Sword Fight

by Nathan Van Coops

  The scoreboard showed she had knocked down four point flags and disabled one other vehicle, but she hadn’t claimed any pedestrian prizes or taken any hostages. She did manage to avoid breaking down or getting captured herself, so her points total was enough to rank her in the top ten, but she wasn’t bringing home any prizes.

  Damon assessed the steaming hood of the sedan. “With a little coolant, it might even get us home. Not bad, Alley Cat.”

  Valerie attempted to open the driver’s door but couldn’t budge it. The passenger door was also stuck. With Damon looking on, she finally had to resign herself to climbing out the back through the missing rear door.

  “See? Not so stupid now, is it?” Damon said.

  “Whatever. I still want a real door.”

  “How do you feel? That rollover looked rough.”

  “I imagine it’s what a pinball feels like.”

  “You did well. Pretty sure that Belmont Cruiser you knocked out at the end was Holden Rothschild. He’ll be fuming.” Damon reached into his pocket and extracted a wad of bills. He counted a few out and handed them to Valerie.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Made a few prudent bets while you were busy driving. Might be enough to get you a few armaments for the Guardian.”

  “What kinds of weapons will the other cars have? I saw a wrecker out there with a rack that looked like it might carry a ballista.”

  “Could be. But anybody carrying an artillery weapon will only get one good shot at a time. No way to effectively reload and fire that without stopping. Still, you will see the occasional net launcher, and you have to watch out for tire cutters. I got a good look at the driving skills out here, and you can hold your own with any of them. From here on out, we should focus on your sword training.”

  Valerie tossed her helmet into the trunk. “What’s next?”

  “Sleep. Come on. Let’s get back before anybody gets too nosy or follows us home. You’ve made enough of an impression for one night.”

  Valerie was wiping down tables the next day after the lunch rush when she caught sight of a face she hadn’t seen since the night she first arrived. The boy seemed to be searching for someone.

  “Hey! Eli!”

  Eli located her voice and straightened up.

  “I thought that was you,” Valerie said, making her way to the door. “What are you doing lurking around the Twisted Tentacle?”

  “Nothing,” Eli replied. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. A couple of his fingers protruded through holes. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Valerie crossed her arms. “You trying to make up for bailing on me and leaving me to get beat up in an alley?”

  Eli scuffed one shoe against the other. “Yeah.”

  Valerie cocked her head and studied his forlorn posture. “You been back before today?”

  “Couple of times.”

  She sighed. “Look, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

  Eli looked up, his eyes darting to her face, then back to the ground. “I still . . . still shoulda stayed.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “They would have hurt you. You went for help. If it hadn’t been for that, who knows what might have happened.”

  Eli looked up again, this time he held her gaze. “I’m still sorry. It’s not how you should be with your girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, well, we all make mistakes.”

  Eli looked encouraged. “Do you . . . Do you want to maybe go out again sometime?”

  “Out? What are you talking about?”

  “You know, like maybe ride on my bike again, like the last time?”

  “That wasn’t a date,” Valerie replied. “And you do realize you’re twelve, right?”

  “So?”

  “I’m turning eighteen in a few days.”

  “That’s not so old,” Eli replied.

  “I think you’re better off finding someone your own age.”

  Eli frowned. “What if I got you a really good birthday present? Like jewels.”

  “I think I’m all set,” Valerie said.

  A Sovereign Mark II came cruising down the street, and Valerie backed into the shadow of the tavern’s doorway.

  “What is it?” Eli asked.

  “Nothing. Just trying to avoid attention. Someone I know drives a car like that.” She watched the car go by, but the driver wasn’t anyone she recognized.

  “There’s a couple of those Mark IIs uptown,” Eli replied. “A black one and a green one, and one like that except it has a hole in the door like someone stabbed it.”

  Valerie focused on the boy. “You’ve seen that car? Was it a hole in the driver’s door where a sword went through it?”

  “It looks like it. Why?”

  “The guy who rides around in that car is Jasper Sterling’s lawyer. He’s the bastard who has the documents that got me stuck down here.”

  Eli nodded. “I’ve seen that car a bunch of times.”

  “You ever see the guy that rides in it?”

  “Sometimes,” Eli said. “He has this metal box he never lets go of.”

  “That’s him.” Valerie bit her lip. “Listen, if you see that car again and the guy who drives it, can you come tell me? I’d really like to get my hands on that briefcase.”

  “Would that make you want to be my girlfriend again?”

  Valerie shook her head. “Friends. That’s what we are. But I’ll give you that ride in the Guardian you wanted, or I’ll buy you an ice cream or something.”

  “Like a date.”

  Valerie laughed. “Like friends.”

  “All right,” Eli said. “I’ll find the car. Then I’ll change your mind about the friends part.” He winked at her, then climbed on his bike and pedaled away.

  That night after work, she made the walk to Damon’s loft as usual, noting the increase in traffic on the roads. The revving of engines could be heard on nearly every block these days. Garages all along Lexington had crews working on junkyard motors and custom cars.

  Valerie had kept the Guardian under wraps for the last few weeks, and the buzz about its existence had faded as new arrivals came to town. With the exposure of new home-built war cars around Tidewater, she hoped the Guardian had been largely forgotten. When she walked into Damon’s warehouse, she found Damon and Rico working on the car. It was on jacks, and the rear wheels were missing.

  “What’s going on in here?” Valerie asked.

  Rico was in the driver’s seat messing with the dash controls. “Been installing a few weapons and defense systems for you. We’re trying to up your game for the tournament.”

  “Excellent,” Valerie replied.

  “This thing was state of the art ten years ago,” Damon said. “But we need to make some updates if you want to hang with some of the cars coming into the city for this tournament.”

  “You want to talk to her about track geography?” Rico asked.

  “Good idea,” Damon said. “Show her the course.”

  Rico climbed out of the Guardian and moved to the rolling tool chest. The top workbench had been cleared and was now covered in butcher paper. But it was obvious that Rico wasn’t planning to use it for wrapping sandwiches. The butcher paper had been scribbled on with dark charcoal pencil, and the drawing was a rough representation of Sterling Bay.

  “They announced the route this morning,” Rico said. “It’s an open start south of the bay at Baylor’s Field, out to Mount Oro Castle, around the Twisted Sisters, then all the way back to Sterling Arena here in Port Hyacinth via Long Bridge. It’s a little over sixty miles start to finish. It’s a timed run. You’re not racing the other cars as much as you’re racing the clock. And you’ve only got forty-five minutes.”

  Valerie studied the route. “That shouldn’t be bad in a car like the Guardian. What is that, eighty miles per hour average?”

  “Only you won’t be going eighty the whole time,” Damon said. He nodded to Rico. “Tell her the hazards.”

  “There
’s plenty,” Rico said. “Getting out of the melee start will be the biggest one. You’ve got at least a hundred cars trying to muscle their way out of Baylor’s Field. There’s only one route that will get you to Mount Oro, and it’ll be chaos. Expect a lot of smash and bash going on there, especially from the bigger, slower cars. They know they won’t be able to catch you on the straightaways, so they’ll be looking to lame their competition early. Grappling hooks, tire slashing, ballistae, it’s all fair game in the opening.”

  He pointed to the next element. “When you make the bridge to Mount Oro, the trouble’s not over. It’s a moat circuit. Mount Oro’s old defense moat has been drained, and you’re racing through it, doing a perimeter run around the outer wall, then out the north side.”

  “I have to race through a moat?” Valerie asked.

  “Exactly,” Rico said. “And from what the spotters have said, it didn’t drain well. Lots of mud puddles and sludge down there. Great place for a pileup.”

  “Holy hell,” Valerie muttered. She glanced at the tires on the Guardian. “Mud?”

  “That’s why we’re making modifications,” Damon said.

  “Okay,” Rico continued. “Assuming you clear the Mount Oro moat, you’re on to the Twisted Sisters. Here’s where you’ll have a decision to make. Either route will get you around the twin peaks of the city, but they’ll have multiple roads open through the city proper. All have their disadvantages. The high roads are wider, presumably less likely to clog up due to a wreck, but it’s a longer way around. The low roads are more direct, but they’ve got tight turns, little to no room to maneuver, and drop-offs that can have you swimming in the bay with the first mistake.”

  Valerie ran her hands through her hair and exhaled. “Tell me there’s good news on this course somewhere.”

  “Sure,” Rico said. “Good news is that if you survive the Twisted Sisters, you get the Long Bridge. That’s a straight run. Ten miles of full throttle drag race. It’ll put you through the gates of the arena, we hope before they drop the portcullis. If you’re still outside after that comes down, race is over.”

  Valerie stared at the route scratched out on paper. It was certainly a lot different from smoking Remi Rothschild off the line back in Briar Valley. She turned to study the war car.

  She knew she ought to be worried, but somehow the clean, confident curves of the Guardian calmed her. They could handle it. Together.

  “I guess we’ve got some work to do,” she said.

  Damon tossed her a tire iron. “Welcome to the pit crew.”

  18

  Dance Moves

  “I’m going to shoot you with this crossbow.”

  “Like hell you are,” Valerie said.

  Damon was standing thirty yards away in the pasture, holding the weapon. “Don’t worry. The arrowheads aren’t real. They’re soft rubber.”

  “I don’t care if they’re made of marshmallows and pretzels. You’ll put my eye out.”

  “Not if you do your job right.” He hoisted the crossbow. “You need to learn to move in that armor. You’re too slow. This will fix that.”

  Valerie muttered a few more curses under her breath but lowered the visor of her helmet and lifted her sword. This pasture they had driven to was dotted with holes and ruts, and there was no sure footing among the tufts of grass and weeds. “Are you giving me a countdown from three or—”

  Damon fired.

  The bolt sailed right past Valerie’s blade and struck her in the chest.

  “Damn it! Ow.” She staggered backward, rubbing a hand over her left breast. She was armored in a mail shirt and had a boiled-leather breastplate over top, but the impact of the crossbow bolt was still painful.

  “Feel free to dodge the next one. It’s a lot easier than blocking it. Try to get closer.”

  “Closer?” Valerie had already taken several steps in the opposite direction.

  “I’m your target,” Damon replied. “I want you to get to me without being hit.” He had already reloaded the crossbow and hoisted it to his shoulder.

  “This is a sword-fighting competition. No one will be shooting at me.”

  “That’s your excuse for being slow? Maybe I should have named you Alley Turtle.” He sighted down the length of the crossbow.

  “I really hate you, you know that?”

  The bowstring twanged and the bolt flew at her. This time she moved to the side as she swiped at it, but the bolt still struck her, glancing off the steel pauldron on her shoulder. She raised her sword and charged, attempting to cover the ground between herself and Damon before he could get another bolt loaded. But as she closed in on him, she realized she was too late. He leveled the crossbow at her head.

  She put up her hands. “This isn’t fair,” Valerie said.

  “Let’s do it again.”

  She returned to her starting position and raised her sword. This time, she darted sideways before Damon had a chance to fire. She zigzagged as she ran, forcing Damon to track her. He fired, and the bolt zinged off her right thigh. The force was enough to throw her off balance and send her sprawling. Her hand landed centimeters from a cow patty. She rolled over and rubbed at her leg. “Those things really hurt.”

  “You should stop letting them hit you,” Damon replied, calmly reloading the crossbow.

  “Is this one of those times where you get to show me how it’s done, because I’d love to get my hands on that crossbow for a minute.”

  “Then come get it.” Damon smiled.

  Valerie climbed to her feet, picked up her sword, and limped back to her starting position. She set herself in a rear guard and attempted to form a new strategy.

  When Damon raised the crossbow, she darted right. This time, instead of zigzagging, she feigned a stop but immediately continued on in the direction she had begun. Damon’s bolt whizzed harmlessly behind her.

  She sprinted at an angle to Damon’s position that kept him clearly in view, and as he finished loading the crossbow, she cut back toward him.

  He pivoted to face her, but as soon as he leveled the weapon to fire, she leapt into a slide, her legs in front of her, sword raised in a blocking position. Damon adjusted his aim, lowering to track her incoming attack, but she forced her heel into the ground and let her momentum bring her back to her feet. Her sword arm extended at the same time, bringing the blade up in a sweeping arc that caught the front of the crossbow and sent it skyward. The bolt flew off into the distance, and she brought her sword around to Damon’s neck. She stopped the cut with half an inch to spare.

  She was panting but her sword arm stayed steady.

  Damon smiled. “Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Valerie withdrew her sword and nodded, lowering the weapon while she caught her breath.

  Damon suddenly dropped and spun, his foot flashing around in a leg sweep. Valerie’s legs went out from under her, and she landed with a thud in the grass.

  She stared up breathlessly at Damon above her.

  “So, you can dodge an arrow, but you can’t dodge my foot?”

  “You’re such a bastard,” Valerie said, groaning as she rose to her elbows.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You can start the next round from here.” He winked at her, reloaded the crossbow, and strode away.

  Valerie examined her fresh bruises and studied her lean face in the mirror. There was no disguising that she was exhausted. She attempted to tidy her hair before walking out of the bathroom but decided it was a lost cause. She just needed sleep.

  Damon was closing up the cabinets of practice equipment.

  “I’m heading out,” Valerie said. “Janet has me working the morning shift.”

  Damon nodded. “Before you go, I got you something.” He moved to the table and picked up a brown, paper-wrapped parcel. It was tied together with bailing twine. “Sorry it’s not better wrapped. Happy early birthday.”

  “A birthday present?” She took the package from him.

  “I know I’ve been prett
y hard on you in training lately, but you’ve shown some real improvement. I figured it’s time you had something to show for it.”

  Valerie’s fingers pried at the package. The twine and paper came away quickly in her hands and revealed a beautiful wooden box with runes engraved on it.

  “Go ahead. Open it,” Damon said. His eyes glinted with enthusiasm.

  Valerie lifted the lid and gasped. “Oh my goodness. It’s gorgeous.” Inside the box was an ornate, blue-green masquerade mask. It had silver accents that glinted in the light and when she turned it over, she noted the inside was marked with the sigil of a wolf. “Where did you find this?”

  “It was my mother’s.”

  “What? You can’t give me this,” Valerie said, attempting to hand it back. “It’s too dear to you.”

  “It’s collected enough dust,” Damon said. “That mask has been in my family a long time, but it deserves to be worn by someone I respect. Besides, if you make it through the race, you’ll need one for the king’s masquerade.”

  She let the words sink in. Someone he respects.

  She admired the exquisite workmanship of the mask, then ran her finger over the emblem on the interior. “Your family sigil is a wolf?”

  “House of Roark,” Damon replied. “I used to hate it. Wolves terrified me as a child. But my mother used to say, ‘Don’t be a baby. They’re just slightly more dangerous dogs.’ She wasn’t much for coddling us.”

  “How do you feel about bears?” Valerie asked, holding the mask up to her face and peering at him through it.

  “To tell you the truth, they’re starting to grow on me.”

  Valerie’s face flushed. There was something about the way he was looking at her that made her want to stay hidden behind the mask. Like otherwise he’d be able to see into her mind, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to see what she was feeling. “I’d . . . I’d better get back.” She quickly returned the mask to the box and set it on the table. “Thank you for the kindness, but it’s too generous. I can’t take it.”

  “It’s a birthday gift.”

  “How about a birthday loan?” Valerie offered. “I still have to make it through the race before I’ll even get an invite to the masquerade.”