A/N: For the curious, "singlestick" is a Victorian sport where, essentially, one fences with a stick. It translates nicely to walking-stick fighting; notably, Sherlock Holmes was said to be skilled in singlestick play.
~X X X~
Torchwick tipped his bowler hat at the decrepit wreck sitting before him. Really, if he didn't know the recluse's story, he would have never believed that the man he saw had once been a bold adventurer, traversing the globe to uncover the secrets of places never before seen by European eyes.
Now, he was barely more than a relic himself, hands trembling on the wheels of his bath-chair.
"You! You're the Phantom Gentleman!"
"In the flesh."
He slipped a cigar between his lips and lit it, taking a deep puff.
"What are you doing here?"
"Now, there's a silly question. I thought I was completely clear in my message. You own a ruby called the Star of the Tsang, and I want it." He paused to exhale a stream of smoke, then added as if he'd just thought of it, "Or did you mean, why am I here in this room instead of being off in the north wing fiddling with your safe? Now, that's a slightly brighter question. Though, not that much brighter, since you know the answer to that one as well. I'm here, in this room, with you, because that's where the ruby is."
He paused to savor the moment. Really, these were the best parts of this job—well, aside from getting away with something worth a small fortune. But it wasn't just the money. It was the looks on people's faces as he showed off what he could do, and how helpless they were to stop him.
That and the money.
"Oh, I know it's boring. And I'm sure that room is chock full of guards, so there's some fun to be had in making them look like complete ninnies, I do admit. But as for cracking a safe, now, that's positively work, and if I savored painstaking physical labor, I wouldn't be in this line, now would I? And as for breaking into an empty safe, well, that would be sheer vanity on my part, even if the presence of the police kept you from setting whatever nasty little booby trap you had in there."
Sir Reginald gave a strangled gasp.
"How...how do you know these things?"
"About the trap? You have to remember, Sir Reginald, that the underworld is a chatty place. Did you know that at least two thieves made it known they were going to make an attempt on your ruby, only to never be heard from again? Naughty, naughty for a knight of the realm, resorting to lethal surprises. It's one thing to defend yourself, but the law takes a dim view of such tricks."
"You can't possibly—"
"Even that skylight, there." Torchwick pointed up with his cane. "A careless fellow could lose a hand to that sliding blade. I probably wouldn't have even noticed it had I not already been looking. Very nasty stuff, Sir Reginald, very nasty indeed. Inspired by some of the tomb traps you dodged in your adventuring years, or have the Galton-Chadbournes always been paranoid hoarders, hm?"
He took another step forward, following his quarry's attempt to retreat.
"Or is it the ruby you're confused about? How I could have possibly known that a creepy old recluse with no family, no social life, and no notable hobbies would keep the one thing he owns that gives his life meaning close to hand instead of locking it away in an iron box? Oh, that's right, I think I just answered the question. I doubt you've ever had that chunk of red rock out of arm's reach since you found it all those years ago. Really, I'm doing you a favor."
It had all gone so perfectly to this point. As it so often did, announcing the theft publicly had insured a police presence, which meant that he only had to cope with their security measures instead of the owner's more effective ones. The challenge itself guaranteed the prize would be ready and waiting for him (seriously, if Torchwick had received a challenge from a Phantom Thief he'd have carted his valuables off to the deepest, darkest bank vault in England, fair play be damned, but his own victims never seemed to realize that, treating the whole thing as a kind of sport).
"Enough games," he said, all levity gone from his voice. He snapped the tip of his cane out between Sir Reginald's legs; even with the concealing blanket to muffle the sound there was still the telltale thump of a wooden compartment under the seat. "Hand over the Star of the Tsang."
Sir Reginald's eyes went to the bell-pull.
"You're not really grasping the situation here, are you? Half the coppers are standing around ready to give their lives in defense of an empty safe, and the rest are chasing a little diversion I've arranged. Even if I was such an idiot as to let you reach the bell-rope, there'd be no one for you to call."
The knight accepted the truth of his words, or at least it seemed that way, because his right hand went from the chair wheel to under the blanket. The tip of Torchwick's cane whipped down like an arrow, cracking solidly against flesh and bone. A small nickel-plated derringer dropped from Sir Reginald's lap to bounce off the carpet.
"Okayyy," Torchwick drawled it out, "I can see that we're not really getting anywhere here, so I'll just have to do things the hard way."
He thrust the cane out, jamming the staff between the wheel-spokes, then slammed the sole of his boot into Sir Reginald's chest. Prevented from rolling, the chair instead toppled over backwards, spilling the knight out onto the carpet and drawing a grunt of pain. There was a hideous grating sound as the spokes bent around the shaft of the cane, revealing it to be something harder than plain wood. Wrenching it free, he thrust aside the blanket to reveal the sturdy wooden framework underneath. A brass lock-plate marked that even hidden as it was, Sir Reginald still felt his treasure-hoard needed protection.
Torchwick pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Some days I don't even know why I get out of bed." He took a puff of his cigar, then reached into his coat pocket for his skeleton keys, easily capable of dealing with this simple lock. Then he paused, thinking of the explorer's penchant for traps.
"Right, then. Can't be too careful." Instead of the keys, he took out a blob of modeling clay which he pressed onto the lock, then into that he pushed a small metal clasp. Pulling back on the top half of the clasp revealed that it was shaped vaguely like a pistol's hammer but with a crownlike set of points, and that into the bottom half was set a crimson Dust crystal, barely more than a sliver. Torchwick pulled the hammer back so that the tiny gear inside it clicked three times, then stepped back quickly. Three seconds passed, each marked by a click of the releasing gear, and on the third, the spring brought the hammer down sharply, the points fracturing the crystal in a very precise pattern, resulting in quite a satisfying bang.
"Much better than dynamite, if a little more expensive," he remarked casually, then pulled open the broken strongbox door. The only thing inside was a drawstring chamois pouch, which he took out, opened, and spilled the massive jewel from inside out into his hand. "Now that," he declared, "was an excellent day's work."
He shoved the jewel into an inside pocket, then flicked the empty pouch at Sir Reginald, who was glaring at him with a look of mute rage.
"Consider it a lesson," he told the withered man. "You really ought to find something else to live for than a rock. Seriously, you and this whole place are pretty pathetic. In fact, I've had just about all of you that I can stand, so if you'll excuse me, I think I'll be going." He gave a deep, mocking bow, only to be interrupted by a loud crash from the far end of the studio. "Oh, what now?"
~X X X~
Jaune and Ruby hit the library door hard. It surprised them by not being locked, and crashed back against the shelves as they burst into the room. They took in the salient features at once: the dangling rope, the toppled bath-chair, the sprawled form of Sir Reginald, and the dapper, bowler-hatted figure of the man who was undeniably their quarry.
"You!" Jaune barked, pointing his revolver. "Phantom Gentleman! Put your hands up! You are under arrest for burglary and assault!"
The Gentleman took a mocking puff on his cigar, then did as he was told, raising his hands with elbows bent, cane in one hand and cigar in the other.
"Well, well. Inspector Jaune Arc, of Scotland Yard's clownish antics division. I'm surprised to see you here; usually I'm long gone before you figure out where you're supposed to look. I'm guessing that Red, there, had something to do with that?" His eyes wandered across Steel Thorn. "Now, that is a nasty piece of work for a little girl to be waving around."
Ruby and Jaune started advancing across the room towards him.
"What, no cock-a-doodle-doo of victory? No cheers and huzzahs at bringing the Phantom to justice after so many embarrassing failures?"
"The sound of the handcuffs going on your wrists is the only cheering noise I care about hearing."
"How surprisingly mature." His thumb slid up the length of the cigar to the band, then pressed down firmly on the seal. "Too bad it's not going to happen."
With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the cigar towards their feet. Her reflexes acting faster, Ruby grabbed Jaune's arm and pulled him along as she dove aside. The cigar hit the floor and exploded with a sharp bang, releasing a billowing cloud of smoke that spread out everywhere. They struggled to their feet, coughing and choking, and from above the Gentleman's mocking voice rang out.
"Sorry to cut the evening short, but a gentleman knows not to overstay his welcome!"
"Damn his bloody arse to hell!" Jaune showed no regard for the allegedly delicate sensitivities of ladies as the smokescreen cleared enough for him to see the end of the rope snaking up through the skylight.
"Get after him!" Sir Reginald screeched. "He has the Star of the Tsang!"
Ruby looked up at the skylight, then over at Jaune.
"How much do you weigh?"
"What?"
"How much do you weigh, Jaune?"
"One hundred and eighty pounds, why?"
"Too heavy," Ruby muttered.
"Too heavy? For what?"
"To carry you with me," she said, placing herself directly under the skylight. She rotated two of Steel Thorn's sections, then placed it upright, the base against the ground. "Take the stairs and get up on the roof as quickly as you can."
"What do you mean? I don't understand what you're talking ab—" And then it became very obvious what Ruby was talking about, as she pushed the trigger button, there was a sharp detonation, and she went flying upwards through the skylight thirty feet above them. "Whoa."
He stood dumbstruck for several seconds before he snapped back to awareness of where he was and what he was doing. Jaune turned and bolted for the door, heading for what he desperately hoped was the nearest access to the roof.
~X X X~
Ruby's heart was in her throat as she went sailing upwards. When she'd come up with the idea of flying (or, more accurately, "enhanced movement") by means of a detonation, it had been pointed out to her that an explosion powerful enough to send her flying, or a weapon recoil powerful enough to do the same, would also do her serious injury. There was a reason why circus "human cannonball" acts were not performed by blasting people out of actual cannons with actual weapons-grade gunpowder charges! Too, any force powerful enough to do that wasn't likely to be something she could keep properly directed with her own strength. In order to make it feasible, she would have to be able to wrap her body in some kind of field of force that could protect her during the experience, something not even possible with Dust, at least not at their present level of technology.
But Dust did give her another possibility. While launching herself by using an explosion might not work, cobalt Dust could be different. Just as crimson Dust contained the energy of fire and verdant Dust that of electricity, so did cobalt Dust's power act to create a force of repulsion between objects. And by building a cartridge-like capsule of it into Steel Thorn, she could use that force to hurl the weapon away from a wall or floor, or if properly braced even direct it at an enemy instead. She'd checked and double-checked the calculations herself, so she knew that if she tried to carry more than a hundred and twenty pounds of extra weight, she wouldn't have been able to reach the skylight.
It was when Steel Thorn's shaft had shivered itself to bits upon firing that Ruby realized she had left a key component out of those calculations, namely, making sure that the weapon's construction could take the stress of the forces placed upon it. The first couple of moments of her flight were full of gut-wrenching terror at the thought Steel Thorn's shattering meant her trajectory would be altered and she was about to fly thirty feet up, slam into the oak-beamed ceiling, then plummet back down to the floor...
...and then she went sailing through the open skylight into the cool, foggy night air.
A moment later she was falling again, and her boots hit the shingles. Reflexively, she braced herself against the edge of the skylight with one foot to help keep her balance while the other found purchase on the steeply canted roof.
"Hold it right there, you phantom!"
The Phantom Gentleman whirled around to face her.
"You just don't know when to quit, do you, Red?"
"You're not getting away tonight," she said.
Her right hand clenched around what was left of Steel Thorn: about a foot and a half of the shaft, plus the cleaver-like voulge blade from the end. It made for a functional hand axe, like those used by Junior Xiong's "hatchet men" Yang had told her about. Her left hand felt wet and slick; belatedly she realized that when the shaft had shattered in its grip, splinters of wood had been driven deep into her fingers and palm. Adrenaline had numbed the pain, but she was going to pay for it later.
"Seriously? Shouldn't you be out on some ballroom floor right now, instead of prowling around on rooftops in a red cape?"
"The only gentleman I want to dance with is you," she shot back, and charged the thief.
It will be noted that when she wanted to move, Ruby was just about the fastest person that she knew, faster than her teachers, faster than Yang. She covered the five steps that separated her from the Gentleman in what seemed like an eyeblink, her blade whipping out—
Only to ring against the metal shaft of his cane.
"This job," he snarled, his prettily handsome face making the twist of his lips look cruel, "is getting out of hand."
He shoved, his superior weight and strength forcing her back a step, and then he was the one lunging at her.
And Ruby found herself in trouble.
The axe was a powerful, viable weapon. The Rose family's Viking ancestors had wielded it with savage effectiveness before settling in Normandy, before turning it to equal utility in the army of William the Conqueror. It was not, however, a weapon that Ruby had considerable experience using. Her fighting style was all based on using a two-handed weapon, a staff or some variant.
It quickly became clear, as well, that the Phantom Gentleman was an expert singlestick player. His cane whipped out again and again, thrusting, striking, and parrying. Ruby couldn't break his guard and sparks struck as metal met metal. He drove Ruby back, his strength and skill inexorably forcing her to retreat back along the roof.
Desperately, Ruby dropped low, lashing out in a sweeping kick at the thief's front foot. Her hip slid across the mossy shingles as the kick hit home and the Phantom Gentleman went staggering. Ruby popped back to her feet, pressing her attack, but even off-balance he managed to get his cane around to block her, striking Steel Thorn's remnants aside and opening her up to a straight punch to the chest from his empty hand.
The dull roar of an engine from above interrupted the flow of the fight. The thief's angry look turned into an open grin.
"Sorry, Red, but that's my ride. I don't have time to play with you any more." He came at her quickly, beating down her guard with a quick combination that sent Ruby sprawling, the peak of the roof ramming into her spine as she fell back. "Tell your friend I'll be seeing him again!"
He turned and dashed down the roof towards the central section of the house. A rope, knotted for easy climbing, snaked down out of the fog and the thief reached out for it—
—only to have it tumble down, slack in his hand, as Ruby hurled Steel Thorn to sever the rope about two feet above his head. It was a one-in-a-million shot, but sometimes that was what being a huntress was all about.
Off to her right, there was a creak of a window opening, and Jaune clambered out of a dormer onto the edge of the roof.
"End of the line, Red!" the Phantom Gentleman roared at her, then pointed his cane at her like a fencer's challenge.
Or a gun! she realized as the cap on the end flipped up. She was already in motion, flipping in a cartwheel to her left, ignoring the pain that shot through her injured hand, as a streak of light launched at her, slashing through the spot she'd just occupied and exploding in a concussive bang, probably some kind of micro-explosive using Dust. Chunks of wood sprayed, thudding against the roof and Ruby's back, but Ruby was not caught in the blast, landing safely out of the way on the roof, angling her body to distribute her weight and balance on the steep gable.
Where her agility held, however, the rotting shingles of the decrepit old house did not. The force of her landing was too much to take; they came to pieces and separated from the roof. Without stable footing, Ruby fell, crashing onto the roof and tumbling down.
~X X X~
Seeing his enemy fall, Torchwick grabbed the end of his coat's belt and yanked. The fabric was at once torn away, ripped to pieces by the articulated struts of the wing-like glider opening up on his back. Hooking his cane over his arm, he grabbed the handles, leapt, and as the wings caught the night air let his mocking laughter trail after him as he vanished into the foggy sky.
~X X X~
"Ruby!"
Jaune was barely aware of the Gentleman making his escape. Every other thought seemed to have been wrenched out of his head as he saw the girl fall, her body sliding and tumbling, tearing chunks of wood loose as she slid, hands scrabbling desperately for purchase and not finding any as she went down, down, picking up speed as she rolled and went over the edge in a shower of debris. As carefully as he could, he picked his way down until he could look. Please be all right. Please be all right.
His prayers went unanswered, though, as he looked down. Ruby's crimson cloak seemed to glow brightly in the faint light, marking the spot where she lay, still and cold.