James McGee - Resurrectionist

“Made me wonder how you might be with a sword instead of a pistol. Ever used a blade, Hawkwood?”

“Occasionally,” Hawkwood said.

“Really? Ah, yes, but you were an officer, weren’t you? Eden told me. Well, how about it?”

“How about what?”

“Why, man to man, what else? At least I’m giving you more of a fighting chance than you were willing to give me back there. Tell you what; I’ll make it easier for you. Here, catch — ”

Hyde tossed the rapier high towards him. Had it not been for the moonlight catching on the turning blade, Hawkwood would have lost sight of it in the air. But the high parabola had been a deliberate ploy, providing Hyde with the opportunity to re-arm himself. By the time the weapon was in Hawkwood’s hand, Hyde had turned and retrieved a second sword from the rack behind him. “You might find it easier if you removed your coat.”

Hawkwood hesitated. This is madness, he thought.

“Well?” Hyde said. The challenge in the soft voice was unmistakable.

Hawkwood took off his coat, dropped it to the floor. He heard Hyde chuckle.

There was, Hawkwood discovered, a distinct chill in the room. He looked towards the windows. There wasn’t a lot of light coming in. He wondered if the snow that Jago had predicted was finally on its way.

Hyde attacked. His sword arm was a blur as the rapier blade plunged towards Hawkwood’s throat.

Instinctively, Hawkwood parried, quarte to prime. The room rang as blade clashed on blade. Hawkwood riposted, drove the point of his sword down towards Hyde’s flank. Hyde parried easily, disengaged, and withdrew.

“I see you have some knowledge,” Hyde said dismissively.

Hawkwood knew then that Hyde’s opening gambit had been merely a reconnaissance to test his reflexes. A good swordsman’s strategy was dictated by his opponent’s defensive actions. Hyde would have seen how Hawkwood held his sword, how he moved, and the speed at which he had executed his response. The second attack was likely to be more aggressive, but probably still exploratory.

Hawkwood waited.

Hyde’s next foray was a strike towards Hawkwood’s sword arm. Hawkwood parried, using his forte and the curve of his sword guard to deflect the blade. He riposted towards Hyde’s flank. Hyde parried and moved in again, his sword blade flickering in the light from the windows. Hawkwood parried, riposted, and lunged towards his opponent’s right side. Hyde brought his sword up and Hawkwood withdrew his feint. As he did so, he turned his wrist palm down and slashed his sword back-handed towards Hyde’s belly. He felt the point rasp across Hyde’s chest, heard Hyde grunt as the blade raked the underside of his throat. As Hyde twisted, Hawkwood stepped back before Hyde could riposte. Hyde lifted his hand to his breast and chin and stared at the blood on his fingers. He looked up. There was a new understanding in his dark eyes.

Suddenly, he launched himself forward. Hawkwood barely had time to react as the edge of Hyde’s blade slashed towards his ribs. Hawkwood sucked in air, brought his sword around and felt the nerves in his wrist jar as his blade caught the full force of Hyde’s attack. He heard Hyde grunt. Hawkwood pushed Hyde’s blade away and adjusted his grip in preparation for the colonel’s next offensive.

Hyde came in again. Sword held high, Hawkwood moved to block the cut, realized, too late, that he’d misread the signal and felt a searing pain lance down his right arm as the point of Hyde’s blade sliced across his bicep. He heard Hyde’s hiss of pleasure at the contact.

It was time to end it.

Hawkwood snapped a strike towards Hyde’s sword arm. Hyde flicked the blade away with contemptuous ease and scythed his sword towards Hawkwood’s ribcage. Hawkwood smashed Hyde’s blade aside. Hyde counter-attacked. Hawkwood brought his sword across the front of his body and struck hard on the outside of Hyde’s blade, driving it down and away. As Hyde’s shoulders began to turn, Hawkwood made his move. Sidestepping left, he spun right, turning into his opponent and locking his left arm over Hyde’s sword arm. Hyde was a slender man with a long reach. By stepping forward into Hyde’s attack and thus shortening the distance between them, Hawkwood had reduced his opponent’s room to manoeuvre. Hyde’s cadence was disrupted.

Ignoring the shriek of agony from the wound in his arm, Hawkwood slammed his body against Hyde’s shoulder until they were almost back to back. As Hyde fought for balance, Hawkwood reversed direction, using the outside of his rigid left arm as a fulcrum to force Hyde’s sword arm away from his body. He felt the wound in his arm open and the warm flow of blood, but continued the turn, straightened, and brought himself back to the vertical. Completely wrong-footed by the speed of Hawkwood’s attack, Hyde found himself stranded, his sword arm held adrift, his guard destroyed, and the point of Hawkwood’s sword hovering a paper’s width from his left eye.

And yet, Hawkwood saw, there was no fear there, only a kind of awe, giving way to respect and then uncertainty.

“There was a fencing master called John Turner,” Hawkwood said. “His speciality was killing his opponent by putting the point of his sword through the eye. I killed someone through the eye once. Pierced his brain with an auger. But there’s another attack, supposed to have been perfected by a French master, name of Le Flamand. He called it the botte de Nouilles. The blade enters between the eyes…” Hawkwood shifted the point of the blade an inch and a half to the right. “There’s a weak spot, I’ve been told. Not sure if that’s true, though.”

Hyde frowned.

Hawkwood thrust the blade home.

The point went in with very little resistance. Hyde’s eyes widened with surprise. They were still open as Hawkwood withdrew the blade and stepped away. He watched as Hyde’s corpse pitched forward and hit the floor. He looked down on the still body for several seconds. Then, retrieving his coat, he threw the sword aside and strode out of the room.

Jago looked up with relief as Hawkwood emerged from the darkness.

Hawkwood sighed wearily. “Go home, Carslow.”

He heard Jago gasp. “You ain’t serious?”

The surgeon stared towards the door through which Hawkwood and Hyde had disappeared. “You heard, Carslow. Go home.” Hawkwood fixed the surgeon with a steel gaze. “But be sure to present yourself at Bow Street before midday. I don’t want to have to come looking for you. And if I were you, I wouldn’t plan on holding any lectures for a while either.”

His composure destroyed, the blood drained from Carslow’s face. Hawkwood turned on his heel. “Coming, Sergeant?”

James Read was standing in front of his fire, staring into the flames. He looked, Hawkwood thought, more than a little pensive.

“A terrible business, Hawkwood.”

Hawkwood assumed the remark was rhetorical. He kept quiet.

The Chief Magistrate turned. “How is your arm?”

“Mending.”

Read nodded slowly. “I spoke with Eden Carslow.”

Hawkwood waited.

“He has accepted that his involvement with Colonel Hyde was ill-judged.”

“Ill-judged?”

“Hindsight has made him realize that he allowed loyalty to his friend to rule his head. Once events had been set in motion, it was too late to retract.”

“Too late for him to step in and save Molly Finn?”

Read pursed his lips.

“Did Carslow say what they wanted with her?”

“Molly Finn was not…” Read paused “… a specific requirement. Any female of a similar age would have sufficed. It was her heart Hyde wanted.”

Hawkwood went cold. “They were going to transfer her heart to his daughter’s corpse? Hyde was going to start her heart with his electrical machine?”