Chapter 14

Seeing the barrel of a cap and ball pistol pointed in his face, Fogg saw Passepartout's unmoving form on the floor. The Arab Mohammad stood over him with two of his men. All three men were soaking wet and holding pistols. The back door to the kitchen was standing open, allowing the pouring rain and wind to invade the room. The invaders had surprised Passepartout, going about his work.

"You have cost me a great deal," Mohammad growled, holding a pistol up within inches of Phileas's nose. "You keep me from gaining control of the girl before making this trip to your cold country. I had to bribe sailors aboard the Quest to learn where you were. You destroyed my ship! She sunk off the coast. I lost half my crew, my cousin, AND MY MAP! It sits at the bottom of the sea, lost to all! You will pay for this, Englishman! You will pay for your interference dearly!"

Phileas didn't doubt it. He had been caught flatfooted, with nothing to defend himself. He backed away from the pistol, carefully sidestepping along the kitchen counters. As he did so, Mohammad ordered his sailor up the backstairs.

"Wait!" Phileas called. "There is no need to go up there. You have me. Leave the lady alone."

"You forget," Mohammad said, enjoying Fogg's discomfort, taking a step back to allow his man to cross the kitchen, "her father started my troubles. I have revenge to spend on her, too. But after some thought, I do not think I will sell he. I will keep her instead."

"Phileas continued to sidestep along the kitchen cabinets away from the pistol, which was now four feet from him, another step. The movement put him in front of a drawer at hip level where he knew the kitchen knives were stored. The drawer was closed, of course, but if the chance came, he would get one out and put it to good use.

He looked down at Passepartout again. The valet was still unmoving. There didn't appear to be any blood.

"He has not been killed," Mohammad said, following Phileas' gaze. "We pushed back when we forced the door. He was knocked out against the cabinets."

"So, what do you plan to do with us?" Phileas questioned. "How do you plan to get out of England without your ship?" The answer was interrupted as a commotion upstairs was heard, a shuffling of feet and maybe a body falling to the floor.

"The little sparrow puts up a fight?" Mohammad said, grinning at the ceiling. "Yes, I will keep her. I like a woman with spirit."

Sparrow hell! That was coming from the guestroom. Mohammad's man had gone to the wrong room. The odds may have just been changed to his favor.

A moment later, several things happened at once. Passepartout came alive on the floor. He executed a fast twist and kick to the nearest invader, sending Mohammad's man to the floor with a cry of pain. That sailor's gun hit the floor and discharged harmlessly into the pantry door.

With Mohammad's attention given to his fallen man, Phileas slipped the drawer behind him open and found a knife. By the feel, he thought it might be a carving knife. It didn't matter. It would throw as well as any. Phileas threw it as he dropped out of Mohammad's pistol's path. The knife hit home low along the right side of the Arab's chest and shoulder. The hit came a moment before he tried to squeeze the trigger. Pain caused Mohammad's arm to jerk. The shot went far off its mark down the main hall.

Mohammad angrily tossed the empty pistol across the room. Looking at Phileas with utter rage, he pulled the knife out of his body and came at Phileas with it. The two men struggled together, banging against cabinets and across counters. They turned in the struggle, one against the cabinets, then the other. They reached the outer wall after several turns, with Phileas backed against the wall, struggling to keep the bloody knifepoint away from his chest.

Passepartout watched from the far side of the kitchen. He had to keep his man down and out of the fight.

Another shot rang out through the house. Mohammad stiffened, then slumped over against Phileas. With a hard push, the Arab's now lifeless body fell to the floor. There was a small hole in his back.

Leaning against the wall, attempting to catch his breath, Phileas looked up from the body to see Rebecca standing in the servant's stairwell holding one of his pistols, freshly discharged.

He offered his thanks. "Good of you to join us Rebecca, what kept you so long?"

"The one in my room wasn't easily brought down," she said. "You will have to replace a few things in the guest room. I also had to get Melody out of the house. I sent her to the front door when I heard the commotion down here."

Phileas nodded. He pushed himself off the wall and after his wife. Melody wouldn't know where to go once she left the house. He rounded the corner into the narrow hall, noting the damage to the paneling as he went. Mohammad's shot had hit the wall and ricocheted further into the house. More damage to repair.

Phileas came to a stop, froze through to his heart. A mound of white silk and lace was lying at the foot of the staircase.