Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [112]
‘We have seen one of them, General. He’s away across the rooftops.’
Ben’s smiled triumphantly. Perhaps Sal Winter could, after all, be avenged.
‘Master Jackson,’ said Cromwell, ‘we will supply all the aid you require.’
‘Thanks, Oliver,’ said Ben with a grin. ‘But this one’s mine.’
He drew his sword and dashed from the room.
Emerging from the warehouse, Ben looked frantically around for some sign of Stanislaus. The trooper who had brought the news raced to his side and pointed.
‘There, sir, there!’
Ben followed his line of sight but could make out only the endless, snow-covered slates of the warehouse roofs.
Then he saw him. A tall, black outline, slipping and stumbling across the treacherous surface, trying desperately to reach the safety of a rickety black staircase.
Ben’s head jerked from side to side as he hurriedly examined his options. He could follow the way the Pole had gone, over the back of the warehouse and across the roof. Or he could run as fast as possible to the staircase and cut the villain off.
With a nod to himself and with adrenaline surging through his veins, Ben clattered down to ground level and hared off towards the distant stairs.
He stumbled in the snow and slid across the cobbles, his backside connecting painfully with the stone. Cursing, he leapt to his feet and raced on, his lungs bursting and an iron taste seeping into his mouth.
Rounding the comer of the warehouse, he saw the staircase looming like dark rigging some hundred yards away.
Stanislaus had almost reached the top of them and was struggling over the slates, carefully balancing.
Ben tore down the alley that led to the stairs, the muscles of his legs seeming to scream with the effort, and threw himself into a drift.
He looked up at once, breathing heavily, anxious that the Pole had not seen him.
But Stanislaus was too busy trying to manoeuvre himself on to the stairs and didn’t see Ben as the young sailor slid silently across the ground and settled himself on the bottom stair.
Stanislaus reached out and grasped hold of the black wooden rails that connected the roof to the staircase. With a quick glance behind him, he took a deep breath and swung himself over, landing agilely on the flat wooden landing.
He gave a smug smile of satisfaction and began to race down the stairs.
Ben was waiting for him only a few steps away.
Stanislaus reeled back in shock and then instantly drew his sword from its sheath.
Ben lashed out with his own sword, forcing the captain back the way he had come.
‘Why do you haunt me, sir?’ gasped Stanislaus, his blade clashing against Ben’s. ‘I... I have done nothing to harm you.’
Ben jumped up two steps, slamming his sword down. The Pole neatly parried and then thrust his sword dangerously close to Ben’s throat.
Jerking his head away, Ben crouched low and kicked his foot into Stanislaus’s stomach.
The captain yelled and recoiled, falling backward on to the black stair.
‘I’m taking over from someone else,’ yelled Ben.
Stanislaus hurled himself backwards, his shoulders scraping against the steps. He raised his arm and drove his sword hard through the air.
Again, Ben dodged the blow but the Pole hit back at once, his fist connecting with Ben’s chin and knocking him back they way he had come.
Stanislaus tried to hop over him but Ben reached up at once and grabbed at the captain’s ankle, twisting his foot so that he crashed down on top of him with a yell of agony.
‘You fool!’ hissed Stanislaus. ‘You addle-head. Let me be!’
He thrust his arms forward and grasped Ben’s throat, his thumbs closing on the windpipe.
The pressure made Ben gag and he struggled to sit up.
Choking, he lashed out with his hands but met only empty air.
Already he could hear a buzzing, crashing sound reverberating in his head.
Stanislaus’s strong hands increased their pressure and Ben gasped for air. Then, with sudden jolt of energy, he brought his knee up and slammed it into Stanislaus’s groin.
The pressure on his throat disappeared at once as the Pole fell back, curling into a ball and screeching