He Shall Thunder in the Sky Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Everyone knows you don’t fight like a gentleman.”
         “That might be called an oxymoron,” Ramses said. “Oh — sorry. Bad form to use long words. Look it up when you get home.”
         The poor devil didn’t know how to fight, like a gentleman or otherwise. He came at Ramses with his arms flailing and his chin irresistibly outthrust. Ramses knocked him down and turned to meet the rush of the others. He winded one of them with an elbow in the ribs and kicked the second in the knee, just above his elegant polished boot — and then damned himself for a fool as Simmons, thrashing ineptly around on the ground, abandoned the last shreds of the old school tie and landed a lucky blow that doubled Ramses up. Before he could get his breath back the other two were on him again. One was limping and the other was whooping, but he hadn’t damaged them any more than he could help. He regretted this kindly impulse as they twisted his arms behind him and turned him to face Simmons.
         “You might at least allow me to remove my coat,” he said breathlessly. “If it’s torn my mother will never let me hear the end of it.”
         Simmons was a dark, panting shape in the shadows. Ramses shifted his balance and waited for Simmons to move a step closer, but Simmons wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. He raised his arm. Ramses ducked his head and closed his eyes. He wasn’t quick enough to avoid the blow altogether; it cut across his cheek and jaw like a line of fire.
         “That’s enough!”
         The hands that gripped him let go. Reaching out blindly for some other means of support, he caught hold of a tree limb and steadied himself before he opened his eyes.
         Percy was standing between Ramses and Simmons, holding Simmons by the arm. Unexpected, that, Ramses thought; it would have been more in character for Percy to pitch in. The odds were the kind he liked, three or four to one.
         Then he saw the other man, his black-and-white evening clothes blending with the play of light and shadow, and recognized Lord Edward Cecil, the Financial Adviser, and Simmons’s chief. Cecil’s aristocratic features were rigid with disgust. He raked his subordinate with a scornful eye and then spoke to Percy.
         “Thank you for warning me about this, Captain. I don’t doubt your cousin appreciates it too.”
         “My cousin is entitled to his opinion, Lord Edward.” Percy drew himself up. “I do not agree with it, but I respect it — and him.”
         “Indeed?” Cecil drawled. “Your sentiments do you credit, Captain. Simmons, report to my office first thing tomorrow. You gentlemen —” his narrowed eyes inspected the flowers of the Egyptian Army, now wilting visibly — “will give me your names and the name of your commanding officer before you leave the club. Come with me.”
         “Do you need medical attention, Ramses?” Percy asked solicitously.
         “No.”
         As he followed Cecil and the others at a discreet distance, Ramses knew he had lost another round to his cousin. There was no doubt in his mind that Percy had prodded Simmons and the others into that “ungentlemanly” act. He was good at insinuating ideas into people’s heads; the poor fools probably didn’t realize even now that they had been manipulated into punishing someone Percy hated but was afraid to tackle himself.
         Ramses went round the clubhouse and stopped at the front entrance, wondering whether to go in. A glance at his watch informed him it was getting on for half past ten, and he decided he’d made a sufficient spectacle of himself already.
         He let the doorman get him a cab. Recognizing him, the driver laid his whip aside and greeted him enthusiastically. None of the Emersons allowed the horses to be whipped, but the size of the tip made up for that inconvenience. “What happened to you, Brother of Curses?” he