The Map of Time (Trilogía Victoriana #1)(116)

Tom heaved a sad sigh, disillusioned by the fickleness of the human spirit, and he gazed at Jeff with an air of disappointment.

His companion shrugged, refusing any responsibility for what was about to happen. He was opening his mouth, perhaps to remark that such was life or some other cliché, when a blow to his throat from Tom’s boot stopped him, crushing him against the seat. Taken aback by the kick, Jeff let out a loud grunt of pain which instantly turned into a high-pitched whistle. Tom knew this would not put him out of action, but the attack had been sudden enough to take them all by surprise. Before the other two could react, he elbowed the bewildered Mike Spurrell in the face as hard as he could. The blow dislocated Mike’s jaw, and a spurt of blood from his split lip hit the window. Undaunted by Tom’s violent response, Bradley pulled a knife from his pocket and pounced on him. Although supple and quick, fortunately he was the weakest of the three. Before the weapon could reach him, Tom grabbed his arm and twisted it violently until he dropped the knife. Then, since the move had placed Bradley’s head only a few inches from his leg, Tom kneed him brutally in the face, hurling him back against his seat, where he lay slumped, blood streaming from his nose. In a matter of seconds, he had overpowered all three men, but Tom scarcely had time to congratulate himself on his swift, punishing action, when Jeff, who had by then recovered, flew at him with a savage roar. The force of the attack flung Tom back against the cab door, the handle of which dug into his right side like a blade. They wrestled awkwardly for a few moments in the reduced space, until Tom felt something crack behind him. He realized the door had given way, and seconds later found himself dangling in midair, clutching onto Jeff ridiculously as the cab raced on. When he hit the ground, Tom had all his breath knocked out of him. The impact of their fall caused the two men to carry on rolling for a few moments, until it finally disentangled them from their grotesque lover’s embrace.

When everything stopped spinning, Tom, whose whole body was aching terribly, tried to heave himself to his feet. A few yards off, Jeff, alternately cursing and howling, was trying to do the same. Tom realized it would be one against one until the others arrived, and that he must take advantage of this. But Jeff was too quick for him. Before he was fully on his feet, Jeff charged at him violently, propelling him back to the ground. He felt his spine crack in a several places, but even so, as his companion’s hands grappled with his own to try to grab his throat, Tom managed to place his foot on Jeff’s chest and push him off. Jeff flew backwards, but Tom felt a searing pain as his thigh muscle ripped under the strain. He ignored it and struggled to his feet, before his adversary this time. The cab had stopped in the distance, one door hanging like a broken wing, and Bradley and Mike were already rushing back towards them. Quickly calculating the odds, Tom decided his best bet was to run away from a fight he could only lose, so he dashed towards the busier streets, away from the deserted docks.

He had no idea where this sudden urge to live had sprung from, when only hours before he had longed for death’s eternal oblivion. In any event, he ran as fast as his racing heart and the throbbing pain in his thigh would permit, struggling to find his bearings in the pitch-black night. Hearing his pursuers close behind him, Tom dived into the first side street he came to, which unhappily for him proved to be a dead end. He swore at the wall standing in his way and turned slowly around, resigned to his fate. His companions stood waiting for him at the entrance to the alleyway. Now the real fight began, he said to himself, and strolled casually towards where his executioners were waiting, trying hard not to limp and clenching his fists by his sides. He knew he stood no chance against three of them, but that did not mean he was going to throw in the towel. Would his desire to stay alive prove stronger than their desire to kill him? Tom walked up to them and gave an ironical bow. He did not have Captain Shackleton’s sword, but he felt as though the man’s spirit was beating in his breast. It’s better than nothing, he thought to himself. The dim light from the nearest streetlamp barely illuminated the scene, and their faces remained in shadow.

No one said a word, for there was nothing more to say. Jeff gave the order, and his men slowly fanned out, like prizefighters sizing up their opponent. Since none of them took the initiative, Tom assumed they were giving him the chance to initiate the one-sided combat. “Who would he go for first?” he wondered, as his companions slowly circled him. He stepped towards Mike, fists raised, but at the last moment, made a feint and threw the punch at an unsuspecting Jeff. The blow hit him full in the face, knocking him to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Bradley’s attack coming. He dodged the punch, and when Bradley was squarely in front of him, plunged his fist into the lad’s stomach, doubling him up in pain. He was not so lucky with Spurrell, whose hammer blow was deadly. The world went fuzzy, Tom’s mouth filled with blood, and he had to make a superhuman effort to stay on his feet. But the giant showed him no mercy. Before Tom had time to recover, Spurrell threw another punch, this time right on the chin. There was an ominous crack and Tom went spinning to the ground. Almost immediately, he felt the toe of a boot sink ruthlessly into his side, threatening to shatter his ribs, and Tom realized they had him. The fight was over. From the hail of blows raining down on him, he deduced that Bradley and Jeff had joined in the beating. On the floor beside him, through the dense fog of his pain, he could make out Wells’s book, which must have fallen out of his pocket during the brawl. Claire’s flower had escaped from its pages and lay incongruously on the filthy ground, a pale yellow brightness that looked as though it would be snuffed out at any moment, like his life.