The Casebook of Newbury & Hobbes Read Online Free PDF Page B

and snatched up a fragment of broken glass, curling his fingers around it as the roots that clutched his legs constricted more tightly, twisting him about. He thrashed, lashing out, jabbing the sharp edge into the sinewy branch that held Newbury, slicing deep into the thick, pulpy flesh. The witch-thing screamed, and Black struck again and again, worrying away at the limb that held his friend. Its grip loosened fractionally, and Newbury frantically dragged air into his starving lungs.
    By this time the leaves in the woman’s lap had begun to smoulder. Black could smell them burning, and he twisted, watching as the smoke thickened and intensified until sprightly flames began to lick at the edges of the chair. He felt the grip on his ankles loosen and began to pull free, but was forced to watch in horror as Newbury was flung bodily across the room. He crashed into an old sideboard and dropped heavily to the ground. Empty tumblers and shards of broken glass rained down upon his back as he lay still and silent, face down in the dirt.
    Old Mab threw her head back and screamed—a shrill, guttural shriek that caused the hair on the nape of Black’s neck to stand on end—and one of her branches flicked out, striking him painfully in the chest and sending him sprawling to the floor.
    He bashed the side of his head against an overturned lamp stand and rolled, fighting a wave of nausea. He scrambled to his knees, dodging a flailing appendage as she took another swipe at him, this time narrowly missing his face.
    His right palm was bleeding where he’d caught it on something in the fall, but he had no time to worry about it. He had to get to Newbury.
    He could feel the heat of the fire on the side of his face as he dragged himself to his feet, and a quick glance at the witch-thing told him the Guinea Gold had done its job. The flames had spread to Old Mab herself, hungrily consuming her ancient, tattered clothes and her strange wooden flesh. As she squirmed, her flaming limbs served to spread the fire, dripping incendiary puddles around the room and igniting more of the brittle leaves and dry twigs.
    Black staggered across to where Newbury was lying, dropping to his knees and rolling the other man over. Newbury’s head lolled, his complexion pale. His eyes were closed, and blood streamed from a deep laceration in his left cheek.
    Black felt his heart race, panicked that he was too late, that the witch had already squeezed the life out of Newbury, or that the sudden blow that had tossed him across the room had caused his heart to give out. He put a hand on Newbury’s chest, and felt a flood of relief when he realised the man was still drawing shallow, but regular, breath.
    “Sir Maurice?” he said, his voice an urgent croak. “Newbury?”
    Newbury stirred, his face creasing in a deep frown as his head turned slowly towards Black. He didn’t open his eyes. “Templeton?” he said, quietly.
    The crackling of the flames had now become a desperate roar as the fire crept up the walls, licking at the ceiling. Oily smoke stung Black’s eyes, causing him to hack and splutter. All the while, the screaming, violent death throes of the witch-thing continued behind him.
    “Get up!” bellowed Black, grabbing Newbury beneath the shoulders and hauling him up to a sitting position. “Now!”
    Newbury opened his eyes and looked woozily at Black, struggling to focus.
    “My apologies, Sir Maurice,” said Black, drawing back his hand, “but please don’t consider this my resignation.” He brought his palm back round with a sharp swing, striking Newbury hard across the right cheek.
    Newbury howled in shock, lurching back, pushing at Black. For a moment he glowered at Black accusingly, but then his eyes appeared to regain their focus and he shook his head as if clearing the fog. He glanced from side to side, getting his bearings.
    “I... I...” he stammered, searching for words.
    “Can you walk?” asked Black, getting to his feet. He