"All right, enough's enough," said Finn. This time, when D'Artagnan came at him, Finn used karate. He stopped him cold with a front kick to the chest, then dropped him with a side kick and a roundhouse to the temple, both delivered off the same foot with lightning speed.
"That wasn't really fair," said Lucas.
"Screw fairness. This kid's built like an ox." He sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. "Hits well, too." He rubbed his jaw.
Lucas tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. D'Artagnan was getting up again.
"I seem to recall that we agreed upon fists, not feet," he said. His words were slurred and he was unsteady on his feet.
"He's got a point," said Lucas.
The innkeeper had ventured forth from beneath the table and he now watched with interest.
Finn got up again. "Feel free to use whatever works," he said. He put his fists up. D'Artagnan, moving faster than he looked able to, hit Finn with a chair. The chair broke and Finn fell to the floor, unconscious.
"That worked very well," D'Artagnan said. He turned to Lucas. "Now, Monsieur, it is your turn."
Lucas raised his hands. "Not I. We have no quarrel, Monsieur. If honor has been satisfied, will you allow me to share our wine with you while my friend gets some much-needed rest?"
D'Artagnan pondered this invitation for a moment. "Honor is satisfied," he said, "though I do not think that this is what my father meant when he urged me to fight duels. Besides, I welcome the chance to rest myself. Your friend has the strength of ten." He sat down at Lucas's table.
Lucas poured him a glass of wine, which he drank quickly.
"Finn may have the strength of ten," he said, "but I notice that he's the one who's on the floor and not you. Allow me to congratulate you. It's the first time I've ever seen him lose a fight."
"Finn? What sort of name is that?"
"Irish," said Lucas.
"Ah. And you are Irish, as well?"
"No, I'm… a Gascon."
"I would not have known it! We are countrymen! I, too, am a Gascon! You have, perhaps, heard of my father? He was a well-known soldier."
"Indeed I have," said Lucas. "Which is why I advised my friend to refrain from crossing swords with you. We have gone through much together and I would have hated to lose a friend to a swordsman who was the son of the famous D'Artagnan. If you are half the man your father is, my friend would not have stood a chance. And it was only a misunderstanding, after all."
"Well, to tell the truth, I sought to provoke a duel," D'Artagnan said, rather sheepishly.
"Because your father advised you to."
"Indeed. He said that it is necessary to fight duels in order to gain respect and a reputation. You have my apologies, Monsieur. I would have hated to deprive a fellow Gascon of a friend."
"I understand," said Lucas. "One must respect a father's wishes, after all."
"What is your name, Monsieur, so I may know whom I have the honor of addressing?"
Lucas thought quickly. Priest was an English name and England was the enemy of France. "Dumas," he said. "Alexandre Dumas."
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Dumas. And I hope that your friend will not be ill-disposed toward me when he regains his senses."
Finn groaned. He started to sit up slowly. The innkeeper brought him a bowl of water and a wet cloth. D'Artagnan went to help him to his feet.
"I trust you are not injured, sir, and that there remains no ill will between us. Monsieur Dumas has explained everything to me and I see that it was a misunderstanding, after all."
"Who?" said Finn.
"He is still a little dazed," said Lucas. "Surely you remember me, my friend-Alexandre Dumas? I hope that blow did not addle your senses. It seems that Monsieur D'Artagnan and I are countrymen. We are both from Gascony."