Then he saw another large party enter the floor, and, without needing a second glance, he knew Prince Matthew had arrived. Tal reconsidered his plan again, as he had countless times since he had dreamed it up the week before. Fresh from his heroics in saving the Duke and with the King’s approval he now stood the best chance of making it work without ending up on the headsman’s block or being discreetly dumped into the harbor.
Sipping on his drink, he ambled to where the Prince stood surrounded by his entourage. Prince Matthew was a vain man, despite the fact that by the age of thirty he had accumulated an ample girth around an otherwise slender figure. It gave the comic effect of a large reptile trying to digest an even larger ball. Still, the Prince heroically attempted to mask the result of his excesses by employing a jacket that was cinched tight around the middle and padded across the shoulders. He wore his hair short, heavily oiled, and combed forward to disguise his rapidly retreating hairline, and affected a thin mustache that had to have taken hours to trim each day, thought Talon. He also carried an ornate little viewing glass, a thing of light purple quartz imported from Queg, through which he would peer at things as if the glass somehow gave him a better level of detail.
Tal waited a short distance away until he was noticed, then bowed.
The Prince said, “Ah, Squire. Good to see you back. Sorry I missed you at the gala, but I was indisposed.”
The rumor in the palace had been that the Prince had consumed so much wine the night before Kaspar’s welcoming gala that he dared not step more than a dozen paces from the garderobe in his quarters lest his irritated bowels rebel unexpectedly. “My loss, Highness. It’s good to see you recovered.”
“Have you dueled?” asked the Prince.
“I just finished, Highness.”
“Ah, a pity. I had hoped for some decent competition today.”
The Prince was an indifferent fencer, but for reasons political, he rarely lost a bout. Tal had no doubt he had waited in the nearby changing rooms, under the soothing hands of a masseuse, waiting for word of Tal’s sessions being over. “That’s no trouble, Highness. I haven’t left the floor yet, so I would be happy to accommodate you should you wish a bit of a challenge.”
Several of the Prince’s party exchanged glances. On his best day the Prince would be no match for Tal on his worst, and few thought the Champion of the Masters’ Court likely to allow a victory to the Prince, given that Tal had never lost a bout, and if he continued to win until the next Masters’ Court Tournament, he would be the undisputed master of all time.
Prince Matthew forced a smile. “Again, a pity. I’ve already booked my opponents.”
Three young fencers stood nearby, one of them being the youth, Anatoli. He beamed as he stepped forward, and said, “Highness, I would gladly surrender my place to allow the Champion to accommodate you.”
If looks could kill, Anatoli would have been instantly reduced to smoking debris. Instead, the Prince said, “How kind, young sir. I shall be sure to remember.”
Tal tried to suppress a grin. “Why don’t you begin with the other two, Highness, while I finish my lemon water? When you’re finished with them, I’ll be delighted to be your last opponent.”
The Prince smiled, for at least Tal offered him a way to save face. He would win his first two bouts, after which being defeated by the Champion would be no shame. And, who knows, perhaps the Champion might seek to curry favor by allowing a draw—certainly he had done so before.
Tal wandered back to the buffet and helped himself to another piece of apple. The Prince quickly disposed of both his opponents, who contrived to lose in an almost convincing fashion.
Tal put down his cup of water and returned to the floor. “Congratulations, Highness. You barely broke a sweat.” In fact, the Prince was puffing like an old horse that had been run uphill all day.
“Kind of you…to say that…Squire.”
“Let’s say to seven? That will give us both a good workout.”
Master Vassily glanced at Tal with narrowed eyes. To seven meant best of seven touches. The usual match was to three touches. Tal would win without difficulty, but would have to score on the Prince four touches instead of the usual two out of three. The Prince was caught exactly where Tal wanted him, unwilling to decline. He said, “Of course.”
Then Tal said, “And if you would be so gracious, we’ve already both matched with rapiers. I could use some practice with a heavier weapon. Sabers? Or long swords, perhaps?”
Everyone within hearing range fell silent. Prince Matthew was indifferent with the rapier, but it was his best weapon. The heavy cavalry blade required quick, powerful attacks, and the infantry sword required stamina. The Prince elected the lesser of two evils. “Sabers, then, Squire.”
Tal motioned for one of the floor staff to hand him his helmet and sword, while another attendant brought the Prince a practice saber. Master Vassily approached and whispered, “What do you think you’re doing, Squire?”