shoulder.
'My my!' exclaimed the king's agent. 'You aren't nearly so fast today!'
Oliphant bared his canines.
Over his opponent's shoulder, Burton saw Trounce knocked to the ground by a wolf-man. Detective Inspector Honesty crossed to his colleague, pulled out a pistol, and put a bullet through the monster's skull. He looked up and saw Burton, then raised his pistol and pointed it at the back of Oliphant's head. Burton shook his own slightly, as if to say, 'No. This one is mine.'
Honesty gave a curt nod and plunged back into the battle, chasing after Spring Heeled Jack.
Oliphant lunged and almost caught Burton in the chest. The king's agent barely managed to parry, but parry he did, then turned the tables with an une-deux of such power that the albino's sword not only flew from his hand but also broke into two pieces.
Burton levelled his blade at his adversary's throat.
Oliphant laughed viciously, stepped back, and drew a pistol, aiming it between Burton's eyes.
The king's agent lowered his blade. 'What a blackguard you are!' he sneered.
Oliphant's feline eyes narrowed. His finger applied pressure to the trigger.
A dark object smacked into his face and exploded in a cloud of black dust. He fell backward. His gun cracked and the bullet flew wild.
'Yaah-hooo!' came a cry from above.
Burton looked up and saw Algernon Swinburne grinning down at him from a madly tumbling box kite that was being towed along by a huge swan. A great flock of the giant birds was flying in from the south, their feathers startlingly white against the night sky, the lamps from the rotorchairs shining off them.
In each kite-with the exception of Swinburne's-sat two boys, chimney sweeps, who were eagerly throwing bags of soot down onto the combatants below.
Now it became apparent why the all policemen were wearing goggles, for while it was true that they had to frequently wipe the black powder from their eyepieces, at least their eyes were protected. Not so the Rakes and Technologists! As the air clouded with the dust, which whirled through the steam as it was blasted by the rotorship overhead, the enemy forces stumbled around half blinded. Man after man, with watering eyes, walked into a descending truncheon and fell senseless onto the grass.
Meanwhile, the sweeps, directed by Swinburne, split into two groups. The first continued to circle under the rotorship, the kites whipped about by its downdraught, the boys throwing soot bombs. The second group peeled off and swooped out, up, and over the massive ship, then began to wheel above it. The boys took out metal rods- handle sections of their chimney brushes-and dropped them onto the spinning wings beneath. Loud clangs sounded and chunks of the damaged wings streaked out sideways, spinning away over the trees that bordered the field.
It had the desired effect: very slowly, the rotorship began to retreat, sliding westward at a snail's pace.
Laurence Oliphant kicked Burton's legs out from under him. The famous explorer sprawled onto the ground and cried out as pain lanced through his injured arm. The panther-man hurled himself onto him. They rolled, punching, scratching, biting, kicking, forcing their elbows into each other's throats, head-butting and scrambling for an unbreakable hold. Burton had the skill, the strength, and the training, but Oliphant possessed animal savagery; his mock manners had fallen away to reveal the beast within, and the king's agent felt as if he were back in Africa, fighting hand to hand with one of that continent's great cats.
It was impossible to get a grip on the albino, and Burton's strength drained rapidly as he weathered the storm of slashing claws and snapping teeth. Then Oliphant's brow hammered into his face with such force that for a second Burton saw nothing but stars. His vision returned as the pantherman bent over his throat, his jaw distending unnaturally, his dripping canines glinting with wicked intent.
A rope slid across Burton's outstretched hand. He snatched at it and, in one lightning-fast motion, coiled it about the albino's neck. With a choking cough, the panther-man was yanked backward and dragged from him, slid across the grass, then was hauled into the air. He swung, kicking and jerking convulsively at the end of the line, which descended from one of the departing rotorship's open doors. Then he became still, his white face blackening, until he limply vanished into the cloud of steam and soot.
'Still hanging around with the wrong crowd!' observed Burton.
There came a sudden flash and Oliphant's body swung back into view, burning brightly; he had spontaneously combusted.
Burton watched as the blazing corpse vanished into the pall again, then he located the crossbow, picked it up, and went in search of Honesty and Trounce.
Visibility was severely hampered by the black dust that moved through the air and clung to his goggles, but it seemed to him that the battle had thinned out, with fewer men fighting and a great many lying dead or unconscious on the grass.
The mist parted and a massive swan emerged from it. Flying extremely low, it shot past him, the long leather straps attached to its harness trailing behind to a box kite in which a redheaded passenger was yelling: 'The cottage!'
It was Swinburne-and his message was clear!
Burton started running down the field.
On the well-swept high street of the village, Old Carter the Lamp-lighter was attempting to restrain his neighbours.
'It ain't nothing to concern us!' he announced. 'I happen to know that it's a police matter and they'll not brook interference from common folk!'
'Who're you calling common?' shouted a middle-aged man. 'Old Ford is our village! It's bad enough we had Spring Heeled Jack back in '38-now we have to put up with giant swans, wolf-things, and all manner of flying contraptions! It ain't natural, I tell you!'
'Aye!' came a cry of agreement. 'There's a bloody curse on this village!'
'There ain't no such thing as curses!' objected Old Carter the Lamplighter.
'Then how do you explain all that malarkey?' shouted another, pointing at the battle in the field across the small valley. 'I tell you, it's the old mansion in Waterford that's the cause of it! There's been an ill wind blowing through Old Ford ever since the Mad Marquess took up residence there back in '37!'
'It's true!' called a voice from the back of the crowd. 'He may be dead but he's not forgotten! His ghost haunts that place!'
'Darkening Towers was built by a mad 'un and it's had mad 'uns in it ever since!' a woman screamed. 'We should have burned it to the ground years ago!'
'And what about this Mr. Belljar blighter? Has anyone actually seen him?'
'No!' they roared.
'Who is he? Why did he come here?'
'Look! Look! The flying ship is leaving! It's heading toward Waterford!'
'It's going to Darkening Towers, I'll warrant!'
'Let's follow! Let's find out who this Belljar is, once and for all!'
'Aye, and if it's him what brought this madness upon us, let's string him up!'
'Bravo!'
'Aye! '
'Hang him!'
'Stop, you fools!' yelled Old Carter the Lamp-lighter, but no one listened, and soon, brandishing makeshift weapons and burning torches, the mob was descending toward Bearbinder Lane, which, if they followed it to the right, would eventually lead to the main thoroughfare to Waterford.
'What the heck!' Old Carter the Lamp-lighter sighed. 'If you can't beat em, join 'em!'
He hurried after his neighbours.
Down the hill they marched until, at the bottom, with the Alsop field sloping up before them, they came to the cottage.
Four constables, who'd been guarding the premises since the fight commenced, came forward.
'Folks! You should return to your homes at once!' said one. 'It's not safe here!'
'Aye!' cried a villager. 'And it'll never be safe until we're rid of Darkening Towers!'
