Chapter Eleven

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy approached the supposed hideout of the highwayman known as Black Tom Tolland. The area contained patches of overgrown fields and stands of trees and shrubs. There was a derelict cart path leading to the abandoned cottage. The two investigators had taken a position almost a hundred yards from the hovel and were watching for signs of illicit habitation. They had landed some distance away and had made their way through brush and shadow to avoid premature detection.

“Can you … sense anything?” Mr. Darcy’s tone hinted at his disgust of her animalistic abilities.

Elizabeth inhaled the local aromas with a deep breath. She could detect the normal scents of a semi-wilderness in November. But she also found traces of wood smoke, charred meat, human fear, and an unfamiliar astringent scent. Her nose twitched as she sensed the familiar, but nauseating, stench of rotten eggs. She shivered in revulsion.

Mr. Darcy started to speak, but she held up her hand peremptorily to still him. She focused on her hearing, sifting through the natural noises to find something out of place. The sounds of muffled voices and the clatter of dishes could be heard coming from the cabin.

“They are there,” she said. “At least two. One man, one woman. Maybe more. I am not certain they are all there of their own volition. There is also something I have never encountered before; a sharp, almost chemical, smell. But is it intermixed with, almost overpowered by, a sulfurous scent - possibly rotten eggs.”

“I have heard that Black Tom is named so because his skin is like burnt rubber. Perhaps that is the smell?”

“It may be.” She looked at her companion. “Have you a suggestion for how we should proceed? If there are prisoners or hostages in the cottage, we cannot risk a frontal assault.”

Mr. Darcy peered towards the building. Elizabeth once again noticed a subtle shimmering in front of his eyes. “I see hints of movement inside.”

She took a closer look and saw that there was motion detectible though the spaces left around the ill-fitting door and shutters. She could not make out how many there were in the cottage, but more than one was evident. “Still cannot be certain of the number or nature of those present.”

“Perhaps a more direct approach is called for. I can call out the blackguard. If you are in position to flank them should they all prove hostile, I believe we can prevail in a direct confrontation.” Elizabeth was surprised he would trust her even with a support role, then realized it was likely his own self-assurance that he could vanquish any possible opposition at play, and he simply wanted her out of the way.

“Very well. I shall position myself in those trees.” She pointed to a copse of tall beeches that only began to branch out high above the ground. From there she would be hidden out of their immediate line of sight, yet still within range to affect the humors of any coming out of the cottage. Mr. Darcy nodded, and Elizabeth crept though the underbrush until she reached the base of the tallest tree. She scampered up it, in what she was certain Mr. Darcy would see as a most unladylike manner. Once she signaled she was in place, her companion strode openly towards the cottage, a faint shield shimmering in front of him. When he was thirty yards from the shack, he stopped and gestured. A fallen branch flew from the ground and crashed into the door.

A sharp shriek sounded from within the cottage, followed by a slap of flesh striking flesh. The door slammed open and in it was one of the most frightening men Elizabeth had ever seen. He was so tall he had to stoop almost double when he stepped through the portal. His skin was as black and shiny as wet pitch. His head was topped with ram’s horns and red fangs protruded from his snarling lips. His naked muscular torso sported four brawny arms. He was a true grotesque.

“Black Tom Tolland!” Mr. Darcy’s voice carried easily throughout the clearing. “I arrest you in the name of the King. Come peacefully or I will be forced to resort to methods most unpleasant to both of us.”

“Peacefully! You don’t know me very well, toff. You want me, you gotta pay in blood.” The brigand’s lower hands reshaped into blades and he charged towards the magistrate.

Mr. Darcy brought up both hands, the shimmering shield sharpened into full visibility, and he pushed it towards the charging villain. The ruffian brought up his upper arms, his fists transformed to mauls, and hammered through the shield.

Elizabeth almost laughed at the expression of astonishment on the Derbyshireman’s features. Her amusement abruptly ended when the giant’s lower arms shot out a dozen paces to impale Mr. Darcy’s waistcoat. She watched in horror as her companion was thrust from his feet to dangle in the air like a speared fish. It was not until Elizabeth could see that Mr. Darcy had managed to grab Black Tom’s wrist before he could complete his attack. The magistrate was actually holding himself off the ground.

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Movement at the cottage door drew Elizabeth’s attention. She turned as the figure of a younger woman, bearing evidence of hard use, was pushed through the door. Without looking back, she fled into the fields behind the small house, away from the battle in the lane. Elizabeth recognized the young woman as being Prudence Waltham, a tenant from a farm on the Lucas estate. She had heard rumors that girl had left home some weeks ago to elope with a lover from St. Albans. Elizabeth thought it likely that she had, instead, been abducted by Tolland. She would look her up when the current investigation was complete to see if she might help her overcome any lingering effects of her misuse.

A thunderous crash brought her attention back to the conflict in the clearing. Mr. Darcy and Black Tom were rolling in the wreckage of an old farm cart. Elizabeth thought the two titans looked evenly matched. Surprisingly, Mr. Darcy seemed to have an advantage in pure strength as he could hold back the giant’s arms and withstand the bludgeoning blows. But Tolland’s greater number of limbs and ability to stretch and shapeshift allowed him to keep the magistrate on the defensive.

The quiet sound of a mechanical click almost went unnoticed by Elizabeth. But her instincts caused her to look back at the cottage door, wherein stood a raggedly dressed older man with a musket pointed at Mr. Darcy. The click was the man’s cocking of the flint to fire. Elizabeth reached out with her gift. Usually she needed to touch a person or animal to manipulate their nature. But there were some simple effects she could create at a distance. She caused the muscles in the brigand’s arms to spasm, jerking the rifle out of line. It fired, and the ball slammed into Black Tom’s broad back, then bouncing off to impact a tree.

Elizabeth leapt from her tree, reaching out to touch the gunman. With lightening reflexes, he snatched a pistol from his belt and brought it around in time to fire at her. Like a falling cat, she twisted her body in midair, narrowly avoiding the shot. But her action brought her to the ground out of reach of her attacker.

“Elizabeth!” Mr. Darcy cried. He thrust his right hand at the gunman, unleashing a translucent pulse. As the scoundrel tried desperately to snatch another pistol from his belt, the wave of energy smashed into him, slamming him back through the wall of the cottage.

Black Tom took advantage of his opponent’s distraction and stretched an arm out to encircle Elizabeth’s waist, lifting her off the ground, and constricting most painfully. At the same time, he used three arms to slam Mr. Darcy into the thick trunk of an ancient oak. Elizabeth was much tougher than she looked. She was able to lay her hand on the offending limb and sent a pulse that should have rendered the villain insensible. But somehow his unusual morphology could partially resist her manipulation. Instead of unconsciousness, her attack caused him to scream out and writhe in uncontrollable agony. His grip loosened, and Elizabeth could force herself free of the flailing limb.

Mr. Darcy also extricated himself, then stepped back and brought both fists down powerfully onto the air in front of him. Black Tom appeared to be pinned with a giant weight, pressing him into the hard soil. A circular indentation depressed the ground below him and his malleable body seemed to flatten into the depression. Yet he still struggled feebly.

“I can hold him like this, but I do not know if I can do more. He seems almost immune to concussion or pressure.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was strained.

“Give me a moment,” Elizabeth said. She reached out to feel the somatic energy in the scoundrel’s body. It was not easy. His system was so different from those she had manipulated before. She could almost feel the gift pulsing strong within him. Slowly she twisted the humors within the brigand, settling them into a balance that brought him into a state of somnolence. Fearing that would not be enough, she brought him deeper into insensibility. She disconnected the connections to his senses, so he would not be brought to wakefulness by external stimulus and temporarily paralyzed his body. After a moment she said, “He should be safe now.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Darcy said as he released the energy holding the blackguard to the ground. “I was at a loss as to what should we do? Somehow I do not think binding him would prove too effective.”

“What of his compatriot?” Elizabeth remembered and turned to find the other attacker unconscious in the ruins of the cottage. She went over to check his condition, only to find him battered, but alive. She started sifting through the wreckage, looking for indications of a connection between the villains and the attack on her sister.

Their scents were not familiar, nor did she see any signs of missing compatriots who might possess the gifts used in the attacks. She did find several leather bags of coins and jewelry half-buried under the hearthstone. She lifted the large stone away from the ground and tossed it towards the barn. She began to examine what she assumed was the highwayman’s ill-gotten loot.

After a few minutes, Elizabeth became sensible of Mr. Darcy’s intense scrutiny. She blushed under his inspection, fearing she presented quite the pattern of the country hoyden. She stood and brushed herself off. “I can find no evidence linking them to the attacks.” She gestured to the loot. “There was no sign that there was any attempt to rob Jane, nor have you mentioned any such theft of Mr. Goulding’s property.”

Mr. Darcy gazed at her a moment longer, then answered. “There were no signs of such at the scene. So, you feel confident these were not the assailants?”

“Not of my sister, but certainly they have been a plague on the neighborhood. Their hostage was the daughter of one of Sir William’s tenants.”

“Then after we remand them to Colonel Forster’s custody, we must continue our search?”

“It seems so.”

“But what of you? Are you injured? I see no blood, so I assume the coward was not successful in his aim.” Mr. Darcy gestured to the gunman. “But if you need to rest or recover, I can investigate the deserters at the pot house on my own, or with some of the militia officers.”

“I thank you for your solicitude, but I am well and still determined in my duty.”

“Very well, then shall we proceed?”