Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #13 April 2015 - Page 42

“You would rob me here, with all of these witnesses. How very bold of you.” Heads turned in the doorway and a woman gasped at the sight of a gun. A mutter began. “I say, who is that scruffy man. A gun, he’s pointing a gun at sir Henry. Someone call the police. What’s happening, I can’t see.” In the dinosaur room the two men ignored the growing noise and movement. “Give me the map or I shoot.” “Never.” The sound of the gunshot was shockingly loud in the stone walled room, the crash echoed again and again, enough to wake the dead and stop the band in their tracks. Sir Henry clutched at his side and fell to the ground, the French spy gave a triumphant shout and lunged forward but Sir Henry still lived, the two grappled but La Cheef could not get to the map that was safe in Sir Henrys pocket. Then the sound of running feet made the Frenchman look up and he stood, cursed in his native tongue and turned to run. A crowd rushed into the room, several of the younger military men gave chase on the heels of the fleeing French spy, others went to the aid of the gentleman who had been so rudely shot before their eyes. ry’s arms. “You live, you were shot, I saw you shot in the chest, are you not hurt?” Sir Henry winced and made a completely fake effort to separate himself from the tender embrace of Lady Helena Colby-Sax, heiress, renowned beauty, poet and one of the most marriageable young ladies in the country. “A little bruised but nothing worse than a loss of dignity, to be shot and knocked to the ground by a French spy of all people.” Sir Henry used his right hand to gently grasp her chin and lift her gaze to his eyes. “I am well, just bruised.” Lord Ronsenby harrumphed loudly. “Bruised, the frenchy shot you in the chest from three feet away, should be a damn sight more than bruised!” Sir Henry chuckled again and gently moved Lady Helena into the curve of his right arm while using his left arm to open his tuxedo jacket. The fine quality cloth cut to flatter his tall frame was lined on the inside with a curtain of gleaming metal, a light mail that glittered like silver under the electric lights of the room. “A Gentleman adventurer such as myself always expects trouble my Lord, the jacket is from Hubard and Trull of Saville Row. The mail is of the finest Mythril, cost a king’s ransom but it has saved my life a time or two.” “Well I’ll be” The stout general declared. Then Sir Henry Carpenter-Fitzwarren stood up rubbing his side as he did so. “Sir Henry.” The fair lady in his arms asked. “Do you always wear a Mythril tux?” General the Lord Ronsenby stopped in front of Sir Henry and loudly demanded to know what had just happened. With a twinkle in his ear and a smile that made future promises on his lips the gentleman adventurer looked down at her lovely face and replied. “Only when I expect to be shot.” Then he chuckled but stopped with a gasp and clutched at his chest with his left hand. Then a rush of pale green skirts below a darker green bodice and a shapely pair of shoulders and neck below a heart shaped face crowned waves of the richest red pushed past the men and threw herself into Sir Hen- PAGE 42 “Oh no you really are hurt, you shouldn’t be standing around, let me take you home.” She glared up at him.