She expected him to reach for his short swords, but he whipped out a dagger with a curved blade instead.
Shamur doubted it was chivalry prompting him to opt for a shorter blade like her own. He was probably proud of his skill with a dagger, proud enough to rely on it whenever practical. Whereas, though she had some experience with all the white arms, as bladed weapons were called, she was most confident with the sword. She knew the basics of knife fighting, but no more.
Well, she told herself, that would just make it more interesting, as would the fact that while he would have no compunction about killing her, she must take care not to give him a mortal wound. Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to interrogate him afterward.
She assumed a stance similar to the one she employed when fighting with a sword, her weapon hand in the lead. Smiling knees slightly bent the bravo minced toward her with his empty hand leading, and poised to guard his abdomen, his dagger hand cocked back. He sucked in his midsection to make it less of a target.
Shamur retreated, using her longer reach to threaten him and slow his advance, meanwhile studying his technique. She knew she couldn't keep evading him for long, not in the cramped arena of the deck, but she hoped that if she figured out his style before he closed, she could turn that understanding to good advantage.
The bravo glided forward with stylized steps reminiscent of an allemande, sometimes tossing his weapon from one hand to the other. Once he twirled, momentarily giving her his back, then snapped back around with a cut that would likely have taken her in the throat, had she accepted the invitation to attack.
He did indeed appear to be a master of the dagger, tricky and sufficiently confident of his skill to be flamboyant. Shamur reckoned that she might be in even more trouble than she'd thought.
In the few seconds she'd spent studying him, he'd nearly backed her up into the very end of the bow. Unwilling to let herself be cornered, she sidestepped, and that was the instant the bravo attacked in earnest.
His hand streaked at her, and she made a cut intended to intercept it. But his thrust stopped short, her counterattack missed, and she saw at that same instant that his fist was empty. Somehow, without her seeing it, he'd transferred his dagger to his other hand, and now she glimpsed it plunging toward her abdomen.
She twisted, wrenching herself aside, and the thrust missed by a hair. With her left hand, she grabbed for his wrist, seeking to immobilize his weapon, but in one graceful blur of motion, he spun his arm away and danced back safely out of distance.
Shamur pursued him back toward the stern. She stepped and thrust, stepped and thrust, accustoming him to the pace at which she was advancing, then sprang forward with a sudden burst of acceleration which she hoped would catch him by surprise.
It didn't. He instantly dropped to one knee, and her dagger and outstretched arm flew over his head. Meanwhile, his blade drove up at her stomach.
With her own impetus driving her toward his point, she had no time to parry, but could only attempt to dodge. Once again, she was fortunate, for the dagger missed her flesh, though it snagged in her cloak and yanked her off balance before it ripped free. She grabbed one of the lines to steady herself, heard his noisy breathing coming up behind her, and spun back around to face him.
The dagger leaped back and forth between his hands. She sensed that he wanted her to attack at that instant when the blade was in flight, and refused to respond to the invitation. After a few seconds, he suddenly abandoned the ploy and lunged to stab her in the chest.
She attempted an evasive movement of her own, pivoting on her front leg to avoid his point while thrusting at his throat. His initial attack missed, but he blocked with his left arm and took her weapon out of line as well. To her surprise, he sprang closer, seizing her with his unweaponed hand and lifting his knife arm high.
With his black-bearded features only inches from her own, blocking out everything else, she couldn't see his right hand performing its next manipulation, but she didn't have to. She understood very well what it must be doing. Spinning the knife, reversing his grip so he could drive the point into her spine.
Her own weapon was passe and out of position for an instantaneous stab at his back, nor did she think she could break free of his hold in the split second remaining. So she butted him in the face.
His nose broke with a crack, his body jerked, and, thanks be to Mask, his dagger didn't slam down into her flesh. She instantly followed up with a second head butt, a stomp to the foot, and a knee to the groin.
His grip slackened. Shoving him back, she tore herself free, gave him a snap kick to the knee, and, seeing that he was staggering, too hurt and dazed for the moment to wield his dagger, stepped in and slammed the pommel of her own weapon against his forehead.
The bravo fell, and she grinned in satisfaction. Many would say she'd been lucky to defeat such an opponent, but she preferred to think that while he had been the better dagger fighter, she was the stronger combatant in general, and that was what had yielded her the victory. 'Ho!'
Shamur turned. Thamalon was standing aboard a catboat at the edge of the floating city. He had his buckler in his left hand and his throwing knife in his right, and although the watermen who inhabited the craft were regarding him sourly, they weren't making any hostile moves.
'By the time the ruffian reached this part of the cluster,' Thamalon said, 'it was obvious he didn't intend to make for the docks. So I followed after you.'
'Good,' she replied. 'Bide there a moment.'
Shamur scrutinized the bravo. Whimpering, he seemed to be conscious, but incapacitated nonetheless. She dropped his dagger and short swords over the side, and, keeping a wary eye on him, found a sweep and rowed the sloop up to the catboat. The two hulls banged together, and one of the watermen cursed.
'Sorry,' she told him, then turned to Thamalon. 'Climb aboard. We might as well chat with our friend here privately, without any other misguided boaters attempting to interfere with us.'
'Good idea.' Thamalon stepped onto the sloop, and she pushed off with the oar.
Once she was sure they were drifting away, Shamur glanced around to catch Thamalon staring at her with a strange expression on her face, and for some reason, his regard made her feel self-conscious. 'What?' she demanded.
The nobleman blinked. 'Nothing.' He stooped to examine the waterman from whom the bravo had attempted to steal the sloop. 'This fellow should be all right. It looks as if our friend just knocked him out.'
'He's lucky the bastard didn't stick a knife in him,' said Shamur. 'Perhaps he had qualms about killing a fellow boater. Anyway, let's talk to him.' She nudged the captive with the toe of her boot. 'We know you're awake. Let's chat.'
The captive warily opened his eyes. 'What do you want with me?' he croaked. 'You talk like I'm some sort of ruffian, but I haven't done anything wrong.'
'You bolted as soon as you heard that two strangers were seeking you, ostensibly to give you a reward,'
Thamalon said. 'Is that the act of an innocent man? To me, it seems more like the jumpiness of a blackguard who took part in the assassination of two nobles less than twenty-four hours ago.'
The bravo swallowed. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'You're lying,' Shamur said, 'and there's no chance of you convincing us otherwise. It was dark when you saw us last, and we've changed our appearances since, but look at my face. Look closely.'
The bully did as she'd bade him, then blanched and cringed. 'You people are dead!'
'No,' said Shamur, 'just very annoyed. We can vent our spleen on you, or you can tell us who hired you and your fellow toughs.'
'I don't know. I was just a member of a crew,' the waterman said, 'just doing as I was told. I never heard the wizard's name, nor saw him without the moon mask.'
'Then tell us how you wound up working for him,' she said.
He hesitated. 'I can't. If I turn nose, the others will kill me.'
'Do you think we won't?' she replied. 'Husband, I believe this fool needs to be convinced that we're in earnest.' She hefted her dagger. 'What shall we take, a thumb?'
'An eye,' said Thamalon with a lightness that served well to reinforce the bluff. 'It always gets a man's attention when you pop an eye.'
'Very well.'
They flung themselves onto the bravo, who screamed and flailed wildly, but who, spent and battered as he was, could do little to keep them from pinning him to the deck.
