Nicholas did not feel any actual fear. He could almost feel the anger that had boiled up in him fade away. Even the agony of seconds ago was bearable. His main thought was that each time the odds seemed to be getting more in the opponent's favour. He felt his body like a taut spring; he knew he was ready. “Let her go,” He demanded in a calm but threatening voice.
The officer spoke. “There’s a surprise,” he smirked. “I didn’t expect you to come to take Peters turn.” The others laughed as the officer stepped forward, smashing his clenched fist into his open palm. “I should’ve known better than to send boys to do men’s work,” he said with a snarl.
Nicholas waited until he was close and backed away. “I will warn you one more time. Let her go.”
The man lunged forward followed by the other, but instead of leaving the room in fear Nicholas reached up and hooked his fingers over the top of the door, twisting and kicking himself from the ground. The officer tried to step back, but came up hard against the man behind, at the same moment that Nicholas’s right foot came up and crunched flat on, into his face. Blood and teeth splattered onto the second, as he took the force of the officer’s backwards movement.
The officer lurched, stunned as Nicholas twisted again; this time hooking his left foot hook behind his neck. Hanging between man and door his right foot now came up again under the officer’s jaw, pushing his head back almost bent in two. There was a snap before Nicholas released his scissor grip on the collapsing officer; brought his left foot beside the other high on the man’s shoulder, and pushed him forcefully back across the room.
Dropping back into the doorway he directed his attention towards the tavern keeper who held Harriet. The man had spun her about to place her between himself and Nicholas. His hand had released her mouth, and was now in front of her. The firelight glinted off a long blade he pressed against the skin of her throat. “Get back,” he snarled. “Get back or she'll bleed… She'll bleed real bad.”
Nicholas stopped and looked at him, noticing out of the corner of his eye that his second assailant was sluggishly struggling to his feet.
“Get over against that wall.” Demanded the keeper as Nicholas stepped sideways against a chair; slowly lifting his foot until it rested on the seat.
“Do as I say or I'll cut her,” the keeper threatened pressing the blade against her flesh. Harriet was whimpering in fear.
“No you won’t,” said Nicholas, calmly pulling up the hem of his breeches.
The third man was now on his feet. His, Harriet's, and the tavern keeper’s eyes looked down to the knife that was strapped to Nicholas's calf. The tavern keeper pulled her head back harder, making her cry out desperately; and exposing more of the soft flesh of her neck. “Don't think you gunna get chance to use that,” he snarled. “Before her pretty little head is clean off her shoulder.”
Nicholas didn't take his eyes off the man, as his fingers closed around the knife.
“I said put it down. Don't move.” The keeper screamed threateningly.
“You want my knife,” said Nicholas submissively, holding it in the open palm of his hand.
“Gray; get it.” The tavern keeper called to his accomplice.
For an instant Nicholas looked away from the tavern keeper’s cruel eyes, into Harriet's pleading ones. He smiled reassuringly at her, before glancing at Gray, and then back at the man holding her. Grey was only two steps away as Nicholas held out the weapon, but as he reached to take it Nicholas cupped his palm and drew the knife away and down. Grey snarled and thrust his hand towards the knife that was now coming back up. In a fluid movement Nicholas sliced off one finger, and the tip of another as he turned full circle; bringing his outstretched arm smoothly around, until his outstretch hand pointed to the keeper’s throat: as it did his fingers folded flat open and the knife slipped away. The movement had been so fast that the tavern keeper’s eyes were trying to fix on no more than a blur. When they did his arm tensed as he went to draw his own blade over the girls white throat. His reaction was too late and before he could, the sharp point of Nicholas’s knife penetrated the back of his hand. Slicing through skin, sinew, and bone until it emerged though his palm. The tavern keeper screamed, and his impaled hand spread wide in reflex, causing his own blade to clatter to the floor. He released Harriet: clutching at his wrist with his other hand and sobbing in pain. The other man was already doing the same and cowered back as Harriet rushed to Nicholas’s side. Nicholas’s eyes were already gauging Gray’s reaction, and he knew instantly that the man had no stomach for more. The man backed off, his open good hand held out in front of his chest in a sign of submission.
Nicholas turned back to Harriet. “Are you okay?”
“A little shaken… No… A lot shaken.” She twisted her head and fingered the side of her neck. “I thought the knife was going to…”
Nicholas smiled. “That was not what I planned.” He pulled out a kerchief and dabbed the trace of blood on her throat. “See… it isn't even yours.”
Harriet held her head back and looked up into his face, then she leant forward and upward to kiss his cheek. “I think we should go quickly?”
He nodded and stepped over to the cowering keeper. “I believe the dangers of the road are a lesser evil than staying in your filthy hovel for the night.” Nicholas pulled the knife from the man’s flesh as if it was an unfeeling lump of wax. Tauntingly he drew one, then the other flat sides over the man’s shoulder, wiping away his blood. “Next time we meet,” he said threateningly. “I will kill you.”
They left the room, Harriet pausing only to stamp on the fingers of the man still hanging from the stair rail.
More Quone-Loc-Sie, and other novels and stories by John Stevenson can be found by visiting
www.caelin-day.com
www.Australianstoryteller.com
www.Australianstorywriter.com
A Perilous Journey Page 4