The two men entered the mansion and shook the snow from their coats. The footmen appeared at their return and took their jackets before disappearing through the parlor door.
Mr. Archibald, the butler, approached and nodded to the men. “Would either of you care for a warm drink or perhaps something to eat?”
Simon shook his head and answered for the both of them. “Thank you, but no. I actually have a need to speak to Mr. Dosett. Is he in his office?”
“No, sir. Mr. Dosett is downstairs at the moment.”
“Downstairs?”
“Yes, sir. I believe he is currently practicing his fencing. There is a stairwell down the hall just past the foyer. I can take you there, if you wish.”
“No need,” Simon replied. “We can find our way.”
Mr. Archibald nodded and spun on his heel before disappearing down the hall.
The two men found the stairwell easily enough. The natural sunlight that filtered through the large windows on the house’s main level slowly faded, replaced by the sterility of overhead electric lights. The stairs leveled, turned, and descended further as the pair walked toward the estate’s lower level. When they finally arrived at the bottom of the stairwell, they were into the bedrock on which the mansion had been built.
A long hallway stretched before them, ending in ornately carved double doors. From behind them, Simon could hear the clash of blades and grunts of pain. Quietly, so as not to disturb the combatants, he pulled open the double doors and stood in their arch.
Two men, garbed in protective padding and wearing full meshed facemasks, slashed and parried one another in the center of a broad room. A blue sash hung from the belt of one of the swordsmen, while a red hung from the other. They wielded thin, metal epees, which clashed together as they parried.
“They’re remarkable,” Luthor stated quietly.
Simon stroked his chin as the two men engaged one another again. They quickly broke apart after a dizzying display of parries and ripostes.
“They’re good,” Simon whispered, “but the man with the blue sash is the far superior swordsman.”
Luthor furrowed his brow and watched a second longer. The man in red thrust with his epee, which was turned aside at the last moment by the man in blue. A circle parry pushed the red man’s epee wide, but he recovered quickly enough to block a thrust by the man in blue. To Luthor, they seemed evenly matched.
“I don’t see an advantage one way or the other.”
Simon pointed to the man with the red sash. “Watch him after their next engagement. The man in the red sash will immediately retreat, keeping their duel at a longer distance.”
“He has the reach,” Luthor noted. “Distance seems like the correct course.”
“It would be, if the man wasn’t scared. The man in blue is toying with him, closing the distance with every attack and working inside the red swordsman’s defenses. The technique of keeping his distance is a sound epee technique if you can control the duel, which the man in red cannot. Instead of watching his sword, watch his feet during the next engagement.”
Luthor watched as the man in red lunged forward, driving his epee toward the man in blue’s heart. The blade was turned aside again, passing harmlessly over the blue man’s shoulder. As Luthor watched, the man in red shifted his weight and hastily retreated as the man in blue pressed the offensive. The red swordsman’s feet came dangerously close to the back line of the dueling ground.
“He’s not trying to win by strikes,” Luthor remarked of the blue swordsman’s technique. “He’s forcing the man in red backward until he crosses the back line.”
“Exactly,” Simon said with a smile. “Points are points in a competitive duel where your life isn’t on the line. Whether it’s through a strike on the body or forcing them past the line, a smart swordsman garners his victory through any means necessary. The man in the blue sash is a calculated fencer. This match will be over soon.”
Seconds later, the swordsman with the red sash tumbled past the back line and raised his hands in defeat. The blue man turned his blade down, placing it against the padded floor. He reached up and pulled his helmet from his head, shaking his head as he did so. Gideon walked back to his own line and removed his blue sash, using it as a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.
“Well played, Jack,” Gideon said as the other man removed his helmet as well. Jack’s breath was labored as he walked toward the businessman. “You nearly had me a couple of times.”
“Almost doesn’t constitute a victory, sadly,” Jack said.
The two men shook hands and stepped off the dueling mat. As they turned toward the door, they noticed their unexpected guests and paused. Gideon smiled broadly, as he patted his dueling partner on the shoulder dismissively. The man bowed and hurried toward the door. Simon and Luthor stepped aside, letting the man pass.
“Gentlemen,” Gideon said as he approached. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“We came to ask your permission—” Simon began.
Gideon raised his hand, stopping him in mid-sentence. “Do you duel, Inquisitor?”
Simon frowned, irritated at being interrupted. He wasn’t used to people stopping him during an investigation, even those who come from the kingdom’s aristocracy.
“I’ve practiced,” Simon replied.
Gideon pointed to the wall to Simon’s right. As the Inquisitor looked, he saw gear neatly folded on a bench. A series of blunted swords were hanging above the bench on pegs. Gideon walked to the wall and ran his fingers across the blades.
“What is your preference? Epee? Foil? No, you appear to me to be a man who prefers the elegance of the saber.”
Simon looked at Luthor helplessly, knowing it would be impolite to refuse the man’s request for a duel. It was further complicated by the fact that he needed Gideon’s blessing to go investigate the refineries that had been attacked. Though the businessman was charismatic and had been nothing but polite thus far, Simon hated being at someone else’s mercy.
With a sigh, he removed his outer coat, handing it to Luthor. He undid the cufflinks, handing them to his friend as well before rolling up his sleeves.
“I have protective equipment that you could wear,” Gideon said, realizing that the Inquisitor intended to duel without it.
Simon shook his head. “I watched you duel in your last match. I trust that you have the control not to stab me in the eye.”
Gideon stiffened for a second, but he quickly relaxed and his smile returned. “Of course. Please, choose a weapon.”
Simon walked to the wall and pulled down a pair of sabers. He swung them with practiced swings, feeling their weight and balance. The one in his right hand was too heavy, so he quickly replaced it on the wall. The other blade was lighter and sturdy with its weight centered just above the hilt. It was comfortable in his hand, and he slashed a few more times through the air before nodding appreciatively.
“I’m assuming I can trust you to do the same?” Gideon said, as he set his meshed helmet on the floor beneath the practice blades. “I am the face of my business. I would be most offended if you left a scar on that face.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Simon replied.
The two men walked to opposite ends of the dueling mat and took their places behind their respective lines. Simon raised the flat of his blade to his face in a salute, which was returned by Gideon. The businessman dropped into a wide-legged stance, turning his body sideways to provide the least amount of exposed torso for Simon to strike. He raised his rearmost hand into the air.
Simon tucked his left hand behind his back, placing it in the small of his back. He, too, turned sideways, though not to as severe a degree as the businessman.
“En garde,” Gideon said.
Gideon lunged, driving his blunted blade toward Simon’s chest. The Inquisitor shifted his weight and parried the strike, letting it pass inches wide of his shoulder. Though Gideon braced for a riposte, Simon let the strike go unanswered.
> Stepping back, Gideon nodded appreciatively. The first strike was a test of one another’s skills and he was pleased with what he saw, even if there was no counter. Simon watched the businessman settle back into his stance, awaiting the Inquisitor’s response to his attack.
Simon feinted left before hooking his blade back toward Gideon’s armpit. The businessman leapt backward, sweeping his epee in a circle and knocking Simon’s saber to the side. He immediately shifted his weight to his back leg and lunged forward, thrusting back toward Simon’s stomach. The Inquisitor was forced to take a couple steps backward as he parried back-to-back thrusts from the businessman.
Despite not connecting solidly, Gideon stepped back with a confident smile and settled back into his stance.
“You’re talented with the blade,” Gideon complimented.
“It appears as though I’m facing someone better than myself,” Simon lied.
Gideon shook his head. He relaxed momentarily and pushed his hair out of his face with his free hand. “I don’t believe that for a second. You’re holding back. Don’t, at least not for my benefit. I choose my competition carefully and consider myself a very good judge of character.”
He raised his blade and saluted again. Simon returned the salute, and they both settled back into their stances.
“So is your investigation going well?” Gideon asked. “I’m assuming you at least now believe that the werewolves are real.”
Simon shrugged and flexed his fingers on the grip of his saber. “To an extent.”
The tip of Gideon’s blade dipped slightly before righting itself. “I’ve provided you a corpse. What more do you require?”
Simon could hear the faint irritation in the man’s voice. “Forgive me if I gave you the impression that I don’t believe you. As an Inquisitor, I don’t believe anything until I have seen it living and breathing with my own eyes. The advances in taxidermy make anything less than skepticism foolish for someone in my line of business.”
As soon as there was a lull in the conversation, Gideon attacked. He shifted his weight to the right in a feint, but Simon read his attempt. As the blade came from the left instead, Simon was already waiting to knock the blade aside. Instead of the normal single strike before they separated, Gideon shifted his grip and slashed toward Simon’s shoulder. Despite the epee’s thin blade being designed for piercing, Simon knew even the blunted tip could tear his skin. He spun his saber and blocked the second attack.
Gideon pressed the advantage, thrusting the blade forward. Simon was forced to take a step back. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the back line of the dueling mat and dug in his heels before he was forced to concede defeat. Turning Gideon’s blade aside, Simon slashed forward in a wild swing. The businessman easily dodged it but in his haste to avoid the blade, he staggered backward. Simon took a couple steps forward, giving him space from the edge of the mat.
Simon chose not to continue his attack, instead settling back into his stance. Haughtily, Gideon flipped the strands of hair that had come loose from his ponytail out of his face.
“So what is next for your investigation?” Gideon asked.
Simon stood from his wide-legged stance and stretched his shoulder with a broad rotation. “I’m glad you asked, Mr. Dosett. With your permission, I would like to visit the site of the last purported werewolf attack. I think seeing the site of the attack would solidify in my mind if these creatures are real or fake.”
Gideon seemed put off, and he stood from his own fencing position. He frowned deeply and crinkled his brow. “A visit to the refinery? Royal Inquisitor, I have employees who fear going to work because they can’t stand the thought that monsters may wait in ambush. Every day that we hesitate, it costs me money. How much evidence do you require before you request reinforcements from the crown?”
Simon arched a brow at the man. His experiences thus far had led him to believe the businessmen’s happy façade was unflappable. To see him so passionate about his business gave Simon pause.
“Allow me to visit your operations,” Simon countered. “If I find evidence that supports the insinuations in the governor’s report, then I will request a company of soldiers be deployed to Haversham.”
Gideon’s smile returned. “Then it seems our conversation has reached an impasse until you’ve seen my refinery. Would tomorrow be good for you to depart?”
Simon saluted with his blade. “That would be perfect.”
“Then shall we continue?” Gideon asked, settling back into his fencing stance.
Simon lowered his sword to his side and took a couple steps backward, crossing the edge of the dueling mat and disqualifying himself. He raised his blade in surrender.
Gideon stood with a huff and lowered his epee. “This is not a satisfactory conclusion to our match.”
Simon bowed with a flourish. “Forgive me, but Luthor and I have much to do today if we leave in the morning. This is hardly a time to duel, wouldn’t you agree?”
Gideon turned and walked off the mat. He hung his epee on the wall and collected the rest of his equipment before walking out of the room. Luthor nodded as the man pushed past him and stormed down the hallway. As Gideon passed, Luthor scratched absently at his arm.
Simon approached the near wall shortly afterward, hanging his saber on its hook. He reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“So?” Luthor asked as he approached his friend.
“We leave in the morning,” Simon replied. He took his coat from the apothecary and slid it over his shoulders. Fitting his top hat on top of his head, he canted it to the side.
As he started toward the door, Luthor placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t understand. All Inquisitors spend years training with the blade. You could have easily beaten him.”
“My dear Luthor, sometimes you learn far more from an opponent in the course of a battle, rather than in the man’s defeat. A man like Mr. Dosett has little in his life besides his business and his pride. These werewolves have brought his business to a halt. Had I handily beaten him in our duel, I would have taken his pride as well. Take everything away from a man and you make him unpredictable. If there’s one thing that makes my job difficult, it’s unpredictable men.”
Luthor smiled appreciatively. “So what did you learn about Mr. Dosett?”
“He places the well-being of his business above the well-being of his employees. His concern was with the money he was losing, and not the workers he’s already lost.”
Luthor turned and led them both into the hallway, back toward the stairwell. “Nothing personal, sir, but I could have told you that after our dinner with the man. He’s not keen on interpersonal relationships.”
“Fair enough. I also learned that he’s offended whenever someone questions his integrity. The thought that his word wasn’t good enough to make me believe in the authenticity of the werewolves made him irate, though he kept up a stoic visage.”
“Again, sir, I believe that’s fairly standard for every businessman in the capital. I wouldn’t expect it to be different here, just because we’re far detached from the bustle of the city.”
Simon patted the man on the back. “Then I guess it’s a good thing that I also learned that there’s a secret door in the room we just left that leads into the tunnels beneath the city.”
Luthor looked over his shoulder. “Really? Where?”
“There was dirt on the floor near the far wall, the type you would expect from the worked stone tunnels we passed through after we left the zeppelin.”
Luthor smiled as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Then I guess it wasn’t a totally wasted trip.”
“Go get some rest. I have the feeling that tomorrow is going to be a hard day for us beyond the wall.”