The Messenger of the Black Prince

by Thomas A. H. Mawhinney

The fellow who had spoken brightened up. He lurched forward. His huge body bent over and his arm reached out to take the scrivener at his word. But his slow brain had reckoned without thought to the consequences. He had no sooner taken a step when the scrivener raised himself on the balls of his feet. He shot through the air with the straightness and speed of an arrow. He landed with all his weight on the back of his enemy. His one hand encircled his throat. The other, by a calculation as unerring as it was quick, caught the dagger by the hilt.

There followed a struggle that I shall not soon forget. The scrivener twisted his lithe body like a snake. He squirmed around and before I could wink was on top of his foe. He was smiling as though he was highly pleased with the dagger now raised ready for the descending blow.

He knew that the second fellow would not allow his companion to be killed. He halted the weapon so that it rested not more than an inch from his opponent’s throat.

“One move and you’re a dead man!” he cried. Then he looked to the side. He saw the other coming on with venom in his eyes.

“Take your choice,” he called to him. “Lay a finger on me and you’re this man’s murderer!”

The fellow stopped. In the twinkling of an eye the scrivener sprang to his feet. He faced the two with his face lit up and a confidence that was amazing. The man with the wounded hand slid his hand into his shirt. He drew forth a long knife with a curved blade. He ran his tongue over his lips to moisten them and with one bound made for his enemy.

I expected to see him run the scrivener through. But once again his quickness surprised me. He sprang onto the table again with even greater suppleness than before. This time he jumped feet foremost. He caught the fellow in the middle of the chest. The knife went flying from his hand and he was hurled back against the wall. His head struck with a thump and his knees buckled under him as he sagged to the floor.

Up to this time the action had been so fast and so unexpected that I was hardly able to take a breath let alone take a part in it. But when I saw the knife flying across the room my senses stirred within me. I saw the second fellow take a hasty glance at the knife. He moved with all his speed towards it. He was stooping over to snatch it up, when I realized the danger we would be in if he were able to get it in his grasp.

I took a flying leap like the scrivener, only I went face down, sliding along the smooth floor. Just as my fingers were curling around the haft, the fellow was upon me. I must have slid under him for he fell over me with all his weight. The breath was knocked out of my body. A thousand stars flicked across my vision. A pain shot over my back. My nose and forehead were crushed against the boards and a smothering made it hard for me even to gasp.

But I clung to the knife with all my strength. My assailant dug his hands into my ribs. He caught my wrist and twisted it till the pain almost made me cry out. He took a firm hold upon my neck and tried to squeeze the life out of me. He bent my arm back till it cracked in the socket. But with all that I clung to my knife as though it was the dearest thing I possessed.