Sword Fight

by Nathan Van Coops

  His bodyguards closed his door for him, then led the way down the muddy street, pushing commoners aside to make room.

  Jasper paused when he saw the sign for the Swan and Pelican Inn. He turned and noted the proximity of the tavern they had come to find. He was surprised to find several people he recognized mingling on the covered porch of the inn, talking among themselves. Guild members.

  Breaking away from Blaise and his security team, Jasper strode up to the tallest of the figures on the porch and immediately extended a hand. “Richard Canton. What a pleasure it is to see you.”

  “Lord Sterling,” the man replied. His hand was bedecked with gold and silver signet rings. “What an unexpected surprise. Don’t tell me you’ve finally accepted the Guild’s invitation to participate in a field judging.”

  Jasper smiled and tucked away his handkerchief. “I have indeed. The House of Sterling does so value the work of the Guild leadership. I thought it was past time I made good on your generous invitation. I’m afraid I know little of the candidate today, however. Who are we judging?”

  “It’s a rather unorthodox story.” Jasper recognized the speaker as Rupert Pimsley, a beady-eyed man who always smelled of horses. “Our new candidate is a woman who has apprenticed in the west end for over a decade,” Pimsley continued. “She’s the wife of a tavern owner, and they’ll be presenting just across the street there in a matter of hours.” He pointed to the Twisted Tentacle.

  “Just taking the time to get in the mood over here first?” Jasper nodded to the cocktail glasses in the men’s hands.

  “When in Rome,” Canton replied. “It is tournament week after all.”

  “I certainly can’t fault you.” Jasper glanced across the street. “There haven’t been many female sword masters in the Guild of late, have there? And a showing hosted in a rim village tavern, no less?”

  “As we said, it’s an unorthodox entry,” Canton replied. “But the work is quite exquisite. In cases like this, the judging is almost a formality. The sword has the makings of a true masterwork.”

  “I look forward to seeing it,” Jasper said. “Shall we go over there now? Surely they wouldn’t want to keep us waiting.”

  “We are quite early,” Pimsley said. “The official judging isn’t scheduled until this evening, and the rest of the judges have yet to arrive.”

  “Sounds like you’ve all made up your minds already. Perhaps I’ll just have a sneak peek myself then and report back,” Jasper said. He turned to Blaise and the two bodyguards they had brought along. “Why don’t you gentlemen wait here,” Jasper said. “I’ll have a look at what they have planned.”

  “It’s typically the tradition of the Guild to judge a work in a group,” Pimsley said. “But of course you should do as you wish, m’lord.”

  Jasper smiled at the Guild judges. “I’ll keep my thoughts to myself until the official judging.” He strode off the porch and crossed the street to the tavern. He immediately rapped on the door. When his initial knock gained no response, he kept up a barrage on the door until it was finally opened by a woman with short, choppy, blonde hair and a careworn face.

  “You can stop that racket already; we don’t reopen till—” the woman said in an irritated voice but cut herself off at the sight of him.

  “Pardon the intrusion,” Jasper said. “Lord Jasper Sterling.”

  “It’s . . . an honor,” the woman replied, though Jasper had the impression it wasn’t the first thought that had actually crossed her mind. She adjusted her apron and fixed a smile on her face. “I’m Janet Merriweather. I’m the owner.”

  “I was told there would be a Guild membership judging here this evening,” Jasper said. “I was invited by the Smith’s Guild to participate. Do you mind if I come in?” He didn’t wait for a reply but stepped past the woman.

  He took in the sights and sounds of the tavern in an instant: worn booths, bad acoustics, a floor in desperate need of refinishing. It was clean, if you could call anything in this dump of a village clean, but he knew enough to recognize a dive when he saw one. The staff had clearly worked hard to tidy the place up, but there was only so much lipstick you could put on a pig.

  The tavern owner dried her hands on a rag and gestured to a table adjacent to the stage. “Please come in. Can I offer you a drink?”

  “I don’t suppose you carry Mortal Blade.”

  The tavern owner shook her head. “Our top shelf whiskey is Bushmills. I can get you some of that.”

  “That would be adequate,” Jasper said. He peered down the hall and surveyed the staff in sight. None resembled Charlotte’s missing daughter. “You must be quite proud of your . . . wife is it?” He took in the threadbare curtains of the stage.

  “Extremely,” Janet replied. “She’s an inspiration to me daily.”

  Jasper smiled.

  “Janet, there’s something going on with the microphone cables back—” A young man came bursting into the hall from a back room, his face covered in makeup, but he stopped short at the sight of Jasper and gaped.

  “Good afternoon,” Jasper said.

  The man looked past him to the tavern owner, eyes wide.

  “Rico, this is Lord Jasper Sterling. He’s participating in the judging of Ann’s sword tonight.”

  Jasper thought she spoke the words with a slight edge of warning in her voice.

  “I see,” Rico replied. “It’s such an honor to meet you,” he said, bowing politely. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me without my hair on.”

  “I do always enjoy seeing what goes on behind closed doors,” Jasper replied. “The truth of things, if you will.”

  Rico kept the smile on his face and bowed again as he backed away. “I’ll just be . . . back here.” He pointed to the door he had come from and waved off Janet. “I’ll fix the microphone myself. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “Unique character,” Jasper said. He turned and accepted the glass of whiskey from Janet. “Are all of your staff so eccentric?”

  “We’re all very close here,” Janet said. “Eccentricities and all. Like a family.”

  He glanced around the bar area. “Who else is part of your little family?”

  “Well, my wife Ann is upstairs.” Janet wiped her hands off again. “She’s the star of the show, so make yourself comfortable. I’ll go get her.” She crossed from behind the bar to a staircase and disappeared.

  Jasper pressed his lips into a line and wandered over to the kitchen door. He pushed it open to get a look inside. The area was bustling with activity, an army of misfits under the supervision of an aproned woman with purple hair. She looked up and glowered at his intrusion, but her mouth fell open at the sight of his tailored suit and the signet ring on his finger. Jasper studied each of the occupants of the kitchen, registering their faces, then removed himself back to the bar.

  “Lord Sterling, I’d like for you to meet my wife,” Janet said, coming down the hall. “This is Ann.”

  The woman who stepped from behind the tavern owner had caramel skin and a brilliant smile. Her black hair was pulled behind her head. She was modestly dressed in a white blouse and slacks. She extended her hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Sterling.”

  He accepted her hand and shook it. “The honor is mine, I’m sure.” He noted the ornate wooden case that she held cradled in her other arm. “I take it this is your masterwork. The sword of the hour.”

  Ann smiled. “It is. I’m looking forward to having it judged tonight.”

  “Well, there’s no time like the present,” Jasper said. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

  “Now?” Ann said. “Of course. I’ll find a table to—”

  “Nonsense,” Jasper said, reaching out and grabbing hold of the end of the box. Ann hesitantly released her grip on it. Jasper set the case on the bar top and unceremoniously flipped open the lid. But even in the poor light of the bar, the sight of the sword took him aback. “Wow. Now that . . . is a sword,” he said.

  He reached into t
he case and grasped the twisting, purplish wood of the handle, lifting the sword from its case and balancing it in his palm. Ann seemed ready to step forward at any moment as though he was dangling an infant by its toes.

  “Exquisite,” Jasper said. “And as a son of the House of a Thousand Swords, I should know, wouldn’t you say?" He glanced at Janet. She forced a smile to her lips.

  Ann was still looking on anxiously, her expression caught somewhere between hope and nausea.

  “A bit of a lie though, our moniker,” Jasper continued. “I doubt we have anywhere close to a thousand named swords. A few hundred, certainly. Like one I came across recently. A legacy sword. Its name is Durendal—rumored to be the sharpest sword in the world.” He studied the edge of Ann’s sword. “But I must say this one appears to be a contender for that title.” He pressed a finger to the edge.

  “I wouldn’t—” Ann began.

  But it was too late. The blade bit into his skin.

  “Jeezus,” he said. “That is sharp.” It took a moment for the cut to bleed, but then a single droplet of blood appeared on his fingertip. He popped the finger into his mouth and sucked on it, the taste of blood registering on his tongue.

  “I’ll get you a towel,” Janet said.

  “No need,” Jasper said, pulling his finger from his mouth while continuing to examine the sword. “You know someone tried to kill me with it? Durendal. It’s hanging in Castle Sterling now of course, and my challenger is dead.” He tossed Ann’s sword casually from one hand to the other and back again. “But one of the would-be assassins is still loose somewhere, do you believe it?” He fixed his eyes on Janet. “A girl, no less. Completely out of her mind. Goes by the name Valerie, formerly of the house of Terravecchia.”

  “We’re certainly sorry for your troubles,” Janet said.

  Her eyes were hard despite the words that came from her mouth.

  “Troubles. Yes. I suppose that is one way to phrase it,” Jasper replied. He dipped the blade of the sword until the tip was pointed at Ann and peered down its length at her. “It does seem like you have a fine future in store for yourself. Both of you.” He casually angled the sword so that it pointed at Janet. “If you can avoid . . . troubles.”

  The women remained silent. Their eyes no longer followed the tip of the sword. They were both staring back at him with faces that may as well have been made of stone.

  “Best of luck to you tonight,” Jasper said, swinging the sword around with a flourish and presenting the grip to Ann. “It truly is a masterpiece.”

  Ann wrapped her fingers around the pommel, but Jasper didn’t release his hold on it. “It would make a fine addition to any collection. If you ever plan to part with it, do let me know.” He let go of the sword, and Ann took an involuntary step back.

  Jasper bowed politely to Janet, then turned and pushed his way out the front door.

  He strode directly across the street, heedless of the cart and pedestrian traffic that was forced to make way for him. Blaise and the two bodyguards rushed off the porch of the Swan and Pelican to meet him.

  “Start the car,” Jasper said.

  The two guards leapt to comply.

  “We’re leaving?” Blaise asked.

  Jasper reached into his pocket and removed his handkerchief, using it to cover his nose. “We’ll be back.”

  22

  Wet

  Valerie sucked a last breath just before the light vanished, and resisted the urge to gasp from shock.

  Cold.

  The deep water was more frigid than she expected, and she was turned upside down as soon as she was under.

  The surge of waves from the Shogun’s impact turned her end over end.

  Valerie chased her own escaping air bubbles as she tried to orient which way was up. The briefcase in her grip tugged toward the surface, but she resisted the pull, staying under long enough to shed her mask and strip out of her sweatshirt. As the hoodie floated gently below the surface, she forced the briefcase beneath her and stayed submerged, kicking hard and angling away from the pier. Her boots were heavy and made swimming twice as hard, but she refused to lose them.

  When she had held her breath for as long as possible, she finally surfaced to orient herself. She clenched the briefcase to her abdomen and spun around, scanning the water for any sign of Eli.

  She spotted a head. He was treading water thirty yards closer to the pier.

  As he bobbed over a passing wave, Eli spotted her and began splashing in her direction. The current was rapidly sweeping them both away from the pier. Valerie ducked under the waves and swam hard for Eli. When she came up again, she was less than ten yards from the boy. He was again treading water and had evidently been waiting for her to surface.

  People were gathering at the end of the pier. Some were pointing to the area where the Shogun had disappeared. Valerie pointed to a cluster of sailboats anchored to the east. “We’ll head that way! Stay underwater as long as you can.”

  Eli nodded. A glint of steel shone from the pier approach, and she noted a contingent of helmeted soldiers trooping along the boards, their lances out as they detained citizens. She ducked underwater again and swam.

  The current was strong, and she could feel it pulling her along. The water was too murky to make out the seafloor, but she could still sense her speed from the changing cloud shadows on the water. When she came up for air again, she was several hundred yards from the pier, far enough that even if someone did see her, they would have a hard time making out details.

  There were more heads in the water near the base of the pier as people who had leapt to safety attempted to cling to the pilings or take the direct route to shore. She hoped that the attention of the City Watch would be occupied long enough for her to escape detection. There were boats in the water, but none appeared to belong to the Watch.

  A fisherman in a flat-bottomed skiff spotted her bobbing in the waves and gave a shout.

  “You there! Do you need a hand?”

  “Yeah!” came the reply from behind her.

  Eli had surfaced a dozen yards from Valerie and immediately began swimming toward the vessel.

  “No, Eli,” Valerie hissed. “He might want to take us in.”

  But Eli paid her no attention, swimming hand over hand to the boat and clinging with relief to a line the fisherman threw overboard. Eli reached the edge of the boat and immediately climbed aboard, only turning to encourage Valerie once his feet were firmly planted on the deck.

  Valerie took another look at the pier receding in the distance, then resigned herself to the rescue and swam to the skiff.

  The old fisherman extended a hand over the rail and clasped her wrist with calloused fingers. He hauled her up in one swift motion, lifting Valerie far enough that she could toss the briefcase aboard and cling to the gunnel. She slid over the rail and collapsed in an undignified heap before righting herself and climbing back to her feet.

  The fisherman studied her boots, then his eyes roamed up her trousers to linger unabashedly at the tank top that clung scandalously tight against her chest. Valerie scooped up the silver briefcase and hugged it, then looked at Eli who, to his credit, was not gawking at her soaking wet figure but was simply working to regain his breath. His mouth hung open as he inhaled gulps of salty air.

  “Bit of a hubbub over there on the pier, eh? That splash was something to behold,” the old timer said. “You two are lucky it didn’t smash you under.”

  Eli looked like he was about to speak, but Valerie interrupted. “We leapt clear just as that car was coming by. Must have been some kind of . . . crazy person.”

  “Crazy to be sure,” the old man said. “Did you get a good look at a face?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Valerie glanced uncertainly at Eli.

  “Big guy,” Eli said. “Looked angry.”

  “Very angry,” Valerie said. “That man. Very big. Bearded, right?” She looked back to Eli. “You see a beard on him?”

  “And he only had one eye,
” Eli added.

  “Is that so?” the fisherman replied. “No doubt some manner of fearsome warrior then. The car looked to be a war machine if my eyes told the truth.”

  “Could be,” Valerie replied. “Just so glad we got out of the way.” She glanced around, eyeing the other boats in the area. She spotted a Sea Patrol cruiser headed in from the channel. “Hey, do you think you could get us ashore? We have friends who will be worried.”

  “Of course I can,” the old man replied. “You want I should take you back over to the pier and put you up there?”

  “No!” Valerie and Eli blurted out simultaneously.

  “I mean, heading against the current isn’t necessary,” Valerie added. “Putting us ashore at the next dock east would be fine. Are we anywhere near Tidewater?”

  “Tidewater? Why, that’s the far side of the peninsula. I can take you as far as Welsh Point if that’ll suit you.”

  “Is that closer to Tidewater?” Valerie asked.

  “It is if you go over land.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Welsh Point then.”

  “Stow that for me, lad,” the man said, handing the coiled line to Eli, “and let’s be off.”

  Valerie lent a hand as well, and the little boat came around and headed downwind again. The fisherman, who finally introduced himself as Gaspar, took a firm grip on the tiller and steered them along the edge of the harbor and around the bend.

  Valerie was relieved to see the pier and its new collection of patrol boats vanish from view.

  They still caught some attention. Mostly, it was just friendly waves from boat captains or the crew of other fishing vessels, but Valerie caught more than a few glances from folks who recognized that she was soaking wet and clearly cold in the chilly, late afternoon breeze.

  She did her best to keep her teeth from chattering, but there was no disguising the goose pimples that rose along her forearms. “Fetch yourselves some towels,” Gaspar said, indicating a hold near the front of the boat. “Can’t say how clean they be, but it’ll keep you out of the wind.”