Akan had the advantage of surprise and thus exploited it to the best of his abilities. As Higgins, who most definitely represented the biggest threat of the two men before him, was caught off-guard, Akan took the opportunity to charge him, knocking the revolver from his hand and sending it sliding across the cold stone floor. Whelp, unwilling to risk a physical confrontation such as the one unraveling in front of him, grabbed Virginia tightly by her wrist and pulled her out of the cell and into the dank hallway of the holding house, a construct with the sole purpose of holding slaves prior to a sale. Westmoreland watched the villain's retreat but was blocked by the match now enacted before him like the struggle of two titans of old, having descended from the heavens to make their marks upon a mortal world. Needless to say, he had no place in this fight.
"Will you be all right?" he took the time to ask while the two large men had their hands wrapped around one another's necks, each trying to pin the other to the ground.
"Go!" yelled Akan, evidently in no mood for further conversation.
"Oh, dear God, you can talk! Right," said the former porter, expertly navigating himself around the brawl and extricating himself from the thick violence of the room, the spiderweb of a pulsing vein still throbbing at his temple, clutching him like a miniature net in the unseemly trap of lusty anger.
Left alone now, Akan felt that whatever pent-up fury residing within him could be fully unleashed without fear of injuring anyone else. At long last, the giant could revel in his rage. Higgins, however, was no effete opponent, choosing to shift his weight and use Akan's own as an advantage or, at the very least, to keep the sharp end of the knife away from his own body.
"You are a mercenary, are you not?" Akan asked in the heat of battle, as Higgins attempted to wrest the knife from his hand.
"Yes," came the answer in the form of a simple grunt.
"Do they pay you much?"
Higgins cried aloud. It was fierce, primeval, the roar of a confident lion.
"Yes."
"Fair enough," said Akan with a shrug, and their game continued.
In those next few moments, Akan was suddenly reminded of a story Huxley had told him. It was, of course, a total fabrication, but it was one that was eventually entangled in Akan's fictional back story, which existed only to assure people that the mute giant was a native African. Once, as a boy, he had lived in a village in the Ashanti Empire, near what came to known as the Gold Coast, and his village had been plagued by disappearances and nerve-shattering roars in the dead of night. As the villagers came to find out, a large man-eating lion was on the loose, so the young giant took it upon himself to rid his village of the monstrosity, striding into the darkness and quite prepared to sacrifice himself for a greater good. The lion appeared with a roar, lunging at him from the shadows, and in that black night they fought. As they rolled across the ground, the entire earth shook with the force of a thousand storms. Trees were up-ended and mountains were raised in their wake. They flattened a forest to a desert and scattered the waters of a lake to the far corners of the world. Sometime, in the fracas, the lion lashed out with its sharp claws and ripped the tongue from the boy's mouth, and then Akan stretched his fingers around the thick neck of the beast, choking it with all his might and slamming the monster's maned head against the ground until it moved no more.
In the end, Higgins lay still on the ground, and Akan rolled over beside him, panting. He reached out across the stone floor and grasped the hilt of the knife and tucked it away on his person. The battle had been one, and what's more: this time the giant kept his tongue.
Whelp dashed through the city streets, diving into the crowds that peppered the nearby market with Virginia Pear in tow, unable to shake herself from his grip. When he arrived back at the room he'd hired for Virginia, he paused briefly, taken by the satisfaction of seemingly escaping deadly pursuit. He never even thought to wonder about where his men had gone as he flung his captive into the room and bolted the door behind him.
Virginia abruptly screamed, and Whelp wheeled about to find Thomas Huxley, sitting comfortably on the bed.
"Hello, Edward."
"Will you be all right?" he took the time to ask while the two large men had their hands wrapped around one another's necks, each trying to pin the other to the ground.
"Go!" yelled Akan, evidently in no mood for further conversation.
"Oh, dear God, you can talk! Right," said the former porter, expertly navigating himself around the brawl and extricating himself from the thick violence of the room, the spiderweb of a pulsing vein still throbbing at his temple, clutching him like a miniature net in the unseemly trap of lusty anger.
Left alone now, Akan felt that whatever pent-up fury residing within him could be fully unleashed without fear of injuring anyone else. At long last, the giant could revel in his rage. Higgins, however, was no effete opponent, choosing to shift his weight and use Akan's own as an advantage or, at the very least, to keep the sharp end of the knife away from his own body.
"You are a mercenary, are you not?" Akan asked in the heat of battle, as Higgins attempted to wrest the knife from his hand.
"Yes," came the answer in the form of a simple grunt.
"Do they pay you much?"
Higgins cried aloud. It was fierce, primeval, the roar of a confident lion.
"Yes."
"Fair enough," said Akan with a shrug, and their game continued.
In those next few moments, Akan was suddenly reminded of a story Huxley had told him. It was, of course, a total fabrication, but it was one that was eventually entangled in Akan's fictional back story, which existed only to assure people that the mute giant was a native African. Once, as a boy, he had lived in a village in the Ashanti Empire, near what came to known as the Gold Coast, and his village had been plagued by disappearances and nerve-shattering roars in the dead of night. As the villagers came to find out, a large man-eating lion was on the loose, so the young giant took it upon himself to rid his village of the monstrosity, striding into the darkness and quite prepared to sacrifice himself for a greater good. The lion appeared with a roar, lunging at him from the shadows, and in that black night they fought. As they rolled across the ground, the entire earth shook with the force of a thousand storms. Trees were up-ended and mountains were raised in their wake. They flattened a forest to a desert and scattered the waters of a lake to the far corners of the world. Sometime, in the fracas, the lion lashed out with its sharp claws and ripped the tongue from the boy's mouth, and then Akan stretched his fingers around the thick neck of the beast, choking it with all his might and slamming the monster's maned head against the ground until it moved no more.
In the end, Higgins lay still on the ground, and Akan rolled over beside him, panting. He reached out across the stone floor and grasped the hilt of the knife and tucked it away on his person. The battle had been one, and what's more: this time the giant kept his tongue.
***
Whelp dashed through the city streets, diving into the crowds that peppered the nearby market with Virginia Pear in tow, unable to shake herself from his grip. When he arrived back at the room he'd hired for Virginia, he paused briefly, taken by the satisfaction of seemingly escaping deadly pursuit. He never even thought to wonder about where his men had gone as he flung his captive into the room and bolted the door behind him.
Virginia abruptly screamed, and Whelp wheeled about to find Thomas Huxley, sitting comfortably on the bed.
"Hello, Edward."
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