by R Mountebank
Chapter 19
The hunt for Spring-heeled Jack
Lonagan's plan was very simple: Travel around Olde London until they caught this 'Spring-heeled Jack' turkey and catch him. It was so simple you could call it stupid, and it involved a lot of walking and climbing. Mary was grateful to be free from The Old Man’s dungeon for a spell, but her new boots were torturing her feet and Lonagan hadn't stopped for as much as a sip of water since they left. He was always ahead of her, head bowed to the ground or craned to the sky, searching. He only spoke to her when she lagged behind or asked questions.
Be quiet and stay close!
She had lost count how many times he had said those words. It dawned on Mary quite early in the evening that he didn't want or need her help. She was a third wheel on this particular adventure. And what of the adventure anyway? It was merely an assignment to catch some pervert in a funky magical costume that was terrorising Olde London in the night. According to Lonagan, there was a bounty out for his arrest. But The Old Man was more interested in his costume and already had a buyer lined up to acquire it. So their job was to catch this guy and retrieve his spooky getup in one piece. That meant no bullets or decapitations – which kind of put a dampener on things for Mary. She had these new weapons and was eager to test them.
"Hurry up. And be quiet! You make enough noise for three people!" hissed Lonagan from ahead of her. She stared daggers at his back and scrambled to keep up.
Maybe she should test them on him.
They came out of a narrow alleyway and onto a busy sealed road. It was a lively part of Olde London, filled with derelict taverns, modest restaurants and dingy theatres. Mary couldn't get over how different everything looked. It was like there was no fixed time period for the architecture, design or fashion. Posters declaring out-dated products and vaudeville programs were stuck next to (what she hoped were) old propaganda slogans. The only common theme was the lack of cleanliness. Victorian and Edwardian dressed gentlemen mixed with girls dressed in tight vinyl skirts and sweeping bell-bottom jeans, the odd knight in shining armour walking through the crowd thrown in for good measure.
Men and women hawked wares from rickety carts or beat-up vans, anything from compact disk players to ribbons and thread to meat pastries.
Lonagan forced his way through the crowd, face obscured beneath a wide brimmed hat and one hand casually placed near a holstered pistol. Nobody seemed to care that he was armed to the teeth; in fact, many of them were in some fashion. Mary kept the tall elf in her sights and trailed along behind him a short distance, one hand always close to her rapier.
He took a turn into a quieter street and stopped outside of a rundown public tavern called 'The Ox and Mule'.
"Wait outside," he said as Mary caught up to him.
Mary looked through the grimy window to the low ceilinged hovel inside. "That's fine by me."
"It wasn't a question," replied Lonagan gruffly as he let himself inside.
Mary sighed and leaned against the brick wall. With nothing else to do she took stock of her surroundings. The street was narrow and filled with brick, two-storey town houses, their walls dirty and the windows filthy. Here and there curtains twitched as faces peered out into the night, faint lamplight betraying their surreptitious glances. People out walking alone watched every shadow, their bodies tense. Others swaggered by in groups, often with weapons drawn. The people of this part of Olde London seemed to be on edge. She wondered if was all due to this Jack pervert. Some of the rude stares she received told her that it probably wasn't the case. These people lived a harsh life in a mean environment; Spring-heeled Jack was just one scum-element of a scummy part of town.
As she waited, Mary’s thoughts turned to herself. Lonagan had left her alone. If she made a run for it, could she get help? Find someone to lift The Old Man’s curse?
It was worth a shot. With a quick glance at the tavern, Mary turned and walked back down the street. After a dozen paces she became nauseous. After two dozen her legs began to shake and she had stomach cramps. At three dozen her head began to spin and her vision swam. Mary stopped and turned back around. Head down and panting, she plodded back to Lonagan. Every step she took seemed to lessen her burden. When she got back to the exact spot the elf had left her she felt whole again. Mary bowed her head and covered her face with her hands. It was hopeless to even to conceive of running away from The Old Man’s clutches.
"What do we have here, lads?"
The noise startled Mary. She looked up from her hands, her distraught feelings quickly giving way to a defensive pose. Four slab-faced brutes were staring at her, malice written on their flat, ugly faces. The leader spoke again, "How much do you cost, darling?"
"I'm not for sale," growled Mary.
"Why? Who bought ya? I'll pay double."
Mary felt a flash of anger and the stirrings of a transformation. She fought through the pain, trying to keep her sanity in check.
"Look boys, I'm not one of those... women. So just bug off. I'm working."
The men spread out in front of Mary, knuckles cracking and billy-clubs swinging.
"Well, we run this here part of the Olde, and we take a fee from all workers. Of the night or otherwise. So pay up."
Mary pressed herself flat against the wall, her anger giving way to fear.
"I've got nothing to offer."
"Well, tell you what... How about we come to another arrangement?" The leader grinned and licked his fat lips.
"She's with me, Fennimore," said Lonagan, stepping out of the tavern.
The thug turned his thick neck at the interruption, a forced smile blooming on his rough face when he recognised Lonagan.
"Ah, Master Lonagan! Should have known she was one of yours. What brings you to our part of town?"
The thugs all backed away from Mary a pace or two, hands wringing together and staring at the floor. Lonagan gave them all a level stare from beneath his wide brimmed hat, one hand casually resting on the pommel of his long sword. An awkward pause stretched out uncomfortably long. Lonagan crossed his arms.
"We are looking for the vagrant known as Spring-heeled Jack."
Fennimore raised a scarred eyebrow. "Him will be hard to catch... Prefers to haunt the richer ‘burbs, I hear. Better class of women and all..." he said jerking his thumb down the road.
"So I've heard," said Lonagan, taking the hint. "We will leave you gentlemen to your noble business."
Lonagan walked towards the thugs who grudgingly parted to let him pass. Mary didn't need any cue to follow. He strode quickly back down the way they had come, eyes searching the rooftops.
"Who were those guys?"
Lonagan ignored her.
"Why didn't you cleave them in twain or fill them full of lead?"
Lonagan gave her a questioning look over his shoulder. "Why didn't you?"
Mary chewed her bottom lip as she thought of her answer. "I didn't want to."
"That's funny. Neither did I."
Mary looked at the weapons she sported then at Lonagan's departing back. She had the feeling that she had just failed a test. She wasn't too sure if this life of adventure and street brawls was for her after all.
They walked on for some time and eventually arrived in a more affluent suburb. The streets were broader and cleaner with less graffiti and no bills plastered on every surface. The houses had wide stone steps and faux columns leading up to large doors with glass windows and stained brass fittings. Everything seemed well-made if slightly antiquated and worn. The few people on the street all travelled in groups with weapons handy. Lonagan stopped in the middle of the street with his hands on his hips, eyes on the rooftops, while people passed left and right of him, giving him suspicious looks.
"What are we waiting for?"
"Looking for a way up for you."
Mary looked about dumbly. "Way... up?"
"Try that gap between those two houses. Should be able to shimmy up... maybe," said the elf, pointing acro
ss the street. He leapt across the street in one fantastic bound and clung to the bare stone surface of the building. In the blink of an eye he clambered up the face of the wall and onto the slate roof. "Don't just stand there!" he called to her as he sat down cross-legged.
Mary could barely comprehend what had just happened. Lonagan had moved so fast and had climbed a sheer wall effortlessly. Did he expect her to do the same? Mary shuffled over to the small gap Lonagan had indicated. It was just wide enough for her to press her back against one of the walls and her feet against the other. Slowly and not so surely she inched her way up the side of the building. Soon she had run out of real estate to climb up and her head was brushing the soffit. She looked left and right for something to grab a hold of. Nothing was in reach unless she moved forward from her current position.
"Lonagan! A little help, please!"
She heard a sigh and a black-gloved hand appeared over the guttering. Mary grabbed on for dear life as the elf hoisted her up and onto the roof. She sat there for a moment, sucking in air and massaging the kinks out of her aching legs and back.
Lonagan knelt a meter or two away, regarding her over his leather veil.
"I would have spread my legs and hands in your position, much like the shape of a star, shifting the weight from my hands to my feet and back as I climbed. Much faster and better options."
"Well thanks for the input," said Mary. "I'll remember that next time I can't find the stairs."
Lonagan shrugged. "Just saying..."
Mary got to her feet and looked back down at her ascent. She felt a little dizzy and more than a little proud for getting up without falling and breaking her neck.
"How did you do it so easily?" she asked.
Lonagan tilted his head slightly as he looked at her.
Are you for real? He seemed to ask.
"I am Dökkálfar. I am a master of everything below the earth and stone. All of its secrets and lore belong to my kind. I didn't climb the brick wall so much as I slid up it."
"Oh..." said Mary nodding her head. "Could you show me how?"
"Are you a dark elf?"
"Not that I am aware."
"Then no. A bird cannot teach a fish how to fly, or so the saying goes," said Lonagan shaking his head.
Mary chewed her lip as she thought. "What can I learn then?"
Lonagan shrugged his shoulders. "What is your heritage? The different races have access to different elements."
"Part fairy, part wolf," said Mary as she ticked off her fingers. "Part human, part fish-man and part elf – or so I'm told."
Lonagan sat next to her and dangled his feet over the edge of the roof.
“What do you know exactly?” he asked her.
“Nothing at all,” replied Mary. “I did see my brother do some water thing and shape-shift into a berserker. Does that help?”
Lonagan sighed and looked at the stars.
"The Sidhe or fairies as you call them, have access to some form of spiritual magic. That much you know, right? Theirs is a strange art though, and varies from family to family, or so I’ve heard. I do know that some can access another element. Again, that depends on your parent's ability. They can change sizes and appearance, yeah? Like I’ve seen you do? You say you have the wolf in you too, so you’re of The Sons of Remus. They are chiefly of a spiritual magic. Shape-shifting and spirit talking are some of their abilities.”
Mary’s eyes widened. Something suddenly clicked. Sons of Remus? As in, Romulus and Remus? The founders of Rome? That was a fairy-tale from her history class. That couldn’t be true.
You’re complaining about fairy-tales? You are a fairy, numbwit!
Questions buzzed in her head, but Lonagan continued.
“But you got a whole mix of stuff in you, girl. You’re one complicated creature, I tell you. The fish-man bloodline I'm guessing is Fomorian. Water is their staple but some can control the winds. As for the elven blood, I couldn't tell you more unless you specified light or dark. And as far as humans go... nothing much ever comes from them. They do however carry a soul which is more than I can say for…”
Lonagan's voice trailed off towards the end, his head hanging as he thought.
Mary was bubbling with excitement. "So I can do all of that stuff? Water and wind and spirit and stuff? Cool... I can't wait to learn some hoodoo and go flying around the place, blasting dudes with my magic rays."
Lonagan gave her a level look. "Having that kind of mixed heritage may not be to your advantage. Diluting the bloodlines dilutes the power. You may not be able to do anything."
Mary slumped. "So I'm just a good-for-nothing mongrel like my uncle told me?"
Lonagan got to his feet and held out a hand. "You are not good for nothing. You shape-shifted and beat the jam out of two dozen armed men. I'd call that a good start."
“I can’t control it though,” said Mary. “It only comes when I’m angry and all I want to do is fight.”
“Then master it. Here and here…” said the elf, pointing at his head and heart.
Mary took Lonagan's hand and got to her feet. She dusted the grime off her new outfit and looked about. Olde London's rooftops were laid out before her in a sprawling jumble; a sea of pitched slate, basins of brick, waves of shingle, islands of sturdy chimneys and outcrops of antenna.
"Where do we begin?" she asked the night.
"Look," said Lonagan, pointing. "I've found tracks."
The pair crept across the roofs of Olde London, Lonagan in the lead and Mary bringing up the rear with her blunderbuss at the ready. The dark elf was tracking something imperceptible to Mary’s sight. She assumed it was another one of his magical secrets that she would never be privy to. At several points they had to cross the street to the other side. Each time they crossed, Lonagan would take Mary in his arms and leap across the void in an easy bound, his feet touching down lightly on the roof with barely a sound. The city was growing quiet as the night grew longer and her citizens returned home to find their beds. Soon, the only people out on the street were fools and thieves. Mary wondered which one of the two she was. They had travelled through this part of the city, traversing the street back and forth, for about an hour when Lonagan spoke.
"We are getting closer."
Mary nodded nervously and checked on her weapons.
Suddenly a woman's scream shattered the night’s peace. Lonagan pointed down the way and set off at a blistering pace, half running and half sliding over the tiled peaks. Mary gulped down her fear and followed as fast as she could. Climbing up a steep shingle roof she found Lonagan circling around a point below her.
"He's in there," he whispered pointing at his feet.
"What are we going to do?" asked Mary panting.
"I am going down there. You stay here."
"What if he comes after me?" asked Mary, tilting her head.
Lonagan growled a deep sigh. "I don’t know. Run away? Now stand back."
Mary stepped back and crouched behind the pitch of the roof. Lonagan circled around two more times before stopping and taking several deep breaths. With a crouch he leapt straight up in the air several meters. At the arc’s zenith he disappeared in a haze of shadow and dropped faster than gravity would allow. The roof where he had been circling collapsed in a mess of shingle and wooden beams. The dark mass of Lonagan was swallowed up by the hole. Mary winced as chips of shingle and wood rained down on her.
She heard a startled shout and a woman scream, the dull thuds of a body being pummelled and the crashes of furniture breaking. Then it went quiet. After a count of ten she wriggled forward to get a better look. It sounded like Lonagan had surprised this Jack goober and beaten the snot out of him with a chair leg. She was about to call out when a great gout of flame erupted from the hole in the roof. Mary backed away quickly on all-fours, the torrent of fire reaching the chimney top. Abruptly, the flame subsided.
Surely nothing could have survived that maelstrom of heat and light? But then, as if to be proven
wrong, she heard the cackle of a madman rising from the depths of the charred room.
Before she could stand up a figure dressed in white leapt clear of the hole in the roof and landed in front of her. The man had a stained soldier’s dress uniform of white, edged in gold, trim with the front undone. He wore nothing underneath the jacket. His skin was deathly pale and creased with wrinkles. Two floppy horns dangled around the side of a face stretched back in the imitation of a manic grin. Glowing eyes glared down at Mary, havoc and mayhem their only message. The man threw back his head and laughed like a maniac. Mary cringed and backed away, her sidearm forgotten. The man ceased his mad laugh and looked down at her, his amusement quieting into something even more sinister.
"Oh ho! Another girl! I do like the girls. No matter what they say about me in the rags, they do have one thing right! I am mad about the ladies!"
Mary was face to face with Spring-heeled Jack.
He crept closer to Mary, arms outstretched and fingers wriggling. "How about a little kiss for old Jack?"
Mary suppressed a scream and crawled backwards. Her rapier dug into a hip, reminding her that she was armed. Hefting up the pistol she aimed it at the pervert’s chest.
"I'm warning you. Don't come any closer," she said as threateningly as possible.
"I'm warning you. There are reds under the beds," replied Jack.
"What?" asked Mary, dumbfounded.
"Jumping!" exclaimed the madman as he did so. With a high leap he shot over Mary’s head, kicking the gun away as he passed.
"I told you! Don't bring a gun to a knife fight! And remember to floss. I love a woman with good hygiene."
He crept towards her in a deranged pantomime performance; both arms raised and knees bent in the manner a child or movie villain pretends to creep.
“Gonna getcha, girlie,” he giggled.
Teeth bared in horror, Mary fumbled for her rapier. She would lop his hands off.
Can’t touch me if you don’t have hands…
The narrow blade rasped free of its sheath and Mary slashed at Spring-heeled Jack’s hands. The pervert dodged back from the blade, a sliver of golden tassel the only casualty.
“Woah! I’ve got a live one!” cried Jack. “But two can play the poke’em and bleed’em game!”
He spun sideways in a blur. When he stopped he had a butcher’s knife at the ready.
“Aww… Yours is bigger than mine…” he mocked.
Mary grinned back at him. Every girl in Pennysworth was competent with a sword. Mary was no exception. She lunged at his heart then flicked the blade up after his parry. Jack sidestepped the blade and countered. Mary blocked the lazy thrust and countered with her own riposte.
“Weee! This is fun!” laughed Jack, casually blocking Mary’s attacks.
Mary glowered at the man and stepped up the intensity. She lunged and swung at the giggling man with all the speed she had, keeping him on the defence. The combatants moved back towards the gaping hole in the roof.
Jack seemed to grow bored of the fight and lashed out with a kick to Mary’s ankles. Mary fell sideways, dropping her rapier off the side of the building.
“Poke’em and bleed’em,” said Spring-heeled Jack, threateningly. He raised his knife high in the air.
Mary stared at the blade in mute terror.
Do something! Where is the berserker? Crush him!
She sought the feeling that precipitated a transformation. There was nothing to hold onto, her fear was too strong.
A howling wind suddenly blew, showering Jack with grit and fanning the fire.
There came a large cloud of smoke and the roof sagged alarmingly. The tiles felt uncomfortably hot beneath her hands.
“Oh dear,” said Spring-heeled Jack. “Time to leave, I’d say. Make going while the getting is good. Be seeing ya!”
Laughing all the way, he jumped in incredible arcs away over the rooftops until he was lost in the night. Mary watched him go, a feeling of uselessness and frustration swelling up inside of her. She had let him get away thanks to her hesitation. She didn't want to think about what Lonagan would say.
Where was Lonagan?
