“What the hell is this?” he asked, splashing around. He was about waist deep.
“I call it a bath. Do you like it?”
“Don’t usually like water,” he admitted. “But this is nice. Heated?”
“There’s an oven underneath.”
“No kidding.”
“Really,” I said.
“After you’re dead, you think I could have it?”
“I don’t see why not.”
He climbed out, and I foolishly stood my ground on the cool grass beyond the bath. We were on the crest of a small treeless hill, with Mount Byrsa in the distance on one side and the shore on the other. And with no other houses anywhere close by (I was easily the wealthiest landowner in this little area) we were utterly and completely alone.
“Nice sword,” he said. “Thought you was gonna run.”
“I decided to give this a try first.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
Whomp swung his right fist at my head, a hypothetically lethal blow that caused the air itself to whistle in protest and surely would have proven disastrous for me had I not ducked. My response was a comparatively feeble counter-swing with the short sword aimed at his exposed right side. The blade dug into his skin, but barely penetrated more than a thumb’s-width and drew no blood. If he were a man he would be wondering where the bottom half of him had gone off to.
His response was to swat at me with his left arm, much the way one might attack a harassing bug. The shot hit me in the shoulder. I tumbled over and away from him, finding my feet quickly and luckily hanging onto my sword.
“You’re pretty quick for your age.”
“I keep in shape,” I answered, rotating my shoulder to see if there was any permanent damage. “Why, how old do I look?”
“Somebody told me you were the oldest man in Carthage. Must’ve been thinking of someone else.”
“No, that’s me,” I said.
“Huh.” In two quick steps he was on top of me, both arms out and seeking to grab and possibly hug. This would be the preferred attack, I guess, if one wanted to stop getting stuck with a sword. The charge left both of his sides exposed, but since I’d already taken an unsuccessful swing at his torso I wasn’t about to try it a second time.
Instead, I jumped aside and swiped at his leg. Nearly got the sword broken in two, but it did trip him up and he even yelped in pain just moments before landing flat on his face. I seized the opportunity and lunged at his neck, but he’d already begun to roll over. He caught the blade with the palm of his bare hand and swatted it aside. If he were a man, he’d be down one hand.
Still on the ground, he kicked me in the stomach. I staggered backward, desperately seeking air, which was not immediately forthcoming. This left him plenty of time to get back up to his feet.
“This is fun,” he said. “You’re a lot better than those guards of yours. They just stood around and hacked at me.”
My reply was to gasp for breath.
“We about done here?” He was leaning over me the way one might if one were examining a dead bird. Overconfident, he left his neck unguarded.
I pushed his raised arm aside and brought the sword around, this time catching him in the neck with the strongest force I could muster.
It was about as effective as the shot to the torso.
“Aahhh,” he uttered, less in pain than in aggravation. He shoved me away. “Just give it up, will you?”
“Can’t,” I said.
I’d pretty much run out of ideas. A part of me knew this battle was going to end up more or less the way that it had, but as I’d never attempted to kill a demon before I figured I owed myself the chance to try it at least once. Stupid me.
Whomp sighed dramatically and then charged for me again. Having tried the duck-and-counter and the step-aside-and-sweep already, I went for the only idea I had left. Charge back.
What followed was somewhat like a joust, with my sword pitted against his fist. We both connected. He hit me with a glancing blow that exploded into the side of my face and spun me around and down like an unstrung puppet. I landed gracelessly a few paces away from where he fell on his side. Fully half of my sword had ended up buried in his chest.
He lay still, and for a few seconds I thought I’d actually pulled it off.
“Oww,” he grumbled. He looked down at the blade. I tried to get to my feet, but he’d seriously messed up my equilibrium, so I sort of just crouched there and waited for the hillside to stop rocking.
“You almost ran me through,” he noted. “Good work.”
Up until he rolled up to a sitting position, I was holding out hope that I’d caused some nerve damage or something, but no. He was almost completely unharmed.
I made it to my feet, still fairly wobbly. “Does that hurt?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said matter-of-factly. He reached down and grabbed the sword by the blade and pulled. Slowly, it slid out of him.
At least I’d drawn blood this time.
He climbed to his feet again, my sword and all hope of winning this battle still in his hand. He broke the blade over his knee.
Tossing the pieces aside, he asked, “Any other ideas?”
My vision finally clearing up, I said, “I thought I’d fall back on running.” And then I did just that.
I sprinted down toward to the pier. He didn’t start after me immediately, not because he was too worn out, but because he was clearly aggravated that I wouldn’t just surrender already.
Other than the pier, my only real option was to head up toward Mount Byrsa and maybe just keep on running until I reached a landmark I recognized, like the Nile. I was pretty sure I still had long-distance running skills to my advantage. It’d be like old times, when I’d have to spend six or seven days running after food until the food finally got too tired to run. But that would take too long. Plus, I’d have to return to Carthage eventually—if only to pick up my stuff—and I’d still have a demon problem on my hands. Better to find a place to hide for the night, steal back into the city in the morning, and not leave again until I’d found out who hired Whomp or until I was sure I’d outlived him. Finding such a hiding place would be the hard part.
Meandering through the small collection of boathouses, I reached the dock, which had only my ship in port at the time. This significantly reduced my options. With two or three boats, I could conceivably hide in the hold of one of them, but hiding in the only boat available was maybe not the best idea ever. And I’d end up cornered.
I could hear him coming. With the houses in the way, he was temporarily obscured from sight, but it sounded like he was heading straight for me. Evidently, demons are good trackers.
Out of choices, I jumped onto my ship and climbed the mainmast. Whomp reached the dock a few minutes later.
“There you are,” he said, looking up. He stepped aboard the ship, checking out the surroundings to see if I had any other surprises left, like a small army hidden below deck. What I wouldn’t have given to have a small army hidden below deck. “You run pretty fast. How old did you say you were?”
“I don’t know how old I am. Lost count.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m immortal.”
I figured it was a good conversation topic, and the more talking he did, the less killing he did. He looked confused rather than impressed.
“Im-what?”
He was circling under the mast while talking, making me wonder if he was going to attempt to climb it.
“Immortal,” I repeated. “I don’t get old and die.”
“No kidding.” No, definitely not impressed. And it looked like I wasn’t going to get the “well, since you lived
