Chapter Thirty-Seven

Darcy landed beside Richard and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Well done.”

“What are you going to do with the carcass? I doubt it’s good eating. Though it looks like it could feed a whole village.”

“If Miss Elizabeth were here I would ask her if it was tainted or …”

“Ah! The ineffable Miss Elizabeth,” Richard smiled. “Her’s is becoming a familiar name. You really must tell me more about this paragon sometime soon.”

“There is nothing to tell.”

“And this is not the time to not tell it. What are we going to do with the beast?”

“I suppose we should transport it to Pemberley, perhaps even to London.”

“But not just yet.” The military man looked at the sky, his hand rubbing his chin. “The weather should remain cold enough that the beast will keep for a while yet. If you will levitate it back to Pemberley, I’ll remain and see to the tenants.”

“But they are my tenants. The responsibility is mine.”

“Indeed, it is, but they may be more comfortable talking to me rather than the Squire. Not to mention, there is no way I am carrying that carcass back to the house.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Off you go!”

Darcy realized his cousin was correct in his division of labor. With a grimace he floated himself and the carcass into the air and began his return to his home. Upon his arrival at Pemberley, he found a battle underway. Four gifted assailants were being repulsed by Georgianna and the household staff. There were several figures already on the ground, either dead or wounded. Facing Darcy’s family and staff was a giant woman, at least 15 feet tall, wielding a tree trunk as a club. With her was a man who appeared to be formed from molten rock or metal. A second man, wearing a bright red driving coat, was standing back from the melee shooting jets of water at the defenders. The final attacker almost surprised Darcy by attacking him in midair.

A young man surrounded by a corona of crackling energy soared past Darcy, leaving a wake of comet-like sparkling luminescence. “Should‘ve stayed away, squire. Might’ve survived to mourn your dear sister,” the attacker shouted as he passed by.

Darcy snarled and lashed out with a gravity pulse that missed the speeding flyer, dropping the carcass in the meanwhile. Below, he saw Georgiana unleash a sonic blast that rocked the giant on her heels and sent the molten man tumbling backwards. The third assailant managed to score with a cascade of water on a group of footmen preparing to fire a volley with fowling pieces from the Pemberley gunroom. His attention returned to his aerial opponent as the flier made a series of tight turns taking full advantage of the three-dimensional space and came at Darcy from below. The landowner used his gravity control to brace himself in the air as he brought down both fists in an overhand plow to smash into his charging opponent. The concussion of the impact sounded like thunder in the clear winter sky.

The meteoritic attacker plummeted towards the hillside below. Darcy sent a pulse to increase the pull of the Earth, speeding him on his way. A scream of panic reverberated through the valley as Georgiana narrowly dodged a blast of molten magma from the fiery invader. An assemblage of gardeners and grounds men began to pump water from the lake through a hose trying to dowse the burning enemy. A group of grooms, mounted on the stock from Pemberley’s stables, were harrying the giantess with pitchforks and boar spears. One was swept from the saddle when she swung her makeshift bludgeon. The red-coated man seemed to open a circle in the air through which the human cannonball fell, crashing insensate into the grass at his savior’s feet.

“Stop this!” Darcy bellowed. Several of his staff looked up at him, but the attackers ignored his call and took advantage of the defender’s momentary distraction. The giantess managed to bowl over several riders and the molten man sent a jet of magma that encircled Georgiana, setting the grass ablaze. She let out a cry that pushed everything in a circle around her back at tremendous speed, pelting the man with his own ejecta and extinguishing the flames. Darcy cursed to himself.

He lunged at the walking volcano that dared to endanger his sister. As he flashed towards his target, a circle of grass appeared in the air in front of him. He swerved to avoid the portal by inches and sent a wave of gravity energy, hoping to catch the red-coated man on the other side. He was surprised to see how his wave disrupted the rift in space, causing it to collapse on itself.

The molten man had not missed the commotion and ejected a jet of magma into Darcy’s face. Darcy deflected the stream towards the ground. He continued forward, slamming into the fiery fiend.

“You do not touch her! Never! Never!” He shouted as he pummeled the miscreant. Sparks and molten flecks spattered his clothes, scorching holes in the wool and leather. The ExtraOrdinary pushed back futilely with his burning hands. But Darcy ignored his protests until the target of his belligerence collapsed into unconsciousness.

Georgiana took the opportunity to engage the giantess. She dashed towards her, inhaling not only air but the actual sounds of the battle, creating a bubble of silence. She stopped and concentrated, then released a tightly focused beam of sound that impacted the giantess’ head. The frequency was beyond human hearing, but the effect on her target was near instantaneous. The giant woman dropped her club and clutched her ears. She began to sway, then toppled to the earth like a felled tree. Suddenly the attacker disappeared through a portal that opened beneath her. Georgiana cried out in shock.

Darcy glanced to see what had troubled his sister. As he looked away, his foe disappeared in front of him, swallowed by another portal. He turned, and the red-coated man had gathered his three companions and was opening a portal to take all four away.

“Think on this Mr. Darcy, we can return at any time. You’ll never know when. But we will return!” the man declaimed then a portal swallowed the team, taking them who knows where.

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“Georgiana, are you injured?”

“I am well, brother.” She looked at him with pride. “I was able to hold them off until you returned. Well, me and the staff. They did so much.”

“You did very well. You all did. I could not be more proud.” He gathered his sweet sister into an embrace. He looked around the field of battle that had been his childhood playground and saw the blood and broken bodies. He held Georgina close and thought she need not yet consider the butcher’s bill. More debt to be laid at LaFontaine’s feet.

Two days later the four villains assaulted Broadmore Abbey, a neighboring estate. The bell watch sounded, allowing Darcy and Fitzwilliam to arrive to drive off the attackers. Sir Henry was slightly wounded, but he lost half his famous horses and several grooms. The next day the prominent landholders demanded a meeting. Darcy agreed to host at Pemberley as he did not want to risk a repeat of the Red Lion attack in Meryton.

“Welcome, gentlemen. I believe you have all met my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, as well as my steward Mr. Harlow and sheriff Mr. Preston. I believe everyone else is well known to each other.” Darcy looked around the table. As well as his cousin and staff, there were three other landowners. Sir Henry Locksley, Bt, was a rotund man of middle years and thinning hair. His hands were still bandaged from the stable fire. Mr. Richard Bentley was a weedy man a year younger than Darcy. He had taken control of his estate only the previous spring upon his father’s passing. Mr. Percy Ottewell was the elder gentleman of the neighborhood. He was of Darcy’s grandfather’s generation and while he held the smallest estate, he automatically assumed a social prominence he felt he was owed due to his venerable state. “Mr. Ottewell, you asked for this gathering.”

“I wanted to know what you intend to do about these hooligans.” The older man pounded his fist on the table in high dudgeon. “They slaughtered his horses. They demolished my orangery. They have to be stopped.”

“Perhaps we should call for the militia?” Mr. Bentley suggested.

“It’s only four of them, surely we can defend our own estates.” Sir Henry protested.

“Are you suggesting we coordinate our defenses?” Darcy asked.

“Don’t be foolish boy. There’s nothing to coordinate. For generations the Darcy’s have protected this land. You’re the Darcy.” Mr. Ottewell pounded out his pique. “Do your duty now.”

“Is this opinion shared by the rest of the table?” Darcy inquired quietly. He looked at the others. Mr. Bentley looked at him with hope. Sir Henry had the grace to look away. Even Richard seemed abashed, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I see.”

Some days later Preston came to Darcy with good news. “We got one, sir!”

“The wyvern?” The gentleman knew his sheriff had been hunting for the flying beast.

“No, though it was due to that hunt that we did find the human comet. He was flying near High Tor. I managed to force him into the cliff face. Knocked him right out.”

“Capital! Did you capture him?”

“We did indeed. As we were after the beast, I had a few of my bailiffs standing by with long guns and nets, just in case. Worked a treat on the fellow. We’ve got him tied up in the holding cell.”

“Take me to him.” Darcy was shown to the lock up where Preston mostly held the occasional poacher or tenant that had too much to drink. The captive was the same stocky young man in craftsman’s clothes that had attacked him in the air. He was bound in a heavy net and chained to the floor. A large knot adorned his forehead, but he was conscious.

Darcy looked at him for a long time, saying nothing. As the younger man started to twitch, Darcy demanded, “Where is LaFontaine?”

“Who?”

“The man that gave you your gift.”

“Ahh…him.” The young man looked around the barred room and tugged gently on his chains.

“I do not think your friend with the portals can get you out of here, not without removing your legs.”

“No, I think you are right about that.” The prisoner sighed and shook his head. His accent was from somewhere north of Derbyshire, possibly Manchester. Not a local, but not too far from home. “I knew I shouldn’ta trusted a man calls himself Scrooby. He’s at a farm nor’west of Pilston.”

“Scrooby?”

“Dandy from down south. Talks like a lord, but claims to be an Ordinary insurrectionist. Sold us a castle in the air, I’m thinking now.”

“What farm?” Preston asked.

“Not certain. I think someone said summat about the Henway …”

“Hemingway Farm?”

“Mighta been,” the fellow agreed listlessly.

“Make ready, Preston. You’re with me. We need the Colonel as well. You get him, while I pen a quick missive.” Darcy found paper and pen and drafted a concise report to the Alien Office, just in case. He gave it to a bailiff with orders to send it express if something was to happen to him, or he had not returned by nightfall.

Mere moments later Darcy and Preston launched in the cool afternoon air. Richard and two bailiffs, all armed for war, rode in a coach carried aloft by Darcy’s gravity gift. Preston directed the way to the unfamiliar farm. They arrived to find the molten man practicing targeting his magma jets at fence posts in a deserted paddock. The house looked like it had suffered a siege. There were several patches of burned thatch and at least one shattered window. Darcy landed the carriage, while Preston flew towards the house. The volcanic malefactor raised a warning upon sighting the incoming lawmen. Darcy new that they had to stop the portal maker before he could provide an escape for LaFontaine, or whatever name he had assumed. He bypassed the obvious threat in an attempt to secure their primary target.

He burst into the farm house, only to see the red-coated man disappearing with the giantess, shrunk to ten inches, and a well-dressed man about Darcy’s age. The man who Darcy took to be the French agent was snarling at him, obviously upset at the interruption of his plans. Through the portal, all Darcy could make out was the stone basement of another building. He sent out a gravity wave in a desperate attempt to disrupt the portal before they could escape, but the spatial discontinuity seemed to dissolve before the wave reached it. The only clue that Darcy may have caused any disturbance was a bloody gobbet left behind on the floor. Darcy floated it to him, finally recognizing it for what it was … half of a man’s left hand, complete with the outer two fingers. An ornate ring adorned the finger of the severed hand. Darcy carefully plucked the ornament from its grisly place and examined it. He did not recognize the heraldry, but he thought it looked French.

Just then, the unconscious form of the molten man burned through the thatch roof and landed in a smoldering heap at Darcy’s feet. A moment later Richard, with a smoking fencepost slung nonchalantly over his shoulder, peeked through the open doorway and spied his erstwhile opponent. “Well that’s him done then,” he said with palpable satisfaction.

The next evening, after Darcy had dispatched an express rider to take his report of the events and the results of their interrogation of Featherstone, the molten man, and Percival, the human cannonball, to the Alien and War Offices, the three cousins were enjoying a quiet dinner at Pemberley.

“What will you do now, brother?” She looked apprehensive. “It has been so agreeable having you, both of you, here. Even with the horrible events, I have so enjoyed your company. But I suppose you must return to London.”

“I have nowhere I must be until Easter, Darcy.” Richard speared another Brussels sprout. “I can liaise here as well as anywhere. But I would never dare disappoint our Aunt.”

“I think it would behoove me to spend some time overseeing the planting this spring. I think, dear sister, you may well be burdened with our company until we leave for Rosings.” Darcy felt great satisfaction at Georgiana’s obvious joy.

He also felt the need of the sanctuary of his familiar home to help him overcome his near infinite regret at letting the most fascinating woman of his experience slip through his grasp due to his hesitation and indecision. The thought of meeting her again in Kent as the wife of his aunt’s rector was maddening. He knew he would need most of the intervening time to prepare himself for that unenviable future.