Kidney Pie: Chapter 15
XXXXXXX
In the dark barber shop overlooking Fleet Street, the eerie silence of the night shattered into total chaos.
Judge Turpin dodged wildly as the Sweeney charged at him, the razor flashing through the air that still moved in the old man's wake. He scrambled unsteadily around the barber and whirled to face him, snatching the precious silver-framed portraits from the table and hurling them with a snarl at his opponent.
Across the shop, the two other men watched involuntarily, eyes and minds captured by the sudden movement as they processed the fact that battle had just broken out. It was Jack the Ripper who first sprung into motion, his blood-smeared face turning toward the Beadle and the revolver that shook in chubby fist. It wasn't until the Ripper leaned away from the door and leapt like a jumping shadow that Bamford finally managed to move.
With a trembling cry, the beadle tried to throw himself over the side of the trunk, but only managed to tumble helplessly onto the floor. The boards jarred his limbs and drove the breath from his lungs, but as his skull hit the wood, he felt the revolver kick against his hand as it went off again. Only feet from driving his blade home, the Ripper flung himself aside with a shout, landing slung half over the side of the open trunk. In the dark, Bamford couldn't tell whether the fiend had been hit or simply reacted to the sound. Scrambling, he kicked frantically at Jack's feet, writhing away as the killer tipped struggling into the box.
The beadle staggered to his feet. Behind him, he could hear the muffled thumps as Jack tried to right himself in the bloodstained confines of the box, cursing as he twisted. Panting, he slammed down the lid, and, panicking, ran for the farthest possible corner of the shop.
Turpin was barely ahead of this own opponent as he fumbled for something else to throw. His hand closed around the heavy leather strop, which flapped heavily as he swung it at the silver razor leaping out of the dark at him. Todd had stopped dodging the blows, charging straight through them, instead. Turpin felt his age more sharply with every step as he tried desperately to keep clear of the blade's arc. His breath creaked in his chest, his gray hair hanging over his brow. Over the pounding of his heart, he heard the beadle's footsteps crashing across the shop.
Gasping, Turpin staggered away of one more blow, escaping so narrowly that he felt the air shift against his neck. "Bamford!" He half threw his shoulders against the barber's side, half simply fell against him, momentarily throwing Sweeney momentarily off his balance. As quickly as he could Turpin ran. "Bamford! Shoot him! Shoot Barker!"
At this, Sweeney finally paused, turning toward this new threat. Across the shop, the beadle stopped, too, shaking, and spun to face the demon barber, who stood still with his razor raised, his black eyes glaring. The gun wavered in his grip as Bamford cocked it and drew his trembling aim. His finger rested on the trigger. The judge shouted again, hoarsely, to shoot.
Suddenly, a crash rang through the shop as the fallen lid of Sweeney's trunk flew open and slammed against the wall. The beadle screamed as Jack the Ripper sprang out again, and turned the gun away from the barber, firing instead into the wall behind Jack. And, as if that shot had been a signal, both fiend and demon charged again at their prey, Jack chasing the beadle and Sweeney Todd the fleeing figure of the judge.
Turpin was already making for the door, his hand still clutching the strop. He walked unsteadily and his breathing rasped in his throat, and these signs of weakness drew Todd on faster toward the victory they promised him. The old man made no attempt at self defense until he came nearly within arm's reach of his foe, finally turning. He barely avoided the razor as he lobbed the strop at the barber.
The leather struck Sweeney uselessly across the chest and fell. Scarcely pausing, the barber reached out with his free hand and shoved Turpin away from the door, away from the possibility of escape, hurling him towards the cold iron stove. The judge sprawled across its side with a pained shout before falling to the floor. He began to crawl to the far side of the stove as Todd stepped towards him again.
As the barber approached, the judge's searching hands found the bucket of coal that stood behind the little oven, and, seizing the pieces, flung them at his enemy. He couldn't tell in the darkness whether any of them had found their target, but he heard Todd's steps come steadily nearer. Trying to rise from the floor, he flung the whole bucket. Its contents scattered as it flew, and finally he was rewarded with a thump of metal meeting flesh. Sweeney faltered, stopped by the pain in his shoulder where the pail had struck him. But when he moved forward again, it was with twice the speed and fury. Razor high, he lunged at the figure behind his stove.
Before he brought the razor down, Turpin launched an attack of his own, lashing out with the barber's tea-kettle. Sweeney stopped, his arm batted aside, and staggered back, allowing the judge time for another blow. The teapot landed squarely in his side, and, as he stopped to regain his balance, Turpin darted past him and raced again for the door. But as the old man passed, Todd snatched his wrist as he lifted his blade again, forcing him back into the fight.
Across the shop, Jack the Ripper leapt at the beadle, snatching wrist of the hand that held the gun in his free hand – his awkward right hand struggling against the beadle's right wrist, while with his left he sought to plunge his knife into Bamford's back as the other man spun and tried to escape, screeching. The Ripper scowled, stabbing at the beadle's fleshy side with only enough success to a new scream of pain. "Shut up!" Drawing back his knife, he tried again, bearing down harder but missing. "Stop bloody screaming!"
Whirling in a panic, Bamford was conscious of little more than the bony fingers that clutched his arm and the terror than sat in his chest like a possessing demon. His side stung where the Ripper's knife had caught him, and, desperately, he tried to run from that same blade, spinning the pair in hopeless circles, but he couldn't shake the killer off. Neither could he gain enough control of the revolver to bring it to bear on the fiend behind him. Finally, he stopped trying to turn away from Jack and simply ran, only to trip, pulling the Ripper down behind him as both men careened into the ancient crib.
Falling against the beadle's back, Jack thrust his arm over Bamford's shoulder and cut across his chest, grinning as he felt the impact as the tip of his knife knocked against the official's ribs, but already, the blasted screamer was shaking him off. The fiend of Whitechapel rolled off, sprawling among the wreckage of the broken cradle, but held on the beadle's arm, forcing the gun away from him. Half-rising, Bamford tried to use his other hand to force the pistol down, cocking it to shoot.
Jack felt his arm shake. Dropping his knife, he pushed with both arms, letting out a growl. He had not run the miles from Fogg's asylum – the miles that, although they passed so quickly, now felt so much longer – had not fought and fallen his way out of that hell to be shot by some preening pig of a beadle. And yet the muzzle of that revolver dropped lower. Jack closed his eyes, and shoved. The gun fired, and the Ripper's battered top hat flew away, his pale face dusted with hot black powder, but he was unscathed. Alive with the thrill of survival, Jack the Ripper threw off his opponent and picked up his knife.
In the shadows near the door, Turpin swung the kettle too slow. Its weight hung too heavily on his aging arm. The barber hardly needed to dodge, stepping only slightly aside to bring the razor down at a different angle. Stumbling wearily away from that stroke, the judge only narrowly avoided that blade that bit at the sleeve of his coat, nipping greedily at his skin.
Turpin's shout of pain came out only as a startled huff. His shoulder crashed into the wall, the steel side of the teapot clanging against the wood as it swung back to his side. The razor flashed again, its sides a faint white presence in the dark, like its master's face, rather than an actual glimmer. The best Turpin could do was to raise a desperate hand to seize his enemy's wrist. Halting, the silver blade hung above his head, jerking and shaking in air as Todd tried to tear it back or force it down. The judge swung the teakettle again, aiming for the Sweeney's jaw, only to have his own arm seized in a crushing grip and his body thrown away from the wall.
Wrists locked, arms held like partners in some furious dance, judge and barber spun face to face, all hot breath and hostile eyes, straining like two dogs in the pits behind the warehouses along the Thames, like bare-knuckled fighters in the slums and prisons, like things from a world Turpin had only seen from the distance of his judge's bench. It was an animal contest, and he saw now in Sweeney Todd the stronger beast. His breathing came less ragged, the hatred in his black eyes undimmed by exhaustion or pain. Of the cowering, bewildered man Turpin remembered, nothing had survived but this pale, weathered corpse, possessed by a demon.
With a snarl, Todd threw aside his opponent's arm, the teakettle swinging helplessly away. His free arm darted between the pair to strike at Turpin's elbow, making the old man's trembling arm buckle. As the razor's silver edge slashed from cheekbone to jaw to collar, the judge knew that he had created the instrument of his own destruction, and that he would not leave that shop alive.
XXXXXXX
Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. It has been 1 year, 5 months, and 16 days since my last update. That's enough of a sin, right? And this isn't even that good! Way too long for a fight scene. I fail. :(
At any rate, I am continuing with this. It has not been abandoned. (Except of course for that aforementioned year and a half). But the rest of what I originally intended to be Capter 15 will probably keep coming in shorted chunks like this. Stay tuned, folks. And I am really sorry to let it slide so long. But not too sorry to beg shamelessly for reviews, which just might inspire me to write the next bit faster. Pretty please with pie crust and kidneys on top...?