"P. N. Elrod - Jonathan Barrett 04 - Dance of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

Jonathan Barret 4 - Dance of Death by P N Elrod
CHAPTER 1
London, December 1777
"You're certain that he's all right?" asked my cousin Oliver, shifting closer i
n an anxious effort to see better. "He looks like a dead fish."
Which was a perfectly accurate observation; however, I had no need to be re
minded about the effect of my special influence on another person. I really
had no need for Oliver's interruption, either, but he'd asked to watch and
at the time there seemed no reason to deny his request. Now I was having s
econd thoughts.
"Please," I said in a rather tight voice. "I must concentrate."
"Oh." His hushed tone was contrite, and he instantly subsided into silence an
d went very still, enabling me to put forth my full attention on the man sitt
ing before us. Focusing my gaze hard upon his slack face, I softly spoke into
his all too vulnerable mind.
You must listen very carefully to what I say....
In this moment I truly felt myself balanced on the edge of a knife. With Ol
iver along to witness things, I was steadier than if I'd been alone, and ye
t I was very much aware of the lamentable consequences should I make a mist
ake with this fellow. A single word on my part or a brief surge of uncontro
lled rage let loose, and the man would most likely be plunged into a madnes
s from which he might never recover. I'd done that once before unintentiona
lly find would be a liar not to admit this present circumstance offered me
a great temptation to repeat the action. God knows, I'd more than sufficien
t cause to justify such a malfeasance.
His name was Thomas Ridley, and last night he and his cousin Arthur Tyne ha
d done their damnedest to try to murder me. For this and other crimes they'
d committed or participated in, I had been informed it would be too much to
expert a just retribution by means of the law; therefore I'd taken upon my
self the responsibility to guarantee that they would commit no further misc
hiefs. Arthur had already been dealt with and would soon be sent away home
when he was fit enough to travel. I'd drained quite a lot of blood from him
last night surely for the purpose of survival, not revenge, and he'd been
but half awake and easy to influence.
Ridley was another matter.
We'd confined him to one of the more remote cellar storage rooms far beneat
h Fonteyn House, well away from any ears with no business hearing his bello
wed curses. When I'd awakened that evening, had finished with the befuddled
Arthur, and was ready to deal with Ridley, he'd worked himself into a trul
y foul temper, if one might judge anything by the coarsely direct quality o
f his language. Much of his invective involved both general and specific pr
ofanities against myself and my many relatives for his treatment at our col
lective hands.
Coming down to the cellar together, Oliver and I had dismissed the five foot
men detailed to stand watch, and announced our presence to Ridley through th
e stout oak timbers of the door to his makeshift prison. He responded with a
statement to the effect that it would be his greatest pleasure to kill us b
oth with his bare hands. He saw no humor in Oliver's comment that he'd just
given us an excellent reason for keeping him incarcerated until he was starv
ed into a better disposition. Ridley's reaction was another tirade against u