A Matter Of Delicacy

The Fight

     She emerged from the shadows like a snake stretching itself into a pool of light. Every part of her was bundled age and flashing eyes and wicked grin. The glow from a street lamp fell over her face and cast long shadows, making her look like a ghoul from a child's story.
     I sighed, 'I should have known you wouldn't wait around for long.'
     'Well, we do aim to impress.' She flicked her fingers towards the man with the pipe, who smirked down at me from the stairs. 'Carlisle here's been beggin' to have a crack at you, he 'as.'
     Looking him up and down, I noted the thickset shoulders, the large hands, heavy boots.                   Sniffing with what I hoped sounded like relaxed disdain, I said 'Carlisle ey? Can I take a guess at where you're from?'
     'You'd be wrong,' he sneered, his thick accent marking him as Cornish of all places.
     I smiled, taking off my hat and tucking it into my pocket, 'so, is it just you tonight then, Cornish Carlisle?' Turning my attention to Mother Quinn, 'surely you learnt from last time.'
     Her grin got wider, teeth flashing in the dark. Four men materialised around her, each larger and more menacing than the last. One had a gruesome scar running across his face and was missing half an ear. Another tapped a large truncheon against his leg. There was a skinny one who spun a knife the length of my forearm in his hands, and when the last grinned at me I saw the top row of his teeth had been replaced with wooden ones.
     'Well aren't you a pretty bunch,' I said.
     Mother Quinn cackled, 'always heart'nin to see some gumption from girls like you, Miss Wentworth. Not that it'll last long.'
     I had a knife with me, and my pistol jammed in my belt, but that only had one shot and would take too long to reload. It had to be used right, not wasted away. Around me London was silent, so even if I used it to get attention there would still be too much time for Mother Quinn's men to finish me off before help arrived.
     No, this was one I might have to fight out.
     I stretched, regretting not staying to dinner at Grenville's – I was hungry and still a bit stiff from the last few days. But I'd bested her men in much worse condition, so I guess I had something to prove now.
     'Right, shall we get started then?'
     The four men flanking Mother Quinn moved first, splitting directly down the middle so two came from either side, reaching for me with long gnarled fingers and vicious grins. I met them halfway, pushing off the stone balustrade and slipping under their arms, firing a kick firmly into the scarred one's stomach. He oofed but only staggered back a couple of steps, leaving an opening for the man with the truncheon to swing it high over his head and down at me. I dodged, ramming my shoulder into his back as he went stumbling after the momentum. He tripped, sprawling on the floor.
     I turned to face them again, slipping my knife out from my belt and holding it assuredly in my grip. Today would not be the day I was murdered in the streets and tossed into the Thames. The skinny one with the knife matched me stance for stance, edging to one side. I mirrored him, my steps light and careful as a cat. He was doing it deliberately, trying to get me to turn so his mates could come at me side on while my attention was split.
     They did not disappoint. Wooden Teeth was there in a flash, grabbing for my arm. I slashed at him, cutting across his knuckles and jabbing towards his stomach. He hissed and leapt back, opening the way for Scar who came barrelling forward with incredible speed. His hand wrapped around my collar and I was hurled to the ground, crashing hard into the cobbles. The stone sent a wave of cold through me, shocking me back from the startling fall. I rolled quickly, avoiding Scarface's kick by inches and was back on my feet, knife held in front of my face.
     But I'd forgotten about Cornish damn Carlisle. There was a hard blow to my back and I was down, jarring onto my knee all over again. I cursed, stabbing the knife out towards the nearest set of legs I could see, but I missed. A boot collided with my back and I sprawled onto my front, groaning as another kick landed in my ribs.
     That was quite enough of that.
     The next time the kick came I was ready, wrapping myself around Wooden Teeth's leg and clinging on, startling him and throwing him off balance. He stumbled and fell down next to me, and in a flash, I was straddling him. He snarled and tried to throw me off, but I was impatient now for this to be over. I wanted to be in my bed with a hot drink and a good book. Pulling my pistol out from my belt I tossed it upside down, caught it by the barrel and clubbed him over the head with the solid wooden handle.
     His head lolled drunkenly onto the stone, spit dribbling from the side of his mouth.
     The skinny one lashed out at my undefended side with his knife – and I was almost insulted at his naivety. Catching his wrist with my left hand I twisted hard, forcing him to his knee with a shriek that probably woke half of London. My pistol came round again, and he joined his mate on the flagstones.
     Pulling myself to my feet, I tucked my pistol back into my belt and took up Skinny's knife, both now held in deadly partnership.
     'You know,' my voice was gruff with effort. 'You could just save yourself the pain and let me go on my way. I'm in no hurry to fight you.'
     Cornish Carlisle snorted, 'orders is orders, Princess. And from what I've heard of ya I've been lookin' forward to this.'
     'Ooh, I know a Princess, two in fact, and trust me you'd much rather be dealing with them.' I flipped the knife end over end, catching it deftly. 'Much more civilised company.'
     He took a step forward and slid a set of beautifully polished brass knuckles onto his fingers, grinning at me all the while. Truncheon swung his bat back and forth and Scar cracked his neck and sneered at me.
     It was cliché, really.
     I sighed deeply to myself, looked like that bath would have to wait, 'fine, but don't say I didn't give you an out.'
     My knife flashed and Truncheon yelled, the hilt having hit him sharply between the eyes. He staggered, Carlisle and Scar startling, and I yanked his bat from his hand, swinging it in a wide and controlled arc and hard into the side of Scarface's head. He lurched to one side, dazed and confused, and hit hard against the balustrade, lolling against it. Jumping forward, I shoved him, his back leaning wildly over the edge. I grabbed one trouser leg, yanked him upwards, and sent him toppling off the edge and into the river. There was a splash, a shocked cry, and he surfaced, coughing and furious. But the Thames was a fierce creature and he was already moving too fast.
I grinned – he'd be in Greenwich before he could get to a jetty, and it would be a long and soggy walk from there.
     Turning back to the task at hand, I was met with a swift punch from Truncheon. His aim was off, he caught my cheekbone instead of my eye, but it stung. I reeled, tripping on the bottom rung of the stone steps and falling hard on my back. They came for me, and I had to kick up hard, aiming for their faces. I didn't quite make it, and Carlisle grabbed my heel and yanked me down and onto the slabs again.
     I was getting used to it down here.
     Pushing myself up, I swiped with my one remaining knife to keep them away. They watched me like hawks, ready for the one moment where I let things slip.
     Clearly, they didn't know me very well.
     I surged to my feet, hurling myself towards them with sudden speeds and ferocity. I saw Truncheon's eyes widen. Feinting once to my right, I spun back to my left, ducking under Carlisle's swing, and raked my knife across Truncheon's side, cutting through his jacket and into his skin. Blood spattered across the stone and he groaned, staggering back and hitting against the balustrade. I was with him in a second, my knife pressed flush with his neck and my pistol pointed straight at Carlisle's face.
     There was a heavy, tense silence. Truncheon looked pained and nervous, eyes flicking between me and the knife at his neck and Carlisle, who stood like a statue and watched me like I was one move away from murder.
     Which, I suppose, I was.
     'So,' I said, breathing heavily. 'Are we done here?'
     Carlisle held my gaze for one moment longer, then relaxed, straightening his coat lapel and even grinning at me, 'now, let's not go makin' any hasty decisions now, Princess.'
     'Oh I quite agree, I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt.'
     He chuckled and, by God, I could have killed him right then and there if I wasn't tired and irritated and desperate for a bit of peace.
     'What if I told you to do it?' he said mildly, and Truncheon spluttered under my blade. Carlisle stuck his hands in his pockets, 'if I told ya to just cut his miserable throat and get it over with?'
     I narrowed my eyes.
     'Can't do it, can ya? Don't want to sully your pretty little hands, eh?' His hands emerged and one knuckle duster had joined the other, glinting in the light. 'You took out all three of my boys without causing any of them any lastin' injuries. Don't think I didn't notice. Got a conscience eh?'
     I bristled, 'I don't like killing people, if that's what you're asking.'
     His smile got wider and more disconcerting, 'don't need to ask, you already showed me. And you just lost your bargaining chip.'
     'Oh I wouldn't say that,' a voice rang out clean and clear and welcome from the shadows behind us. Carlisle spun on his heel and came face to face with Willoughby's pistol. Willoughby stood, his loose shirt billowing in the breeze, one hand pressed against the wound in his side, but his arm steady and confident.
     He'd come after me.
     A huge smile spread over my face, and I couldn't deny that heat that fired up in my chest, the rush of relief that washed through me, and the total calm I felt with him at my side.
     'So,' I said. 'Does that change things for you at all?'
     Carlisle's smile was frozen on his face, and when his eyes flicked to Mother Quinn, lurking in the shadows like the demon she was, he was uncertain.
     She jerked her head minutely, and Truncheon audibly sighed in relief, sagging against the wall. I lifted the knife away from his neck and he was gone, stumbling down the walkway and into the dark.
     Carlisle slipped the knuckledusters off his fingers and pocketed them, 'guess I'll be off then.'
     Willoughby and I watched as he slunk off, the dark shadows closing around him and only leaving the glow of his pipe as he lit it again, until even that dimmed to nothing.
     'You're becoming a lot more trouble than you're worth, Miss Wentworth,' Mother Quinn eyed me from the dark.
     I slipped my knife back into my belt and wiped my hands on my trousers. 'I'm sorry, I know I put you in a bad position. But you can believe me when I say I'm not trying to hurt you or your people.'
     She sniffed disdainfully, 'Gimme a penny for every time I've heard that one and I'd be hiring you myself.'
     Willoughby was a steady presence at my shoulder, watching our exchange with a wary curiosity.
     'Will you leave me be now?'
     'This is my bloody city, Miss Wentworth,' her eyes flashed. 'Every step you take in it I feel, you think I'm just going to let you waltz about in your fancy houses when you owe me? You can trust me on this one, Missy. You made yourself a powerful enemy, and we will not forget in a hurry.'
     I sighed, 'very well. If that's how you feel then I – '
     She melted back into the shadows in between one word and the next, and Willoughby and I were left in the dark, the breeze from the river wafting across my sweat-soaked skin and cooling the steady dread in my heart.