“More like the other way around,” said Martingale. “Nobody can contact the Doctor. Nobody knows where he is. It’s how he likes it.” Martingale put his shirt back on, being careful of his bandaged shoulder. “He does things his own way. I guess he decided to mobilize the Underground. He put the word out for us to try to infiltrate Drakov’s group. Of course, we didn’t know who they were then. It’s sort of funny; Darkness makes your people so nervous, they’ve classified his existence, but we’ve known about him for years.”
“So you’re the only one who’s managed to get close to Drakov?” Lucas said.
“There were several of us,” said Martingale, “but I’m the only one who made it.”
“How often do you see Dr. Darkness?” Andre said.
“He just shows up sometimes,” said Martingale. “It’s pretty spooky. He can move faster than light, but he can’t move when he arrives. So he can sort of arrive without materializing completely. You can’t see him. That’s how he knows if I’m alone. It’s an eerie feeling.”
“If he can do all that, you’d think he’d be more involved in what’s going on. Why hasn’t he been?” said Andre.
“Why don’t you ask him? Better yet, let Priest or Delaney ask him,” Martingale said.
“Why?”
“The Doctor doesn’t much like people,” Martingale said, “but he doesn’t like women, in particular. Now, unless there are any more important questions, I think we’d best be getting back. Drakov’s going to want to know about what happened, if he hasn’t heard already. I feel sorry for any of Gambi’s crew left alive. If they have any sense, they’ve left Barataria. I sure as hell would, rather than face Lafitte.”
The men stood lined up on the beach in the early morning sunshine. The survivors of Captain Gambi’s crew, and Gambi, himself, had been quickly rounded up. Lafitte’s men had moved fast. Gambi’s ship had been boarded soon after the fight and those aboard were taken. There had been no time for them to reorganize, no time to make good their escape. They stood uneasily on the sand, covered by the guns of Lafitte’s men. Lafitte, still dressed in his black trousers, only without his vest and jacket, paced back and forth on the sand, his hair and white shirt ruffling in the breeze.
“Vincent, Vincent, Vincent,” he said, approaching Gambi and shaking his head. He looked the swarthy Italian in the face and Gambi looked away. “You have been very troublesome to me. Very troublesome, indeed.”
Gambi said nothing. Drakov stood to one side with the others, watching.
“I cannot afford to be lenient with you, Vincent,” said Lafitte. “Do you know why? Because you are a stupid man and you would not understand. You would mistake lenience for weakness and that would only lead you to act foolishly again. I cannot have that. I cannot allow you to attack my guests with impunity. I cannot allow you to set yourself above my authority. You see that, don’t you?”
“I have never acknowledged your authority,” said Gambi, defiantly. “You have no right-”
“My strength gives me the right,” Lafitte said, curtly. “You never should have come here, Vincent. You should have gone your own way instead of trying to challenge me. Now you have lost. It is not enough for me to confiscate your ship. I must confiscate your life, as well.”
“So kill me, then,” said Gambi, contemptuously. “You can be brave now, with all these guns at your back.”
“Dominique,” Lafitte said. “Give him your sword.” Youx stepped up to Gambi and gave his sword to him.
“I will give you a chance to acquit yourself with honor,” said Lafitte. “Dominique, I charge you to carry out my orders. If Vincent should succeed in killing me, he and his crew go free. No one is to interfere. Understood?”
“Understood, Jean,” said Dominique.
“He will keep my word,” Lafitte said to Gambi. “Now, you wanted to challenge me, here is your chance. Make the most of it.”
Gambi growled and charged.
Lafitte smoothly drew his sword and, in the same motion, beat down Gambi’s blade and sidestepped the attack. He turned, moving lightly on his feet, one hand on his hip, the other holding the sword out before him, wrist circling slightly as he came back on guard. He looked bored.
“Come, Vincent, you will never win your freedom that way,” he said. “A little more finesse, eh?”
Gambi swore and returned to the attack, moving more cautiously now that his first rush had failed. He attempted a cut at Lafitte’s head, but Lafitte parried neatly, beat and riposted, slashing at Gambi’s shoulder. A bright str
eak of red appeared through Gambi’s shirt. They disengaged, circling each other on the sand as Gambi’s men called out their encouragement to him. Gambi bent down quickly and scooped up a handful of sand, flinging it at Lafitte’s face, but Lafitte read the move and ducked quickly to one side as Gambi moved in for a thrust.
Gambi recovered fast, but not before Lafitte opened up his cheek with a lightning slash across his face. Gambi howled and charged again, but Lafitte sidestepped him, playing him like a toreador plays a bull, working close to the body and using the barest minimum of motion. It was no contest. Gambi realized this and became desperate, flailing away madly with his saber and trying to put Lafitte on the defensive. Lafitte retreated smoothly, parrying each stroke and lunge, leading Gambi on, laughing and taunting him.
“Come, Vincent, come on, again, faster! Faster!”
Blade clanged against blade as Gambi desperately pressed his attack, sweat running down his face. His crew, thinking he was gaining the advantage, cheered him on, but then Lafitte stood his ground, his sword describing spare arabesques in the air as it darted in at Gambi, cutting, slashing, pricking, sting ing like a persistent bee as Gambi started to retreat. Each disengage met with a counter disengage, each parry with a riposte, each lunge turned aside as Lafitte pressed on, driving Gambi back until finally he lost his footing and fell. Snarling, he reached behind his neck and pulled a dagger from the sheath hanging down his back. He hurled it at Lafitte, but in mid-air Lafitte’s sword deflected it in an astonishing display of quick reactions. He stood, waiting for Gambi to get back to his feet.
“Enough of this,” he said. “I’m done with indulging you. It’s time for the coup de grace.”
Gambi glanced around wildly, but there was no escape. With a scream, he lunged at Lafitte. Lafitte spun his blade, wrenching it out of his grasp and in the same motion, ran him through the chest. Gambi gasped, clutched at his chest and fell face down onto the sand. Lafitte looked down at him and sighed.