Eyes of the Calculor (14 page)

"Some things a second cannot do."

"Like the Touch of Serenity?"

"Yes, well, bad luck to enter a duel as a virgin."

"Who is she?"

Reclor squirmed. "How should I know? Some whore on Hawker Lane, I'll try to chose one who looks sympathetic."

"You may get poxed."

"I'll wear a skin."

"Wearing a skin is bad luck."

"Then I won't. If I die, will I care about the pox?"

"That is not a good attitude to take into a duel. You should go in with everything to live for."

Reclor closed the case on the Cambrissans and snapped the latch across, then reached for his coat.

"I am open to constructive suggestions, but otherwise I would appreciate it if you would wish me luck and step away from the door."

Mica did not move. They stared at each other, unblinking. She unfolded her arms, reached up and undid the top button of her blouse.

"I have a suggestion," she said. "It is very constructive."

Reclor deduced the intent of her suggestion instantly.

"I, I, I—no!" he burst out.

She undid a second button. "Poking about with some strange whore will do nothing to steady your nerves."

"No! You're like a sister to me."

She undid a third button. "But I am not your sister, I am a servant. I am twenty-two, and you are fifteen. We are consenting adults in the eyes of Confederation law."

"I've known you since I was ten! You wiped my face, washed my clothes, even laid me over your knee and smacked my arse!"

She undid a fourth button, then pulled her blouse open to allow her breasts to stand free. "Maybe so, Reclor, but just now I am your friend and your lady, and nothing else matters or even exists," she said, now advancing on him. "I am going to make love with you,

for there is no other man that I care for as much as you. Now get undressed and get into bed."

"Dammit, you've made that bed for five years!"

"And tomorrow I'll be sure to wash the sheets. Reclor, other youths are forever chasing and pestering their maids, and often bedding them. I am impressed that you have always behaved honorably toward me, but there is nothing unusual about a maid coupling with her master's son."

"I—I'm ashamed."

"Why?"

"I'm a virgin. A harlot might laugh, but then she would be out of my life forever. You work here, you—"

"It's bad luck for a virgin to enter a duel, Reclor, and I'm here to make sure that you're not when you leave tonight. I can provide the Touch of Serenity as well as anyone, and perhaps even better."

She began to unbutton his shirt as he stood with his coat in one hand and his case of pistols in the other. She slid her arms around him and pressed her quite high and prominent breasts against his skimpy chest.

"Reclor, Reclor, I want revenge for what happened to Velesti and Elsile as much as you do, and this way I shall be there, standing with you as you turn and fire. Lie with me, let me help, my brave and dashing lover. It is a mater of honor for me as well."

The mention of honor suddenly made all the difference to Reclor. He dropped his coat and placed his dueling pistols on the table, then wrapped his arms around Julica. She put a hand behind his head, drew his face close to hers, then kissed him. As their lips pressed together the memories of the previous five years faded away, and for a short time they became, truly, lovers.

It was only fifty-five minutes later that Reclor slipped from his bed and began pulling on his clothes. Julica sat up, hugging her knees against her breasts.

"You don't have to leave for another hour," she said.

"I have things to arrange. I had not reckoned on taking so long."

"So long? How long had you planned to spend doing. . . ." She waved her hand in circles. "Doing what we just did?"

"Ten minutes."

Julica shook her head, then rested it on her knees.

"When you get back, I shall have to introduce you to the idea of appreciating the pleasure of a woman a little more."

Reclor blushed and turned away.

"Julica, I could not possibly impose like that."

"Reclor, did it ever cross your mind that I might enjoy what we have just been doing? Sex is not something filthy that men do to women, it's pleasure to be shared. Look forward to spending the rest of this night with me, Reclor; survive the duel for it."

Reclor sat on the edge of the bed and embraced Julica again.

"I shall return," he whispered through her unbound hair and into her ear.

"What do you have to do? Your second should be arranging everything."

"Things unrelated to the duel, but things related to honor."

H

ere it is, twenty-five gold daras," said Reclor, counting out the coins.

"I might be cashiered for this," muttered the watchouse guard.

"The world is wide, and you are now rich. Now return to your post."

Reclor descended into the cells area, carrying a torch. The cells were all secured by doors of thick redgum, each with a tiny access slot bound with iron. At cell five Reclor put an iron spike into the lock and twisted. It gave a soft creak, then tore away. He drew back the bolt and opened the door.

"Musketeer Glarek?" he asked as he held the torch before him.

Three prisoners stirred, blinking up from their narrow bunks.

"Aye," said one, raising his hand.

"I'm here to free you, come with me."

Outside the cell again, Reclor slid the bolt back quietly. They ascended the stairs.

"I'll be wantin' coin fer those weeks in there," said Glarek as they entered the keeper's office. "All the others walkin' free, while I take the—"

Reclor pressed the baffle tube of his flintlock against the back of the musketeer's head and fired. There was a shark crack, like a swagger stick striking flagstones. Glarek fell.

"Consider yourself free," said Reclor as he began dragging the body over to the pantry.

l\eclor walked slowly into the Gardens of the Commoners, his second carrying the case with the dueling pistols. The youth's legs felt as unsteady as those of a newborn foal, and he was sweating. The moderator was waiting there, holding a single lantern. Four other figures stood close by.

"You're exhausted, you can't shoot in this condition!" insisted Reclor's second.

"I had business on the other side of town, and some wastrel stole my pony."

"We can call a stay until—"

"No! We duel this very hour or not at all."

The medician examined Reclor and declared him fit to take the field. Both duelists now approached the moderator, who held up his lantern to formally identify Reclor and Grammain. Both seconds remained masked.

"You realize that this duel is not legally constituted, even though it is not actually criminal," said the moderator. "As the challenged party Fras Grammain can claim self-defense if he kills you, Fras Disore. If you win you will be charged with murder, and your only hope of cheating the gallows will be to prove just cause."

"I understand all that, but I am committed to the field of honor," replied Reclor. "Exceedingly committed."

The two duelists stood back to back in the dim light provided by Mirrorsun and the moderator's lantern. In the distance the gunshots of revelers and the glow of a bonfire added an eerie backdrop of festivity.

"This is a voluntary duel outside the rules laid down in Confederation legislation," the moderator said in a clear, sharp voice. "There will be no target shoot, and no right to call distance. I shall call the distance, and remember that I am only here to declare self-defense or murder. Understood, Fras Disore?"

"Yes."

"Understood, Fras Grammain?"

"Understood."

"I shall now begin counting. At the count of ten, turn and fire at will. One, two, three—"

A gunshot flashed beside a tree, directly ahead of Reclor. As the youth began to collapse he half turned, but managed only to fire into the air before oblivion claimed him. The moderator plunged a knife underhand into the back of Reclor's second, then ripped upward.

"Turn the boy to face the line," said the moderator, "then weight his second with stones and dump him in the lake."

"Damn, but it's good to see the end of this," muttered Grammain.

"Next time you go snatching free pussy make sure she's just a whore," hissed the moderator sharply.

The moderator stood in silence until the four others returned from the lake. He gazed at the glow from the bonfire across the city, and listened to the whistles of the Constable's Runners and the pealing of bells giving their alarm about something. Finally the field was in order and Reclor's substitute second was kneeling by the corpse with ten extra gold coins in his purse. The medician bowed to the moderator.

"Have you an outcome?" asked the moderator.

"Lieutenant Grammain's ball passed through Fras Disore's chest, killing him instantly."

"Gentlefolk, are you agreed that Fras Disore fired first?" asked the moderator.

"We are."

"Then summon a Constable's Runner. A death must be declared."

The moderator blew his whistle and they waited. The glow continued in the distance. No runners came. Eventually the medician

had to be sent to find a Constable's Runner, and even then he did not return with one for another hour.

Julica had been extinguishing the lamps in the lower floor of the house when she entered the parlor from the antedoor. A single lamp burned in a wall bracket, and all was in order as she cast her gaze over the familiar room. All? Perhaps not quite all. There was the box with "Martyne" and "Hearing" in the glass-fronted cabinet, but "Martyne" was no longer on the right. Someone had replaced it upside down, perhaps someone in a hurry. Julica reached out and tugged at the glass door's handle. It was not locked. There was a soft clack as a key turned in the front door of the house. Someone had left in a hurry, presumably because he had heard her approaching footsteps. There was another clack as the door was locked from the outside. Julica drew out the box. It was empty.

Without even thinking Julica snatched Harren's spare cloak and pentacorner hat from the hallstand rack and unlocked the front door. From the drawing room came the drone of prayers. Julica had been told that Elene Disore was keeping vigil with a parson, Velesti, and some friends, waiting for word of the duel. Julica pulled the door shut behind her and pattered out to the garden gate. In the distance, a figure was striding away into the gloom. The moon was down, but Mirrorsun gleamed brightly, high in the sky. Julica set off in pursuit, unsure of what she was doing and not even armed. Who knew precisely where to find the box intended for Martyne Camderine, and who had a key to the Disore mansion's front door? The intruder had a thick-set chest and broad shoulders, but a very narrow waist, and he wore a sharply cut, tapering musketeer's jacket. It was definitely not Reclor.

Even though Julica's quarry had a head start, he was walking at an even, unhurried pace and was now making no attempt at stealth. The streets were not crowded, and those that they passed paid them no heed. The musketeer was moving in a methodical way, checking street signs at every corner and gradually making his way northwest. The buildings grew more crowded as the streets narrowed, then they

were past one final corner and in Militia Square. Only a few yards away was the city barracks. Barely ten minutes since leaving the mansion, Julica guessed.

The musketeer walked on steadily toward the gates. Reluctant to be too exposed, Julica had stopped in the shadows at the edge of the square. A musketeer thief, she decided, he had stolen the records meant for Martyne. How had he known? Perhaps Reclor was dead, perhaps he had babbled out some boast about messages left for Martyne with his dying breath. Two guards sauntered forward to bar the distant figure's path—then Julica heard two muffled reports! Both guards dropped and lay still, and the figure paused to remove their pistols before walking on through the gates.

Julica stood leaning against a wall, barely able to comprehend what had taken place as she watched the musketeer vanish into a building. Someone had just shot down two sentries on duty in front of the largest barracks in the Central Confederation! He had apparently used silencing baffles as well. A warrior. Perhaps even more than a warrior. Someone trained in Balesha. The intruder emerged again, now wearing a cloak and holding what seemed to be a large book to the light of a lamp. After a moment he discarded the book and walked off to a nearby dormitory. Julica could see just the one figure for the next two minutes, slipping from one dormitory to another, apparently in search of someone or something.

At the sound of slurred cursing and shouting, Julica crouched farther back into the shadows. Some revelers were returning to the barracks, but were in an advanced state of intoxication. They were only yards from the bodies of the guards when they realized that something appeared to be wrong.

"Murder! Bloody murder!" bellowed a voice, then a whistle pierced the night air. Julica saw the intruder's distant form as he lifted a lamp from its mounting, carried it to a dormitory, and flung it inside. Flames lit up the windows from within, and cries of pain and alarm echoed out at once. People spilled from the dormitories, mostly in white flannel underclothing, and darted about calling for water. A cloaked shadow began walking for the gate.

One of the men at the gate called "Stop him, he did it!" The

intruder swept his cloak aside and shot him with the silenced gun, then shot the musketeer beside him. Their companions scattered, drawing pistols and sabres. Three shots rang out. The intruder walked on steadily, firing as he approached the gates. Two more men went down, the other two turned and fled.

"You there, in the cloak!" shouted someone with an educated accent. "Stand or I'll fire!"

The intruder turned and shot down a man holding a musket to his shoulder. Someone else fired at him, then the musketeers and officers seemed to all open fire on each other at once. Through the billowing swirls of powder smoke, the intruder passed through the gates, still walking steadily and quite unhurried. Julica turned as the blast of an exploding powder store lit up the square for a moment. When the dazzles faded from her vision and she turned away again, the intruder was gone.