The background knowledge programmed into the sim backed him up a hundred percent. Duels were supposed to be private affairs-audiences were frowned upon. Female audiences were especially frowned upon, although there were a couple of scandalous historical references. But for a member of a royal house to involve him- or herself in such an irregular affair..
In properly old-fashioned terms it just wasn't done.
Megan's initial response was the urge to yell "Frack that!" and go to back up Leif, regardless of the consequences.
But then, she wasn't really Megan O'Malley in this here and now. She was in a sim, playing Marguerite O'Malley, adventurous society girl masquerading as Princess Gwenda. Marguerite would never use language like "Frack that!" And the real princess wouldn't be caught dead at a duel.
Standing beside her, the older man watched the duelists head off for the walled garden. Then he glanced at Megan. "You and the baron… is it a matter of the heart?"
Megan shot the old guy a look that could have scorched off his side whiskers. "We're just friends," she snapped. Then, in a lower voice, "If I were the real princess-"
"I would never have dared to ask such a thing," von Esbach finished for her in equally quiet tones. "However, dear lady, I am fighting for the life of my country. So I will risk an impertinent question if it will help discover a weakness to be defended." He nodded toward the garden. "Even as our antagonist seeks out any weaknesses he can exploit."
Megan's hand went to her mouth. "That man who challenged Leif-the baron-"
"One of Gray Piotr's creatures." Von Esbach almost spat out the word. "He's an unknown foreign adventurer, given rank in our army by the Master of Grauheim."
The prime minister bit off any further words as Gray Piotr himself approached. Once again he seemed to be scanning Megan with his monocle. Searching for signs of weakness?
"Your Majesty," Piotr murmured. "You left the court in such haste that many were surprised. Some even thought you were going off to witness the vulgar spectacle outside."
Oh, Vm sure your stooges are even now spreading that particular bit of dirt, Megan grimly thought.
She looked hard at the face, so like the Alan Slaney she admired… and yet so different.
"You can tell the court that I shall return-"
When I'm damn well good and ready, a rebellious voice piped up from the back of Megan's head.
"Presently," she finished aloud, deciding a more diplomatic tone was appropriate.
Then she ruined the effect by gasping as the gate of the walled garden swung open. Four men were carrying another. And even at that distance, she could make out the red hair on the lolling head.
"Is he-?" She couldn't force the words out.
Gray Piotr's mask of aristocratic irony cracked. He muttered some sort of command, and everything around them-the palace corridor, the courtyard outside-went gray. Beside them, Graf von Esbach stood frozen like a store mannequin or some hyper-realistic statue.
"Don't worry," Alan said-and it was Alan speaking, not Gray Piotr. "I'm just freezing the sim for a moment. It's hard to play a character and get all the information you want."
His face got a distant look, as if he were listening to a faraway voice. "You're friend's fine. No blood shed- he just got knocked unconscious. In fact, that's a simulacrum they're carrying. The real Leif synched out."
His smile of relief turned less pleasant. "So did Roberta Hendry, after her curtsy showed off more than she intended. The Viola da Gamba leaving the court is just a simulacrum, too."
He waved an arm at the scene. "I thought you'd like to know that everything's okay. This is just cleaning up the set."
Alan readjusted his monocle, and Graf von Esbach and everyone else came back to life. But a thoughtful frown remained on Megan's face all the way back to the throne room.
Megan had a different reason to frown during the next night's fencing practice. She was working with Sergei again, against the antagonist in the mirror-her reflection. They were practicing footwork and unexpected moves, one calling out orders as they both moved. "Advance! Retreat! Lunge!" Sergei called out.
Attacks with the point of the saber were valid in historical fencing, but hard to pull off successfully. By the time an attacker closed the distance, an alert defender could usually parry. A point attack was a trick that had to be pulled sparingly, at the right time.. and at the right speed. Megan hadn't expected Sergei's command, and bobbled as she thrust.
Sighing, she tried to do better with her next movements. "Retreat! Pass to the rear!" This was another tricky move. The standard fencing retreat was the reverse of the advance-pushing off on the forward foot, gliding the rear foot back about a foot and a half, then matching the movement with the forward foot to retain the en garde position. The movement was harder than it looked, because it had to be done smoothly, without making her weapon jump around. The passata was even stranger, a crablike quickstep executed at ninety degrees to the way she was used to walking. Megan's sword point wobbled as she tried to move and guard herself at the same time.
And they weren't even trying to do it quickly yet!
Sergei let her retreat a few more times, then began directing a new advance on the mirror. "By the way," he said as they took a brief rest, "I was approached to betray you yesterday."
Megan shot a look at Sergei, then her eyes sought the mirror, looking for their instructor. "Was it Alan-Gray Piotr?"
With a laugh, Sergei shook his head. "It is a very different plot, 1 fear-with a very different motive. There are several AHSO members, prominent in the SIG, who are annoyed at the part you have been given."
For a second, Megan didn't even know how to answer. "It's a sim, for frack's sake! A beta-test? Maybe they should get a life."
"Apparently the life they have chosen is historical simulation," Sergei replied. "From the note I received, they seem very jealous that an outsider received such a major role. They appealed to my sense of fairness to help in rectifying this mistake."
"Do you know these people?" Megan asked.
Sergei shrugged. "I am not an AHSO member myself. But they seem willing enough to allow me to play the lowly bodyguard." He drew himself up, his sword at the ready. "Do they think a Hussar would fail to defend his princess?"
Megan didn't know whether to laugh or be touched. "I guess they're not thinking much at all," she finally said. "I mean, it's a game."
Her frown returned as she remembered another game she'd been involved with. One of the players had really gone off the deep end, attacking his role-playing rivals in real life.
"Perhaps I should have played along, found out who was behind the note." Sergei sounded a little embarrassed.
"What did you do?"
The Russian boy's face grew a little pink. "I tore the note up and threw it in the messenger's face."
Megan couldn't hide her smile. "Very much in character."
"You're a Korpsbruder-er, sister. I mean, we're fellow fencers together."
"And I guess we should get back to fencing," she said, before he began to babble. "My turn to give the commands, I think. Retreat! Retreat! Retreat! Pass forward!"
At least now the tempo and body movements were things she could control..
"I hope you know what you're doing," David said tightly on his next visit to Latvinia. Against his better judgment, Leif and P. J. had persuaded him to get up on a horse. Except for a couple of fun-fair pony rides as a little kid, he'd never been in the saddle. It wasn't something kids from the streets of urban Washington did much, even in veeyar.
"Just follow your instincts," P. J. told him, reining in the high-stepping stallion he'd chosen. Leif's mount was a bit less spirited, but he seemed comfortable enough in the saddle. Riding was probably another of those elite sports he'd been trained in.