“I will give you a chance to acquit yourself with honor,” said Lafitte. “Dominique, I charge you to carry out my orders. If Vincent should succeed in killing me, he and his crew go free. No one is to interfere. Understood?”
“Understood, Jean,” said Dominique.
“He will keep my word,” Lafitte said to Gambi. “Now, you wanted to challenge me, here is your chance. Make the most of it.”
Gambi growled and charged.
Lafitte smoothly drew his sword and, in the same motion, beat down Gambi’s blade and sidestepped the attack. He turned, moving lightly on his feet, one hand on his hip, the other holding the sword out before him, wrist circling slightly as he came back on guard. He looked bored.
“Come, Vincent, you will never win your freedom that way,” he said. “A little more finesse, eh?”
Gambi swore and returned to the attack, moving more cautiously now that his first rush had failed. He attempted a cut at Lafitte’s head, but Lafitte parried neatly, beat and riposted, slashing at Gambi’s shoulder. A bright streak of red appeared through Gambi’s shirt. They disengaged, circling each other on the sand as Gambi’s men called out their encouragement to him. Gambi bent down quickly and scooped up a handful of sand, flinging it at Lafitte’s face, but Lafitte read the move and ducked quickly to one side as Gambi moved in for a thrust.
Gambi recovered fast, but not before Lafitte opened up his cheek with a lightning slash across his face. Gambi howled and charged again, but Lafitte sidestepped him, playing him like a toreador plays a bull, working close to the body and using the barest minimum of motion. It was no contest. Gambi realized this and became desperate, flailing away madly with his saber and trying to put Lafitte on the defensive. Lafitte retreated smoothly, parrying each stroke and lunge, leading Gambi on, laughing and taunting him.
“Come, Vincent, come on, again, faster! Faster!”
Blade clanged against blade as Gambi desperately pressed his attack, sweat running down his face. His crew, thinking he was gaining the advantage, cheered him on, but then Lafitte stood his ground, his sword describing spare arabesques in the air as it darted in at Gambi, cutting, slashing, pricking, sting ing like a persistent bee as Gambi started to retreat. Each disengage met with a counter disengage, each parry with a riposte, each lunge turned aside as Lafitte pressed on, driving Gambi back until finally he lost his footing and fell. Snarling, he reached behind his neck and pulled a dagger from the sheath hanging down his back. He hurled it at Lafitte, but in mid-air Lafitte’s sword deflected it in an astonishing display of quick reactions. He stood, waiting for Gambi to get back to his feet.
“Enough of this,” he said. “I’m done with indulging you. It’s time for the coup de grace.”
Gambi glanced around wildly, but there was no escape. With a scream, he lunged at Lafitte. Lafitte spun his blade, wrenching it out of his grasp and in the same motion, ran him through the chest. Gambi gasped, clutched at his chest and fell face down onto the sand. Lafitte looked down at him and sighed.
“Stupid man,” he said. He glanced at Gambi’s suddenly silent crew and then at Dominique.
“Kill them,” he said, and walked into the house without looking back.
10
Lafitte seemed to have completely forgotten the morning’s episode with Vincent Gambi by midday, when he announced he would be going into New Orleans to see his brother. He insisted Drakov come along, so they could dine together in the French Quarter. Together with Jules Verne and Dominique Youx, they left in the early afternoon. Land chose to remain behind, which surprised them, but his reasons became clear later on, when he was seen walking hand in hand with Marie toward the back end of the island. Grigori, anxious to be away from “the peasants,” as he called Lafitte’s men, went aboard the Valkyrie to make things ready for their departure, leaving Lucas, Finn and Andre alone with Martingale and Lafitte’s servants in the house.
Before he left, Drakov took them aside and thanked them for saving Martingale’s life. “His death would have been a great loss to me,” Drakov said. “He’s the best of my mercenaries. I have invested a great deal of time in training him. His adaptability to unusual situations is impressive. However, I must admit to being curious about why you interfered.”
“It had less to do with Martingale and the odds against him than it did with the Valkyrie,” said Lucas. “We’ve got enough to worry about with stopping you without having a time ship fall into the hands of a pirate like Gambi.”
“As practical as ever, Mr. Priest,” said Drakov, smiling.”You still believe you can prevail. I admire that.”
“I could do without your admiration,” Lucas said.
“Pity,” Drakov said. “I rather like you. You are a man of principles, a rarity in any time. Of all the men I’ve ever met, I respect you the most. Which is why I want to make certain we understand one another. You three are unquestionably the First Division’s finest, which is why it would be fitting for my father to receive the news of his defeat from you. Tomorrow morning, we shall be leaving Barataria for my base. I fully expect you to attempt something. I would be disappointed in you if you did not. However, I will remind you that I am at war and that you three are prisoners of war. The battle for you is over. I will take special precautions to insure that you do not have any opportunity to cause trouble. When we arrive at my base, you will find yourself even more helpless than you have been up to now. If you find that idea intolerable, Mr. Priest, then I urge you to escape now, while you can. It will not be easy, but no one will pursue you and you may be able to make contact with someone in the Underground eventually. If not, there are worse times in which to be marooned. But I hope you will remain. If you do, you will become a part of history. I leave the choice to you.”
After the others had left, they found Martingale on the veranda, being attended by two young women Lafitte assigned to him while he recovered from his injuries. He sat in a cane chair while the girls fanned him, poured him rum and fed him bits of sweetmeats with their fingers.
“You look like a dissolute Roman emperor,” said Lucas. Martingale grinned and sent the girls inside to bring more glasses and more rum.
“You seem to be bearing up remarkably well,” said Andre. “Try not to strain yourself.”
“The trouble with Lafitte is that he likes ‘em too damn young,” said Martingale. “What the hell have I got to say to a couple of sixteen- or seventeen-year-olds, fresh from the Gold Coast? They’re babies. They don’t know anything. Now you, on the other hand, you and I could probably find a thing or two to talk about.”
“Right now I’ll settle for talking about what we’re going to do about this mess,” said Andre.
“Have a seat,” said Martingale. The slaves brought out the rum and glasses, then he sent them away while they talked.
“Lafitte certainly has a hard life,” said Finn. “He’s come a long way since he was a filthy little street urchin in Paris.”
“He’ll be on the way back down again before too long,” said Martingale. “He’s too visible, too famous. The secret of success is to keep your head down.”
“You consider yourself successful, do you?” Andre said.
“I’m doing exactly what I want to do,” said Martingale. “That’s all being successful is. It’s not about money or anything else. I say I’m in it for the money because that’s something Drakov understands. He’s got lots of it. People who have lots of money understand real well what it’s about when someone comes to them wanting some of it. They can deal with it because they know the rules of that game. Drakov could never understand you like I do. He doesn’t even understand the rules you operate under.”
“What makes you think you do?” said Finn. “You opted out of the game, as you put it.”
Martingale shook his head. “No, 1 didn’t. 1 just changed the rules around a little, so they would suit me more. The game is still the same, in many respects. Not to get overly philosophical, but life’s just a joke. You’re born, you struggle, you learn, you grow, you accomplish, then you die. No matter what you manage to pull off, death is still the final reward. So it’s a joke. No matter who you are or what you do, everyone gets paid off the same.”