Lord Liverchester

Chapter 5

(as told by Dorian Stainthorpe)

The fight between what I consider to be good and evil was off to the rough start I anticipated. A few times I could feel Lawrence tense up like he wanted to run to Wimbleford by himself; he wanted it over with. It was those small impulses that often led him into trouble in the early days. I had them too, getting into fights. That's what got me kicked out of the North Chesterington Army. Kids raised in the institute often wound up as impulsive adults- there was a study on it and everything. So when Phin and Lawrence started fighting before the fight really began, I was not the least bit surprised. It was apropos for things to escalate as such in the company we were in. Lawrence was taken care of by Novella and Leopold, whisked away to a hospital in Edincastle. While his help would have been so nice to have, I admit I felt less burdened. It was much easier to grab Phin and push him up against what was left of a decaying brick wall. Armed with my dagger and Lawrence's walking stick that doubled as a sword, I was much better off than Phin. I outweighed him in strength and power, holding my dagger to his throat with my left dominant hand and keeping him in place with my right hand and a knee. I was giddy from the simple notion I may end his life without him fighting back.

"Can't we talk this out?" he croaked fearfully.

Oh no, I refused. I pushed the dagger into his throat, watching the blood dripping down and covering my hand. Phin tried hard to get away, squirming. I wouldn't let him go, pushing him further. Assuming he had killed Lawrence, though it was in essence an accident, I really wasn't about to let the bastard go. With my dagger still nearly sticking out of his throat, I slapped him hard. Roughing him up helped, making him fearful of me more than ever. If I would ever let him go, I wanted him to be so scared of me he wouldn't even look in my direction. I gave him the beating of a lifetime, Artois the fox and Sgt. Welton watching and not daring to intervene. Phin called out to them for help that didn't come. A few choice words were said, calling each other names. He put up a nasty fight, scratching me and reaching out bravely to strangle me. I kicked him, taking him down to the dirt. I buried his face almost completely with disgusting muck crawling with bugs. No matter how many times he called out for mercy, I wasn't listening. No way was I letting that bastard off the hook. Years of depression, trauma, and so desperately needing my father's guidance all ended with Phin's torture. For the moment I let him live, walking away to join Welton for a cigar. We sat in Phin's chairs and had a smoke, watching him writhe around in pain trying to no avail to get up. It brought me great joy, as sick as it may be. I ignored him, petting the fox that sat on my lap and having a normal conversation with my good friend Wendell Welton. I felt some remorse creeping in the back of my brain, but it was nothing compared to my concern for Lawrence. His blood was all over the floor just under my feet. I'd seen that same colour before, dark red and smears of brighter red. It was sickening.

When Phin came crawling up to me, both kneecaps broken, he asked me for forgiveness. I would never forgive him, but I was now willing to discuss things with him. I sat in his chair like a king in a throne, looking down on him like the peasant he was. I swelled with power, in full control of the situation. I put my foot down on his back to keep him in place. An awful sound escaped his throat but I didn't care. I barked at him repeatedly to tell me where the book was, but he just kept crying and whining. The talk never came and it was up to him now if I let him live or not. I let him have mercy for just a few seconds, but I stepped on his hand to drive it further into his head that he wasn't getting out of there unscathed. By then I combined my concern and possible mourning of Lawrence into my hatred for Phin. I saw him as no more than a stain on the earth. A pest. The thing that should never have existed. It was thanks to him that my childhood's living hell became a life long sadness and disappointment. When he still refused to answer me I had him back up against the wall.