Chaunquler walked over to a tall, broad marble tombstone that made a perfect table. He drew a black cloth from his waistcoat pocket, shook it with a loud snap that caused Rodrigo to flinch, and spread the cloth on the tombstone. Valazquez and Piefer removed their cloaks and handed them to a servant, who took them back to the carriage. The two men advanced onto the lawn.
Valazquez wore a shirt with long sleeves and a fancifully embroidered waistcoat decorated with peacocks and flowers trimmed in golden thread, gray breeches, and black boots. He stood aloof from the proceedings, as was proper. Rodrigo mechanically took off his coat and draped it over the head of a marble angel. He stood shivering in the chill mist, his face exceedingly pale. He watched the proceedings with a detached air, as though this was happening to someone else and he was merely a confused observer.
Stephano noted with interest that Piefer was openly wearing a lightweight leather breastplate inlaid with sigils-magical constructs made of thin brass. Stephano had been feeling guilty for having put on his own magically enhanced chain mail beneath his waistcoat; the implication was that he did not trust his honored second. Stephano guessed that Piefer’s long coat also had various magical constructs sewn into it. Since both he and Sir Richard were acting as seconds, nothing in the rules prohibited them from wearing such protection. Apparently, Piefer did not trust his opponents any more than they trusted him.
“Bring the pistols forward for examination,” said Chaunquler in cold, dispassionate tones.
Piefer motioned to one of his servants, who brought forth a beautiful case made of ebony. He placed it on the tombstone that was serving as a table and then withdrew.
“Are these your pistols, my lord?” Chaunquler asked Piefer
“They are, sir,” said Piefer.
“Have you any objection to the use of pistols provided by your opponent, Captain?” Chaunquler asked Stephano.
“None in the least, sir,” said Stephano. “I assume I will be permitted to examine them.”
“Certainly! I do know the rules, Captain,” said Chaunquler sharply, annoyed.
“I meant no offense, sir,” said Stephano.
Mollified, Chaunquler grunted and reached out his large, puffy hands to open the ebony box, revealing a pair of matched dueling pistols, a brass powder horn, lead balls, and small patches of oiled cloth nestling beside the guns.
Stephano picked up one of the pistols and took several moments to thoroughly examine it, looking for any signs of magical constructs that might either interfere with the pistol’s firing mechanism or enhance it. Rodrigo would have been better suited to the task, but permitting one of the duelists to examine the weapons was very much against the rules.
Satisfied, Stephano loaded the gun, pointed it at the ground, and pulled the trigger. Rodrigo shuddered visibly at the sound. Piefer gave a faint, disdainful smile that made Stephano long to knock it off the Freyan’s face. He kept himself in firm control. He had to, for Rodrigo’s sake. But Stephano resolved privately that no matter what happened today, he and the Freyan would meet again. Piefer picked up the second weapon, examined it, and fired.
Chaunquler then examined the two pistols. Satisfied that both guns were smooth bore, as the rules required; that both were in good working order; and that neither had been magically enhanced, he returned them to the seconds. Each man reloaded his pistol and placed it back in the case. Both men turned to Chaunquler, who had been watching with a critical eye.
“You are both satisfied?” he asked.
Piefer and Stephano nodded and Chaunquler continued.
“The seconds will now determine the distance,” said Chaunquler.
“Ten paces,” said Piefer.
“Twenty,” said Stephano, thinking that the farther Rodrigo was from Valazquez the better the odds he might come out of this alive.
Piefer was not pleased. He argued that ten paces was the rule, but Chaunquler stated that such was not the case. He decreed that twenty paces was acceptable. Piefer glanced at Valazquez, who shrugged. Piefer agreed with an ill grace.
Once this matter was settled, Chaunquler motioned. “The two participants will please come forward. I will check to make sure neither is using magic to gain any advantage. Are we agreed that I may proceed?”
“Of course, sir,” Piefer answered.
“We are, sir,” said Stephano.
Valazquez walked to the table and began to unbutton his waistcoat. Rodrigo made no motion to walk over, and Stephano had to call his name in a low undertone. Rodrigo looked at him pleadingly, begging him to tell him this was some sort of strange mischance and they could all go home to a good breakfast. Stephano’s heart ached, but he could do nothing. The duel had to proceed. He motioned to the table and Rodrigo, gently sighing, began to try to unbutton his waistcoat. His trembling fingers fumbled.
Valazquez laid his waistcoat on the table and, as he did so, he cast Rodrigo an odd glance, as though he seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t make up his mind. Stephano noticed the glance and so did Piefer. The Freyan frowned and walked up to Valazquez and said something to him in such a low voice that Stephano could not hear. Stephano watched Valazquez closely and saw the young man shake his head. He continued to appear to be undecided and Stephano had a sudden wild hope that Valazquez wanted to call off the duel. Perhaps he was afraid or perhaps he had discovered he’d accused the wrong man. Piefer appeared to be attempting to bolster the young man’s resolve.
Stephano tried frantically to think of some way of speaking to Valazquez, but the rules of dueling strictly prohibited either second from talking to the opposing combatant. As for Rodrigo, he was completely oblivious to anything. He took off his waistcoat and went to lay it on the tombstone and missed. The waistcoat fell to the ground. He stared at it as though trying to figure out what it was doing there. Stephano picked it up for him and rested it on the black cloth.
Chaunquler went about his job briskly and efficiently. He turned both waistcoats inside-out, searching for magical constructs that might deflect a bullet. Finding nothing, he then asked each man to hold out his arms. Chaunquler examined the shirts each man was wearing. This done, he asked if there was a possibility that either man could be dissuaded from this course of action.
A slight breeze had risen, enough to cause the mists to swirl about the boles of the trees. The breeze ruffled a few loose strands of Rodrigo’s hair, that he wore tied back. He was deathly pale, no color in his face. His brown eyes appeared unusually large. He made some movement with his lips that might have been a “no.” Chaunquler turned to Valazquez, who cleared his throat.
“Before we commence, I have a sentiment I wish to express to Monsieur de Villeneuve,” he said.
Stephano’s heart beat fast. Rodrigo’s cheek stained with a faint flush of hope. Piefer looked angry and disapproving.
Valazquez made a slight bow. “It would be unseemly of me if I did not express my sympathy to Monsieur de Villeneuve on the death of his father.”
Rodrigo stared at the man. He looked dazedly at Stephano.
“What did he say?”
“That your father is dead,” said Stephano, shocked. He wondered if this was some ploy by Valazquez to attempt to rattle Rodrigo.
“That can’t be!” said Rodrigo, shaken.
“We are both amazed by this terrible news, Monsieur,” said Stephano sternly. “My friend has heard nothing of this. Please explain yourself.”
Valazquez looked startled. “Truly? He has heard nothing? Then I fear I am the bearer of ill tidings. My father, as the Estaran ambassador, received the news last night. Monsieur de Villeneuve was the victim of an assassin’s bullet. The murderer escaped, unfortunately, but the authorities are doing all they can to find him. They have evidence that he was a Travian. Probably having to do with this lamentable dispute over Braffa.”