"Why can we not go directly to the time you came from to get this implant?"
"Because it would be too dangerous. Besides, it has to be surgically implanted and-"
"It has to be what?"
"Implanted. The implant must be implanted."
"I do not understand. I thought it was a device."
"It is a device."
"Then what does 'implanted' mean?"
"It's an action. You must implant an implant."
"How can it be a device and an action at the same time? And what does this word surgically mean?"
"It's too difficult to explain right now," said Hunter. He knew only too well how her 12th-century mind would react to the idea of minor brain surgery. "What matters is that I have to get in touch with a certain person who has the skills to accomplish this and that person chooses to reside in Paris, in this time period. Our mission will go easier for us if we assume the character of people of a certain social class."
"Why can I not wear man's clothing?" she said. "It certainly appears to be more comfortable than this dress and these absurd undergarments."
"It probably is," said Hunter, "but that's not the point. The point is that you're a woman and you've never had a chance to learn to act like one. You never know, the knack might come in handy someday."
"I see no advantage in learning how to flirt and simper and use my sex to advance myself."
"I think there's a little more to being a woman than that," said Hunter.
"If there is, then I have not observed it."
"Well, even if there wasn't," Hunter said, "the simple fact is that using your sex to advance yourself, as you put it, works on occasion, and I believe that one should use anything that works."
"Then why use that child's plaything of a sword?"
"Child's plaything, is it?" Hunter tossed her his rapier, then unwrapped a spare one from its cloth covering. He tossed both cloth covering and scabbard onto the bed. "Let's see just how much of a plaything this is," he said. "Attack me."
She swung the sword, awkwardly. Hunter parried easily, using the Florentine style-rapier in one hand, dagger in the other. He had little difficulty in blocking her crude strokes. The weapon was strange to her and she was uncomfortable with it.
"It's not a broadsword," Hunter said. "It's meant for speed. Watch."
This time he went on the offensive and she redoubled her efforts, taking her cue from him but still parrying clumsily. In seconds, he had disarmed her of the rapier, tapping her wrist lightly with the flat of the blade after hooking her sword, showing how a slash there would have caused her to drop her weapon and sustain a wound at the same time.
She looked down at the floor, then picked up the rapier he had disarmed her of so easily. She stood silently for a moment, studying it.
"I have misjudged this weapon," she said. "That was unwise of me. Clearly, there is a skill to using it correctly. I will learn it."
"Fencing isn't exactly something one picks up overnight," said Hunter. "You're not exactly a beginner, but-"
"No, I am far from a beginner. I have lived by the sword most of my life," she said. "This is a different blade, but it is still a sword. It will not take me long to learn. Teach me."
"There's really not much point to it," said Hunter.
"Why?"
"Because women in Paris don't carry rapiers," he said. "Sometimes they carry daggers, but mostly they carry fans and handkerchiefs." He grinned.
"Truly potent weapons," she said, sarcastically.
"It all depends on how you use them. Well, all right. I'll teach you. It may not take you very long to learn, at that. You're already a demon with a broadsword. You're strong and you've got terrific reflexes. You just lack the correct technique. I think it will probably be tougher to teach you how to use a fan."
"I see. You imply that you are qualified to teach me how to be a woman, is that it?" she said.
"Not me," said Hunter. "You're already more woman than any man I know can handle. The trick is not to let men know that. That shouldn't be too hard. Most of us aren't very smart when it comes to women."
"And you are one of the smart ones, I suppose."
"No, unfortunately, I'm one of the stupid ones," said Hunter. "But I've learned a lot because of that."
"Very well," said Andre. "I owe you much. I will learn to act the part of a fine lady if you think it will prove helpful."
"Just call me Professor Higgins."
"Who is Professor Higgins?"
"He was another stupid man," said Hunter. "But never mind. For a start, let's see what we can do about that walk of yours. You can dress the part of a woman, but you still swagger like a soldier. Now, take this book…"
3
Charlotte Backson, the Countess de la Fere, Milady de Winter, had seduced more men than she could count. She had never before met a man who could resist her. Now she had. The man called Taylor was totally immune.
"You can turn it off, Milady," he had said, the first time she tried to work her charm on him. "You've got nothing that I want."
"Are you quite certain?" she had said, trying a different tack. She put just the right amount of throaty submissiveness into her voice. "After all, I am your prisoner. Your men have taken me against my will. You've killed my coachman and my footmen, brought me here with my eyes blindfolded, there must be something that you wanted from me. I assume it's ransom that you're after. Rest assured, you will be paid. But I do fear for my own safety. I am entirely in your power. I would do anything if it would insure my survival through this ordeal." She paused for just a second, her gaze meeting his directly. "Anything," she said softly.
The man called Taylor had laughed. "I'm afraid you're wasting your time, Milady. I'll be quite blunt. I'm not interested in women. You understand?"
"Oh. Yes, I'm afraid I do."
"You see, someone who doesn't share my sexual preferences would doubtless be extremely susceptible to you, which is why I'll be the only one to come into contact with you during your stay with us." Taylor had smiled. "Your reputation precedes you, Milady. We're fully aware of the kind of person that you are."
"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, sir," she had said, stiffening slightly. "I do not know what you mean when you speak of my reputation. Doubtless, you have heard some malicious gossip from-"
"Don't be coy," said Taylor. "Here's what I mean." He reached out quickly and ripped her dress away from her shoulder with a suddenness that caught her unprepared. Quickly, she clapped her hand to her shoulder.
"There's no use in hiding it," said Taylor. "If you ask me, it's your best feature. The brand of the harlot. The fleur-de-lis. I've known women like you all my life. You're a slut, my dear."
"Who are you?" she said, angrily. "What is it you want from me?"
"Why, just your companionship, Milady. Nothing more."
"What is the ransom for my safe return? How much do you want to release me?"
Taylor raised his eyebrows. "Why, we're not asking anything for you, Milady. All we want is the privilege of entertaining you for a short while. A week, perhaps, no more."
"And then?"
"And then you won't be seeing us again," said Taylor.
Now a week had passed. It had been a maddening week. Each day, the man called Taylor came to her. He brought her all her meals and he would stay a while to talk with her. They would talk about the most meaningless of things, the weather, what fashions were popular at court, what her favorite foods were, what she liked, what she disliked, whom she had had affairs with…