Chapter Forty-Three

Lydia Bennet was disgusted, both at her situation and with her own actions and decisions that had led to that current status as a bound prisoner and bait for a trap. She had, she realized, allowed herself to be deceived by Mr. Wickham. Her desire to emulate Lizzy and her excitement at the novelty and enjoyment of her training had led her to believe the man’s fabrication. Both her father and her sisters had warned her against trusting the blackguard, but he had appealed to her vanity and sense of adventure. And now her whole family, and possibly many more, were to pay the price for her foolishness.

“I have done my part, Monsieur,” Wickham said. “I have delivered the girl, but this has painted a target on my back that will make it impossible for me to continue in my former role. I am now useless to you. If you will provide me with the new identity and remuneration you promised, I will make my way to someplace far from this war-torn continent.”

“Not quite yet, mon ami. I think there may yet be a use for you,” said the stranger with the French accent. Lydia was not certain but suspected this was the Frenchman that Lizzy and her father had spoken of on occasion, the one responsible for the attacks in Meryton. That Wickham was colluding with him was obvious, which meant that her supposed friend was a traitor and likely had been for some time.

“But you’d assured me, this was the end of it for me,” the Lieutenant whined.

“And so it can be, though perhaps not in the way you had envisioned.” The threat was obvious. “But it need not be, if you choose correctly. You may stay and lend your military prowess to our ambush or you may relocate to our vessel, awaiting our return and our voyage to France. Which of these three choices appeals to you the most?”

It took Lydia a moment to realize the Wickham’s third choice was to take his chances fighting the rebels. She could not see Wickham’s face from where she was chained to the chair, her feet dangling just off the floor, depriving her of the leverage necessary for her to bring her full strength to bear. This, and the elephantine hybrid standing with a heavy hand on her shoulder, were the only things preventing her from managing her own escape. She heard her erstwhile friend sputter half-formed objections, then swallow audibly and muttered his unenthusiastic acquiescence. “The ship, please.”

“Very well. MacDill, if you would.” A second man, adorned in a bright red driving-coat, gestured. A portal opened before him, on the other side of which was the gently rolling deck of a docked ship. Wickham hesitated, but eventually stepped through. The portal closed behind him.

“Now you, my dear, have only to wait patiently for your sister and her friends to show up to rescue you,” the Frenchman gestured to the barrels that surrounded them. “I need not even bring my own provisions for the trap, as your government has supplied sufficient for my needs, and more.”

She struggled vainly to break her bindings, or at least to knock her chair to the ground, only to be stilled by the greater strength of her elephantine guard. “You won’t get away with this. You’ve no idea who you’re facing.”

“Au contraire, ma petite. I know exactly what and whom I am facing. And this time it is they that shall meet a most ignominious defeat. As you shall see in just a few moments, if they arrive on time. It is almost midnight.”

Lydia felt rather than saw another portal open behind her. She heard her captors step back, their footsteps moving from the wooden floor of the magazine to what sounded like gravel. She felt the hybrid’s massive hand leave her shoulder, followed by more ponderous footfalls. Almost immediately, Lydia began to struggle against her bonds.

“Stop that!” the Frenchman commanded. Lydia continued. She felt part of the chair break away, causing the chains to loosen. “Morton, stop …”

Before he could complete his directive, the door to the magazine slammed open. Lydia saw Lizzy and Mr. Darcy enter cautiously.

“Lydia!” Lizzy proclaimed.

“Go back! It’s a trap,” the younger girl cried out trying to save her elder sister.

“They know that, and yet they came,” the Frenchman said, his voice sounding strangely distant. “And that will be their undoing!”

A black metal ball, with a sputtering fuse landed on the wooden floor at Lydia’s feet. She recognized it as a grenade. Fear and anger surged through Lydia, more than doubling her strength, she was able to shatter the links binding her. Just then Mr. Bingley appeared as if by magic. He grabbed her around the waist and she found herself pulled from her feet and from the magazine, faster than the eye could follow. It was exhilarating. Maybe she could see why Jane was so fond of the fellow.

# # # # #

“No!” LaFontaine bellowed as his bait was removed from the trap. How had the speedster appeared within the magazine? He had not entered with Darcy and the elder Bennet. Somehow the blasted crown magistrate had used his gravity gift to bend light to hide him. He was disgusted, both with the man for constantly foiling his plots, and at himself for consistently underestimating the Derbyshireman. There was no logical explanation for Darcy’s continuing triumphs over greater numbers and powers. He could not agree with Grimes that if LaFontaine had simply ignored the insult to his pride the man’s feats represented, he would no longer be a factor in the Frenchman’s ongoing endeavors. He was beginning to think the hated man represented some sort of divine interference, sent by a higher power to be his specific nemesis.

Looking down, LaFontaine saw there was only a second before the bomb would explode, setting off the entire magazine. “Close the portal!” he cried.

Darcy gestured with one hand and a sphere of distortion appeared above the grenade, sucking it in and somehow interfering with the portal.

“I can’t close it!” MacDill screeched. With a second gesture Darcy caused the gravity around LaFontaine and his henchmen to suddenly pull sideways, into the portal. He and MacDill managed to grab onto the iron stanchions and chain that separated the gravel path they were on from the grassy lawn of the hilltop. This kept them from falling back into the magazine. The elephantine Morton was not so lucky. He tumbled through the portal, apparently slamming into Elizabeth Bennet as she raced towards them. “I’m trying, but I can’t close it!” MacDill repeated.

LaFontaine watched as the young lady managed to shove the massive Morton to one side, slamming him into one of the thick wooden posts supporting the loft. She must have used her gift to render him unconscious when she touched him, as he collapsed after bouncing off the post. She continued towards the portal.

Quickly the Frenchman reached out and touched MacDill’s hand. He sent a pulse of his own somatic energy that momentarily disrupted the man’s temporary gift. Without that gift to create the rift in space, not even Darcy’s gravitic ability could hold it in place. The portal vanished, trapping his targets on the other side.

“Merde!” LaFontaine cursed as gravity righted itself and he fell to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and raced towards one of the signal rockets he had prepared, just in case something happened to MacDill. He tried to always have contingencies prepared. This was a multilayered trap. One which that demon Darcy had no chance of completely avoiding. Grabbing a slow match, he lit the fuse and stepped back as the rocket launched into the night sky. It exploded with a bright orange flare.

“You cannot beat me!” he shouted as the mortars he had carefully prepositioned, targeting the roof of the magazine in which Darcy and his she-wolf were currently trapped, began to fire.

# # # # #

“No!” Elizabeth cried as the portal to the hilltop where the Frenchman had retreated closed mere inches in front of her. She turned to Darcy and said, “We can’t let him escape.”

“He won’t,” Darcy assured her. He heard the burst of a rocket high above them, the sound muted by the thick stone of the magazine. “What was that?” he inquired, then realized his beloved was no more likely to know than he.

They started towards the door. Before they reached it, more sounds could be heard, muffled thumps followed by high-pitched whistles. He heard Richard cry “Mortars!”

He pushed past Elizabeth, moving quickly through the door. Once outside he immediately threw a gravitic barrier above the building. He had no idea where the shells might be falling, but if they were aimed at them, he would protect Elizabeth at all costs. Loud explosions rocked the sky where two shells impacted the shield.

“Attack left! I’ve got the right!” called Sir John. Darcy could see Richard and Sir William moving towards the western wall of the compound. A moment later he saw Miss Lydia and Bingley entering the storehouse where Elizabeth had said there was a large concentration of men. He assumed they had located the garrison and were working to free them.

“You have to hold the shield, my love. You’re the only one who can. If those mortars hit, they could blow the whole magazine. The others can handle the mortar teams. I’ll find LaFontaine,” Elizabeth said as she raced past, her wings deploying from her back. Darcy almost stopped her, but he knew she was both proud and, more crucially, competent.

Even more importantly, she was correct in her reasoning. He had to protect the five buildings. Their loss would not only be a strategic blow to the nation’s war efforts, it would also mean the deaths of Elizabeth and so many of their loved ones. He rose into the air to get a better view and extended his protection over all of the powder storehouses.

He spotted the two mortar teams hunkered in trenches that had been covered moments before. Richard and the Mayor hit the western trench hard. There were at least six men in each trench, three of whom were servicing the six-inch pieces and three were prepared to repel attackers.

Richard was able to avoid the first volley from the defenders, while Sir William was able to knock the mortar off target as it fired the next round. The shell rose high into the air and plummeted back down, striking Darcy’s shield, though it would have missed the targeted building. In the distance Darcy saw Sir John assaulting the other mortar team. The Colonel used his ice gift to freeze the combatants, stopping them before they could fire again.

At that point a second rocket burst in the air, bathing the battle field in green light.

# # # # #

Elizabeth was making wide sweeps, trying to find any trace of the dastardly Frenchman responsible for so many of her family’s recent travails. Suddenly the sound of movement above her warned of an imminent attack. She tried to dodge out of the way, but the flying man caught her with the sharp edge of his metallic wings.

The razor like feathers sliced across her left side. The contact was insufficient for her to use her gift to control his body. She was not certain if it was because of the brevity of the contact, or if the wings were somehow proof against her touch. She wheeled to gain space between them, but he was faster than her in the air and came back for a second run, scoring another slash on her right leg.

“Pretty bird bleeds,” the winged man cawed, his voice distorted by his beak-like mouth. “Shouldna come in the air. The air is Razorwing’s!”

He rolled onto his back and dived into an aerial loop. Elizabeth dropped one wing to tumble out of the way of his next attack. He still managed to tear at her with a clawed foot. At the contact, she felt a connection to his inner being, but that connection was broken before she could act. They jockeyed for position, each trying to gain advantage over the other.

Elizabeth began to realize that the winged man was her superior in the air, both faster and more maneuverable. But she was the more experienced flier and used that hard-earned expertise to both avoid the majority his attacks and to attempt to entrap him. She sustained several superficial wounds from his sharpened pinions whilst discovering that his wings were insufficiently organic for her gift to effect. She needed to touch him on his body, long enough for her to affect his humors.

A rocket flew between the two combatants. It detonated a hundred yards from them, sending green sparks to illuminate the night sky. The thunderous boom of the explosion buffeted both fliers, flinging them away from each other.

As she tumbled through the sky, Elizabeth caught sight of two groups of figures emerging from hiding places near the wall of the enclosure, moving to swarm over her friends on the ground. Two of the new figures were flying towards Darcy as he hung in the air, maintaining the protections on the magazines. She also saw the rocket’s contrail leading back to LaFontaine on the top of the nearby hill.