In the morning, Captain Martin walked out to enjoy the city of Barcino, leaving his associate Jules Le Beau to meet with Jerôme's second. Encouraging the local clothiers made for a delightful excursion, and the sea air was invigorating. It nearly took away the sensation that the good Captain was about to duel, injure, or even kill a man whose only crime was to have read a book that the Captain had himself written, for the purpose of impressing the alcalde and securing an invitation to his party.
At the Caballo Negro, Jules looked up from his morning's coffee to see a Swordsman of modest means enter the salon. The fellow's eye scanned the room, found Jules, and flickered briefly. He approached, saluted, and opened the negotiations. The duel between Captain Martin and Private Jerôme could not be averted by apology, nor was one offered. The affair would proceed to the first deep wound, would be conducted at the Guild Hall, and would take place that afternoon. With representatives of both parties in agreement, the meeting concluded.
Asgard and Thomas, meanwhile, pored over the map of the alcalde's house, fixing each place in mind for the coming party, so that there would be no hesitation when the time came. Don Cristian met briefly with his protegee Andrea Espinoza to suggest attending a duel that afternoon. Their guest of the previous evening, Captain Martin Riche de la Paroisse, would be one of the principals, and so the matter would be of some little interest. The Captain himself dressed and pondered his strategy for the afternoon, then swept out to the Guild hall, with barely a smoldering glance to spare for his darling Garcia, who had taken advantage of the Captain's generosity to outfit himself with more attractive clothing.
The preliminaries were brief. The swords were of similar length, neither blade was poisoned, Sorcery was not to be used, and neither man was carrying a pistol. Jerôme stepped into the circle, taking the stance of a soldier ready to do his job. Captain Martin sauntered to the circle, bowed to those attending, then eyed his opponent archly.
"Since you love them so, why don't I fight you in the manner of those Castillians of yours?"
Then, he took the stance of the Aldana School, and commenced battle. As Jerôme thrust time and again, the Captain repeatedly tapped his blade aside, then lightly scratched the soldier's arm, cheek, knee, or whatever other target presented itself, dancing lightly with a mocking smile. The soldier's anger grew more heated, slashing more determinedly, but seeing his blade smacked aside each time. The Captain began to press his opponent more sharply now, snipping buttons from the soldier's shirt, and stinging him with the taunt that he had best learn better manners than to raise his hand to an aristocrat.
Then, as if by some act of grace, Jerôme saw his opening, and sank his point deep into the Captain's forearm. Cursing him for a filthy peasant, the Captain swept in, stabbing the soldier's thigh. Both men were bleeding now, and while the soldier had clearly won. The Captain, however, had the hearts and ears of the crowd. Continuing to mock, to cut, and to tease his prey, he had brought the soldier to distraction. The judge began to step forward, stopped in consternation as neither man conceded, then shrugged to the duelists' seconds.
In a fury at the insults pouring over him, Jerôme lunged forward, intent upon driving his steel straight through the Captain's breast. Stepping aside lightly, the Captain spun on his heel, and drove a fist straight into the chin of the over-extended soldier, dropping him to his knees as the seconds finally ran to the circle and declared the match complete. The Captain let himself be led away, after a parting word to the soldier.
"Learn to use your betters more properly in the future, young man, and master your passions-- I fear they'll be your undoing... "
He allowed his friend Denis to stitch up his arm, accepting the accolades of those who had attended, feeling sick inside. Hadn't they seen? Didn't they realize that Jerôme had won? Was that all it took to be accounted the winner? Red hands and a vicious tongue? He might as well have been... and then went pale for a moment.
I might as well have been Lady Jamais, he thought, horrified.
Excusing himself for a moment, he took up paper and pen, and withdrew to a private room. In his most pedestrian hand, he began to write:
Monsieur Jerôme
i saw you fight and you fought well.
you are an honorable man.
do not let the cruel words of others steal your dreams or the goodness that is in your heart.
i am proud that you are my countryman and that your courage keeps my family safe.
my friends and i collected this to help you on your trip.
may theus bless you and keep you safe from all evil.
i hope this sounds all right and that the man who wrote this wrote what i said.
a friend.
Wadding together several crumpled Guilder notes into the message, he folded it shut and gave it to a messenger to deliver-- anonymously-- to the soldier that evening.
Dinner with Don Cristian and Andrea was delightful, and congratulations all round brought the evening to a fine conclusion. In the morning, the Captain and Asgard went to pay their respects to the alcalde, to express their horror at the attack on his person, and to see if they could aid him in any way. Eventually shown in to a parlor, they met the man, and were again struck by the unnerving resemblance he and Thomas shared. The Captain twittered over the shocking accident, clucked over the alcalde's injury (carefully noting its location and severity so that Thomas could later duplicate it the more effectively), and pressed for news of the impending party, as Asgard made herself available for conversation, admiration, and began to work her wiles. The Captain noted as they left, with no little annoyance, that the alcalde had not invited him after all.
After a brief luncheon, the Captain and Jules took a turn about the market of Barcino, meeting up with Andrea and the diva of the Numan Seat, Consuela. They viewed the ships in port, saw the alcalde's mansion up on its lofty hill, and gazed out over the water straining to see Buché. Sharing a dinner, they waited for the diva to excuse herself, so that the Captain could asked, quietly, whether Don Cristian had been Andrea's patron long, what she knew of him, and whether there was more to the association than theater. No inkling of comprehension appeared to these veiled questions, however, and the matter was dropped. The ladies were escorted back to the Numan Seat, and a quiet evening passed. As each lay drifting to sleep, Andrea and the Captain each wondered whether the other would need to be killed.
Denis Leveque, meanwhile, conferred with an old apothecary, noting the dosage and onset time of the drugs he was purchasing. Just so much, dissolved in a bottle of wine, would produce unconsciousness for many hours. The exact dose depended on the person of course, so the patient would need to be closely monitored. Then again, a surgeon like Denis would be familiar with such things, no?
The following day, as the party approached, Don Cristian met with his protegee over dinner, privately. The diva Consuela looked daggers at her subordinate's intimacy with the wealthy Don. It simply was not done, this close association with lower actresses, when a true star was ignored! Wheels began to turn in her head. Don Cristian, in the meantime, spoke quietly with Andrea, sharing his knowledge of her occasional nocturnal excursion in black clothes, armed, in search of Montaigne soldiers to dispatch. He represented an organization that wished to help Castille against its invaders, and he wished her assistance in this goal. Andrea enthusiastically agreed, and was shocked at Don Cristian's revelation that she would have an opportunity to aid her country greatly in a few days, and that Captain Martin and his fellows Denis, Jules, Victoire, and Thomas would be her partners. Apparently, he would not need to be killed after all, she smiled to herself.
That evening, all the conspirators met. The plan they formed was a simple one: Andrea would introduce her understudy, Asgard, to the alcalde. After the play at the alcalde's estate, she would act as go-between to arrange an assignation between the two. Thomas would attend the party masked, as a lackey to Andrea. Once Asgard and the alcalde were alone, Quinn's knockout drugs, mixed in wine, would take effect. Thomas could switch clothes and mask with the alcalde and take his place at the party, while Quinn and Asgard escorted the obviously drunken lackey to the coach, where he could be hidden in the underseat compartment for transportation south. Henri reported on the alcalde's injury, and the Heroes mused over how Thomas could achieve a similar injury. Thomas fumed that the question was ridiculous and should have been handled long since. Henri felt the words rising unbidden to his lips and let them go.
"If a shooting is required, we could always allow Garcia to catch us in bed together, Thomas. There is of course a danger that he would shoot me by mistake... "
Thomas went pale with anger, hissing that such a thing was an unpardonable insult. Henri purred that they'd speak no more of it, and endeavor to think of a better plan. Finally, the decision was to heat a blade in the fire, and pass it along Thomas' upper arm, to produce a scar if not an actual bullet grazing. Teeth gritted, the twin submitted to the ordeal, which Quinn dressed carefully to both prevent infection and preserve the necessary scar.
The party was the following day. All clothing was tried, adjusted, and fussed over. With no invitation arriving from the alcalde, Captain Martin agreed to attend as an assistant of the players, and the carriages of actors and conspirators made their way up the hill to the estate. With all in readiness, Andrea and Asgard retired to Andrea's dressing area to prepare. Asgard sipped the wine that had been provided them. Jules, Martin, and Denis unloaded gear and went forward to dine. Thomas remained in attendance upon the ladies. As they went their several ways through the party, Denis saw a familiar face. He informed Jules, then went in search of the Captain, who was surprised and delighted to hear that someone from the island of Casa Blanca was in attendance at the party-- Lieutenant Audra Antrée.
The Captain's eyes lit up. He thanked his friend, and soon found her in conversation with another officer. From one of the players, carrying a basket of masks for the guests to wear, he selected a feathered and beaded creation that he thought might suit her, then snatched up two glasses of wine. He was gratified to see her conversation concluding as he returned. With a deep bow, he offered her a glass and asked if she wished a mask.
The sword scar that ran down her left cheek twitched slightly, as she asked what he meant. It twitched a second time as he suggested that it was only justice to the other ladies in attendance that she go masked. She began to flush, sure that an insult was coming. He continued, arguing that inasmuch as they had no chance of competing with her wit or her bearing, it was simply unfair that she so outshine them in beauty as well. She relaxed slightly, still wondering what this masked man could want of her, and why he seemed so familiar.
They took seats together as the play began, with quiet banter between them giving pleasure to both. The Captain saw her astonishment, and coloring, as he recited in whispers one of the poems he had composed for her, and she allowed a firm hand to rest on his as the players reprised their performance of the previous nights. As the play wound to a close, the diva continued to look oddly at Andrea, who played her part to the hilt. Andrea, for her part, was feeling a bit thirsty and regretted not having had at least a glass of the wine at her dressing table. Finally, applause rippled through the grand hall, seats were cleared away, and music began to call the guests to dance. Andrea mused at her understudy's absence, then she and Jules both noted her trailing slowly along one wall, listening at the doors of the private chambers, and giggling giddily to herself. Jules took her by an arm, and looked into her glazed eyes. She suddenly grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the music, demanding a dance. Andrea looked from the euphoric understudy to the perplexed diva, remembered the wine laid out for her backstage and cursed silently. The switch had just become more difficult. Andrea would have to seduce the alcalde herself, now...