Simon Hawke - The Zenda Vendetta

With an arch look at Bersonin, Hentzau drew his sabre and casually tossed it to her. She caught it easily by the hilt.

“Never say I didn’t warn you,” Hentzau said.

“You must be joking,” said Bersonin.

“Draw your sword, Karl,” Falcon said.

“Against a woman? I’ll not. This is ridiculous.”

“Fine, then.” Before Bersonin could react, her sabre swished through the air between them, opening up his cheek from the left ear to the jaw.

Bersonin cried out, staggering several steps back, his hands going to his face. They came away bloody. He stared at her with livid fury. Wiping his bloody hands upon his breeches, he drew his sabre. “Have it your way, then. Michael or no Michael, you’ll die for that.”

Hentzau swung a chair around, sitting in it backward with his arms crossed upon its back, watching as Bersonin sprang at her. She parried his thrust effortlessly, disengaged with astonishing speed, beat his blade out of the way and opened up his other cheek.

With a howl of fury, Bersonin attacked, fully intending to cut her to shreds. Instead, to his amazement, he found himself at once on the defensive. The clang of steel on steel filled the hall as she drove him back, refusing to give quarter. He backed up against a table, faked a thrust and rolled backward across it, putting it between them so that his longer reach would give him an advantage. Falcon vaulted the table, coming down lightly on the other side. Bersonin lunged at her while she was in mid-air, but even before she landed, she parried his thrust, turned his blade, and went on the attack.

Lauengram chose that moment to walk in. He had been eating in the kitchen and pressing his suit against one of Michael’s pretty young serving girls. Having heard the sounds of fencing, he had come to see what was transpiring. At the sight of Bersonin dueling the countess, he froze, mouth agape. “What in God’s name…?”

“Here,” Hentzau said, reaching back and pulling out another chair. “Sit down and watch this, Albert. It should prove interesting.”

Eyes wide, Lauengram ignored the chair and simply stood there, mesmerized by the spectacle. Bersonin, an accomplished swordsman, was dueling with a woman and he seemed sorely beset.

Bersonin himself was in a panic. He could do absolutely nothing with her. Her blade was everywhere, slashing his shoulder, pricking his upper arm, deflecting each of his thrusts and lunges. She had cut him half a dozen times and he had yet to score a touch. He realized with a sudden horror that she was actually toying with him, that he, who had killed more than a dozen men in duels, was no match for her. He recoiled from that lightning blade, from those lambent, ferocious eyes that fixed him with a devilish fury, turning and running from her. He ran about ten steps, turned quickly to face her once again and threw down his sword.

“Enough! I yield! I wish no more of this!”

“Well, I do,” said Falcon. She swiftly changed her grip upon the sabre and threw it, like a javelin. It pierced Bersonin’s chest, the tip of the edged blade ripping through flesh and sinew to protrude from his back. Bersonin glanced down at it with a look of utter disbelief. Slowly, his hands came up to grasp the blade, as if to reassure him of its reality; then he toppled forward and collapsed upon the floor.

“Dear God in heaven!” Lauengram whispered, awestruck.

Hentzau stood and clapped his hands. “Bravo! Bravo! An inspired exhibition! You have been holding back on me, Sophia! Never did you fence so well in practice!”

She turned to face them both. “Does anyone else wish to question my authority?” she said.

Lauengram slowly shook his head from side to side, unable to tear his eyes away from her. He had never in his life seen a woman fight like that. He, himself, had been no match for Bersonin and she had disposed of him as casually and with as little apparent effort as a fencing master in a match with a new pupil.

“Not I!” he said.

“And I am yours unswervingly!” cried Hentzau, flashing a handsome grin. “By God, Sophia, what a pair we two shall make! You were wasted on that fool, Michael. Together, we shall-”

“Be quiet, Rupert,” she said. “Have someone clean up that mess. We are leaving tonight for Zenda Castle. I want the two of you to take Michael in the coach and depart at once. Inform the other three that I shall be taking charge. Should they have any reservations, you can inform them also of what happened to Bersonin. Tell them as well that their pay is to be doubled henceforth.”

“Is there to be a change of plan then?” Lauengram said, hesitantly.

“I will give you my instructions when I meet you there,” said Falcon. “Go now.”

She turned and walked calmly up the staircase toward her bedroom on the upper floor.

“I must be dreaming,” Lauengram said. “That is no woman. It is Satan with breasts.”

“Ah, but what breasts!” said Hentzau.

“What do we do now?” said Lauengram.

“Do? Why, we do what Satan tells us,” Hentzau said, grinning. “Didn’t you hear? Our pay is being doubled. Go on with you. Get Michael and drive His Would-Be Majesty to Zenda. I’ll join you later.”

“She said for both of us to go,” said Lauengram.

Hentzau winked at him. “I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

He went over to Bersonin’s corpse and retrieved his sabre, examining it to see that it was not damaged.

“I believe that if she were really Satan, you would still not be deterred,” said Lauengram. “I shall have to have a long talk with the others. We did not bargain for this.”

“Do what you will,” said Hentzau. “As for me, I go my own way.”

“You always have. But you may have gone out of your depth this time,” Lauengram told him. “A woman like that is no fit mate for any man.”

“Yes, well, I am not just any man,” said Hentzau. He tossed off a casual salute to Lauengram and followed Falcon up the stairs.

He had one very immediate purpose in mind, but his thoughts were racing. Suddenly, everything had changed. The balance of power had shifted and new opportunities were beginning to present themselves. He had to consider them all quite carefully. He took the stairs two at a time, then moved briskly down the hall towards Sophia’s rooms. He paused outside and tried the door. It was unlocked. He smiled to himself and pushed it open.

She was not there. He called her name several times, but there was no answer. He frowned as he walked through the suite, determining that it was in fact empty. Where the devil had the woman gone? Systematically, he searched every room on the floor. There was no sign of her. Outside, he heard the coach driving away and he went to a window in time to see it turn into the street with Albert driving. Had she gone in the coach? But no, she had ordered both of them to go and she would have wanted to know why he was absent. She had to be still in the house somewhere. He searched every room in the mansion, ignoring the frightened servants until it finally occurred to him to question them, but no one had seen her. It was as if she had simply disappeared.

Hentzau sat down and ordered one of the servants to bring him some wine. He smoked a cigarette. Clearly, there had to be a way out of the house he did not know about. But what was the woman up to? The thing to do now was to consider all the aspects of the situation and find the one that would most benefit Rupert Hentzau. He would have to alter his own plans for tonight now.

On the other hand, he thought, perhaps not. One had to explore all options.

It was late and the streets were mostly empty as the royal coach drove from the palace.

“It was very kind of you to see me home,” said Flavia. “It was not necessary, you know.”