C. Harris - What Darkness Brings

“Get back,” she cried. “I’m telling ye!”

“What are you doing, you fool girl?” growled Leigh-Jones. “Don’t go out there! Are you mad? You’ll slip and fall to your death.”

“I told ye! Stay away from me!”

“You stupid strumpet! Get back in here. I get my hands on you, I swear to God, I’m going to kill you!”

Sebastian scrambled up the ladder to find himself in a low-pitched garret musty with age and damp and rot. Patches of black sky showed through a jagged hole in the roof; most of the row of casement windows built into the gabled end were gone, their casings gaping vacant to the wet, windy night.

Crossing swiftly to the opening, Sebastian found himself star-

ing out over the roof of the adjoining structure. Straddling the ridge beam the way a man would ride a horse, the magistrate had stripped off his cumbersome greatcoat and was carefully scooting his way forward on his rump. Jenny Davie was already some ten to fifteen feet ahead of him. She was small and light enough to scramble over the tiles on her feet, although she was bent over nearly double, using her hands to help steady her balance on the wet, mossy slates.

“Come back here, you bloody doxy,” Leigh-Jones roared.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, her step faltering as she reached the gable end.

There was another, smaller building that abutted this one, but its roof was some three or four feet below where she stood and of a steeper pitch. Sebastian saw her creep closer to the edge, then waver.

“Jenny, don’t jump !” Sebastian shouted. “Stay where you are!”

Leigh-Jones jerked around to stare at him, his jaw thrusting out in annoyed fury, while Jenny screamed, “Go away and leave me alone! All of you!”

If she had turned onto her stomach and eased herself carefully over the gabled point, she might have made it. Instead, she rose and jumped.

Sebastian heard the clatter of breaking, falling tiles as she landed, lost her footing, and went down, vanishing from his sight. She let out a sharp scream, and Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat. But she must somehow have managed to grab a handhold and stop her descent, because he heard her gasp, then fall utterly silent.

“Jenny!” Sebastian shouted, swinging his legs over the broken sill to the slates below. “Hang on!”

“You bloody interfering bastard,” growled the magistrate. Grasp-

ing the roof’s peak, he managed with surprising agility to swing his legs up and around, reversing his position so that he now faced Sebastian. “I should have had you killed when I had the chance.”

“Give it up, Leigh-Jones,” said Sebastian, hunkering down to lower his center of gravity. “You’ve had a good run, but the game’s up now.”

Leigh-Jones picked up a broken slate and chucked it at Sebastian’s head. “I’ll see you in hell.”

Sebastian managed to duck the first two broken tiles; the edge of the third sliced open a long cut across his forehead. “God damn it,” he swore. He took another step forward.

And felt his right foot punch through the rotten roof.

The collapsing roof pitched Sebastian sideways. He grabbed the ridge of slate at the peak with his left hand, stopping his fall. But he was now pinned by his injured right leg, with his other leg splayed out awkwardly to the side and only one hand free.

“Looks like you’re in trouble, don’t it?” said the magistrate. Breaking off a long, jagged piece from the tile at his side, Leigh-Jones inched himself forward, the pointed slate clutched in his right fist like a knife.

The wind gusted up, carrying a splattering of raindrops that pattered on the mossy slate and stung Sebastian’s face. Smiling, Leigh-Jones slashed downward with his blade, aiming straight for Sebastian’s heart.

Sebastian clamped his free hand around the magistrate’s wrist, stopping the slate’s descent.

Still grinning, Leigh-Jones wrapped his other fist around his right wrist and leaned his considerable weight into his hands. The improvised blade inched lower.

Sebastian could feel the blood pounding in his head, hear his breath coming in ragged gasps. A warm wetness coursed from his cut forehead to sting his eyes. He scraped his left bootheel over the slates, desperate to find some purchase. Then the roofing under his left boot gave way, plunging his leg down into the emptiness beneath.

For a moment, he thought the entire roof was collapsing beneath their combined weights. Then he realized the ridge beam still held and that he was now effectively straddling it.

Shifting his weight, he locked his ankles together beneath him. “You greedy, traitorous son of a bitch,” he snarled, freeing his left hand to slam a punch up into the magistrate’s plump face.

The magistrate reeled back, his massive bulk no longer pressing the jagged slate toward Sebastian’s heart. Gritting his teeth, Sebastian grasped the magistrate’s wrists with both hands and drove the deadly point straight down into Leigh-Jones’s own gut.

He saw the magistrate’s eyes widen, saw his full cheeks expand with a mingling of shock and fury. Then he slipped sideways, shattering slates and smashing fragile timbers as his heavy body picked up speed. He flung his arms out, fingers scrabbling, frantic for a handhold. But his momentum was too great. He slid to the roof’s edge and shot off it into the void.

He gave one high-pitched scream that was cut off by the thump of his body hitting the cobbles far below.

His breath still coming in harsh gasps, Sebastian wiped the mingling sweat and blood from his face with his forearm. Then, unlocking his ankles and carefully balancing his weight on both hands, he levered himself up out of the twin holes he’d punched through the roof’s rotten fabric.

“Jenny!” he called, cautiously inching his way to the end of the building.

He could see her now. She lay facedown at the edge the lower roof, her skirts and petticoats a torn, rucked-up froth around her.

“Hold on,” he said, easing himself down to the smaller, steeper roof. “I’m here to help you.”

Clamping one arm around the rough brickwork of the chimney that thrust up at the juncture of the two buildings, he leaned forward as far as he dared to where the girl clung to the edge. But he still couldn’t quite reach her.

“Grab my hand,” he told her, and prayed the damned chimney would take their combined weights.

“Why should I trust you?” she shouted, her voice snatched away by the buffeting wind.

“Because if all I wanted was the diamond, damn it, I’d let you fall off this damned roof and simply take the bloody stone from your dead body. That’s why.”

She lay still, her face a white mask of terror and indecision. Then, very slowly, she reached out a trembling hand toward him.

Tiny, clawlike fingers clamped around his arm. Sebastian clasped his own hand around her wrist, then said gently, “I’ve got you. All you need to do now is climb toward me, slowly.”

She inched her way up the steep, mossy slope. The wind snatched at her skirts; the rain poured. Once, a fragment of slate broke beneath her foot and spun away into the darkness below. She let out a soft whimper but kept climbing.

When she was close enough, he shifted his grip on the chimney and hauled her up to him. They sat side by side, their backs pressed to the chimney’s rough brick, their breath sawing in their chests, the wind driving the cold rain in their faces.

After a moment, she swallowed hard and said, “How do we get down from here?”

Sebastian looked over at her and grinned. “Very carefully.”

Sunday, 27 September

Brilliant and breathtakingly beautiful, the sapphire blue diamond lay nestled in a velvet-lined box on Sir Henry Lovejoy’s desk.