“It is not without precedent,” Moabe ruled, “for a challenged party to appoint a champion to fight in his stead.”
The brothers bit off their objections and huddled together for a quick conference.
Hosato smiled to himself. He found a certain ironic justice in the situation. If thugs tried to use the format of a duel to cloak a murder, it was only fitting they find themselves bound by the rules and traditions governing that form of combat. He caught Moabe’s eye. The black looked at him impassively for a moment, then slowly closed one eye in a conspiratorial wink. Hosato was not the only one present who appreciated the humor of the situation.
“Okay, Hayama!” Harry called. The huddle was breaking up. “It’s your funeral. If you want to die instead of Mathers, that’s your privilege. We’re willing to settle this with you.”
Moabe was suddenly between them, one hand on the butt of his blaster.
“A duel is individual combat,” he said levelly. “The seconds are to serve as witnesses only, and are not to take an active part in the battle,”
“Hey, Moabe!” Tom protested. “Remember, we’re the ones who are paying you.”
“That’s right,” Moabe retorted, “and you’re paying me to umpire this duel, which means I guarantee the rules are strictly followed by both sides.”
“Shut up, Tom!” Casey interrupted. “Don’t worry, Moabe. This is Harry’s fight. He’d probably shoot us himself if we interfered.”
His smile was not convincing.
“Very well, gentlemen,” Hosato replied, as if there had been no interruption. “As representative of the challenged party, I believe I have choice of weapons. I choose epees.”
“What?” bellowed Harry.
“Epees,” said Moabe. “Swords. Not only is it an acceptable dueling weapon, it is one of the original dueling weapons.”
“Go ahead, Harry,” called Casey. “It’s like using a long knife.”
“But I don’t have a sword,” protested Harry.
Hosato was already at Suzi’s side, opening one of her many storage compartments.
“I happen to have a matched set of dueling epees.
Mr. Moabe, if you would be so good as to inspect them for acceptability?”
He passed the weapons to Moabe, who examined them closely. The Negro’s eyebrows shot up with surprised appreciation before he caught himself and restored his normal unmoved expression.
“Yes. These weapons are acceptable,” he ruled. “Mr. Scale, as your opponent has provided the weapons, you have first choice.”
He offered both weapons to Harry, who scowled suspiciously, then made a large show of examining them closely before choosing.
“My client will accept first blood in settling this matter,” Hosato announced.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tom demanded.
“Duels may be settled by first, second, or third blood,” Moabe informed him. “First blood means just that—the duel is ended when blood is drawn, however trivial. Second blood means the duel will be fought to the first serious injury. Third blood is a duel to the death, and the fight will continue until one of the combatants is dead, even if it means the seconds have to hold a wounded duelist up until the death blow is struck.”
“Oh!” said Tom, properly mollified.
Casey had been studying Hosato suspiciously throughout the exchange. “You seem to know an awful lot about this stuff, Hayama,” he commented.
“This is not my first duel,” Hosato admitted.
“Hayama!” Harry exploded in sudden recognition. “Hey. I’ve heard of you. You’re a professional duelist!”
Hosato inclined his head in acknowledgment. There was a pregnant moment of silence as the brothers exchanged glances.
“Mr. Scale,” said Moabe, stepping forward, “do you wish to reconsider accepting Mr. Mathers’ apology?”
Harry started, then brandished his sword. “Why?
I’m not scared of him. Come on, Hayama. Let’s get this thing over with.”
Mentally, Hosato cursed Moabe. If he had just kept his mouth shut for a few more minutes, Harry might have backed down on his own. But Harry was a bully, and would never back away from a fight on someone else’s suggestion. Well, there was no getting out of it now. With a sigh Hosato stepped forward and struck a pose, legs straight, sword and sword arm extended level at shoulder height.
Harry regarded the stance suspiciously.
“If you will come en garde, Mr. Scale,” Moabe prompted. “Extend your sword until its point touches that of Mr. Hayama’s. I will then give the signal to begin.”
Harry shot a black look at the umpire, then awkwardly initiated Hosato’s stance and extended his sword.
“Ready, gentlemen. Fighting for first blood. Begin!” It was over almost before it started. Harry plunged forward, trying to overwhelm and surprise his opponent, but he made a mistake. Like most novices, he ignored his opponent’s arm and tried to attack deep, going for a body hit. As he closed the distance, Hosato’s sword point floated out and plunged deep into the bicep of his sword arm.
Harry recoiled, dropping the sword and grasping his wounded arm.
“Halt!” called Moabe.
Hosato stepped back and relaxed his guard.
“First blood has been drawn,” Moabe intoned. “The matter is settled.”
“Not so fast!”
All heads turned toward the source of the voice.
During the skirmish, Casey had drifted back and taken up a position behind Moabe. He was there now, but his blaster was out and leveled at the umpire.
“Harry didn’t agree to this first-blood bull.”
“He entered into combat after the terms had—”
“Shut up, Moabe. What do you say, Harry?”
“Come on, Casey. I’m hurt!”
“Casey glared at his brother for a moment, then turned his gaze to Hosato. “Hayama,” he said, “I know you wouldn’t want to take advantage of Harry’s condition, so what say you switch that sword over to your left hand. Now!”