Free His Mask of Retribution by Margaret McPhee Page B

‘They caught me. Held a pistol to my head and made me bring ’em here.’
    ‘I understand,’ Knight replied to the boy in a low voice. He knew the men would be creeping closer, knew, too, that it was him, not the boy, they were after. He reloaded his pistol and risked a brief glance round the edge. Another shot rang out and some fragments of stone crumbled to the grass on his left. ‘Stay hidden,’ he whispered, then dodged away through the gravestones towards the tall obelisk stone far enough away from the lad and the mausoleum. He could only hope that Marianne had the sense to remain out of sight.
    The bullets rained in force, the shots deafening in the silence of the burying ground, the stench of the powder like rotten eggs all around. The wind of a bullet whistled close to his right ear as he ducked behind the obelisk.
    ‘Don’t just stand there! Get after him!’ a rough voice yelled.
    Knight reloaded the pistol again, smoothly and quickly, counting the seconds as the tread of boots crept closer. The first flicker of dark shadow to his right and Knight grabbed at the villain, wrenching the man in close and compressing the vulnerable area of his neck until he passed out. The body slid noiselessly to the grass.
    ‘Where the hell did he go?’ The villain’s whisper told him where they were.
    The bullets ceased. There was silence, and in the waiting he heard the howl of the wind and the beat of his own heart. He ran to his left, aiming for the next gravestone, firing as he went, and heard the yelp and the slump of a body as his bullet went home. He made it behind the stone before the pistol shot cracked against it, then moved again, crouching low through the stones, working his way round towards the last of the three villains.
    A bullet thudded into grass before him, tearing up the turf. One villain remained, with two pistols. Two shots had been fired. Knight didn’t give the blackguard time to reload, but broke cover and ran full tilt at him, slamming hard into him, taking him down. The man struggled, but Knight’s fist stilled that; then he grabbed hold of the villain’s throat and hoisted him up, pinning him against the nearest gravestone.
    And then he saw Marianne.
    ‘Get back!’ he yelled but, as if oblivious to the danger, she ignored him and carried on walking until she had reached his side.
    ‘Where is the document?’ she asked the man.
    ‘Marianne, do as I say.’
    She glanced up at him and he saw, before she turned back to the man, that she did not yet understand what her father had done. ‘I asked you a question, sir,’ she said to the man.
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady.’
    She shook her head. ‘But...’
    ‘Misbourne sent you,’ Knight said to the man.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘With the document,’ said Marianne.
    ‘To bring me in,’ corrected Knight.
    ‘No.’ The man strained to shake his head.
    Knight saw Marianne look pointedly up at him. ‘You see,’ she said, almost triumphantly.
    ‘To kill you,’ the villain said.
    She paled.
    ‘Then you had better run back and tell him that you failed.’ Knight threw the man on to the grass, allowing him to scramble to his feet and back away.
    From the corner of his eye Knight saw other dark shadows slinking between the gravestones. ‘There are more of them. Take shelter behind the mausoleum, Marianne.’
    ‘So that you may keep me prisoner?’ She shook her head. ‘I will not do that.’ She edged away from him. ‘They are from my father. They have come to free me.’ And then she turned to run towards them just as the closest villain took aim.
    It all happened so quickly. Marianne saw the man point the pistol straight at her. ‘Do not shoot! I am coming!’ She saw the disregard on his face, saw the plume of blue smoke and heard the roar of the pistol, but the air was already being knocked from her lungs as something big and fast and dark threw her to the ground. A second pistol shot exploded, so close that it made