POE MUST DIE by Marc Olden Read Free Book Online Page A

his coat. “Mr. Figg, Mr. Figg. When I’ave you, I shall—”
    You have me now!
    Figg quickly rose to his knees, the rain-soaked coat in his left hand and he tossed it into Timothy Buck’s face.
    Buck screamed with fear at the sudden movement, at the attack on his face from the darkness and went back on his heels, arms flailing in the air, trying to stop himself from falling backwards and Figg was up, crouched ready to spring.
    “It’s ‘im! It’s ‘im! Oh God, oh God!” Buck shrieked like a woman and fell backwards onto the wet grass and Figg was on him, sitting on his chest and pulling the wet coat from Buck’s face, then placing the blade of the small dagger hard against the right side of Buck’s throat, pushing down and bringing the blade hard, deep and around in one savage stroke.
    Then Figg, who had felt the pistol digging into his ass from under Buck’s coat, was clawing for it. He looked up fingers still tearing at cloth and buttons, seeing Rose hearty and Stubbs running towards him, with Stubbs the faster, Stubbs with his seven foot quarterstaff made of firm oak, a weapon that could crush your skull like a grape and smash your kneecaps into jelly. Figg could use one with superb skill. If he had one.
    The Boutet flintlock was in his hand and rain was in his eyes, but he fired quickly because the water could easily damage the pistol, wetting the powder and causing it to misfire.
    Crack! The ball caught Stubbs in the thigh, making him spin around and throw the quarterstaff high in the air. Damn his eyes! Figg had put the ball in Stubbs because he’d wanted that quarterstaff. The wood had reach and that’s what Figg wanted against the deadly Rosehearty and his lantern and small sword.
    “One ball, Mr. Figg. Only one ball!” Rosehearty’s voice was triumphant as he raced towards the boxer. One life I gots too, thought Figg, and I am not quite ready to part with it.
    True, the flintlock fired only one ball but Figg still had use for the pistol. He narrowed his eyes, turning his head to the side, desperate to keep the light from Rosehearty’s lantern from blinding him.
    He stood and listened, hearing Stubbs moan and curse him and roll around on the wet ground, and he heard Rosehearty rushing towards him, mouth open and breathing loudly, confident of his skill, sure he would kill the boxer whom he hated so intensely.
    Figg threw the empty pistol at Rosehearty, then ran towards Stubbs, following the sounds coming from the albino. Behind Figg, Rosehearty crouched, turning his body to protect the lantern, catching the tossed pistol on his right forearm.
    “You cannot limp faster than I can run! I shall have you, Figg! I shall!”
    Figg, still holding his drenched coat, reached Stubbs who lay on his back, pale, ugly face contorted with pain as he pressed down hard with blood covered hands on the hole in his left thigh. When he saw Figg, he raised himself to his elbows, eyes searching the darkness for his quarterstaff. “Kill you, you bloomin’ —”
    Figg kicked him in the face, snapping Stubbs’s head violently to the right. Bleed and die, mate.
    The staff. Figg must have it. Where the bloody hell is it? Damn the rain.
    Figg saw it. Long, dark, lying half in moonlight and half in shadow. He limped towards it, widening his eyes to clear them of falling rain. Behind him, Figg heard Rosehearty splashing across the grass with long, loping strides, moving with remarkable swiftness for such a tall man. The staff was in Figg’s hand and his back was to Rosehearty who saw an easy kill and continued charging. The boxer”s back and kidneys would bleed as well as his throat, so place the blade where he cannot see it and do as Jonathan ordered.
    Figg, eyes on the ground, saw the yellow pool of light grow larger around him as Rosehearty drew closer, saw his own shadow lengthen, saw Rosehearty’s long shadow grow longer, longer. … The rain-soaked boxer waited, his back still to Rosehearty, still keeping the