southeast, which would have made them traitors as well as criminals. But I was watching the back of the alehouse tonight, and when I saw you being carried in I could not wait anymore if lives are going to be at stake. They have run afoul of a power they disbelieved, and it was their undoing at the last. For the Owl is many things to many people, but justice most of all.” They had by now reached the bottom of the stone staircase. “Who are you, sir? And how did you run afoul of these cretins—great magpies! Back inside, sir! Hurry!”
A brilliant ray of light washed over the entrance of the cellar even as they reached it, and the broken doors was illuminated from the heavens. From the end of the alley where it opened into the wide street there came the eager smashing of heels against the wet pavement alongside the faint hum of urgent conversation.
“Down! Down!” cried the giant in a fluster. Pushing with his great hands he gave Bailey a firm shove, and together they fell back into the cellar.
All at once the footsteps drew near in a hurry. But Bailey, even in the throes of the moment, did not forget to ask him what he meant. He did not miss what his rescuer had been saying before they were so suddenly interrupted, but he, caught wholly up in this new excitement, did not hear the question.
“Scowls, man!” he cried, over and over again as above them harsh voices rent the night.
Bailey felt about in the darkness of the cellar for the pickle barrels, from one which he drew a heavy rifle. With a clatter he popped the stock, but alas it was empty. There was no time to find ammo, and anyway he had no idea where to look. Meanwhile the hubbub above them only escalated until a few hostile words passed down the staircase through the opening. That way was completely blocked.
“It’s the police!” bemoaned the giant. He rushed towards the back of the cellar, throwing aside crates and the wrecked bodies of those he had vanquished like bundles of straw. But alas the door there leading up into the parlor of the alehouse was firmly fastened from the other side, and even his immense strength could not force it.
“Ah!” He smashed his great fists against the wood, but though it groaned beneath his blows it held firm and he could not break through. “Ruined!”
Meanwhile there appeared to be no respite from the voices above urging them to surrender the cellar, and very soon it seemed the matter would be forced. For there was the ever increasing number of footsteps they heard drawing nearer with every passing moment, followed by a dedicated clamor from the top of the staircase. It was undoubtedly the actions of the giant breaking up the criminal gang which attracted some attention. Perhaps all it took was a concerned neighbor running outside in the dead of night to fetch a uniformed man to complain about the disturbance, but from there the matter grew until it became a rightful siege of the premises. The sweeping light of the airship was fixated over the narrow alley like a beacon, while below it the gathering foot prepared to charge.
Bailey made a grab for his rescuer then, struggling to calm him down. But he was by now beyond common sense, his head jerking wildly back and forth from the interiors of the cellar to the entrance and the staircase beyond.
“Look, man,” Bailey tried, “Let me go first, and I’ll talk them down. But don’t make a peep beforehand, and no sudden movements or else we will certainly be shot.”
Still outside the voices continued their haranguing, ignorant of just what was transpiring inside but equally fearful of being riddled with shot on their end should they attempt to enter. As they carried on with their cacophony the giant did then a sudden and unexpected thing. Even as Bailey dug in his pockets for the four fingered iron imprint which would have mellowed their besiegers, the man uttered a terrible roar which shook the building to its roots. And against all common sense, and perhaps reeling from panic and delirium he stamped his foot before shoving past Bailey, charging up the steps with his massive limbs swinging before him like the arms of a broken clock.
He barreled forth then a siege-breaker and blockade smasher, intending to sweep away his enemies as he had done before by his immense strength. But even the most vicious and dangerous of nature’s creatures would have fallen readily before the preparations of a seasoned huntsman, and it was just such a trap which awaited him at the top of the staircase. There were the hurried, panicked shouts of those who were nearest the entrance being bulled through, followed by more experienced voices elsewhere calling for action. The discharge of guns fell into the cellar like ringing thunder, accompanied afterwards by sullen silence as a foot came down on the neck of the quarry the hunters had bagged, with a pistol clapped to the prone head to ensure there would be no more mischief. Then all at once beams of light came swinging down the staircase, and Bailey found himself looking into the eye of a bright lamp as its glow came to rest over him. In his own defense he held up his badge.
“Good grief, it’s the inspector!” a voice which was not at all unfamiliar to him exclaimed, though he could not make out the face behind the glare of the lamp thrust into his face. “Lower your weapons, lads. Lower them. I’m so sorry, my lord. If we had known, we would have come sooner. Let me lend you a hand. There you go, sir, and watch your step, I beg.”
With a man’s arm looped gently through his Bailey was led to the staircase and began to ascend, even as others going the opposite way bowed past him into the cellar. Behind him the noise of rummaging and excited discussion swelled, even as he was met at the top of the staircase by a throng of bodies and voices eager to offer their apologies and services, which eventually culminated in a large hand being thrust his way.
The owner of the hand had the steely composure of a man of the soldier’s life with nearly forty seasons behind his stone grey eyes. The patches on his shoulders denoted a captain of the cavalry, and his boys were plain to see as lancers, whose drab mantles outnumbered by far the deep blue uniform of the local police. All in all, there must have been a dozen men present, standing over the still form of the giant gunned down at their feet. They were all of them basked in the light of the airship drifting slowly by high above, breaking the silence of the deepening hour with its muted whirring motors. The captain introduced himself, and this is how he spoke of the whole thing:
“I’m a man of forthright nature, my lord, so you will forgive me if I should make no pretense of what happened here. I do not offer you my apologies, for we were all of us only made aware of what had happened a few moments ago when the alarm went out.” He pointed to the patrolman who had Bailey’s arm. “It was this good fellow of the law you owe your life to, sir, for a little after the hour of midnight or thereabouts he ran into the street with two or three of his comrades, blowing on his whistle. Trilling he won the support of a passing bus of military payroll, catching the head of my horse as I was going by. It was bloody battle they told me of and I, happily in turn, had my own dispatcher with me who got off a wire to my escort above with his signal lights. So you see it was really quite a formidable number to have arrived in time for your rescue.”
Bailey turned to the man on his arm, and uttered a surprised cry of recognition.
“You?”
“Me, sir,” nodded the man eagerly. “My lord, I was happy to be enlisted into your service earlier tonight, and I am well pleased now that I could be of some use to you again.”
“What is your name, footman?”
A light sprang at once into his eyes, and the man answered immediately, “It is Breakerfast, my lord.”
Bailey shook hands with him gravely, “I shall not forget it.”
“Thank you, sir!” cried the fellow as he proudly thrust out his chest.
There were more introductions exchanged all around, and a great number of names bandied about, though Bailey did not trouble to remember all of them. It seemed that Breakerfast, a curiously short fellow for a uniformed man, so much so that any and all present currently stood at least a head above him, had been open with his own experiences, and very soon a crowd had formed around Bailey, eager for his favor and attention
s. He, however, directed his gratitude mostly upon this humble patrolman with whom he felt an instant rapport.
“Now, I will be very much obliged to hear your account of things, how you learned of my predicament,” he asked him even as the other policemen swarmed about the narrow alley, darting up and down the stairs and into and out of the cellar on their own business. Nearby the lancers looking on, all aloofness in their own little world.
“But what can I tell you, my lord?” said Breakerfast, “except that I came as soon as I could.”
“I have had the good captain’s account already,” said Bailey, “and he has spoken highly of your involvement. But pray, how were you led onto me? I was certain I was quite alone when the ruffians sprung their trap, and before besides.”
“Ah,” said Breakerfast with all modesty, “I was nowhere nearby, sir. I was at my post in the same spot I have been for the last twenty years where you found me before. In truth you probably owe your life more to that lackey who found me there.”
“Lackey?”
A nod, “I was first alerted by this young man who seemed to me but a commonplace lackey. He ran out of the night fog and clutched at my arm where I stood, screaming bloody murder. ‘A man has been