No Present Like Time

that I’d met her…Jant, are you all right?”

“I will be, if you don’t ever speak to me again.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Very well,” Lightning said to Wrenn. “I will spar with you. But I am only ranked sixth best with the rapier in the world, so a duel won’t last long before you win. Give me a few hours to organize these men”-he gestured at the main deck where the Petrel’s sailors were hard at work-“to make a more interesting game for you. After all, Insects don’t play fair.”

“Agreed!” said Wrenn. He drew his sword and eagerly poked the point into the Insect-paper caulking between the deck planks.

Mist looked up from her ledger. “Good, Lightning. That’s better than you and Jant spending another night getting pissed on Micawater port in my office.”

“I blame Wrenn for not drinking…We had to finish the open bottles.”

“Ha. I have to leave you boys to it every midnight to check navigational readings against the stars; when I come back in you’re still carousing and reminiscing. Well, entertain my deckhands by all means, they need some leisure time, but you had better not injure any.”

Lightning leaned on the rail and nodded. He was enjoying the novelty. “Then here are the tournament rules: I’ll do my best to hit you. We’ll use buttoned rapiers and flat of the blade only. Every sailor you touch will play dead. Mist will arbitrate. The whole of Petrel is the arena.”

“And the Melowne,” said Mist. “I’ll bring her alongside and rope her to Petrel to make a gam. Then I can spare up to one hundred sailors. How many do you want?”

“All of them, of course.”

That afternoon, I circled above the lashed-together caravels. The sails were furled on all but the rearmost masts, which Mist said were mizzen masts with lateen sails set to keep the ships’ prows into the waves. I took her word for it. My shadow flitted over as everyone on the Melowne crowded at the railings and clambered into the rigging to watch the Petrel’s main deck.

Wrenn and Lightning faced each other in the most spacious area by the foot of the mainmast. They raised their swords in salute, turned to honor the audience and Mist. Then they began to circle warily, watching each other with deliberation. Wrenn trod cautiously but didn’t strike.

“Don’t be afraid, shorty,” Lightning taunted. “Besides, call that a haircut? Allow me to improve it.”

Wrenn tested Lightning with a pass; Lightning deflected it. Wrenn realized that Lightning was good, very good. He ran straight in with a diagonal attack. Lightning parried, let Wrenn run past him, turned-thrust-missed.

They circled. Lightning stabbed at Wrenn’s chest, a killing blow had it landed. Wrenn regained the initiative, made a prolonged attack but Saker forcefully parried the blows.

Lightning gave a shout. At the signal, sailors rushed from the edges of the deck and open hatchways, straight at Wrenn from every direction. They all brandished the new broadswords. Some held them two-handed. Wrenn gasped-ran to back himself against the ship’s side. Men clustered close, their mint-condition swords gleamed but Wrenn’s rapier danced around them with agility. He parried every single one on his rapier’s forte to protect his lighter blade.

I wanted a better view. I glided down to the crosstrees, curled my bare toes around the thick wood spar and then settled on it, legs dangling. Ten meters directly below me Awians and Plainslanders churned about, pushing Wrenn back against the gunwale. He jumped to the top of the railing, grasped a rope with his free hand, swept his rapier, clashing off all their raised staves and blades. He touched the padded knee of a woman’s breeches. She backed away to the forecastle where she sat down. A cheer went up from the eager audience on the Melowne: “You got Sanderling! Get Lightning! Go on!”

The sailors moved back on one side as Lightning pulled himself up to face Wrenn on the railing. The sailors cut off Wrenn’s retreat. He held his rapier over his sturdy shoulder and climbed with his free hand, up the rope netting toward me. Lightning tested his foot on the lowest taut ratline. He stretched up and slashed with his point but Wrenn reached his rapier down and spun circles around it.

Wrenn hauled himself onto the crosstrees. I slipped into the air out of his way and glided over the ship as he ran lightly along the spar and climbed down the shrouds at the other side. He swung himself down to the half-deck leaving the sailors behind but Lightning dashed sternward, scaled the half-deck ladder and confronted him there. He attacked Wrenn with a cut to the left shoulder. Wrenn retreated behind the helm to catch his breath. Mist was standing at the wheel but she didn’t flinch or move a muscle. Behind her back, Lightning lunged, Wrenn gave more ground and came up against a rack of fire buckets.

Lightning made strong cuts to Wrenn’s head; every time Wrenn parried his sword blurred with vibration. The furious clangs rang out over the ocean.

Wrenn caught a blow on his rapier’s tip close to the round leather button. He twisted, almost disarmed Lightning. Lightning stamped his foot to distract him, rushed in with a fleche aimed at the solar plexus but Wrenn dodged.

Sailors started to climb the ladder from the main deck. Wrenn struck the first one at the top; the man jumped down. Wrenn “killed” the next two and the third became uncertain how to attack. Three men on either side of the main deck spread out, anticipating Wrenn’s escape route. They braced themselves by holding the sail lines above their heads.

Lightning called, “Hey!” Five men jumped down off the topcastle, two burst out of my original cabin underneath. Wrenn ducked behind the helm. They charged at him; he touched them dead in seven seconds, his blade moving too fast to follow. Wrenn whipped around, rapier arm at full stretch, and arrested Lightning’s blade midthrust.

Mist grew exasperated with ten men cutting around her and the helm. She yelled at the sister ship, “Fulmer! To starboard!”

At the Melowne’s helm, Fulmer jumped. He spun his wheel simultaneously with Mist. The sails on the mizzenmasts swiveled, all their air spilled out. Petrel and Melowne lurched, braked and tilted left.

Wrenn and Lightning lost their footing and slid on their backsides across the deck into the gunwale. Wrenn scrabbled to his feet first, fled down the ladder, and poised in first guard by the mainmast. Lightning gave Mist an angry glance, then sped after him. They started fencing enthusiastically. The sailors who maintained their balance quickly clustered around. Their mates picked themselves up out of the wet gutters and scuppers, and joined to restrict Wrenn’s retreat from Lightning’s attacks. Wrenn pressed back at them; he deflected every blow and kept his balance with clever footwork. Lightning never slowed but Wrenn still found chance to kill ten of the nearest sailors, alternately striking them between parrying Lightning.

The caravels righted themselves with a crash. But, bound together, they idled in the water, sails limp. They drifted side-on to the waves, which hit Petrel’s right hull and threw spray onto the main deck.

I flew closer, lost sight of the duelists while I landed on the poop deck, tricky because the ships were drifting slowly around. Everyone watched Wrenn.

Wrenn almost touched Lightning. Lightning fell back and let his team of sailors surge forward. He pulled a silk handkerchief from inside his shirt and wiped his face with it. Sweat ran freely down Wrenn’s face.

Wrenn touched two more sailors; they flopped down at his feet. He avoided a huge Awian hefting a capstan bar, darted under and prodded him on the belly. The burly salt refused to die. He tried to trap Wrenn with the bar against the railings. He bounced on his feet like a boxer.

Melowne tars booed and started shouting, “You’re dead, Smew! You old bastard, get down! Stop being a bad loser! Finish him off, Serein!”

Wrenn jumped rat-fast onto the covered water butt and gave Smew a resounding slap on his bald pate. The big man must have been mindful of his audience, because he died theatrically.

On top of the barrel, Wrenn lunged and touched two more sailors. His right, middle, left; three more fell. His