by Scott Taylor
Shay took it and kissed her on both cheeks. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’m not a child anymore.”
The household bid them a rowdy farewell from the steps of the Silk Purse as Shay and Bal set off in their fine new dueling leathers, with their rapiers at their sides and practice blades slung across their backs.
At midday in high summer, most of the Gate dwellers were asleep or at least keeping out of the sun. Among the few they did meet were Emil Lacosta, the Zimbolay tome mage who sold love potions to some of the courtesans, and the man’s silent apprentice, Mariella. Emil returned Shay’s wave with his usual, dignified nod.
As they rounded a last turn, the Black Gate loomed before them. On this side, and that which faced the city outside, it was covered in carvings of skulls and serpents. At its center a huge feathered skull stood out in relief, and travelers milled in and out through its gaping mouth. Shay was careful not to look too closely at any of these carvings, either, but even still he thought he heard a sort of sigh that wasn’t anything to do with the gritty breeze blowing over the stonework.
More than mere landmark or waypoint, the Gate was the demarcation between the closed and shadowed world of the Ullamalitzli Stadium District and the wider world of Taux proper. As if to underscore this division, when they emerged from its shadow, someone shouted, “Now, there’s a fine pair of Gate rats! Someone fetch the cat!”
Half a dozen young dandies in slashed silk doublets and feathered caps lounged in the shade of an awning in front of a chocolate house, sipping champurrado – a thick, hot drink made with milk, masa harina, chocolate, and anise – from colorfully glazed cups. Only a few wore swords and those were tied up with fancy ribbons.
“I’m surprised your voice is so deep, No Balls,” Shay drawled back.
As he expected, the chocolate drinkers shouted more insults but were too lazy or cowardly to actually come after them. Gate dwellers had a nasty reputation in Taux and it often served them well.
The streets’ names were painted on the corners of buildings at the intersections here. They strode through the tenements of Division and Milagro, then Shay turned aside onto Ruby Lane.
“By the Saints, Shay, now?” groaned Balthazar.
“We have time.”
Ruby led over the canal and up the hill into the Golden Jaguar District, home to high-class merchants of all races and guild leaders. The house he sought was a grand, three-story confection built of pink granite, with white pillars in front of the entrance. It was surrounded by green lawns, with fountains and beds of colorful tropical flowers, all shaded by feathery pepper trees. A tall, spiked iron fence guarded it all from the likes of Gate rats like Shay and Bal.
On one of the lawns near the front gate, some of the resident family were playing Serpent’s Head, batting the feathered shuttlecock back and forth with open palms amid much laughter while their nurse sat dozing in the shade beside a wicker cradle.
There were five children in all today counting the baby, but it was the oldest two who held Shay’s attention. Robert and Esmeralda would be celebrating their eighteenth birthdays tomorrow.
“Come on,” Bal muttered.
Just then, one of the younger children batted the shuttlecock too hard and sent it whistling over the fence to land in the middle of the street.
The twins turned as one. Robert said something to his sister and she ran to the fence, blond curls flying, cheeks flushed. “You there!” she called, giving them a sweet, apologetic smile. “Forgive me, sirs, I don’t know your names. Could one of you please toss that back?” She grasped the bars of the fence, like a pretty little caged monkey in linen and lace.
“Of course…” Bal began.
But Shay stepped forward and picked up the toy, made of yellow and green parrot feathers stuck into a little rubber tip. He could easily have crushed it and tossed it at her feet, but instead he went and placed it in her outstretched hand. His fingers lightly brushed her palm as he did so, and he heard her breath catch. She was still smiling up at him, but more shyly now, and the pink flush of her cheeks was a bit darker. He guessed it had little to do with the elemental spark that passed between them; he often had such an effect on girls, even without it. And some boys, too.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I’m Esmeralda Serata, daughter of Esmer Serata. May I know your name?”
It was so tempting to blurt out the truth, but this wasn’t the time or place.
“Balthazar,” he replied with his most charming smile. “Balthazar Della Nova.”
“Then thank you, Balthazar Della Nova.” And with that she ran back to the game. Robert, who’d been looking on all this time, lingered a moment longer, regarding the two of them with what appeared to be more than simple curiosity.
Shay made him a small bow and set off back the way he’d come.
“Lovely pair, that,” murmured Bal.
Shay laughed. “Aren’t they?”
The huge black stone guild house had been some sort of temple for the city’s mysterious previous inhabitants. Rumor whispered it took a hundred tome mages to clear the place of haunts. The flat-roofed building stood atop a stepped plinth and was surrounded on all four sides with square black columns. There had once been carvings and friezes like the ones in the Ullamalitzli, but in wealthy areas most of these had been removed. Shay was particularly grateful for that today.
A large crowd of hopefuls had already gathered at the foot of the east stairs, waiting for the call to enter. Most of them were dressed in respectable silks, but a few, like Shay and Bal, looked to be from the rougher districts of town. There were several proud, hulking Jai-Ruk, a few Aspara women, and even a slate-skinned Kin, his sapphire eyes barely visible under his shaded mask. Shay recognized a few other Gate dwellers among them. The Razor Dueling Guild was said to care about just one thing: prowess.
Shay and Bal joined the crowd, and they were soon comparing blades and intricate hilt designs with some of the friendlier ones.
“You’re a handsome pair of fellows,” one of the tall, fair-skinned mountain Aspara women said, coming over to join them. Her blond hair stirred around her shoulders and Shay could feel a cool stir of air coming off her skin that had nothing to do with the hot summer breeze. “Do you fight as good as you look?” she asked, looking him up and down in the languid, unhurried way of her people.
Bal made her a showy bow. “I assure you, my dear, we do. And other things, as well.”
Shay paid little attention as the flirtation continued, though the woman and her friends were clearly trying to draw him in.
He was saved the trouble of responding when great doors behind the pillars were thrown back and a bell sounded from somewhere inside. A pair of men wearing the silver badge of Second Degree Duelists stepped out to summon them up.
It was cool inside the guildhouse, which was lit by lamps and cleverly-placed, narrow windows that let in light without too much heat. The central room was a spacious practice area with a floor of scuffed, black marble inlaid with white, green and red stone in patterns of serpents and axes. A mezzanine ran around all four sides and dozens of people had already gathered there to watch the fun. More stood ready below to test the newcomers.
Shay caught sight of a familiar face among those on the mezzanine and his heart tripped painfully in his chest. Esmer Serata’s long, pale face had aged considerably since the miniature had been painted, but there was no mistaking the tall, spare man. Shay stared boldly up at him until he caught his attention, but the man merely glanced at him before turning to talk with a woman beside him.
Of course he didn’t know what Shay looked like. Why would he? He’d never bothered to find out.
At the far end of the room stood something resembling a large stone altar. A bald man in silver spectacles stood behind it with a huge book open in front of him. A large quill, an inkwell, and a sandglass were arranged beside it.
The applicants were first required to present their practice blades for inspection, and to relinquish their real on
es, which were carefully laid out on blankets lined up against the wall.
“Form up along that white line,” ordered a woman wearing the red silk baldric of a mistress-at-arms, pointing to section of the floor design. “Two arm’s span apart.”
When they were arranged to her liking, the bell rang again and a group of Razors filed in slowly to take up positions opposite them. Shay exchanged an excited look with Bal. No names had been taken; they really would be judged on nothing but their skill.
Esmer Serata, second-in-command of the Razor Duelists and son-in-law of the Guild Master, came down from the mezzanine and took charge of the sandglass to call the time. One by one, each pair faced off, master duelist against hopeful, and were given the five minute span of the glass or three critical touches.
Most of the hopefuls were quickly dispatched, while others put up a good fight, and except for two draws, the master duelist always won. One by one, the dispirited losers fell back to await their judgment. Soon only two people stood between Shay and his opponent, a broad-shouldered Jai-Ruk with the yellow tips of long lower canines just visible against his upper lip.
The Aspara who’d flirted with Bal put on a good show, parrying and riposting with great skill, but mostly defending until the sand ran out. Then it was Bal’s turn.
Drawing his blade, Balthazar bowed and saluted the woman he was paired with. She was nearly as tall as he was, with a long scar down one cheek, though she had little beauty to spoil. Within the first minute they had each scored a touch on the other. Shay could see them sizing each other up as they continued. Bal scored another, and then she did. Shay glanced nervously at the glass; the sand was quickly running out under the bespectacled man’s watchful eye; Serata was watching Bal. Shay’s heart beat faster at the thought of fighting with that pale gaze fixed on him.
Just as the last of the sand trickled away, Bal lunged under the woman’s guard and scored a touch under her heart. The other hopefuls erupted in cheers, but Serata called out “Time ended. A draw. Well done, young man.”
Bal gave Shay a wink and went to join the others.
It was Shay’s turn, and suddenly his mouth was dry as the dust on the ulama court, but so was the hand he wrapped around the leather grip of his rapier hilt as he drew it and saluted his opponent. The Jai-Ruk flashed him a rakish grin as he returned it.
Shay took a deep breath and emptied his mind as Xavier had taught them. There was nothing but the opponent in front of him, nothing to do but to keep him from scoring a touch. The sounds around him faded away and a great calm descended over him as he met the duelist’s first lunge with a skillful parry and riposte.
The Jai-Ruk was a strong, aggressive duelist, but so was Shay and their fight was fast and furious. Shay scored first touch, and the second, before the Jai-Ruk gave him a good poke in the chest that would leave a respectable bruise. Drawing strength from the pain, Shay used the enveloppement he’d disarmed Bal with that morning. His opponent’s rapier clattered across the smooth floor, spinning to a stop at Serata’s feet.
“Time,” pronounced the Duelist officer, as he smiled at Shay. “A winner! Very well done, indeed.”
It took Shay a moment to realize what had just happened, but he managed a competent bow and went to join Bal and the others, who thumped him on the back until he nearly fell over.
He was the only winner that day, and later would learn that he was the only one to have bested the Guild in over two years. When the trial was over many of the Duelists came over to congratulate him and those like Bal who’d fought to draws.
“Line up!” The mistress-at-arms ordered.
Esmer Serata himself walked down the line, murmuring his regrets to those who did not meet the standard, and pinning the copper Third Degree badge on the chests of those who had. When he reached Shay he smiled again. “I give you copper today, young man, but you’ll have the silver soon enough.”
Shay’s eyes stung at the approval in his father’s voice and he managed a husky, “Thank you, Sir.”
Serata left them and went back upstairs. Once again Shay and his fellow new guild members were ordered to line up, this time in front of the stone table. One by one, they gave their names and antecedents to the bespectacled man, who recorded them in his great book.
When Shay’s turn came the man peered up at him, craning his neck a little to take in Shay’s height. “And who might you be, young fellow?”
“Shay Gatewell, son of Serene Gatewell.”
The old man inscribed that in his book. “And your father?”
The breath stopped in Shay’s throat
Don’t be impetuous . . .
“Shay, no,” Balthazar whispered behind him.
But, flushed with victory and dazzled by his father’s warm words of approval, Shay blurted out, “Esmer Serata.”
The man goggled up at him through his spectacles, quill poised over the page.
The mistress-at-arms stared hard at Shay. “Is this some sort of joke?”
There was no taking it back now. “I— I have an affidavit.”
“Give it here.”
Shay took the notarized document from his jerkin, which gave sworn testimony from his mother and witnesses that Esmer Serata was indeed the father of her children. The mistress-at-arms didn’t open it, but carried it up to Serata.
“Oh, you fool!” Bal groaned.
As he waited, staring blankly at nothing in particular, Shay could feel the gaze of the others on his back, and hear their startled whispers.
“He said what?” Serata roared on the mezzanine. Fair face suffused with fury, he strode down the stairs and back to where Shay stood at the table. Shaking the affidavit in Shay’s face, he shouted, “What calumny is this?”
“As it says there, sir,” Shay managed, though his heart was pounding through his chest as the magnitude of his misstep overwhelmed him.
“The notarized word of a whore is still only the word of a whore!” Serata snarled, ripping the document in two and throwing it in Shay’s face. “Look at you. You bear no more resemblance to me than a horse turd does to a steak pie.”
Shay felt a stab of heat from the man’s hand as Serata tore the copper badge from Shay’s chest and flung it away.
“You are a liar, fellow, and we need no liars in our ranks. Get out!”
Shay clenched his hands at his sides to keep them from shaking. “I’m not a liar.”
Serata let out an incredulous laugh. “The effrontery!”
“I’m not a liar! I may not take after you, but my sister could be the twin of your Esmeralda.”
“How dare you speak her name!” Serata backhanded him, knocking him off his feet and into Bal, who quickly righted him and tried to pull him toward the door.
Shay shook him off and wiped the blood from his lips. “I am not the liar, Sir, you are. I want nothing from you but the truth.”
Livid, Serata drew his rapier and probably would have run Shay through on the spot if the Mistress-at-Arms hadn’t caught him by the arm.
“Forgive me, Sir. I understand.” She gave Shay a look that clearly said she’d though he was trash all along. “But this must be settled properly, with honor.” Then, lowering her voice, “This little fish is hardly worth a murder charge, Sir. Do it right.”
Regaining his composure, Serata sheathed his rapier. “You have impugned my honor, Shay Gatewell. I demand satisfaction.”
Shay lifted his chin proudly, heart burning with a young man’s hatred for the man he’d so wanted to respect. “And you have impugned mine, Esmer Serata, and that of my mother, Serene Gatewell. I accept.”
“Someone give him a blade,” Serata snapped, going to take his place in the center of the great floor.
“I have my own.” Bal fetched it from the blanket and Shay buckled it on. “Will you be my second?”
“Of course.” His friend regarded him with grief-stricken eyes. “What have you done, Shay?”
The younger man shrugged. “Lived up to my name? Kiss Mama and S
hayla for me and tell them I’m sorry.”
Just then there was a small commotion by the door, and the cheerful voice of a young woman. It was Esmeralda and Robert with her, no doubt come to watch the new applicants duel. She had on a white sun hat and a white lawn dress, and from a distance looked so much like Shayla in her apprentice uniform it made Shay’s heart ache as if already pierced by Serata’s blade.
“Papa!” she called, waving from the sidelines. “Have we missed all the fun? Oh, Mr. Della Nova, I didn’t know you were coming here.”
“Yes, my dear, you have missed it. This is something else,” said Serata. “Run along to the confectioner’s shop. I’ll meet you there shortly. Inez, see them out.” He waited until one of the Razors had escorted Esmeralda and her brother through a doorway, then arched an eyebrow at Shay. “Della Nova? Gatewell? Too many names for an honest man.”
The man with the spectacles stood to one side as Serata’s second, holding up a lace handkerchief. In a very formal voice he announced to the crowd of onlookers gathered around the edge of the practice area and hanging over the mezzanine railing, “This is to be a first order duel of honor, challenged by Esmer Serata, Second of the Razor Duelist Guild, accepted by Shay Gatewell, and witnessed by the seconds—myself, Hector Payson and—”
“Balthazar Della Nova,” Bal told him. He hadn’t yet been recorded in the book.
“By Balthazar Della Nova and by you witnesses here gathered. Be it known that this is a fair and legal duel in accordance with Taux city law. Do either of you have anything to say before you begin?”
“I have nothing to say to him,” growled Serata.
“I do,” said Shay. “It’s my eighteenth birthday today. You’re looking at your firstborn son.”
“Liar!”
Payson dropped the handkerchief.
Serata whipped his rapier from its scabbard, and saluted Shay, who barely had time to do the same before Serata was on him. The man was not Second of the Guild because of his name or birth, or to whom he was married. It was like fighting a storm.
