The Strange Affair of Spring Heeled Jack - Mark Hodder [169]
It was impossible to get a grip on the albino, and Burton's strength drained rapidly as he weathered the storm of slashing claws and snapping teeth. Then Oliphant's brow hammered into his face with such force that for a second Burton saw nothing but stars. His vision returned as the pantherman bent over his throat, his jaw distending unnaturally, his dripping canines glinting with wicked intent.
A rope slid across Burton's outstretched hand. He snatched at it and, in one lightning-fast motion, coiled it about the albino's neck. With a choking cough, the panther-man was yanked backward and dragged from him, slid across the grass, then was hauled into the air. He swung, kicking and jerking convulsively at the end of the line, which descended from one of the departing rotorship's open doors. Then he became still, his white face blackening, until he limply vanished into the cloud of steam and soot.
"Still hanging around with the wrong crowd!" observed Burton.
There came a sudden flash and Oliphant's body swung back into view, burning brightly; he had spontaneously combusted.
Burton watched as the blazing corpse vanished into the pall again, then he located the crossbow, picked it up, and went in search of Honesty and Trounce.
Visibility was severely hampered by the black dust that moved through the air and clung to his goggles, but it seemed to him that the battle had thinned out, with fewer men fighting and a great many lying dead or unconscious on the grass.
The mist parted and a massive swan emerged from it. Flying extremely low, it shot past him, the long leather straps attached to its harness trailing behind to a box kite in which a redheaded passenger was yelling: "The cottage!"
It was Swinburne-and his message was clear!
Burton started running down the field.
On the well-swept high street of the village, Old Carter the Lamp-lighter was attempting to restrain his neighbours.
"It ain't nothing to concern us!" he announced. "I happen to know that it's a police matter and they'll not brook interference from common folk!"
"Who're you calling common?" shouted a middle-aged man. "Old Ford is our village! It's bad enough we had Spring Heeled Jack back in '38-now we have to put up with giant swans, wolf-things, and all manner of flying contraptions! It ain't natural, I tell you!"
"Aye!" came a cry of agreement. "There's a bloody curse on this village!"
"There ain't no such thing as curses!" objected Old Carter the Lamplighter.
"Then how do you explain all that malarkey?" shouted another, pointing at the battle in the field across the small valley. "I tell you, it's the old mansion in Waterford that's the cause of it! There's been an ill wind blowing through Old Ford ever since the Mad Marquess took up residence there back in '37!"
"It's true!" called a voice from the back of the crowd. "He may be dead but he's not forgotten! His ghost haunts that place!"
"Darkening Towers was built by a mad 'un and it's had mad 'uns in it ever since!" a woman screamed. "We should have burned it to the ground years ago!"
"And what about this Mr. Belljar blighter? Has anyone actually seen him?"
"No!" they roared.
"Who is he? Why did he come here?"
"Look! Look! The flying ship is leaving! It's heading toward Waterford!"
"It's going to Darkening Towers, I'll warrant!"
"Let's follow! Let's find out who this Belljar is, once and for all!"
"Aye, and if it's him what brought this madness upon us, let's string him up!"
"Bravo!"
"Aye! "
"Hang him!"
"Stop, you fools!" yelled Old Carter the Lamp-lighter, but no one listened, and soon, brandishing makeshift weapons and burning torches, the mob was descending toward Bearbinder Lane, which, if they followed it to the right,