctantly put the pistol away."He's under your influence, then?''
"For the moment."