Chapter Seventeen

Elizabeth was appalled by the destruction in the Red Lion. One wall was destroyed, opening the room to the cold November winds. Electrical burns and gun shots scarred the interior walls. Smashed furniture and crockery littered the floor. And the smell of blood and powder were all pervasive. She found several men and one woman laid out on tables or benches, four of whom were covered with sheets. She reached out with her senses, hoping she might find a small spark of life she could fan. But there was nothing. She was tempted to lift the sheets to see their faces, but easily overcame the morbid impulse. She had others she could save before mourning the dead.

Turning to the bloodied figure of Alan Dash, she found him holding onto life by a thin thread. The bandage on his neck was all that was keeping him from spilling out the last of his life’s essence onto the taproom floor. She laid her hands on his throat and chest and reached her gift inside his ruined form.

Elizabeth urged the man’s neck to seal and his body to produce more blood to replace that which was lost. She also searched for the origin of his newfound gift and discovered an alien force at work inside him. She was certain she could remove it, but not sure she could do it without further damaging him. She was also reticent to remove the construct without studying it further. Someone had used a somatic gift, similar in basic nature to hers, to create this construct. She could not help but wonder if she could do the same.

Once she had him stabilized, she ensured he would not awaken until she willed it. “He would certainly benefit from more rest, but I can rouse him when you’re ready for his interrogation.” Elizabeth told her father and Mr. Darcy. “In the meanwhile, I’ll work on the others.”

She quickly ensured that the other prisoners – the six-armed man and the strongman – were both stable and comatose. Then she moved on to the myriad lacerations, contusions, fractures, and burns among the militiamen, the gentry, and the Meryton citizenry. She began to conserve her energy for the worst injured, letting Captain Hawthorne and Mr. Jones treat those in less danger of crippling impairment.

By the evening, she had treated more than twenty people. Several times she had to wipe tears from her cheek as she thought of all the losses suffered by the people of their peaceful neighborhood. Counting Jane, William Goulding, and very likely Old Dash as well; these villains were responsible for at least half a dozen deaths and more than two dozen casualties. It was the worst disaster she had ever experienced, though she knew it paled in comparison to any skirmish on the Peninsula. She glared at Dash and hoped he had a good explanation for why he brought this tragedy to their home.

Eventually Elizabeth’s father, who was taking a much more active role in this affair than she would have anticipated, came to her, along with Mr. Darcy, Sir William, Captain Hawthorne, and Mr. Denny.

“Can you ready Dash for questioning?” her father asked.

“I can wake him when you are ready,” Elizabeth confirmed. “But might I suggest removing him to a private parlor, both to spare the other wounded the delights of a military interrogation, and to keep his answers secret from those you may want to compare his testimony to at a later time.”

“Excellent suggestion,” Mr. Denny agreed. “Very astute. I’ll call a detail…”

“No need.” Mr. Darcy gestured and the man in question floated towards the stairs. The others followed silently, although Elizabeth was very aware of the Lieutenant’s flushed face. While Mr. Darcy possessed many more estimable qualities than she had originally attributed to him, he continued to display a selfish disdain of the feelings of others that made him often disagreeable in any sort of social situation.

Once they were settled into the private chamber with the farmer on a bench, he was bound in chains arranged to touch his skin in hopes of foiling any attempts he might make to attack with his electrical gift. The others spaced themselves around the room, weapons ready at hand. “Wake him, please.” Mr. Darcy ordered.

Elizabeth complied, standing out of the prisoner’s sight, ready to touch his skin to pacify him at need. She did not maintain contact with him to prevent the possibility he could shock her through her hand.

Dash jerked awake, eyes open and staring at Mr. Darcy. After a moment he attempted to move, only to find himself immobilized.

“I’ll not be taken by the likes of you!” he shouted, then unleashed an omnidirectional lightning attack. The chains contained the energy for the most part, certainly well enough for Mr. Darcy to risk slapping the man’s face hard enough to knock a tooth free.

“I would rather you not do that again,” Darcy growled. “You are wasting our time and causing yourself pain.”

“I’ll cause you pain, you freak. It’s because of things like you that real men are repressed by the system. We have no control of all own lands or our own lives. But your time has come. Your end is near.” Dash started ranting.

“It would seem from your polemical tirade; you’ve fallen with a particularly radical variety of Ordinaries.” Mr. Bennet interjected. “I’ve known you most of your life, Dash, and your father for longer. This is not you. Someone led you into this.”

Dash turned his heated glare on Elizabeth’s father. “You have never known me. All I or my father, have ever been to you is the butt of your jokes, and the subject of warnings to your daughters of the sort of nulls to avoid wasting their attentions on. Yes, I follow the Ordinary cause. But we have gone so much farther. We are ExtraOrdinaries and you bloody parasites no longer have the monopoly on power!”

Mr. Darcy backhanded the man. “Do not profane in this lady’s presence.”

“Who is we?” Mr. Denny demanded, his face thrust close to Dash’s. “How did you get your gifts? How many of you are there? Where are you based? There is so much you are going to tell us. How much pain you put yourself through before you do is entirely your choice.”

“I’ll tell you nothing, puppy,” Dash sneered. “I’m not even sure how I’m still alive after that monster sliced me like a Christmas goose. I’ve already shown I’m willing to die for the cause. I only want to know how many of you I can take with me!” He released his gift once more, electrifying the chains. Then he rolled off the bench and into Mr. Denny’s legs. The electricity surged into the officer causing him to spasm violently, dropping his pistol, which fired into the floor.

Elizabeth steeled herself and grabbed Dash’s face. Her arm jerked at the contact, but she did not let go. The connection was enough for her to use her gift to plunge the villain back into an unconscious state. The flow of electricity ceased, and Mr. Denny collapsed to the floor. With a sigh Elizabeth reached down and ensured he was not too badly hurt. We’re running out of officers, she thought irreverently.

“I don’t know how to keep him conscious while preventing him from using his electricity,” she lamented. “Perhaps we could throw him in a tub. The water might contain him, as long as we stayed out of it.”

“Not a bad idea. Certainly, worth a try in the future,” said her father. “For now, I think we have all we are likely to get out of him without resorting to unpalatable methods.”

“You mean torture?” Sir William said, shocked.

“That would certainly be unpalatable,” her father replied. “But I meant engaging him in extended debate or feigned fraternization. Either is likely to take far more time than we have. But I do have one other idea we can try. Before we speak to the others, I’d like to examine all their effects. I may find something worthwhile.”

Elizabeth watched as her father used his gift to examine the clothing, weapons, gear, and any personal possessions that the three prisoners had had on them. As he went through each item, he made notes. When Elizabeth realized that not only was he going to be at the task for some time, he was also not offering any preliminary findings while he worked, she left the inn to get some fresh air.

When she saw Mr. Bingley in the taproom she approached him. “Sir, how are you?”

“I cannot honestly say I know. I have never seen anything like …” He waved his hand to encompass the ruined room and beyond. “In school and at Cambridge they train us to use our gifts in martial pursuits, supposedly to ready us for futures in the military or duty as magistrates. But it’s really more of a game to the students. As you know, I am not fond of conflict, even social conflict. But this …” He looked lost. “I just don’t know …”

Elizabeth thought too much time for contemplation was not good for the gentle man. At the moment, he needed some immediate occupation. She thought for a minute then asked, “Do you know if word has been sent to the homes of the men here at the meeting. I am talking about the local gentlemen, no the officers. I’m sure the army has procedures in place for that unfortunate eventuality. But my family, and yours, may have already had some word that something had gone wrong in Meryton, but not know of our survival and continued health.”

Mr. Bingley looked dumfounded for a moment then said, “I don’t think anyone has thought of that yet. But you’re right. Our families must be going mad with worry. Please have your father write a note to your mother and I’ll deliver it. I can do the same for all the people here.”

“My father is indisposed. But I will write. Why don’t you suggest the same to the other gentlemen? As Sir William is also engaged, I’ll pen a note for his daughter Charlotte explaining the events in short.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Thank you for your willingness to do this. You’ll bring a great deal of relief to the neighborhood. But you must be very careful. We cannot be certain that it is entirely safe.”

“I will be very careful. The militia has patrols out already. They may even be spreading the word. But I can deliver these notes and offer more comfort. Thank you for thinking of this. You may have saved my sanity, what little I still have.”

More than an hour later, her father and the other gentlemen returned to the saloon. They looked grim. “What did you discover?” she asked her father.

“Enough to know that we should send a full report to an old comrade in London. He’ll need this information and can likely find out more from our captives than we ever will.”

“To whom?”

“To Mr. William Wickham in London,” Mr. Bennet replied. To Sir William and Mr. Darcy her father added. “He’s back at the Alien Office again.”

“You’re acquainted with the Superintendent of the Alien Office?” Mr. Darcy asked in what Elizabeth could tell was suppressed astonishment. He had reacted to the name Wickham with a display of strong distaste. Elizabeth wondered what is relation might be to the man.

“We went to Oxford together,” Mr. Bennet stated, “among other things …” Elizabeth was mildly astonished herself. It seemed her father had a whole history of which she was unaware.

“We also need to send a report to the Home Secretary and the Royal Magistrate, as this is something all crown magistrates need to be aware of. The unrest may not be limited to Hertfordshire,” Mr. Darcy insisted. “I suggest we write them tonight and send them express in the morning.”

“In the meanwhile, we can hold the prisoners in the gaol overnight.” Sir William stated. “It might be best to reinforce my few bailiffs with some of your troopers, Mr. Denny.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“Then, I think we are done here for the evening.” Mr. Darcy suggested.

“Yes, and I think I shall enjoy my dinner and brandy at home very much,” Mr. Bennet said with a sigh. “And a good night’s sleep. I am getting too old for these sorts of adventures. When I was younger perhaps, but definitely not now.”

“Father, perhaps someday you’ll tell me how you know Mr. Wickham of the Alien Office.”

“Perhaps, daughter … perhaps.” He kissed her forehead and finished. “Please take care of Jane, and of yourself. I will convey to your mother your love.”

“I will, Father. You stay safe too. It is getting dark out and …”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m not quite done in yet.” He waved, rested a hand on the cutlass that was so out of place strapped to his waist, and sauntered towards Longbourn.

“Would you like to follow him from the air?” asked Mr. Darcy very quietly.

“Yes, Thanks you. I would.” He nodded, and Elizabeth could have sworn there was the merest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.