“Are these your pistols, my lord?” Chaunquler asked Piefer
“They are, sir,” said Piefer.
“Have you any objection to the use of pistols provided by your opponent, Captain?” Chaunquler asked Stephano.
“None in the least, sir,” said Stephano. “I assume I will be permitted to examine them.”
“Certainly! I do know the rules, Captain,” said Chaunquler sharply, annoyed.
“I meant no offense, sir,” said Stephano.
Mollified, Chaunquler grunted and reached out his large, puffy hands to open the ebony box, revealing a pair of matched dueling pistols, a brass powder horn, lead balls, and small patches of oiled cloth nestling beside the guns.
Stephano picked up one of the pistols and took several moments to thoroughly examine it, looking for any signs of magical constructs that might either interfere with the pistol’s firing mechanism or enhance it. Rodrigo would have been better suited to the task, but permitting one of the duelists to examine the weapons was very much against the rules.
Satisfied, Stephano loaded the gun, pointed it at the ground, and pulled the trigger. Rodrigo shuddered visibly at the sound. Piefer gave a faint, disdainful smile that made Stephano long to knock it off the Freyan’s face. He kept himself in firm control. He had to, for Rodrigo’s sake. But Stephano resolved privately that no matter what happened today, he and the Freyan would meet again. Piefer picked up the second weapon, examined it, and fired.
Chaunquler then examined the two pistols. Satisfied that both guns were smooth bore, as the rules required; that both were in good working order; and that neither had been magically enhanced, he returned them to the seconds. Each man reloaded his pistol and placed it back in the case. Both men turned to Chaunquler, who had been watching with a critical eye.
“You are both satisfied?” he asked.
Piefer and Stephano nodded and Chaunquler continued.
“The seconds will now determine the distance,” said Chaunquler.
“Ten paces,” said Piefer.
“Twenty,” said Stephano, thinking that the farther Rodrigo was from Valazquez the better the odds he might come out of this alive.
Piefer was not pleased. He argued that ten paces was the rule, but Chaunquler stated that such was not the case. He decreed that twenty paces was acceptable. Piefer glanced at Valazquez, who shrugged. Piefer agreed with an ill grace.
Once this matter was settled, Chaunquler motioned. “The two participants will please come forward. I will check to make sure neither is using magic to gain any advantage. Are we agreed that I may proceed?”
“Of course, sir,” Piefer answered.
“We are, sir,” said Stephano.
Valazquez walked to the table and began to unbutton his waistcoat. Rodrigo made no motion to walk over, and Stephano had to call his name in a low undertone. Rodrigo looked at him pleadingly, begging him to tell him this was some sort of strange mischance and they could all go home to a good breakfast. Stephano’s heart ached, but he could do nothing. The duel had to proceed. He motioned to the table and Rodrigo, gently sighing, began to try to unbutton his waistcoat. His trembling fingers fumbled.
Valazquez laid his waistcoat on the table and, as he did so, he cast Rodrigo an odd glance, as though he seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t make up his mind. Stephano noticed the glance and so did Piefer. The Freyan frowned and walked up to Valazquez and said something to him in such a low voice that Stephano could not hear. Stephano watched Valazquez closely and saw the young man shake his head. He continued to appear to be undecided and Stephano had a sudden wild hope that Valazquez wanted to call off the duel. Perhaps he was afraid or perhaps he had discovered he’d accused the wrong man. Piefer appeared to be attempting to bolster the young man’s resolve.
Stephano tried frantically to think of some way of speaking to Valazquez, but the rules of dueling strictly prohibited either second from talking to the opposing combatant. As for Rodrigo, he was completely oblivious to anything. He took off his waistcoat and went to lay it on the tombstone and missed. The waistcoat fell to the ground. He stared at it as though trying to figure out what it was doing there. Stephano picked it up for him and rested it on the black cloth.
Chaunquler went about his job briskly and efficiently. He turned both waistcoats inside-out, searching for magical constructs that might deflect a bullet. Finding nothing, he then asked each man to hold out his arms. Chaunquler examined the shirts each man was wearing. This done, he asked if there was a possibility that either man could be dissuaded from this course of action.
A slight breeze had risen, enough to cause the mists to swirl about the boles of the trees. The breeze ruffled a few loose strands of Rodrigo’s hair, that he wore tied back. He was deathly pale, no color in his face. His brown eyes appeared unusually large. He made some movement with his lips that might have been a “no.” Chaunquler turned to Valazquez, who cleared his throat.
“Before we commence, I have a sentiment I wish to express to Monsieur de Villeneuve,” he said.
Stephano’s heart beat fast. Rodrigo’s cheek stained with a faint flush of hope. Piefer looked angry and disapproving.
Valazquez made a slight bow. “It would be unseemly of me if I did not express my sympathy to Monsieur de Villeneuve on the death of his father.”
Rodrigo stared at the man. He looked dazedly at Stephano.
“What did he say?”
“That your father is dead,” said Stephano, shocked. He wondered if this was some ploy by Valazquez to attempt to rattle Rodrigo.
“That can’t be!” said Rodrigo, shaken.
“We are both amazed by this terrible news, Monsieur,” said Stephano sternly. “My friend has heard nothing of this. Please explain yourself.”
Valazquez looked startled. “Truly? He has heard nothing? Then I fear I am the bearer of ill tidings. My father, as the Estaran ambassador, received the news last night. Monsieur de Villeneuve was the victim of an assassin’s bullet. The murderer escaped, unfortunately, but the authorities are doing all they can to find him. They have evidence that he was a Travian. Probably having to do with this lamentable dispute over Braffa.”
Stephano had no reason to doubt Valazquez, but he knew that this information, having traveled a great distance and passed through many hands, was open to question. The news of the death of the ambassador would have to be verified. The countess would know the facts. Meanwhile, he saw a way to save Rodrigo, who was staring in wordless confusion at Valazquez. Stephano turned to Chaunquler.
“Monsieur, as you can see, my poor friend is overcome by grief and amazement. He is in no condition to fight this day. I ask for a postponement.”
Once the duel was postponed, he could take Rodrigo off to Westfirth and then try to negotiate a settlement with the Valazquez family.
Stephano was not pleased to see Chaunquler cast a swift glance at Sir Richard Piefer, as though asking what he should do. Chaunquler was here supposedly as an independent judge and observer. What business did he have looking at Piefer for the answer?
“Well, sir?” Stephano demanded tersely.
Piefer stepped forward. “I see no reason to postpone this meeting. Lord Valazquez has acted as a gentleman in giving his condolences. He still requires satisfaction for the insult to his sister.”
Stephano saw Valazquez frown at the Freyan lord’s intervention.
“I would like to hear Monsieur Valazquez speak for himself in this matter,” Stephano insisted.
“Of course,” said Piefer. He turned to the young lord. “I would remind his lordship that the name of Valazquez is untarnished. Should his lordship agree to postpone this meeting, there are those who will put his delay down to cowardice.”
Valazquez flushed in anger at the imputation.
“There will be no delay,” he said shortly.
“I received a letter from my father only three days ago, Stephano,” Rodrigo said, bewildered. “How can he be dead?”
