Sleight of Hand

“Did you hear the King’s top bodyguard got into another duel last week?” John overheard as Grace led them to their seats, apparently the last three available. The seating resembled the bleachers in Ashcroft’s gym, but less mechanical and more crowded. They sat at the front, jokingly referred to as the “splash zone” by another member of the crowd.

“They’re going to shoot each other because he said something mean!?” Abigail said, a little louder than she meant to when Grace explained the point of the duel to her.

“It does seem a little… excessive,” John said, looking between the two men and the claustrophobic stadium the large train car had been converted into. The man on the left seemed nervous, and was unaccompanied. He paced back and forth as the crowd jeered at him. The man on the right had another with him, and they stood together, talking with casual smiles on their faces. This is supposed to be honorable?

A dark elf dressed in a frilly black suit walked into the middle of the dueling grounds, her voice magically booming over the crowd’s whispers and yells, “It would seem that Mr. Davenport doesn’t have a second to accompany him, would anyone dare to take a stand with him?”

The crowd went silent at this, nobody among them eager to be in the same position as the unfortunate participant of the blood-sport.

John cast Advanced Spy at the three participants of the duel, and he learned that the two men on his right, Edmund Cobb and Marcellus Nethersole, were professional duelists. Their attire fit this notion; they weren’t strutting around in puffy suits like the other men in the car. They wore long coats and simple pants underneath, a holster at each side of their hips. Horace Davenport, the sickly man who had offended them, looked more in line with the other passengers. He only has fifty health? A gunshot would probably kill him.

“I’ll do it!” John volunteered, standing up from his seat. A gasp rolled through the crowd, save for his friends.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Amy asked, the others looking at him with the same question in their eyes.

“I can’t just sit here and watch this happen. If everyone involved was durable like us, sure, but that guy’s… normal,” John said, gesturing to Horace. The man took a look at his savior, though the disguised mask’s enchantment ensured he wouldn’t remember John’s face.

Master, I believe the pistols the elf holds are for the duel, and yet they are unlike any flintlock I’ve ever seen. You may find them unwieldy, Cinder relayed, appearing next to John.

I’ll figure it out, John replied, eyeing up the guns in question. If the noble they’re trying to kill is shot, heal him.

“Looks like we have a volunteer!” the announcer boomed, coming over to John and raising his hand for the crowd. His simple dress and the glasses he wore split the crowd’s opinion on whether or not he was a foreigner, but all cheered to see that the duel wouldn’t be delayed any further.

“What’s your name, young man?” the announcer, Violetta Agelzi according to her sheet, asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” John responded, brushing his non-existent duster aside in a practiced motion to draw his black pistol from its holster.

“Eager, are you? We need something for our records, and if you need to use the customary flintlock.” She handed him two guns from the various holsters slung across her body.

“John… just John,” he said, giving the antsy crowd no clues as to his identity. Such a boring name could easily be Valvian or Terran.

“You ever been in a duel before? Ever fire a Valvian flintlock?” Violetta asked his retreating form, raising an eyebrow at the brash gunman.

“Doesn’t matter,” John called over his shoulder as he inspected the guns before handing one to his partner.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to make sure you come out of this unharmed.” He clasped the stranger’s hand comfortingly, who looked at him both like an angel descending from heaven and a devil clawing its way out of hell.

“First, the two seconds will confer to try to broker peace,” Violetta announced, to innumerous boos from the crowd. Ignoring their disapproval, John strut forward.

“Sir Nethersole, I wonder how your family would feel about your choice of profession?” John asked, glaring at the lackey before him.

“Nice try. I don’t know where you got my name, but I don’t have a family,” Marcellus responded with a stubborn smile. “Not much you can say, we want that guy dead.”

John activated Charm with a hundred mana, capturing Marcellus’ gaze. “I have restraint, but I’m not a saint. Take a dive. That is, if you want to survive.”

His opponent’s eyes widened, and he stiffly walked away looking much more worried than when he came. He conferred with his boss, relaying John’s message. Edmund looked unfazed by John’s words, clocking back the hammer of his gun.

“That doesn’t sound like a peaceful resolution to me, but what do the fans think?” Violetta announced, cupping her ear to the cheering crowd. “Duelists, stand with your back to your opponent.”

Marcellus nervously approached John, waiting for him to turn his back before doing the same. Edmund had a shark’s grin as he stared down Horace, and copied his subordinate. “The crowd will count out the paces. At the tenth pace turn and fire upon your opponents. Two shots have been loaded into your guns.”

“One!”

He walked automatically to the pace of the crowd, gripping his gun tight. Despite the tense and unfamiliar situation he found himself in, the weight of the strange gun was comforting in his hand.

“Ten!”

Activating Reflex Mode, he turned and aimed at Edmund’s gun. He wasn’t expecting the kickback from the gun, and his bullet flew over the villain’s shoulder instead. His mind went into overdrive as his time ran out.

I have one more shot… I can ricochet it- Taking into account how the gun fired, he spent two grit points to make it ricochet. The bullet struck true this time, knocking the gun out of the first man’s hand before he could fire once and ricocheting sideways toward their other opponent. Marcellus had begun pulling the trigger when John’s bullet tore his finger and the gun from his hand; the other ricochets were spent bouncing the bullet between the ceiling and the floor.

Sweat dripping down his forehead, Horace turned away as his finger let go of the trigger, prepared for what fate may befall him.

“We have our winners!” Violetta shouted, raising John and Horace’s unoccupied hands. Dropping his pistol, Horace’s free hand roamed his body in disbelief when he felt no wound.

“No! God damnit, he was supposed to die!” Edmund took his personal flintlock from his holster and pointed it at the confounded noble. Six shots were fired, and all were incinerated at once by two sources of fire.

Abigail, outraged by the cheating loser, sent a wave of flame across the car when he drew his gun. It reached the midpoint of the arena just in time, washing over the six projectiles, heating them up, and diverting their trajectories.

The finishing blow was delivered by Cinder, who appeared behind John in a burst of flame. She reacted to the same movements as Abigail, but much slower. Thanks to her fellow pyromancer’s interruption and assistance, the spiraling flame she fired finished the job, melting the bullets and stopping their momentum completely.

Mandruzzo, sensing a shift in the air, created bubbles around where the bullets had melted, encasing the lead fumes and forming lead pellets out of it inside his bubbles. “Lead fumes are poisonous, signora,” he chided Abigail, who flicked a spark at him in response.

“Thank you so much!” Horace fell to his knees beside John, grasping the young man’s waist and crying into his legs. “You’ve saved my life, young man!”

“Don’t mention it,” John replied, drawing Ebony and placing the Shard of Mercy on it. He charged a hundred and fifty mana into two pulses of Mana Bolt and fired them off, knocking out the aggressors.

“They’ll be fine,” John called to Violetta, who simply nodded silently in response, her mouth in an ‘o’.

“Sir! Please remind me of your name,” Horace said, standing up and fixing his clothes, all a mess after his outburst.

“John,” he responded, stepping back from the man and opening his inventory. Shit, which water was mine?

“Sir John, please let me hire you! I’ll pay you five hundred gold a week to accompany me and be my bodyguard!” Horace cried, producing a slip of paper from inside his pocket.

“Sorry, I already have a job,” John said, returning the shard to his inventory and holstering his gun. “Just… try to get in less duels. I can’t imagine you challenged them to a duel. Insult people less?”

“I’m afraid in my attempts to abolish the system entirely, I’ve painted a target on my back,” Horace replied, eyes downcast. “It’s no more than a legal means of ****, I made no such insult to those men.”

“You have an admirable goal,” John said, suddenly feeling like Isabelle when she looked at him. “Hire somebody else. Or travel privately. I don’t know.”

“I’ll give you another ten platinum for every duel you serve me in,” Horace said, standing tall and a fierce intensity overtaking him. The change in expression transformed him from a feeble noble to a resolute scholar. “Please, sir, this could change the world.”

“I just can’t do it. I have a life on Earth, I can’t live in Valvia around you all the time.” John turned to rejoin his friends, but two pieces of paper were shoved into his hand.

“At least take this as payment then. I hope we meet each other again, Sir John,” Horace said, bowing deeply to his savior.

Inspecting the papers, the first was a promissory note. It was signed by the central bank of Valvia, and would issue the holder ten platinum upon redemption. The second was a writ of passage, authorizing him to a meeting with a member or representative of the Davenport noble house upon request. “I will not forget your assistance.”

“Say, if you’re so rich and important, why don’t you have a bodyguard already?” John looked back to the man, who stiffened at this question.

“I have… many enemies. People who oppose me politically, people who seek my **** because of my place at the head of a house, people who hate the house I belong to because of blood feuds. I am between guards right now,” Horace admitted, a little red in the face.

“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t hold your breath,” John relented, putting the papers into his inventory. Surely there’s somebody in the Rider-Waites who’d be his bodyguard. Somebody more powerful than me probably. He’s offering hundreds of thousands of dollars a week. It’s not a bad proposition.

“Do you think you could teach me to do that someday?” Grace asked, popping up behind him.

“I didn’t know you wanted more lessons, but sure, someday. Just… not anytime soon,” John teased, laying a hand on the amateur’s shoulder. “Try to get down hitting moving targets reliably first.”

“Oy! I hit most of them! Just not on the target area,” Grace said, punching John in the ribs. Thanks to Fire Away, however, punching him felt like hitting a brick wall.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the Valvia Trans-Continental Railroad kindly asks you to clear out of the car and find proper seats while we cross this province’s border,” Violetta commanded, causing all but the two **** duelists to shuffle toward either exit.