“Feruth, the gold phaeton, how quickly can you have it ready?” The man pushed himself upright and gave Cheydar and Dagon a probing look. “What’s the hurry?”
“A lady visiting a Metrarch,” said the official.
“Ah.” The man made no move until the official tapped his pocket and the clink of money could be heard. He grinned, nodded. “I’ll have it ready in a couple of hours.” He moved off. The official turned away from him to Cheydar and Dagon. He met Cheydar’s look. “Yes, I know; shocking isn’t it?”
Dagon said, “You’ll send for us when the coach is ready?”
“Yes. Where will you be?”
“The tavern. The lady waits there now. We shall have a meal there and hope to hear from you soon after?”
“So it will be.”
The official gave a little bow to them and they moved off.
“They have no honour, these people,” said Cheydar, after a moment.
“Money and power command respect. There are few people who can even be true to themselves. You should have realised that long ago.”
“You are cynical, Dagon.”
“I see things as they are.”
“You believe so?”
“Unfortunately, I know so.”
Cheydar allowed that to sink in for a moment then said, “The money, did Suen give it to you?”
“It was my own.”
“You shall be reimbursed.”
Cheydar just caught the quickly repressed smile.
The tavern was similar in construction to the coach house; red brick and sagging, ringed with wooden verandas. The areas around the buildings were dry, as was the slabbed road. The verandas around most buildings were an indication that later in the year the combination of rain and traffic would turn the bald ground to a quagmire. Dagon stepped up onto the veranda first, and while waiting behind him, Cheydar glanced back the way they had come. That the priest soldiers from the coach house had followed them he gave no indication until he was inside the building.
“We have company, five of them,” he said.
“I know.”
“What would you suggest? You seem more able at subterfuge than myself.”
“I feel that should they seek identification from us subterfuge will be wasted.”
“Even if we kill them all here, others will come after us riding titanotheres and catch us on the road.”
“I will think of something,” said Dagon.
The room beyond the door was like a thousand other rooms of taverns. Suen and the rest sat at a long table, sipping at goblets of orange wine while a young man laid out food for them. Cheydar noted with approval that his sons, though staring at the food wide-eyed, were waiting for Suen to break bread and offer them a piece. Ritual; the lady feeding her bondsmen.
“Go and join them. I will go to the bar.”
Cheydar made to obey then stopped himself. “You give commands very easily,” he said, his face grim.
“Now is not the time, Cheydar. I can get us out of this.”
“You are isolating yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
At that moment the five priest soldiers came in through the door. Cheydar met Dagon’s look only for a moment then went and sat with Suen. From there he watched Dagon walk to the bar, a sudden arrogance in his walk, contempt in the glance he threw at the soldiers. The soldiers gazed around the tavern then followed him.
“What is happening?” asked Suen.
“I don’t…” Cheydar stared, then realised. Of course. He cursed then turned to Suen. “I think he’s going to force a duel. Even priest soldiers stick to some of the Code.”
“What do you mean?”
“Win or lose the rest of them will not harass us, not immediately. One night must pass between blood-lettings else duel will degenerate into open brawl or battle.”
“Can we be sure of that?”
“With them, no, Lady. It is the best chance we have, though.” At the bar there was a sudden altercation. Dagon shoved one of the soldiers back.
“Be prepared to stand by your words!” he shouted, as if angry and very offended. Cheydar noted that he had picked on the officer. He aimed to behead, perhaps literally. The officer regained his balance and said something more. Dagon struck him back handed across the face then stepped to one side as another of the men made a grab for him. His sword was an arc of light between. One of the men stumbled back holding his forearm. The others kept out of the way. Cheydar was on his feet, with his air gun in his hand, and coming up beside Dagon in a moment. His sons were behind him. Dagon glanced at him.
“This scum offers insult to our Lady,” he said with vehemence. Cheydar thought he acted the part well. He looked to the officer, whose eyes never wavered from the tip of Dagon’s sword. Though his hand was at the short sword in his belt, he made no move to draw it.
“This scum should be made to pay, then,” said Cheydar.
The officer watched. He was thin-faced and had the wiry toughness of a trained fighter. He did not draw. He knew his chances. Dagon stepped forward a little way and ritualistically spat on his boots.
“My choice, then,” said the officer. This was what he was waiting for, Cheydar realised. “The time I chose is one hour from now, the place I chose is the street outside, and I chose air guns as the weapons of combat.”
Cheydar nodded to himself; a sensible choice. Dagon had demonstrated his speed with the sword.
“So be it,” said Dagon, and sheathed his sword in one smooth motion. As he did this hands strayed to the hilts of short swords. Cheydar smiled and raised the barrel of his gun. Hands drew back. Dagon nodded and stepped past him. They moved to the table where Dagon dispensed with his swords and took up his gun. The priest soldiers tramped from the tavern. Cheydar saw that Eric was grinning.
“What amuses you, boy?” he asked.
“Dagon’s weapon — it has five shots. It is a repeater.”
Cheydar nodded in confirmation when he saw the weapon, then he felt misgivings.
“You and David, keep your weapons gassed and cover the others. There may be some objection.” Cheydar knew that in air gun duels it was often not the first shot that counted and that the winner was he who could reload the fastest and have more time to aim for the second shot. Dagon would not have to reload and could probably fire off all four of his remaining shots while the officer reloaded. The officer’s men might consider this an infraction of the rules.
The sun was poised above the coach house and Linx was making its second daily journey across the sky, but this time was partially in silhouette and looked like a hole punched there. Dagon walked out across the worn ground and stood midway between the coach house and a titanothere fence. The fat official from the coach house stood a few yards to one side of him and fidgeted nervously; adjudicators were often shot by accident and he had not wanted the task. From where he stood Cheydar directed Eric and David to move away from him to the far ends of the veranda and be ready. He noted that over by the other end of the coach house a three-wheeled phaeton was being hitched to the backs of two patient cud-chewing titanotheres. Perhaps they could get this over with and be quickly on their way. He turned his attention to the right as the officer stepped out of a building just beyond the coach house and began walking towards Dagon. Six other priest soldiers walked out behind him and moved off in different directions. That could be taken two ways, either they were setting themselves for attack, or they were just covering their officer’s back. The officer walked, his air gun held one-handed at his side, until he came face to face with Dagon. The fat official approached.