Queen of the Pirates (18 page)

All of the attention, both from the king and his Court, shifted to her. It wasn’t hostile, exactly. Or rather, it was hostile, but it was a hostility at her gender as much as her uniform. There were very few women in the crowd that weren’t obviously bimbos on the arm of someone important.

“Is this truth?” the king rumbled at her.

Jessica took a moment to scowl back at him. “It is.”

She could see a new light in the man’s eyes.
Here was a very dangerous player
, he was thinking. Almost dangerous enough to play games with the King of the Pirates.

If only he knew the real truth.

“Very well,
Warlock
,” the King announced. “You are home, and you are a free man.”

He paused for a moment, looking to the people on his left. “
Hellhound
,” he called out, “I will allow your challenge to
Warlock
, but do not insult
Aquitaine
in your haste for revenge or justice.”

Jessica picked up the man as soon as he moved. Not as tall as
Warlock
. Possibly as broad.
Hellhound
had medium length hair, brown and greasy. He moved with solidity, almost the opposite of
Warlock
’s easy grace. The scar on his face made him look like something of a wild animal. The light in the green eyes accentuated it.

He stepped out from the group into a space that suddenly opened as people scurried back out of the way. Perhaps five meters separated him from
Warlock
when he stopped.

The two men stared at each other for several moments.

“Captain Daneel Ishikura,” the man began, an unlikely tenor voice coming from such a large frame, “you and I have unfinished business before this Court. The blood feud is not forgotten. I challenge your right to stand here as a Captain and not a slave.”

Ishikura had pivoted to face the man and his friends, a bear brought to heel by a pack of dogs. Jessica watched closely as the pack dynamics played out.

Warlock
was silent for a few moments. He raised his chin and flipped his hair back with disdain.

“Captain Rory Agano,” he replied, equally formal, “I recognize your feud and your challenge.”

He appeared to smile, from what Jessica could see of the side of his face.

“How like you to wait in an alley to ambush a lone traveler, with only a dozen of your dogs for help. Will they be enough?”

Jessica nearly laughed as the captain known as
Hellhound
turned beet red. It almost felt like one of those children’s cartoons where steam would come out of the villain’s ears.

“You came here with her.”
Hellhound
pointed at Jessica with a hiss. “She can stand Second as your Witness.”

Jessica was pretty sure she actually heard a pin drop, somewhere over in a corner. Certainly nobody was breathing at that instant. Several of
Hellhound
’s mates suddenly looked nervous. Even the King of the Pirates stirred uncomfortably.

Warlock
turned to face her with his own nervous look. She pasted a neutral, questioning look on her own face and stared back at the men, daring either of them. She might have only come up to their shoulders, but she was pretty sure she could take either of them in a pinch. Maybe both of them.

“Admiral Keller,”
Warlock
began. The formal edges were gone from his voice, so this sounded much more like a conversation than a challenge. “It is customary to have an ally stand close by to witness the challenge and testify to the fairness later, if necessary.”

She watched something appear in his eyes. Not pleading. This was not a man who pled, and certainly not with a woman.

Perhaps a simple request for help?

“I do not have such an ally close at hand,” he continued. “Given the public nature of this challenge, nothing more would be asked of you than to bear witness today. You aided me once. May I ask a second favor?”

Jessica watched the flow of energy around the room.

Had he no friends in the room?

On the one hand, this had been planned to some degree, to put her in an awkward position. She couldn’t back out now without losing face with these people. And she suddenly had to take sides in a situation utterly foreign to her.

Again, testing the Republic for weakness, and trying to back–foot her. It probably had less to do with being a woman, although she could see some of that in the looks strangers gave her. It was more the uniform she wore. These men saw themselves as Robin Hood, and her as the law.

Fine. Let’s play rough, you assholes. I have an imperial admiral prisoner on my ship who could have taught you better. Maybe I should bring him down here, sometime.

Jessica stepped up to stand next to
Warlock
. She studied the stranger known as
Hellhound
for a few seconds, very obviously, the way a woman might inspect a man. Or, in this case, a side of slightly–spoiled beef.

She met his eyes for a moment and leered at him, followed by a snort of derision loud enough for many people to hear. Marcelle had taught her that one, one night when a too–full–of–himself senior flight centurion got a little too free with his hands in a bar.

The blush on
Hellhound
’s face took on a darker tinge, clear to the tips of his ears. Jessica heard snickers from deeper in the crowd, off to her left. They seemed to grow in intensity for a few seconds, rolling around her like a wave.

Hellhound
’s snarl was reward enough.

“Captain Ishikura,” she said, loudly, her voice pitched in just the way First Lord had taught her to. “I will grant you this boon. See to it that my trust in you is not wasted.”

Warlock
grinned at her. From the set of his jaw, he was stifling a laugh at
Hellhound
’s expense. Much of the rest of the room wasn’t trying.

He turned to the rest of the Court with his own grandiose flourish. “I have no blade to answer this challenge. I call on the Free Captains of
Corynthe
to aid me.”

Jessica was amazed at the number of men who suddenly drew their belt–knives and presented them hilt–first for inspection. When she got home, all of this was going to make some ethnographer at the University of
Ladaux
quite happy to hear.

Warlock
walked carefully around, hands behind his back until he stopped in front of an older captain, perhaps in his fifties when the average here was late thirties, and nodded. He silently took the blade and tested the balance.

He nodded again, this time to the man, almost a bow, and turned to smile at her.

From her vantage, the blade was interesting. In
Valse d’Glaive
, the saber was long and single–edged, with a slight reverse curve, while the
main–gauche
was a short, heavy, straight, two–edged weapon designed to block or stab, but not slash particularly well.

This borrowed weapon was almost a yataghan. It was single–edged with a slight bow forward at the midpoint, rather than being straight over the sixty–centimeter length. The tip was sharped on both sides, and the sharp edge trailed back perhaps ten centimeters before fading suddenly into the heavy spine. The addition of a crossguard indicated that it was intended to be used in close combat, rather than slashing from horseback, unlike the original design.

The quality of the workmanship was excellent, over and above the gold and silver worked into the hilt. It appeared to be made from very high–grade steel rather than something exotic. In
Valse d’Glaive
, that was traditional. Here, probably raw economics.

She watched Daneel flick the blade back and forth a few times to get the feel. The smile on his face said all she needed to know about the quality of the weapon, and the bearer.

She fixed him with a questioning look.

He nodded formally as he approached. “Admiral Keller,” he said carefully, pointing at a spot on the floor and very obviously not touching her. “If you would stand here, we will draw the circle from this point.”

Warlock
turned to look across the space that had opened. “
Hellhound
, were you able to find someone willing to stand Second for you in public?”

He was rewarded by more snickers. Apparently,
Hellhound
was not universally loved in this room. He had the look of a bully.

Jessica disliked bullies.

“I will stand,” a man said. He was obviously one of
Hellhound
’s cronies. The rest took a few steps back.

By now, there was a clear space about ten meters across, roughly the shape of an egg, with what looked to be the more blood–thirsty captains closest.

Warlock
stepped into the makeshift arena and faced his opponent. “Rory Agano,” he called loudly, “I repeat for the record that your brother was a coward and a thief. By continuing this feud, you show the world that you are also a liar and a fool.”

Jessica watched Daneel lower his weight into a fighting stance. It was not one she used often, but
Hellhound
only held one blade, and she doubted that either man could do a spring–over cartwheel if his life depended on it.

Pirates were two–dimensional fighters. Useful to remember.

“I invoke the blood–feud on you, Daneel Ishikura,”
Hellhound
responded. “Only death will settle this.”

“So be it,”
Warlock
said.

Ξ

Daneel drew a deep breath and let the extra oxygen flow into his limbs. Things were about to get interesting. More interesting. The week was already off the charts.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected something like this, but there had been really no way to get around it once that woman decided to drag him along with her to the palace.

Just his bad luck.

At least Rory was mad. Hopefully that would lead him to make mistakes. Otherwise, he was very, very good. Probably almost as good as his brother had been.

Nothing like a fight over a woman to keep getting you in trouble, even years later.

Warlock
shifted to his right. He and
Hellhound
were both right–handed, so the man began to mirror him, swirling slowly around the observation bowl.

Hellhound
’s blade flicked out like a snake’s tongue, tasting the air without committing.
Warlock
relaxed into stillness, primed to move without telegraphing. Around them, the air was still, but charged, like the sky right before an electrical storm.

Warlock
moved, presuming that
Hellhound
was still working himself up to the courage of a duel to the death. It was not a thing to take lightly.

Daneel hopped forward and slashed quickly upwards from the hip. The other man was out of position to block it, but managed to skitter backwards out of range without bleeding.

Hellhound
quickly found his balance, stepped to the side, and thrust forward.

Warlock
blocked the strike with his stout crossguard and a ringing of steel. He jumped back, but not fast enough to evade a fist to the side of the head.

Apparently, Rory had learned a few tricks sometime recently. And was out for blood. Daneel felt a trickle of blood on his ear, probably from a knife–edge on the glove. Hopefully not a poisoned one.

Warlock took two steps back suddenly and put a hand up to feel his ear.

“Had enough already, coward?” Rory called. Daneel could hear the anger in his voice.

Time to play the gallery.

“Just making sure you didn’t put venom on the blade in your left hand,
Hellhound
,”
Warlock
replied.

Around them, the crowd had a sudden surge of angry grumbling. Duels were one thing. Cheating was a fast way to lose your crew and your place. And your life, if enough people decided to do something about it.

That was just one of the reasons
Hellhound
had never risen to the top ranks of captains. He skirted the edges of the few rules the pirates did honor.

Hellhound
held his left hand up, open, to the room. “No knife,” he yelled, even more angry.

Warlock
countered by holding up his own hand, stained with fresh blood. He felt a few fresh drops land on his shoulder. He wiped his hand on the seat of his pants and stalked forward, blade pointed at the man’s heart.

It was a trick his father had taught him when using blades. He let his own anger show.

Across the way,
Hellhound
took a half–step back and blanched.

Daneel could see the man’s pupils shrink when he glanced up, before forcing his eyes back down.

Always study the center. Everything moves from there.

Daneel saw the feint before it even began.
Hellhound
’s hands moved outward, but not the hips. He faded to his left, towards the supposed strike, shifting his weight and ignoring the trick.

Hellhound
’s hips told the truth. He lunged forward suddenly, a slash intended to open
Warlock
’s stomach if he hadn’t already been moving out of the way. Instead, he got kissed on the right hipbone. Cloth parted, but not skin.

Warlock
’s counter should have finished the affair.
Hellhound
was out of position, unable to block, and over–extended.

Daneel drove the tip of his blade forward.

And felt it bounce.

Hellhound
was wearing some sort of armor under his jacket. Nothing heavy, but Daneel had just pricked him in the belly button instead of hammering the tip of his poniard through the man.

He danced backwards ahead of Rory’s reverse slash. He would need half a dozen stitches on his right arm when this was done, but nothing worse. He was supposed to have been caught totally off–guard and killed by now, based on the set up.

This wasn’t an honorable duel. It was an assassination.

And it was a trap.
Hellhound
was gambling that nobody would catch him cheating, or that he would be protected by someone important if he was caught.