Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Michael felt the sudden urge to roar and raise his fists in triumph, but he wisely restrained his impulses.
Instead, he sneaked up to the attic to get his mother’s traveling case (he had flatly refused to allow her to bring an entire trunk).
He was careful to remain unnoticed by the servants, for he would not inform them until just before his mother left the house.
He intended to give the lower servants a holiday of several weeks, allowing many to visit their families in the country.
He felt that Maxham was unlikely to question any servants who remained in the house, for he would know that Michael would not have told them where his mother had gone.
The attic space was cluttered with old furniture on one side and the servants’ quarters on the other, but the dormer windows let in sufficient light for him to see. They were all closed and latched, so the air smelled close and thick.
He had just carried his mother’s valise into her bedchamber when he heard it.
The sound of glass cracking, slightly muffled, and then the tinkle of shards dropping onto the wooden floor of the attic.
His mother was fussing at Isabella, pointedly ignoring her scoundrel of a son who had brought such misfortune upon her, and he allowed her to continue speaking. He deposited the traveling case upon the floor and moved again toward the door, looking back to give Isabella a wordless message.
She glanced at him, and their gazes held. She gave a nod of her head, then returned her attention to their mother.
Michael left the bedchamber and closed the door behind him. Isabella would turn the key in the lock.
The footsteps of the men in the attic were so soft that Michael could just barely hear them, and only when he stood still and held his breath. They were hesitating at the door to the attic, no doubt aware that Michael stood near the attic stairs.
In order to appear that he had not noticed them, Michael turned and walked down the hallway toward his bedchamber.
He lamented that it was so far from his mother’s room, but when his father died, she moved out of the attached bedroom for the mistress of the house and into the spacious chamber she now used.
Unfortunately, it was the room closest to the attic stairs.
The only other chamber on the floor was the nursery, and it was even farther from the attic stairs than the master bedroom.
Once in his room, he removed his cravat and tossed it aside so that he could not be choked by it in the fight. He placed his hand on the hilt of the dagger strapped to the small of his back and waited.
The attic door creaked softly as it slowly opened, then the barest whisper of footsteps sounded on the stairs down to the second floor. There were only two men.
He quietly withdrew the dagger from its sheath. It was smeared with sedative, enough to incapacitate at least one man. He could easily deal with the other even without it.
But then he stiffened. There were footsteps across the tiles of the roof next door. Slates cracked, and then he heard the thud of two men landing clumsily on the roof of his house.
That was how they had escaped his notice. They had sneaked into the neighboring houses, waiting in the attic until they could cross the roofs and enter his home.
Four men. He remembered the fight at the Ramparts. He could battle four men.
But at that time, he had merely needed to distract them so that Miss Sauber could rescue Miss Gardinier and Mr. Verling from the Finch Room. He would need to defeat these men in order to ensure the safety of his family.
And even if he did, what of the ten men outside the house?
He suddenly thought of Miss Sauber and her faith. She had been honest and vulnerable with him. She had never pretended that her faith was unshakable.
But the way in which she spoke about God clearly indicated that while her own faith wavered, she still knew that God Himself was unshakable.
Lord, he prayed, protect my family. Help me to defeat these men. Bring help from the rest of the team. Help me. Please help me …
And in the midst of his frantic thoughts, he felt as though a hand rested on the crown of his head, causing his thoughts to calm.
Can I trust in God at this time? he asked himself.
He thought about it and realized that the answer was yes.
He heard the sound of a horse galloping and realized he had been faintly aware of sounds on the street outside. But it was too late for him to go to the window, for the men had reached the base of the attic stairs.
Michael burst out of the master bedroom and raced to the staircase. A man with a round face like a dinner platter jerked in surprise upon seeing him, but quickly drew a knife from his boot.
Michael feinted an attack with his own dagger, but then punched Platter Face in the throat. He held nothing back, hitting as hard as he could.
He expected to feel the man’s windpipe crush beneath his fist, but Platter Face’s throat muscles tightened at the last moment. His superior strength saved him, resisting the destructive blow.
Michael did not hesitate and swung his elbow in a swift arc, colliding with Platter Face’s forehead just in front of the temple.
He knew he had stunned the man, but he did not wait and instead turned to attack the man descending the attic stairs behind him.
This man had a long chin, but Michael resisted the obvious target and instead aimed a fist at the man’s chest. Long Chin blocked his arm and punched in turn, which Michael also blocked.
He boxed at Long Chin’s head, left and then right. But he expected the man to dodge his left blow and aimed his right where he guessed his head would be. But Long Chin reared his head back more than he expected, and his fist only grazed the man’s jaw.
The first man, Platter Face, had recovered and now delivered a hard blow to Michael’s side. He grunted, but he ignored the pain and instead grabbed the back of Long Chin’s neck. He brought the man’s head down sharply even as he raised his knee up, and felt the crack of bone.
Before Long Chin had even fallen to the floor, Michael rushed at Platter Face, driving him down the short hallway that ended at the nursery door.
He not only wished to move the fight away from his mother’s room, but he also wanted to force Platter Face into the nursery. He didn’t know if Long Chin had been knocked unconscious by the blow from his knee, and he could only hope he was now out of the fight.
The two of them collided with the heavy nursery door, which held, as it had against the abuse of numerous children throughout the decades.
Platter Face tried to bring his knee up into Michael’s groin, but he twisted his hips to avoid the blow, grabbing the man’s lapels and slamming him hard against the door again.
The door rattled, and the wood creaked, but it did not give way.
With a roar, Michael ran backward a few feet, dragging Platter Face with him, then sprang forward with all the strength in his legs to ram them both into the door.
They collided with the wood, and while the metal latch held, the wood of the doorframe did not, exploding in a shower of splinters. Michael and Platter Face stumbled into the nursery, falling to the floor.
He swiftly rolled away from Platter Face, feeling the whistle of air as he narrowly avoided the man’s arcing fist. Platter Face’s hand pounded into the wooden floor instead, causing him to grunt in pain.
Michael rolled to his feet right in front of the battered rocking horse.
An ancestor many years ago had bought the wooden horse for the nursery, and perhaps he had anticipated exceptionally boisterous boys like Michael, for it was extraordinarily large and heavy.
Before he had been given the Root, Michael would have been able to lift it (just barely), but he could not have carried it for long.
Now, he picked it up as if it weighed no more than twenty pounds, grasping it by its solid wooden base. He whirled and swung the rocking horse at Platter Face, who had just risen to his feet.
The rocking horse had been lovingly cared for, even when not in use, remaining solid and well oiled. The sharp edge of a rocker struck Platter Face in the head, and he crumpled to the ground while the rocking horse looked no worse for wear. Platter Face was insensate.
Michael set the horse down and then grabbed the man’s wrists, dragging him closer to the far wall, directly in front of a battered old clothes press. He grabbed the edges and strained, his muscles pulled taut.
Slowly, the back edge of the bulky piece of furniture lifted from the ground, first one inch, then two. Michael pulled harder.
Finally, the clothes press tipped over enough that he merely needed to guide it as drawers began partially sliding out.
It crashed onto the prone form of the man.
The wooden upper doors cracked slightly, but the entire press remained intact.
The man would have difficulty pulling himself out from under it.
Platter Face was not bound, but Michael was intent upon slowing the attackers. He needed time—time to get his mother and sister out of the house.
He picked up the rocking horse once more and left the nursery, looking for Long Chin.
And not a moment too soon. The man was just staggering up from the floor where he had lain, stunned, after Michael hit him in the head with his knee. Michael broke into a run, the rocking horse in front of him like a battering ram.
Long Chin had enough time to spot Michael’s approach, and he reached his hands out, grasping the seat on the back of the wooden horse. Michael’s forward movement gave him the advantage, and Long Chin was forced back a few steps even as he pushed against the heavy wood.
Michael did not manage to slam Long Chin against the far wall of the narrow hallway as he had planned. The two men strained against each other, the rocking horse in between them. Michael heard the wood creaking.
Michael pressed hard, his voice coming out in a wordless cry. Long Chin also roared in exertion, the muscles and veins standing out on his neck, his shoulders bunched and rigid.
The wood began to crack beneath his hands. It gave Michael an idea.
He gave ground against Long Chin, as if his strength was failing him. The man bared his teeth in a feral grin as he pushed Michael backward. Soon they were at the meeting of the main hallway and the narrower one toward the nursery.
Instead of pushing forward with his arms, Michael jerked his hands outward and away from each other. The strained wood of the rocking horse broke, leaving him with a piece of heavy panel from the base, the edges of the wood jagged and sharp.
He twisted to the side even as Long Chin continued pushing, surprised by his sudden move. The man stumbled forward.
Michael stabbed the jagged end of the wooden panel into Long Chin’s exposed shoulder, ripping apart muscles and sinew.
The man screamed in pain as he released the remains of the horse. The broken toy fell to the floor, bouncing and spraying a few wooden shards down the hallway.
Long Chin was distracted enough that he didn’t even dodge Michael’s blow to his jaw, which knocked him unconscious. He dropped to the floor, the piece of wood still protruding from his mangled shoulder.
Michael spun and ran toward his mother’s bedchamber.