Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [27]
"Say, Nicodaeus," he murmured thoughtfully, "he's good!"
"I told you he was a winner, Lafayette. But if, as you said, you're better—"
"Look, ah, maybe I was hasty." He watched as the count described a lightning series of figure eights, finished with an elaborate redoublement and lowered his point with a calculating glance at O'Leary.
"Go ahead," Nicodaeus whispered. "Show him a little swordsmanship. It will give you a psychological advantage if you can slice yours a hair closer to the test pattern than he did."
"Ah, look here, Nicodaeus, I've been thinking; it wouldn't really be fair of me to show him up, in front of his friends."
"He'll have to take that chance. After all, he was the one who insisted on the meeting."
Alain's seconds were nodding now. They turned and started across toward O'Leary.
"Nicodaeus!" O'Leary grabbed his second's arm. "This isn't going just the way I'd figured. I mean, I assumed that since Alain—that is, I don't see how—"
"Later." Nicodaeus disengaged his arm, strode across, engaged in deep conversation with his two opposite numbers. Lafayette hefted the sword, executed a pair of awkward thrusts. The weapon felt as clumsy as a crowbar in his cold-numbed fingers. Now Alain stepped forward a few paces and stood waiting, his slim blade held in his bronzed fist as lightly as a bread stick.
"Come along, Lafayette." Nicodaeus was at his side. "Now, I'll hold a white handkerchief between your crossed blades . . ."
Lafayette hardly heard Nicodaeus, who was talking rapidly as he urged him forward. Perhaps if he fell down, pretended to hurt his knee . . . no, no good. Maybe if he sneezed—a sudden attack of asthma—
It wouldn't do. There was only one course left. Damn! And just when he'd started having a good time. But it couldn't be helped. And this time it had better work. O'Leary shut his eyes, conjured up the image of Mrs. MacGlint's Clean Rooms and Board, the crooked hall, the cramped bedroom, the peeling, stained wallpaper, the alcove, the sardines . . .
He opened his eyes. Nicodaeus was staring at him.
"What's the matter? You're not sick?"
O'Leary snapped his eyes shut, muttering to himself: "You're asleep, dreaming all this. You're in bed, feeling that broken spring in the mattress—the one that catches you under the left shoulder blade. It's almost morning now, and if you just open your eyes slowly . . ." He opened one eye, saw Count Alain waiting ten feet away, the rank of expectant faces behind him, the stone wall looming above.
"It's not real," he hissed under his breath. "It's all a fake, an hallucination! It isn't really here!" He stamped a boot against the stone paving. "This isn't real stone, ha ha, just imaginary stone. I'm not really cold; it's a nice night in August! There's no wind blowing . . ."
His voice trailed off. There was no use in kidding himself: The stone was solid as ever underfoot. The icy wind was still cutting at his face like a skinning knife and Alain waited, light glinting on the naked steel in his hand. Nicodaeus was looking at him concernedly.
" . . . instructions," he was saying. "Well, do the best you can, my boy." He took out the white handkerchief and flapped it.
"It's the distractions," O'Leary mumbled to himself. "I can't concentrate, with all these people watching."
"Gentlemen, on guard!" Nicodaeus said sharply. Count Alain raised his sword, held it at the engagé. Dumbly, Lafayette stepped forward, lifted his heavy blade, clanged it against the other. It was like hitting a wrought iron fence.
"Say, just a minute!" O'Leary lowered his blade and stepped back. Alain stared at him, his black eyes as cold as outer space. O'Leary turned to Nicodaeus. "Look here, if this is a real duel, and not just a friendly lesson—"
"Ha!" Alain interjected.
" . . . then as the challenged party, I have the choice of weapons, right?"
Nicodaeus pulled at his lower lip. "I suppose so,