Chapter Fifteen

Alan sat in a chair at a table pressed against the wall of the saloon of the inn. He had been there for almost two hours. He had asked Henry, the publican, if he could stay there through lunch, as he had to meet someone about a horse at two o’clock. Henry told him of the big meeting scheduled to take up most of the room, but Alan convinced him that he and his jar and plate of mutton and mash would not take up too much space. He also pointed out he knew well enough to keep his mouth shut when his betters were flannelling on. Finally, a few coins seemed to convince the owner that there was room enough for everyone.

As the saloon began to fill with the local gentry and the Militia officers Alan took a last look around, trying to spot Fitz. He knew that with the sneak thief’s gift of stealth it would be almost impossible to find him, but he made a cursory examination, just to be sure. There was no sign. He hoped that meant the boy was in place and ready when the signal came, but he could not dwell in the possibilities of all that could go wrong with the plan.

He stiffened when Mr. Bennet entered, talking with Sir William. These were the two men whom he hated most in the world. The Mayor was born to an ordinary family, just as he had been. But somehow, Sir William had contrived to be born with a gift. That raised him out of obscurity and limitation and set him above his peers. There was no reason it should not have been Alan who was fated to join the ruling class. Alan despised the man for his luck.

Mr. Bennet was a wealthy man. His estate was the largest and most prosperous in the area, since Mr. Sturbridge had been forced to give up Netherfield due to some subtle sabotage from Alan that had decimated the estate’s flocks and stunted their crops. But a greater reason to hate Bennet, in Alan’s opinion, were his daughters. They were beauties forever out of a mere farmer’s reach, and they managed to protect their wealthy father’s flocks and fields from his depredations. Alan hated the man for what he had.

Today he hoped to see them both dead at his feet.

Alan, as he had promised Henry, listened silently when the men, milling about the room in idle conversation, began to speak of the crisis they faced. He smiled inwardly as they discussed all the possible adversaries and their likely motives for the attacks. Colonel Forster was determined that the French were somehow behind the attacks. Sir William agreed it was a possibility, but felt it was more likely brigands, even though nothing was stolen. Alan had thought LaFontaine’s instructions to strike only twice and to not loot the bodies had been too cautious. Instead he found the uncertainty had increased the disquiet among the populace.

When the church bell tolled the hour, the Colonel called the meeting to order. Henry and his staff took several minutes to see that every man was served food and fresh drink. When Mrs. Forster entered the room, the gentlemen surged to their feet.

“Darling! What brings you down? I thought you would be occupied in our chambers.” The Colonel was gentle in his chiding instruction of his very young bride. Perhaps too gentle as she did not seem to appreciate his meaning.

“I felt as your hostess I should stop by to ensure that all our guests were satisfied.” She walked to her new husband and placed a dainty hand lightly on his arm. He smiled down at her, obviously besotted, and placed his hand over hers. She turned to the assembly. “I recognize your officers, of course, and Sir William. But I do not believe I am acquainted with the other gentlemen. Will you not introduce me, my love?”

“Of course,” the Colonel acquiesced, “Gentlemen, may I introduce my wife to you? Harriet, please allow me to introduce Mr. Bingley of Netherfield Park, Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, Mr. Goulding of Haye-Park, and Mr. Harrington of Houndslough Hall, along with Mr. Jones and Mr. Watson from Meryton.” They each bowed as they were named. Alan seethed inside. He was sure that his father would have been excluded from the introductions had he been in the room, even though he was more of a landholder than the apothecary or the postmaster.

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“Pleased to meet you all.” Her smile seemed to chase away the slight chill that had seeped into the room with the autumn wind. “Please let Mr. Owens know if you need anything. I hope your meeting is a product…”

Her welcome speech was cut off by the thunderous crash of a volley of gunfire sounding just outside the door of the inn. That was the signal. The sound seemed to paralyze the men at the table. Alan took advantage of that and, standing in his corner, unleashed a bolt of lightning at the Colonel. It struck the soldier and arced to his pretty wife. Both collapsed into smoking piles. He looked for his next target.

It was obvious that Fitz had sprung from hiding. He stood between Captain Carter and Mr. Pratt, a dagger stuck into each man’s back. Almost faster than the eye could follow the boy spun towards his next targets. At that moment the large front window, and the wall in which it was held, was smashed into the main saloon by a stone-filled cart propelled by Reilly.

This opened the view into the yard. Alan saw Mansfield, with a pistol in each of his six hands, firing into the platoon of militiamen standing guard in front of the inn. As each weapon was discharged, he threw it at an enemy and drew another from his harness. Alan had no notion how many pistols he carried, but he fair bristled with them. Jenny Red was living up to her name and burning everything in sight.

Alan refocused on the interior of the inn. His mission was to wreak havoc on the attendees. But before he could select his next target, he saw Mr. Bennet leveling an antique pistol at Fitz. The boy dodged the shot and advanced on the hated gentleman. Sir William reached out, his arms stretching across the table and his hands growing to the size of rain barrels. He managed to snag Fritz, cutting off all avenues of escape. Alan remembered he was part of the fight and sent a bolt at the giant hands entrapping his comrade. The shock caused Sir William to release his grasp enough for Fitz to slide free.

It was at that point in the fracas that the militia officers managed to throw off their shock enough to begin drawing weapons. Alan found himself facing a mix of guns and blades. Realizing that by positioning himself in the corner he may have given himself a field of fire that include the whole room; he had also blocked any avenue of maneuver or retreat. He upended the thick oak table and sheltered behind it as several shots crashed into the makeshift barricade. He responded with an unaimed arc of electricity. A scream of pain sounded, revealing he had hit at least one unseen target.

He glanced outside and saw that Mansfield was charging into the midst of the soldiers firing at him. His plethora of both arms and weapons gave him the advantage in close quarters. Jenny seemed to be spreading her fire onto shops and houses in the area, causing panic in the general populace. Reilly seemed to be locked into battle of gifted fisticuffs with Sir William, half in and half out of the saloon. Together they were causing more damage than the rest combined.

Alan unleashed another blast to push back the officers approaching with sabers. He heard the rapid fire of Mansfield’s plethora of pistols suddenly silence. He desperately hoped that was just the sign he had finally run out of preloaded weapons and was moving on to his deadly blades. He had no time to look as Mr. Bennet had appeared at the end of the table, an aged cutlass in one hand and a wickedly curved dagger in the other, having taken advantage of the distraction from the officers to flank his position.

“You really should not have attacked my daughter, Dash. I’ve no idea why you did, but it was a grave mistake.”

“No idea! You, who sit in your unearned estate, secured by a gift of chance, wonder that the honest men you and your freakish kind have repressed for centuries might rise up to overthrow your tyranny? Wake up Bennet! Your world is burning around you. And now it is your turn.” Alan brought both hands to bear on the abomination. He released all his pent-up loathing and rage at the man. Only for Bennet to spin nimbly on his heels and slash through one wrist with the cutlass before he could release his lightning. The old man then carried through to pin Alan’s other hand to the wall. The curved dagger spun around and carved through the former farmer’s throat.

The last thing Alan saw as his world went dark was the satisfied snarl on his most hated enemy’s face.