1635_ Cannon Law - Eric Flint [77]
Frank grinned back. "And there I was thinking your were pulling some kind of Obi-Wan Kenobi schtick on me."
"Who is Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Sanchez asked, frowning. "A real person of the future or a fictional character?"
Frank grinned. "Fictional, as it happens. A Jedi knight, a warrior and I guess you'd call him a wizard. If you ever go back to Grantville, ask Sharon to see that you get to see Star Wars; I reckon you'd like it."
"Ah, the television I have heard so much about? I shall make careful note of your recommendation, Frank. But likewise make note of mine. Practice with your gun, please. Be ready to use it, as well. You have more skill with the sword now than the common run of ruffian, but that will avail you nothing against a man who has been fighting since childhood, however unschooled he may be."
Frank felt a slight chill, and not a welcome one, however sweaty he might be. He'd seen fencing on the TV one time, and it looked like quite a silly sport—two guys in metal masks playing tag with car aerials. Suddenly he didn't see the training session he'd just been shanghaied into as having anything to do with that game. It was about kill or be killed. And he still got nightmares about the sight of Marius Pontigrazzi's head bursting from where Gerry had shot him in the face. That episode had calmed Gerry himself right down from his hillbilly-hardass pose, and sent him clear back to Grantville, with side trips to Rudolstadt and Jena, to rethink his life in major ways. "Right," he said, when he'd fought down the shudder. "More range time. I can use the cellar, put some targets up in there."
"You do that. Practice at short ranges, point and shoot. Those weapons are excellent devices, Frank, as good as having six pistols in one hand." Sanchez's usual good-natured grin was nowhere in evidence now. Frank felt the conversation was being altogether too serious for his taste. Sanchez wasn't letting up, though. "Practice with your left hand as well. Practice reloading as swiftly as you may."
"You really think there will be trouble?" Frank asked.
"There will always be trouble, Frank. And there is seldom any easy way in which to predict where and when it will come to you. For now, I suspect there are those who will use your presence and activities for their own ends, and while they care little enough to order your death, I feel sure that they would issue no tears were it to happen. And, I, Ruy Sanchez de Casador y Ortiz, say that the way of honor is to prepare to flee, and cover your retreat with gunfire. Honor lies in doing one's duty, not throwing your life away."
Frank felt certain that Sanchez was hinting at something, but he couldn't tell what it was. "Understood, Ruy. I've had my taste of stand-up fighting and I guess I'm not the kind of guy that enjoys it. If it can be avoided, I'm out of there. I, uh, guess I'm a lover, not a fighter."
"Exactly my point, and as you—Ah!" Ruy straightened in order to deliver a sweeping bow. "Señora Stone, it is a pleasure and an honor to see you again. I regret, most sincerely, that I have caused your husband some shortness of breath, but it is certain to pass before you require him for anything."
Frank grinned ruefully and hauled himself to his feet. "Señor Sanchez let me try out with the saber. He recommends I practice my shooting."
"Oh, now, with much study, you would become a fine and competent swordsman, Señor Stone," Sanchez insisted. Then, to Sharon: "I felt it would be worthwhile to equip the young caballero with the rudiments of self-defense. If worse comes to worst, he should be able to hold off ordinary ruffians. With your permission, Doña Ambassadora, if he will again accompany his most beautiful wife on her next visit, I will endeavor to impart some more training?"
"By all means, Ruy.