Читать книгу Playing With Fire - Derek Landy - Страница 10

dark shape flitted high above the streets of London, moving from rooftop to rooftop, spinning and twisting and cavorting in the air. He wore no shoes and his footsteps were light, his tread no more than a whisper, snatched away by the night breeze. He sang to himself as he moved, and giggled, a high-pitched giggle. He was dressed in black, with a battered top hat that stayed perched on his misshapen head no matter what acrobatic feat he performed. His suit was torn, old and musty, and his long-fingered hands were tipped with long, hardened nails.

He landed on one leg on the edge of a rooftop and stayed there, his lanky body curled. He looked down on to Charing Cross Road, at the people passing below him, at the cars zipping by. His cracked lips pursed, his small eyes moving, he browsed the selection on offer, making a choice.

“Jack.”

He turned quickly to see the young woman walking towards him. Her long coat was closed and the breeze played with her tousled blonde hair, teasing it across her face. And such a pretty face. Jack hadn’t seen as pretty a face in many a year. His lips parted, showed small yellow teeth, and he gave her his best smile.

“Tanith,” he said in a voice that was high and strained, in an accent that was a cross between East London and … something else, something unknowable. “You’re lookin’ ravishin’.”

“And you’re looking revolting.”

“You are too kind, I’m sure. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

Tanith Low shook her head. “It’s not your neck of the woods any longer, Jack. Things have changed. You shouldn’t have come back.”

“Where was I gonna go? Old Folks’ Home? Retirement Village? I’m a creature of the night, love. I’m Springheeled Jack, ain’t I? I belong out here.”

“You belong in a cell.”

He laughed. “Me? In captivity? For what possible crime?”

“You mean, apart from murder?”

He turned his head so he was looking at her out of the corner of one eye. “That still illegal then?”

“Yes, it is.”

She opened her coat, revealing the sword against her leg. “You’re under arrest.”

He laughed, did a flip in the air, landed on his right foot and grinned at her. “Now this is new. You were always pokin’ your nose where it wasn’t wanted, always dealin’ out what you thought was justice, but you never arrested anyone. You a proper copper now, that it? You one of the constabulary?”

“Give up, Jack.”

“Bloody hell, you are. Consider me impressed.”

He dipped his head, looked at her with those small eyes of his. “What was it you used to say, before things got all rough and tumble? ‘Come and have a go—”

“If you think you’re hard enough.”

He grinned. “Do you?”

She withdrew her sword from its scabbard. It caught a beam of moonlight and held it, and she looked back at him without expression. “I’ll let you decide that.”

And Springheeled Jack sprang.

He flipped over her and she turned, ducking the swipe of hard nails, moving again as he landed, narrowly avoiding the return swipe and twisting to face him as he came at her.

He batted the sword to one side and his right foot went to her thigh, his toenails digging in, and he clambered up, kneeling on her shoulder. She grabbed his wrist to avoid the nails. She stumbled, unable to support his weight, but he jumped before she hit the rooftop, landed gracefully as she rolled to a crouch and then he dived at her again.

They went tumbling. He heard the sword clatter from her grip, and felt her foot on his belly as she kicked. He did a flip and landed, but her fist was right there, smacked him square in the face. He took a few steps back, bright lights dancing before his eyes. She kicked his knee, and he howled in pain, then there was a grip on his wrist and a sudden wrenching. He pushed her away, his vision clearing.

“You should be leavin’ me alone!” he spat. “I’m unique, me! They don’t even have a name for what I am! I should be on the Endangered Species list! You should be protectin’ me!”

“You know how they protect Endangered Species, Jack? They put them in a special enclosure, where no one can harm them.”

His face twisted. “Enclosure’s a fancy word for a cell, innit? And you’re not takin’ me anywhere near a bloody cell.”

And then it drifted up to them, the sound of a baby crying. Jack’s expression softened and he smiled again.

“Don’t even think about that,” Tanith warned.

His smile turned to a grin then a leer.

“Race you,” he said.

Jack ran to the edge of the building and then there was nothing beneath his feet but air, and the next rooftop swooped to meet him. He landed and ran on without missing a step. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Tanith Low trying to keep up. She was good, that girl, but this was something Jack was made for. He was the prince of London City. It let him go where it let no one else. He knew it like he knew his own face.

The baby’s cry came again and he changed direction, heading away from the busier areas, tracking it over the streets and the alleyways. His powerful legs propelled him through the darkness and he spun and dug his feet into brick. He ran sideways, the length of the building. He saw Tanith moving on a parallel course, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, trying to intercept him before he reached his goal.

One last cry from the baby and Jack zeroed in on an open window, high above street level. He made a series of small jumps, building his momentum. He saw Tanith out of the corner of his eye, sprinting to catch up. Too slow, he thought to himself. He leaped from one side of the street to the other and dived straight in, clearing the window and going for the crib.

But the crib held only blankets, and the room was dark and unfurnished, not like a baby’s room at all, and why had the window been open? It wasn’t warm enough to have the window open—

The baby’s cry, much louder, was coming from a small device that sat near the window.

It was a trap. She had tricked him.

He moved to the window, but she had walked up the side of the building and was climbing through.

“Out there,” she said, “in the open air, I didn’t have a hope of catching you. But in here, in a confined space? You’re all mine, ugly.”

Jack panicked, went to the door, but it wouldn’t budge; there was a sheen to it he could see, even in the darkness, and he knew it would withstand whatever he had to throw at it. He whirled. The only way out was the window- the window that Tanith Low now guarded. She laid her sword on the ground, and took off her coat. Her tunic was sleeveless and her arms were strong. She rolled her neck, loosening up her shoulders, and nodded to him.

“Now,” she said, “finally. Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”

Jack roared and went for her and she kicked him. He swiped and she ducked, and smacked him across the jaw. He tried to flip over her, but the ceiling was too low and he bellyflopped into it, felt his breath leave him and crashed to the floor. After that, all that registered was a whole lot of fists and elbows and knees, and a wall that kept running into his face.

Jack collapsed. He breathed hard and groaned in pain. He stared up at the ceiling. He could see the cracks, even in the dark. Tanith stepped into view, looking down at him.

“You ready for your nice warm cell now?”

Jack whimpered.