While Alicia recovered her new kilt from the dirt, Mjipa unhooked the scabbard from the swordsman's belt, slung it to his own belt, and picked up and sheathed the sword. "Now let's move!"
Between the gathering darkness and the lack of street signs, the two got completely lost. They were wandering aimlessly, trying to steer by one of the moons, when they stumbled upon a squad of the night watch. This consisted of a group of Kalwmian civilians tramping along with torches in their hands and halberds on their shoulders. When queried, these readily gave directions to Irants's Inn.
As they neared the inn, Mjipa saw a group of men lounging in front of the building. Something told Mjipa they were waiting for him. He whispered:
"Get behind me, Alicia! Now, when I say 'go!', run to where we saw the night watch. Find them and tell them to come as fast as they can. Don't get lost, and don't argue!"
He took a few more strides. The loungers straightened up alertly. Mjipa muttered, "Go!" and heard Alicia's footsteps patter away.
One of the loungers stepped towards Mjipa, the moonlight gleaming on his bared blade. The light of two moons, together with that from a cresset blazing in a wall bracket at the next corner, enabled Mjipa to recognize Khostavorn, who came steadily on. The Krishnan's face was mottled from Mjipa's blows.
The other gangsters spread out to surround Mjipa, but Khostavorn snapped: "Keep back! This alien's mine!"
Mjipa drew the sword he had taken from Khostavorn, and they engaged. They made passes—thrusts, cuts, and parries—cautiously at first. Mjipa wished he had paid closer attention to the fencing lessons that Ivar Heggstad had tried to pound into him.
The basket-hilted swords hissed, scraped, and clanged. Both were of similar pattern, substantial cut-and-thrust weapons not unlike the swords that officers in some Terran armies still wore for parades. They had straight blades a little under 80 centimeters long and four wide and weighed about one kilo. Khostavorn handled his blade with greater assurance and adeptness.
Mjipa barely parried a sudden lunge; another forced him to step back. He felt the sting of a cut as Khostavorn's point scraped the skin of his chest. Again, he got his blade against the Krishnan's barely in time. Back he went another step. His own lunges, cuts, thrusts, remises, doubles, and one-twos the Krishnan easily knocked aside.
The hilt of Mjipa's sword became slippery with sweat. Mjipa had a horrid feeling that the Krishnan was toying with him and could kill him any time he wished.
The action slowed as the fighters began to pant. Mjipa was relieved to see that his antagonist became short of breath just as he did; Khostavorn was not, after all, a tireless fighting machine. Perhaps, with Mjipa's superior height and reach, he could offset the Krishnan's greater skill—but then a sudden attack forced him to back up again; his foot slipped and for a flash he thought he was going to fall. But he recovered.
For an instant they stood motionless, blades engaged in sixte. Then Mjipa snatched his sword hand back and his blade up in a coupé. His lunge went under Khostavorn's blade before the latter even tried to parry. Apparently the coupé was unknown in Kalwm.
Mjipa's point went home with the slight jerkiness of a blade penetrating layers of organic tissue. Mjipa pulled the blade out and stepped back.
Khostavorn's sword wavered and fell to the street with a clang, as Khostavorn folded up and sprawled in the dirt.
The rest of the gang, five of them, were quietly surrounding Mjipa. Two had swords, the others knives or daggers.
With tigerish speed, Mjipa leaped at the smallest of the dagger men. With both hands on his hilt, he brought his sword down in a whistling cut at the Krishnan's shoulder. The whistle ended in a meaty sound; the gangster shrieked as his arm fell into the dirt. The others sprang at Mjipa, but the consul got his back against the wall of the inn. With his left hand he drew his dagger.
Although they were four to one, the remaining gangsters hesitated, muttering. From the words he caught, Mjipa gathered that each was urging the others to be the first to rush upon Mjipa's bloody blade.
At last the two swordsmen summoned courage to make a simultaneous advance. For a few seconds there was a wild meleé. Mjipa could do little but make desperate right-and-left parries to knock the two blades aside before they reached him. He felt the sting of another cut as one of the dagger men got close enough to nick his left arm. He replied with an awkward slash of his dagger, which laid open the Krishnan's cheek.
Then a clatter of footsteps and the light of bobbing torches down the street distracted the attackers. "The watch!" cried one. In a trice, the four still on their feet scampered off into the darkness.
The night watch arrived, puffing, with Alicia. All asked questions at once. They turned over Khostavorn's body, exclaiming his name. They peered at the gangster whom Mjipa had maimed. The Krishnan sat on the ground with his back to the wall, with his remaining hand clutching his wounded shoulder. Krishnan blood, looking black in the dim light, poured out between his fingers. He murmured:
"Aid me! Bind me up, pray, ere I die!"
"I know that one," said one of the watch. " 'Tis the cutpurse Yav. I'll tend to him. Stand back, hearties!"
The watchman swung his halberd. The ax blade crunched through the wounded Krishnan's neck. Yav's head fell into the dirt; the body toppled.
"Ye must come with us, Terran," said the commander of the squad.
"I understand," said Mjipa.
The watch set off. Two carried Khostavorn's body; two more that of Yav; another watchman bore Yav's arm in one hand and his head in the other. The remaining watchmen shouldered the halberds of the burden-bearers in addition to their own.
They entered a small building. A Kalwmian whose body paint indicated official status sat on the floor behind a low desk. Those bearing the remains of the dead gangsters dumped them in a corner. When the watchmen had given their story, the seated official said:
"The magistrate hath gone home for the night, so we must needs hold this Terran till morning."
"What of's leman?" A watchman indicated Alicia.
"Whereas she took no part in the affray, I see no cause to hold her. We shall find her at Irants's Inn when we wish. Ye, Terran, hand over your sword. Now, what's your name?"
Mjipa answered a long list of questions. When the official had noted the answers, Alicia said: "I ought to stay with you, Percy."
"Thanks, old thing; but no. If you want to be helpful, go back to the inn and fetch some disinfectant and bandages. Then go back and stay there, to keep an eye on Minyev and our gear. If they don't let me out tomorrow, go to Chanapar about it."
Next morning the magistrate had no sooner appeared and summoned Mjipa when a page arrived from the palace, out of breath. "My—my—my lords!" the lad burst out. "Word hath come to my masters of Master Mjipa's slaying of the agitator Khostavorn. They command that he be escorted to the palace forthwith!"
After the officials of Kalwm City had scurried about, Mjipa found himself marched to the palace by an escort of eight gilded soldiers. One of these bore the consul's sword and dagger; Mjipa supposed they were uncertain what treatment awaited him.
Mjipa was taken to Chanapar's office. The minister said: "Give Master Mjipa back his weapons. Great Phaighost, you are wounded!"
"Mere scratches," said Mjipa.
The Phathvum continued:"Word hath come, good my sir, of your deed of dought against that unsavory pack of rogues yestereve. Your slaying of Khostavorn is held in especial gratitude by His Awesomeness and myself.
"Know, Master Mjipa, this malefeasor is one whom all knew to be an evildoer, yet never have we truly laid him by the heels, for want of evidence. Oft hath he been arrested; but his fautors have so terrified all witnesses with threats of murder that none would speak up.