George Mann - The Osiris Ritual

"Oh, come, come, Sir Maurice. Haven't you the stomach for a good fight? I was quite enjoying our little tete-a-tete." He shifted again, reaching forward with his blade, his foot stamping the floor as he threw his weight behind the movement. Newbury felt a flash of pain on his right cheek. Knox recovered his poise, and Newbury realised that blood was flowing freely from a cut on his face. He hadn't even had chance to react. He was clearly outclassed.

Knox smiled. He had a superior air about him, as if he were enjoying the encounter, knowing ful well that of the two men, he currently had the upper hand. When he spoke it was almost genial, as if he and Newbury were nothing but two old acquaintances, sharing a conversation at a gentlemen's club. "Fight me, Newbury! I can see the fire behind your eyes. You want to know what I've done with her, don't you?"

Newbury, composing himself, rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. He kept his blade low, ready, waiting. He would not rise to the other man's taunts. "Tell me where she is, Knox, and I shal let you live." His voice was a low growl.

"Hmmm. Quite a dilemma. I didn't have you down as the sort of chap to make idle threats, Newbury. That's a crashing disappointment." He was sneering now, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Newbury hoped he was coming to the end of his game. If Knox had no time for idle threats, Newbury had no time for cat and mouse. He may not have been able to demonstrate such finesse with a blade, but what he lacked in theatrics, he gained in brute force and spirit.

"There is nothing idle about the threat, Knox."

Knox whipped out his blade, aiming high, but Newbury caught it easily, their swords ringing out as they clattered, tick, tick, tick, whilst the two men thrust and parried frenetically. Searching for a means to gain the upper hand, Newbury eyed the stage behind the doctor. The hatch was stil open.

If he could manoeuvre the fight just a few feet closer towards that narrow opening, he reasoned he'd be able to send Knox crashing backwards into it. The difficulty came in circumnavigating the body of Alfonso, spread-eagled on the boards between the two fighting men and the hole.

Newbury met Knox's gaze as their swords crossed, staring deep into the other man's eyes. He repressed a shudder. The man was cold and seemed to extract a discernible relish from the thrill of the fight, from the danger. Newbury recognised himself in that, and it repulsed him. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing his twisted reflection glare back at him, all sense of his humanity removed. He understood Charles's words, now, and they angered him. His path was not pre-determined. He would not al ow himself to become a monster like the odious wretch he now faced.

Newbury knew not to cross the line. Knox appeared to relish the opportunity to do so.

Knox's left eye twinkled, and Newbury watched the tiny red pinpricks of light describe a circle, as whatever device had been buried inside the blinded organ turned, tightening Knox's focus. Such stunning artifice could only be the work of one man: Dr. Lucius Fabian.

The two men broke apart, dancing, careful y, around the corpse of the dead magician. Newbury made a concerted effort to drive the other man back. Knox stepped backwards over Alfonso's legs, placing the body between them. Their swords hovered above the unseeing corpse. "So, what of your accomplice, Knox? Did he offend you in some way?" Newbury glanced briefly at the dead man.

Knox shrugged. "He'd outlived his usefulness. Besides, he was always a conniving toad."

"But he sourced the girls for you through his stage act? And you cherry-picked the ones you wanted. For what purpose?"

Knox's lips curled in amusement. "Newbury, if you want to discuss it we can down our blades and smoke a cigarette together like gentlemen. Otherwise, let us put an end to this encounter. It's becoming tedious." The man's flippancy was astonishing, but it provided Newbury with the opening he needed. He slashed out with his blade, causing Knox to lurch backwards to avoid having his chest opened in a streak from right to left. The tip of the sword tore through his jacket and shirt, opening a wide smile in the fabric. As Newbury reached the end of the movement, however, he flicked the blade upwards, using the tip of his sword to catch the hilt of Knox's sword and whipping it clean out of his hand. The weapon sailed across the stage, clattering loudly to the boards.

To Knox's credit, he barely allowed the situation to faze him. Whilst Newbury was recovering from his swing, Knox reached for the blade that he had left buried in Alfonso's chest, and with a powerful tug to free the tip from the stage below, he pulled it clear of the corpse. Blood sprayed in a shower as he brought the weapon to bear. Alfonso, then, had not been dead for long.

Blood was still trickling down Knox's chin where Newbury had caught him earlier with his elbow.

Yet he seemed to be enjoying the encounter, the rush of the battle, the opportunity to taunt the man who was currently living his earlier life.

Newbury's face, in turn, was set with grim determination. With every second that passed, with every one of Knox's arrogant remarks, he grew more and more anxious for Veronica's safety.

Knox was now only a few feet away from the open hatch in the stage. Newbury pressed on with a series of deft, forceful strikes. He thrust relentlessly at Knox, not attempting to strike the man, but todrive him backwards, forcing him to parry, constantly, and to distract him from where his feet were taking him. Newbury knew he was leaving himself open to a counter-attack, but at the same time, he was succeeding in forcing the other man back towards the hole. Clambering over Alfonso's body, trying desperately not to lose his footing, he pushed forward.

The two men fel into a smooth rhythm: thrust, parry; thrust, parry. The steel blades clanged noisily. Slowly, they inched towards the open hatch. Newbury-was growing hot and tired. The rooftop dash and the fight on the Underground had taken it out of him, and he knew his endurance would soon reach its limit. And the need for laudanum was a persistent itch, growing in intensity with every moment that passed.

As Knox neared the lip of the hole, Newbury took his chance. Using the flat of his blade to batter Knox's sword wide, he leapt into the air, kicking out, his foot connecting hard with Knox's breastbone. But the man had been expecting as much. Pivoting around on his left foot, he swung himself out of danger, narrowly missing the hole. He came to rest at a right angle to Newbury, his back to the empty auditorium. He was chuckling. "Real y, Newbury, if you'd expected to-"

Knox's words were lost as Newbury's fist thundered into his face. His head snapped to the side and Newbury stepped closer, dropping his weapon so that he could rain blow after blow into the other man with both fists. Knox sputtered and tried to raise his sword, but Newbury beat him back, providing no opportunities for him to retaliate. Spittle and blood flew into the air as Newbury pounded Knox's face. He knew he did not have the finesse of a swordsman, but at Oxford he had taken to the ring and he was quick with his fists. Knox staggered backwards, heading towards the edge of the stage. Newbury saw his opportunity. He stepped in close again and aimed a powerful hook at Knox's kidney. As Knox bent forward with a rasping gasp, Newbury shoved him over the edge.

Knox tumbled backwards, crying out as he struck the ground. Newbury dashed forward to see.

Knox was attempting to gather himself. He shuffled backwards on his hands and feet, still clutching the sabre tightly in his fist like a talisman. He looked dazed, and his face was raw and puffy from the battering. His good eye darted from left to right, as if he were trying to work out from which direction his assailant would come next.