Ford froze.
He had no way to communicate with Martin, or Grandpa. With all three of them invisible, Denholm probably didn't even know which man he had pinned.
Light fell across Denholm's crazed face, and he spoke again.
"Do it. Drop the invisibility." Denholm demanded, pressing the knife downward and meeting some invisible resistance.
Ford could tackle Denholm, but he wasn't sure how they would land and whether he would wind up injuring or killing Martin in the process.
So he complied.
Martin… was standing at the far end of the curtain, holding it aside with a wide-eyed look on his face as blood reached the edge of his boot.
Grandpa's blood.
Denholm was straddling the older man, knife to his chest, wounds across Grandpa's body.
The crazed former nobleman looked around wildly until he found Ford.
"Ha! Thought it was you, and you'd gotten feeble. Ah well, this is just as good."
