The Duelist

by Eric Vall

  For one, he was alone without his beautiful phoenix wife, and for two, he was in this creepy place that screamed of black-market dealings or something equally shady and criminal.

  Whatever he was doing here wasn’t good, and I had to find out what it was.

  “Let’s see what you are up to, asshole.” I walked out from behind the metal pump thing intent on following the golden-eagle-man into the dreary dive bar, but before I could, a hand clutched onto my shoulder.

  Chapter 13

  “Shh, it’s just me,” Zoie said into my ear from behind, and I instantly stopped struggling against her hold.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked when she released me.

  “I saw Ren and decided to follow him,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was trying to follow you, and then I decided to follow Ren.” I shrugged. “It’s weird he’s here, right?”

  “Yes, it is very odd for him to be so far from home especially when the canterfly races are five days from now,” Zoie said as she made sure the coast was clear, and then she tugged me down the alleyway. “Ren’s estate breeds the top canterflies for the palace’s annual event.”

  She led us past the main entrance and around the back of the building where a ladder was riveted to the wall.

  “Let’s go in this way,” Zoie said as she started climbing the ladder.

  “Wait, we have these awesome hoods so no one can see our faces,” I said, and she stopped and looked down at myself and the good quality traveling cloak I wore. “Why can’t we just go through the front?”

  “If Ren is here on some nefarious business, he is twice as likely to detect us because he will be paying extra attention to the front door,” she explained.

  “Good point,” I said as I grabbed onto the ladder and started to climb. “I already passed the guy once in the alley, no need to test him on his memory.”

  When we got to the top of the ladder, there was a small balcony for us to scale up and then a window I had to jimmy open with a strip of metal I found lying on the ground. It unlocked after only a few tries, and I extended my hand when I swung it open.

  “Ladies first,” I said as I discarded the improvised lock-pick.

  “That was really resourceful of you,” Zoie praised on her way inside, and her tail did that thing where it tickled me on the tip of my nose.

  I scrunched my nose up and followed her into a cramped attic that looked like it was the main storage for the place. There were wooden crates stacked up to the ceiling and large canvas sacks piled one on top of another filled with flour.

  “Wait,” I said and tugged Zoie’s cloak before she could make her way to the door. “Take this off and turn it inside out just in case.”

  I also shucked off my cloak and turned it inside out to hide the dark green. Zoie did the same with her blue one, and when we were both clad in matching black, we raised our hoods and left the attic space one at a time.

  It turned out the establishment we broke into was actually a tavern complete with an upper floor for boarders and a lower floor that acted as the dining room.

  I walked over to the railing of the mezzanine and casually leaned my forearms against it so I could look out over the ground floor where the action was taking place.

  Below, there was a large wooded bar that stretched across the far end of the room and was stocked with various bottles on mounted shelves and large wooden barrels stacked on top of one another like a small pyramid. Currently, the top barrel was being tapped by the lizard-like barkeep who looked like Asher Sskern. Several wooden tables were scattered around and packed with vagrants who seemed to be straight out of the Pirates of the Caribbean.

  Fragrant tobacco smoke from wooden pipes fogged the air that smelled like pine needles and orange citrus, and there was stringed pub music being played from somewhere that a few of the patrons were dancing to. Barmaids clad in revealing clothing that accentuated their voluptuous breasts and full hips roamed around with tankards of whatever was being offered behind the bar.

  Then I spotted that stupid brown ponytail of Ren’s next to the bar as he brought two of the tankards over to a shadowy table in the corner where his hooded companion sat.

  I poked Zoie’s elbow next to me and gestured to where Ren was sitting with the mysterious figure. Every now and then, his copper eagle-eyes would dart over to the entrance any time someone new came into the tavern.

  Zoie’s instincts were right. Ren was jumpy as fuck and definitely up to no good.

  “Let’s try to get closer,” I said and then led us down the mezzanine steps and toward the bar.

  I picked a pair of stools closest to Ren and his shady companion and made sure to keep my back to them and my hood up.

  “What’ll ya have?” the lizard barkeep asked through a crooked grin full of chipped and missing teeth.

  I knew trading tithe stones for goods was illegal, but I felt pretty confident this particular place wasn’t really concerned with such things, so I pulled two stones out of my pouch and slid them over as if I owned the place.

  My douchey entitled act seemed to work nine times out of ten, so why change a working system?

  “Two of whatever that guy is having,” I said as I gestured to the drunk dude next to me who was drooling on the bar with his hand still clutched around the handle of his tankard.

  “Right away, sir.” The barkeep swiped up the gray rocks, licked his left eyeball with his long, forked tongue, and bustled off to get Zoie and me two pints of what appeared to be some sort of ale.

  I took a small sip of the golden frothy alcohol. Even though it was strong, it tasted a little like honey as it went down and warmed my belly, so I took another sip as I strained my ears to the conversation taking place behind me.

  “Are you sure this will work?” Ren’s nasally voice asked through the din of the pub.

  “The poison is pure,” came a second voice that sounded like it had been dragged over rough gravel. “But it is not instant, so you will need to put on a good show.”

  I felt Zoie stiffen beside me, and I paused with the tankard up to my mouth. As discreetly as I could, I peeked over my shoulder to see if I could catch a glimpse of the guy, but from what I could tell, he had a cloth mask covering the lower portion of his face. That, along with the hood, meant the only identifying feature he possessed was the jagged scar through his right eyebrow.

  “I thought you said this was the most potent poison gold could buy? Why isn’t it instant?” Ren’s sharp eyes snapped to the tavern door as another patron waltzed in, and I turned back to the bar when those copper irises roved closer to where we were sitting.

  “You want it to be believable, don’t you?” the figure snapped. “If the Asher Lord falls over dead the second you pierce his skin, then it will be pretty obvious foul play was involved. You don’t want anyone to question your status once you take it from Mec, do you?”

  “Of course not,” he huffed. “But I also don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

  “That’s a risk you are just going to have to take,” the masked man rumbled in his gravelly voice.

  “Fine,” Ren said, and I heard the sound of a heavy cloth sack filled with coins being placed on the table. “Anything to knock Mec off his pretty tower.”

  Zoie clutched my wrist at this, and I risked another peek over my shoulder when I heard the sound of a sword being removed from its scabbard.

  Ren laid his cutlass on the table, and the mysterious figure pulled out a crystal vial no bigger than a thimble. With his sharp nailed fingers, he removed the cap and poured out a single neon green drop of liquid. It hit the cutlass’ metal with a small hiss, and the whole blade shimmered for a moment before it returned to its dull state.

  I looked around to see if anybody else was paying attention to the Very Illicit Things going on for anyone to see, but then I noticed something shady was taking place pretty much everywhere.

  Two patrons were gambling with tithes and little vials of pi
nk powder, and I was almost positive another dude was having sex with one of the barmaids in the back corner, so it was on par for the course.

  “The poison takes a full day to set into your blade,” the masked man said as he put away the poison. “Once it’s exposed to the air, it begins to weaken and will fade fully after seven days.”

  “And you’re sure I can use the poison on more than one person?” Ren asked.

  “That blade will kill anything as long as you use it within the time limit,” the man said.

  “If this works, you will be paid the second half when I am the Asher Lord of the island,” the eagle-douche promised.

  “Remember,” the mercenary said as he squirreled the sack of gold away. “Try to go for a blow that will give the poison a chance to course through the blood. I find the bigger the wound, the faster the poison works. Make it look convincing, and don’t forget: seven days.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Ren said with a bitter bark of laughter and sheathed his weapon. “I’ll only need five to get rid of both of my problems.”

  Zoie’s nails dug even more into my wrist, and she signaled toward the door with a small tilt of her head.

  I nodded my agreement that it was more than time for us to leave, and we both stood up from our stools, wove around various tavern patrons and barmaids, and went out through the doors into the cool night air.

  “Fucking asshol--” I started, but Zoie shushed me by putting her finger up to her lips. I nodded again, and we both jogged down the alley so we could better talk privately among the noisy and crowded thoroughfare.

  When we’d wound our way between food stalls and rickshaws, and the water wheel was only about one hundred feet away, Zoie and I slowed to a walk and dropped our hoods.

  We both panted as we caught our breaths, and then we stopped and glanced at each other as we burst out into relieved laughter.

  Even though what Zoie and I overheard was deeply concerning, especially since I seemed to be referred to as Ren’s second target if I was reading between the lines correctly, I’d never felt so exhilarated before as I did on our wild flight through Gatetown’s streets.

  Sneaking into that seedy tavern, disguising ourselves as a couple of wandering roustabouts, eavesdropping, and then running away into the night like spies was all very Mission Impossible, and I couldn’t help but grin ear to ear.

  “What did we even do?” I asked through more laughter, and Zoie’s high giggles chimed off the narrow buildings.

  “We were doing reconnaissance,” she said as she tried to tame her gleeful smile. The apples of her cheeks were rosy with exertion and good humor, and the lamplight almost cast a halo behind her riot of ebony hair.

  “Yeah, about that,” I sighed and leaned back against the low wall overlooking the river. “Did we just overhear an assassination plot to kill Lord Mec?”

  “More than Mec,” Zoie said as she leaned her hips likewise against the wall next to me. “I think Ren wants to use his poisoned blade to try and kill you, too. All on the same day.”

  “What did you say was five days from now?” I asked her.

  “The royal Icarian races that are held annually at the palace,” she said as she looked up at the giant water wheel. “If he plans to enter the race like he does every year, he might have rigged the race in his favor in order to win.”

  “How does winning help him assassinate Asher Mec?” I looked at her with a frown.

  “The winner of the race gets an audience with the Asher Lord as well as the prize purse of tithes and gold,” she explained. “If Ren was going to challenge the Lord of the Island to a Duel, then I can think of no better stage than the races.”

  “Is this another holiday festival thing like Blue Night?” I cocked my hip so I could turn to face her as I sat on the low wall.

  “It is a day to honor the legendary Duelist Icar who started the Uprisings that balanced the Ashers’ unlimited power,” she said and pulled my hand into her lap so she could idly trace the lines of my palm while she talked. “The story says Icar raced to all eight islands of Aventoll on the back of a canterfly and lit the first beacons. After months of covert organization and planning, the rebel faction only needed the signal to start the war and rise up against their tyrannical leaders.”

  “This Icar guy sounds similar to Paul Revere,” I remarked as I tried to remember my American History.

  “Who is this Revere?” Zoie asked with her ears perked up and her tail swept up into a question mark.

  “He was this guy who rode on horseback--something similar to a canterfly without wings--and warned his people the enemy troops were coming,” I roughly explained from my limited memory. “I think he even had a lantern, kind of like a beacon. Anyway, he was a key character in helping my country win the Revolutionary War.”

  “Yes, it is similar. Without Icar, the Duelists would have never been able to come together at the same time and earn their place as Mercedes’ children.” Zoie hopped off the wall and turned around so she could lean on her forearms and look out onto the sparkling river. “It’s one of my favorite stories about Aventoll.”

  “You like stories, don’t you?” I tucked a long strand of her black hair behind her ear.

  “I like the stories where the brave fight and the heroes deliver justice,” Zoie said with a guilty-looking smile. “There were no storybooks on Vartha that I could read, so I listened wherever stories were being told.”

  “Hey, that reminds me, I got you something,” I said and twisted my pack around so I could retrieve the scarf I bought from the goat-vendor.

  The silky blue fabric flowed out of my pack and billowed gently in the cool breeze coming off the water.

  Zoie caught it in her hands and held it out so she could see the design, and I watched her face as her luminous gaze wandered over the rich embroidery. I saw the moment when she realized what she was looking at, and I smiled at the delighted expression that bloomed on her face like a rose.

  “This is the story of Bhraya!” she gasped.

  “I thought the color was a good match for your eyes, and I remembered the way you told me about Aventoll’s creation that day in the garden,” I said as I slid off the wall so I could help her adjust the scarf over her head. “That was kind of like our first date, actually, and I wanted to give you something to commemorate it.”

  “What is a date?” Zoie asked as she finished wrapping the lustrous fabric around her head and neck.

  “It’s where two people who like each other romantically have fun and spend time with one another,” I said as I twirled my finger around a stray silky ribbon of her hair that refused to be covered by the scarf.

  “I thought that was the honey’s moon?” she asked as she looked down at her present around her neck.

  “Well, kind of,” I said as I took her hand so we could finally make our way to the inn behind the water wheel. “Where I’m from, people usually go on lots of dates before they get married, and then a honeymoon is like a really long extra special date.”

  “Your customs are very interesting,” Zoie mused as we passed a small fountain where little orange and green gecko children were tossing in coins. “I, too, remember that date fondly. Thank you for the gift, I have never had anything so beautiful just for myself.”

  I stopped her before she could continue toward the water wheel and drew her in for a quick peck on her cheek.

  “Neither have I,” I said with a corny waggle of my eyebrows, but then I pulled her in for a proper kiss to show her I meant it.

  After we broke apart, my wife smiled and ducked her head as a soft blush warmed her cool complexion.

  I grinned as I squeezed her hand, and I could tell she understood what I meant because we always communicated better without words anyway.

  We definitely had more to go over, but for now, we were at the entrance to the quite literal “hole-in-the-wall” tavern that had an oval door and a wooden sign above it. When I squinted, I could read through the remnants of flaked paint th
e words: The Gate’s Inn.

  “How are we going to sleep here?” I near-shouted over the deafening sound of the water wheel as it churned the water below. At least with this place, conversations were guaranteed to be kept private from eavesdroppers.

  “Knock hard.” Zoie shrugged and then looked up at the structure as if she was debating on how to scale it.

  Ladders were one thing, but I personally didn’t have any agile cat-like reflexes or warrior parkour training like she did, so it was gonna have to be the door.

  I banged on the solid oak a total of eight times like Jenner said, and I hoped I was heard over the deep grinding noise because my wrist came away slightly sore.

  We both waited for a beat where I considered knocking again, but I didn’t have to because a little round window opened up in the center of the door, and a furry face glared out through the hole.

  “What is it? Who’s there?” barked a craggy old voice that sounded more toad-like than anything.

  “We want to stay here at the inn,” I told him as I ducked down to his eye-level.

  The scruffy white eyebrows lowered into a scowl. “I’m not open for business!”

  The peep-hole window slammed shut, and Zoie and I exchanged glances. I frowned and pounded harder, probably more than eight times, but dammit, I was tired and hungry, and I just wanted to end this crazy day before anything else happened.

  “Hey, open up!” I yelled and banged the door a third time. “Jenner said to mention you knew him and that we could come to some sort of arrangem--”

  The door flew open, and a wrinkled old koala-man opened the door. He looked similar to Jenner in species and stature, but he had more white shot through his scruffy face and ears, and he hobbled with a wooden peg for his leg.

  “How do you know Jenner?” he asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Please, Mr. Tovish,” Zoie said as she lowered her headscarf. “Jenner told us he was friends with you.”

  Tovish’s stern wrinkled face melted into one of shock and recognition. His head darted back and forth to see if anyone else was around, and then quicker than I figured for a peg-legged teddy bear, he grabbed us both by the wrists and dragged us inside.