“It’s just a rumor. We’ll find out the truth from my mother. But right now,” Stephano added gently, “I fear you have to go through with this.”
“I know.” Rodrigo gave a faint smile. “I may not be overly burdened with courage, but I am not a coward.”
His unshaven cheeks pale, his mouth tight, he walked over to the box holding the dueling pistols and picked up one of the guns. Valazquez took the other pistol.
“Very well, gentlemen,” Chaunquler said. “Since you will not be dissuaded, I ask you to take your positions. You will stand back-to-back, the guns pointed in the air. Your seconds have determined that you will walk twenty paces and then turn and fire. I will commence the count.”
Rodrigo and Valazquez stood with their backs touching. Valazquez pulled back the hammer. Rodrigo, hearing a sound, cast Stephano a panicked glance, asking him wordlessly what he was supposed to be doing.
“Cock the hammer!” Stephano mouthed, going through the motion.
Rodrigo lowered the gun. He was forced to use both thumbs to drawback the hammer and nearly dropped the gun in the process. Stephano was cold and sick with dread. Piefer was impassive, unconcerned. Doctor Alabarca, the surgeon, opened his bag of instruments. Rodrigo resumed his position, standing back-to-back with Valazquez.
Chaunquler began to count out the paces. “One.”
Each man took a step forward, moving away from his opponent. Chaunquler continued the count. The two men walked off the paces. Stephano noted that Rodrigo was taking unusually large steps. He also saw, to his dismay, that his friend had his eyes squinched tightly shut.
“Ten,” said Chaunquler.
He was about to say “eleven” when he was interrupted by a bang. Rodrigo stood enveloped in a cloud of acrid smoke staring in blank astonishment at the pistol he had been carrying, which was now lying on the ground.
“It went off!” Rodrigo gasped. “I didn’t pull the trigger. I swear! It just went off!”
“ ‘A misfire is equivalent to a shot,’ “ stated Chaunquler, quoting from the Codes Duello. “The duel will proceed.”
Rodrigo looked wildly at Stephano. “The gun went off. I didn’t fire the blasted thing! What am I supposed to do now?”
“You have to keep going,” said Stephano grimly.
Valazquez heard the shot and stopped walking. He remained in position, his gun raised, though he did cast a glance over his shoulder to see what had happened. The pistol’s misfire meant that Valazquez could now take his aim at his leisure without the fear that Rodrigo might shoot him first. Valazquez was known to be an excellent marksman. He would not miss. Rodrigo was a dead man and he knew it.
Stephano pressed his hand against his breast pocket, against the letter he had promised to deliver to Rodrigo’s family. Rodrigo saw the gesture and understood. He smiled sadly, swallowed and, lifting his chin, continued to walk steadily to his death. Stephano knew the courage this simple act cost his friend and even in his despair and grief, he was proud of him.
“Twenty!” said Chaunquler.
Rodrigo turned and stood unflinching. Valazquez pivoted, aimed, pointed, and fired. Rodrigo shuddered involuntarily at the crack of the shot and closed his eyes.
The bullet whistled by his head, so close the bullet grazed his cheek. Valazquez lowered his gun. He cast a cool glance at Piefer.
“I would not want it said that I killed an unarmed man,” Valazquez stated with dignity.
Stephano gave the young man a look of gratitude, then hurried over to Rodrigo, who was still standing stiffly, his eyes closed tight, waiting.
“It’s over, my friend,” said Stephano.
Rodrigo didn’t comprehend. Opening one eye, he whispered, “What’s taking the bullet so long?”
Stephano began to laugh, and then he suddenly noticed that both Chaunquler and Doctor Alabarca were running rapidly down the road, running as though in fear of their lives.
A pistol fired. The shot half-deafened Stephano. and he turned to glare angrily at Valazquez.
“Why the devil did you shoot-”
The words stuck in Stephano’s throat.
Valazquez no longer had a face. His head was a mushy pulp of blood and brains and shattered bone. His body jerked spasmodically, then plopped wetly onto the ground.
Stephano stared at the murdered man, then looked in blank astonishment at Piefer, who was thrusting one smoking pistol into his belt and coolly drawing a second. The Freyan turned from Valazquez to face Rodrigo and raised the gun, taking aim. Stephano had no idea what was going on, and he didn’t have time to sort it out. He hurled himself at Rodrigo, knocked him to the ground, and flung himself on top of him.
Another bang. A sharp blow hit Stephano between his shoulder blades. The bullet knocked the breath from his body, but his chain mail and its magical constructs deflected the bullet that otherwise would have torn through his back.
“What’s going on?” Rodrigo demanded in muffled tones, his face in the dirt. “Why is he shooting at us?”
“I wish I knew!” said Stephano fervently.
Piefer thrust the useless pistol into his belt and reached into his breast pocket where he had another gun, probably what had come to be known as a “corset gun,” a type of short-barreled pistol small enough for a lady to tuck into her bosom.
Stephano leaped to his feet and drew his sword in the same motion. He calculated he could reach the Freyan before he had time to fire. Stephano took a step, heard another shot. A bullet struck the dirt at his feet, kicking up dust. The flash of muzzle fire came from beyond the stone wall. Another bullet whistled over his head. At least two more men were firing at them from the shadows of the trees.
Piefer had drawn his corset gun and was taking direct aim. He cocked the hammer and was about to pull the trigger when another gunshot sounded. The small pistol went spinning out of the Freyan’s hand. Piefer cursed and whipped around to glare in anger and astonishment into the woods.
Stephano did not take time to wonder if someone in the forest was on his side or one of Piefer’s friends was a bad shot. He grabbed hold of Rodrigo, who was staring in shock at the bloody remains of Valazquez. Stephano dragged his friend to his feet.
“We’ve got to make a run for the cab!”
“Wait!” Rodrigo cried and he darted forward to pick up the dueling pistol he had used. A bullet struck the ground. He snatched his hand back, then made a grab for the pistol, and ran, hunched-over, to Stephano, who glared at him.
“That thing’s useless!”
“I know!” Rodrigo gasped. He thrust the pistol into his belt.
Stephano gripped his friend’s arm. “Keep your head down! Use the tombstones for cover!”
Crouching low, they tried to blend in with the mists that were, unfortunately, starting to burn off, and dashed from one tombstone to the next. The bullets hit close, striking the tombstones, chipping off pieces of marble and sending the shards flying through the air. They took refuge behind a monument of a marble angel and stopped to catch their breath. A bullet struck one of the angel’s wings, knocking it off. Both ducked.
Rodrigo asked in altered tones, “Do you think what Valazquez said about my father being dead is true?”
“We’ll soon find out,” said Stephano. “The countess will know.”
Another bullet took off the angel’s nose.
Rodrigo was suddenly angry. “Why is he trying to kill us?”
“Damned if I know,” said Stephano, wiping the sweat from his face. He’d lost his hat to a bullet. “His friends are extremely good shots, though. They must be using those new weapons with the rifled bores. I’ve heard about them, but never seen one. They’re supposed to be more accurate than barrels that use targeting constructs. I’d really like to get a look at one-”
“I’ve seen quite enough, thank you!” Rodrigo flattened himself on the ground as a bullet slammed into the angel’s foot.
Stephano risked raising his head, hoping to see what had become of Piefer. The Freyan lord was nowhere in
