A Corpse in Shining Armour Read Free Page A

Stephen, he’s not worth it.’
    ‘For God’s sake, Stephen, you’ll get into the newspapers.’
    He took no notice of them. Miles Brinkburn had left his seat now and was standing at the top of the steps, the smile still
     on his face. From several steps down, Stephen launched himself at his brother. For a man encumbered with metal plates, it
     was an astounding feat of athleticism or fury. Miles hadn’t expected it and was knocked off his feet. The two of them slithered
     all the way back down the steps, Stephen clanking and Miles yelling something about taking a joke. They hit the ground with
     Miles underneath. Stephen aimed a punch at him with a gauntleted hand that would have knocked him senseless if it had connected,
     but one of Stephen’s friends managed to push it aside at the last moment so that it clanged against the bottom step, knocking
     splinters out of it. One of the splinters pierced Miles’s face, just below the eye socket, drawing blood. He yelled, managed
     to pull himself out from under his brother’s weight, struggled upright and delivered a kick to Stephen’s jaw. Stephen saw
     it coming and rolled aside so that the kick struck the back of his neck and was partly deflected by armour plating. As Miles
     drew his foot back for another try, Stephen grabbed his ankle so Miles hit the ground again.
    They lay there for a moment, panting and exhausted, their faces only inches apart. Blood was pouring down Miles’s face and
     on to his teeth, his lips drawn back in a snarl. No pretence about jokes now. Stephen’s expression was intent, almost blank.
     It seemed a battle out of space and time, like a tiger fighting some plated monster from a prehistoric era. The sheer oddity
     of it must have paralysed the friends surrounding them, because after that one attempt to intervene they’d stood gaping, mouths
     open. At first they might have regarded it as part of the afternoon’s diversion, but now raw hatred was in the air, like the
     smell of blood. Miles rolled over, grabbed two handfuls of Stephen’s hair and started thumping his head against the ground.
     Stephen’s hands clawed for Miles’s throat. One of the friends let out a shrill yell.
    ‘Stop them, somebody. They’ll kill each other.’
    Up to that point, Amos Legge had been watching with the air of a man who’d seen worse. In his book, if the gentry wanted to
     fight among themselves, that was up to them. Now, moving in his usual unhurried way, he pushed through the crowd of friends
     and stood over the two writhing bodies.
    ‘That’s enough. Just calm yourselves down now.’
    I’d heard him use exactly the same tone in parting a couple of fighting terriers in a stable yard. The sheer solidity and
     calmness of him froze the two men. He bent down, untwined Miles’s fingers from his brother’s hair, set him on his feet like
     a nursemaid dealing with a fractious child and delivered him into the hands of a group of friends.
    ‘Take him inside and get that face sponged off.’
    He watched as they walked him into the building, then hauled Stephen to his feet.
    ‘You all right then, sir? Best get out of that armour so they can take the dints out of it.’
    Like a man in a daze, Stephen clanked off with another group of friends. The rest of the crowd gradually melted away, though
     some of them still looked shaken. I rode over to Amos, who’d started collecting up lances as if nothing had happened.
    ‘Has Stephen Brinkburn gone mad?’ I said.
    ‘Well, he’s not very pleased at the moment, is he?’
    ‘Really mad, I mean.’
    ‘Not that I’ve heard. His dad is though, so they say.’
    ‘He seemed calm enough before the Railway Knight started. Did something about that annoy him?’
    The wooden horse and rider stood alone at the end of the list, abandoned by the servants who’d run to watch the fight like
     everybody else. I rode over to it, Amos walking beside me.
    ‘Fair dinted the shield, he has,’ Amos said.
    I looked at