“Uhm ... what?” I finally managed to say.

“His feet, Vince! Teuring's a sleeper! His feet, Vince!” he said a little too loudly, wobbling the tiniest bit.

This conversation was rapidly making even less sense than his first sentence had. How long had he spent directly above those assorted fellows in the tower? Had the smoke affected him?

“You spoke with Lord Teuring about his feet?” I asked, incredulous.

“No, I didn't get to talk to him at all, actually,” he scowled, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Didn't get to talk-” I was flabbergasted.

“No, but that hardly matters at this point. Vincent, he-”

“So you learned nothing,” I said bitterly. “That's great. Well done. Tell me, were you only down there to shut me up, or did you accidently sleep in this morning?”

Theodore fixed me with a dark look before answering.

“Well, it's good to know that you believe I would treat our friendship so lightly. Very gratifying. Additionally, I'll thank you not to put words in my mouth. I haven't learned 'nothing', as you've so generously put it.”

“You said-”

“I said,” he interrupted, drawing himself up and squinting at me, “that I didn't speak with him. This despite the fact that I was there since sunrise. This despite having made every effort I could think of to get within ten feet of him. I'd say that I learned rather a lot. Now, would you like to hear what I did learn, or do you want to perform a childish tantrum of some sort? I can wait...”

Still looking rather unsteady, he wobbled for a few steps and made a production of drunkenly leaning against the nearby pillar, combing his fingers through his beard and looking at me with a tired, unfeigned annoyance.

“Look, can you-” I began, and then stopped. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again.

Theo was now standing expectantly with his side to me, inspecting the fingernails of his uninjured hand speculatively, whistling softly to himself.

My shoulders were so tense that it was a miracle they hadn't started cramping. I made a conscious effort to relax them, rolling my neck a few times to loosen them up.

I took another deep, relaxing breath.

He was right. I was being an idiot.

“Theo, I'm sorry. I'm being an ass, I know. I just ... I left an upsetting conversation that got me all wound up. I don't mean to take it out on you. But I was angry! That piss-drinking, know-nothing young son of-”

“I know, I know...” he said, a hint of sympathy creeping into his voice. “I was there, I heard it. Little wanker. Myself, I would have done more than just drawn on him.”

“Well, I only have to wait until tomorrow, at which point I can do more than simply draw on him,” I said, feeling myself calm down as I spoke. “Substantially more than simply draw on him. Still, I feel terrible that I wasted your time, Theo. Say, do you want to sit down and relax a bit while I work off some of this anger, loosen up? I swear, the muscles in my shoulders feel tougher than a twenty-copper whore.”

“Vincent, I need you to listen very carefully to me,” he said, seriously.

I stopped in mid-stretch, then shook out my arms casually in front of me, feeling my muscles begin to loosen.

“Okay. I'm listening.”

He took a breath and pursed his lips before speaking.

“Vince, I think he's better than you.”

The words he spoke made no sense whatsoever, no matter what order I attempted to put them in. The only word my brain could seem to dredge up as a response was 'Huh?'

I frantically searched for a better way of phrasing my complete bafflement at what he'd just said, some more precise way of articulating my confusion.

“Huh?” I finally managed to say.

“He, Lord Teuring, may be better than you. A better swordsman, that is. I think. Gods,” he said, his voice sounding both awed and excited, like he'd had too much to drink. “I scoured my memory, tried to remember it exactly, how he'd cut himself. You told me that, right? Right. Just like it. When I heard that other stuff today, I thought I was going crazy.”

I wondered if my friend was going crazy.

“Theo,” I said, pressing my fingers against the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes, “could you please explain what the hell you’re talking about? I'm afraid that you began this whole conversation by making no sense whatsoever, and things have gone a bit downhill since then.”

He paused and took a long, thoughtful breath.

“Vince, remember when you came back from the Circles? You'd mentioned this thing that he did, catching his foil by the blade. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. Funny as Hades, happened when he had his back turned to us.”

“I heard people talking about it,” he said, nodding. “One of the Lords I spoke with mentioned Teuring cutting his hand in the exact manner you described today.”

“Well, it was really funny, so I don't doubt they're still-”

“No, Vince, today. This fellow said Teuring cut himself today.”

“Uh, what? That was yesterday, Theo...”

“I know. I asked this guy - he wasn't even at the Circles yesterday, but he saw Teuring do this with his own eyes, or so he says. The exact same thing ... identical. Now,” he said, awkwardly attempting to remove his half-cloak with his uninjured hand, “what does that tell you?”

“That our young Lord Teuring has a learning disability? Well, I'd suspected as much, but-”

“Vince, don't you get it? You practice something over and over until you're so good at it that it becomes second nature, like breathing! He didn't make a mistake in front of you, or this other guy. No,” Theo seemed to become more animated as he spoke, “what he did was perform the same move a second time.”

“A 'move'? What move? That? He sliced open his own hand! Tell me Theo, what exactly is a 'move' like that supposed to accomplish?”

“Exactly what it accomplished yesterday.”

“Eh?”

“You don't think he's much of a swordsman. You saw him grab his foil blade, cut himself, look like a complete buffoon. You think he's terrible.”

“Uh ... yeah.” I sent him an inquisitive look. “Seeing something like that does tend to give away the fact that you're not very good. Uhm ... Theo, don't take this the wrong way, but there was a great deal of smoke in that room, and being situated where you were right above it, you-”

“I'm perfectly fine, Vincent. Watch. Big brack blugs bed brue-back ... no, wait,” he frowned. “Lemme try that again. Brig back ... big black bugs br- uh...”

I gave him a look.

“Okay, I did take a little something for the pain. And there was a lot of smoke, Vince!” he said defensively, wincing and rubbing his arm under the dressing. “It was getting so I could hardly breathe in there, and at one point I thought I was going to pass out. Even so, I think I'm rather wishing I could be even less clear-headed right at this moment. Do you have anything lying around for pain? Or failing that, a drink?”

“I've been meaning to ask you, I noticed your injury back in the tower. What happened? Hang on, let me fetch you something for that,” I said, gesturing for him to sit as I hopped over to the drinks cabinet. I had some sunthistle poultices treated with assorted medicinal herbs, as well as the tiniest bit of jackweed stashed back in a cabinet above the glasses, and I figured he could probably use both. After a moment's thought, I also pulled a bottle of Teir-na-nay from the cool reservoir of water that most of my green wines sat in, as well as two large round glasses.

Laden with various implements of first-aid and pain relief, I walked back towards where Theo was still standing, awkwardly trying to work his cloak clasp with his right hand.

“Let me help you with that, and then we'll have a bit of a sit. Maybe then one of us will start making sense,” I said, putting the assorted bottles and bandages down upon the dark, shiny surface of the table in front of our usual seats.

“Vince,” he said urgently, slurring slightly, “you're not listening. He might be good, this kid, and is just pretending to be awful. We call them 'sleepers'.”

“Now, before I say 'of course' and nod patronizingly at you, I should let you know that nothing you say this evening will be held against you. Those fumes were intense. I haven't seen that much smoke in one place since the palace fire that happened during Summer Solstice a few years ago.”

His eyes narrowed at me while I reached up to unhook the chain clasp of his cloak, removing the heavy leather garment from his shoulders as his left arm hung uselessly.

“You don't believe me, though. You don't think I'm serious,” he said quietly. “You think I don't have my wits about me, or – bah! You began this conversation assuming I was just trying to shut you up.”

“Theo, I think that you and I have both had a rough day, and could use some nice fortified wine. Let’s look at that cut you've got there. Is it bad? That's a fair bit of blood there...”

“Vince,” he said, voice now so quiet it was a mere grumble. “Draw.”

“Pardon?”

“Draw!” he bellowed, pushing me bodily away from him with his good hand. A split second later, and in one swift movement, he had the full length of his four-foot blade shining brightly before me.

With a mighty roar, he threw himself at me, his good arm whipping his sword around in an overhand crescent that looked as though it could split a tree in two, aimed right at my head.

Heart suddenly thumping in my chest, I heard his cloak rustling to the floor, forgotten. I heard the same sound of ringing metal that had assaulted my ears a scant hour ago, and just as suddenly my blade was before me like the cross of a 't', thrown upward to make the obvious parry. I prepared my arm for the inevitable ringing shock of metal on metal.

As soon as the blades connected, Theo pulled his stroke backwards and let go, allowing his sword to clatter on the cobbles behind him.

“Freeze!” he bellowed, even louder than he'd shouted only moments before. “Don't move!”

I froze awkwardly out of habit, mid-movement, my own sword almost twisting out of my grip. I held it hovering a foot over my head.

“Theo! What the f-”

“I said freeze!” my unarmed friend said authoritatively, sounding vaguely annoyed.

He was using the same tone as when he wished to point out a problem with my footwork or some other small piece of potentially lethal imperfection. This was instruction, a lesson of sorts.

I remained frozen.

Theo hiccuped softly before continuing.

“Without moving anything but your head, look down and take note of where your feet are, and what they're doing,” he said in a recognizably imperious tone.

I looked down at my feet, then I looked up.

“Okay, I defy you to find anything wrong with this. Placement is perfect, my back leg isn't 'stuck' at all, and – just what in the name of all that is holy was that for!? I mean-”

“You're right,” he said, ignoring my last outburst, eyes focused on my boots. “Actually, I'm pretty impressed. Weight balanced primarily on your back leg, right foot placed well. A quick push on your left leg if you need to lunge. Nicely done.”

“Theo!” I yelled, “Could you please tell me what in the name of Belial's butt-crack you are trying to prove?”

“When I drew on you, what were you thinking? Were you thinking to yourself 'My goodness, I must place my feet exactly so, and hold my sword arm thus'?”

“No, as a matter of fact I was thinking 'Oh dear gods have mercy! My drug-addled friend has finally gone completely loopy, and is trying to kill me!'”

“It was automatic. You didn't tell your body to do the things it needed to do, you simply identified a threat and instinctively knew how you needed to deal with it. Right?”

“More or less, yeah.”

“That sort of automatic reaction isn't easy to come by. It takes time, training. Years and years of training. What you did out of reflex, others have to make a conscious effort to reproduce. You've reached that point where certain actions require no thought at all, they're a part of how you approach the fight as a whole. Would you agree?”

“Yes,” I said, uncertainly. I lowered my sword all the way so that the point rested on the floor, no longer wishing to expend the effort required to keep it in front of me. “Theo, your point being what exactly?”

“When you drew on Lord Teuring – bloody marvelous how quick you were, by the way – I watched his feet. Vincent, his feet,” he said, looking half exhausted as he spoke the words, “were perfect.”

The confusion from the evening's madness coalesced and turned to gel, like an understanding being forcefully and quietly slapped into place. I tried to get my brain to encompass everything that he was implying, several times. I failed. Stunned, I simply stood there, gawking, uncertain of what to do or say.

“That's what I'm trying to say,” the large, bearded man said glumly as he walked unsteadily towards his chair. “This kid might actually be good. I can't really know for sure, given my limited information, but-”

“I ... you...” I managed to croak. I tossed my sword onto a section of carpet where it came to rest with a quiet 'bong', and I sat heavily on the nearby couch. “Theo, please! The kid reportedly disarmed himself! Against a wooden practice dummy! I saw him-”

“Vince, if I wanted to pretend to be awful, what would I do?”

“Just that. You'd pretend to be less skilled than you are.”

“Yes, but what specific things would I need to do in order to convince a total stranger that I couldn't fence my way out of a loose-woven linen bag?”

“Wouldn't he just sort of start out by assuming that you didn't know how to fence in the first place, or were about average?”

“Do you assume that?” he asked, archly, eyebrows raised. “You got your man Cyrus to research Teuring, and even after that you were practically a basket case until you went to spy on him at the Circles. The most practical assumption is to not assume anything about the other person, slowly forming an opinion as more information becomes available. So, that being said, what would I have to do in order to convince someone I don't know that I am lousy with a sword?”

“I guess you'd have to provide them with some sort of evidence that you were as bad as you wanted them to believe,” I said uncomfortably.

“More than that, because of my natural reflexes. I would have to have practiced, worked at suppressing my instincts in order to give you a very specific impression of my skill.”

“You mean like when you left your guard too low yesterday?”

“Exactly! Yes, just like that. If your guard is perfect, then seeming like you've made a genuine mistake takes practice.”

“Theo, stop and listen to yourself. This kid was practically cornered into a duel, kicking and screaming, because he tried to steal from me. He's positively scared silly of me! And you think I have reason to be worried because of something he did with his feet? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

“I've asked myself that question a hundred times. I watched as closely as I could all morning and all afternoon. He seemed to know when I was watching him, avoiding me without appearing to, slipping away without me noticing. And when it became too difficult to avoid me, he found other ways to keep me occupied.” He gestured to his injured arm meaningfully.

I felt my eyes go wide.

“Your arm, he did that?” I was stunned.

“What? Oh, no. No ... not exactly.” He rubbed his bearded chin with his good hand. “A little background. I've been on reasonable terms with Lord Leventale for several years, partly because we both have a similar interest in Cowling Street, which runs through both of our territories. I shan't get into the details of that. By the by, he doesn't like you very much, and is fairly vocal about it.”

“He's got good reason to be,” I said. Later, I'd have to tell Theo about the time I'd liberated Lord Leventale's clothes while he was dallying with a certain attractive and extremely married Countess.

“Well, he's a reasonable hand with a blade as well, quite respectable. I'd ran into him at the Circles that morning, and he was just as friendly and natural as you please. Then in the early afternoon, after I've been snooping around Teuring for several hours, he comes up with a murderous look and challenges me to a duel, angry as all Hades and unwilling to explain why. When I refuse, he starts getting nasty. Doesn't draw on me, but gets physical ... pushing, shoving. Ugly names, people starting to gawk, eventually I had to give in. We found seconds and a dueling circle. Good fight,” he said, attempting a bit of a flex and wincing as he did.

“So, Leventale's the one who cut you then.”

“Yeah. He surprised me, cut my arm. At the time I thought he'd gotten careless - he threw everything he had into a move that left him wide open for punishment.”

“And you ...?”

“Punished him,” he said, blandly. “Nicked him in the jaw.”

“That's it?”

“Well, when I say 'nicked', I of course mean 'split his jawbone in two, right at the cleft of his chin'. I figured I would gloss over the gory details ... it was pretty ugly.” He shrugged, trying not to sound too impressed with himself. “Now, one of the curious bits – he was talking to one of Teuring's boys right before the whole thing started. I'd seen that same fellow of his not ten minutes before too, talking to Lord Teuring directly. Hair worn kind of long, oiled, not quite as curly as Teuring's.”

“Huh. You think the two events are related?”

“Absolutely. We were perfectly fine right up until I saw him marching up to me, hand on sword, angry as a wet ferret. Speaking of related, I do also think that Teuring and the young fellow with the long-ish hair are connected, blood-like. He looks to be playing the part of servant, but he’s never too far away at any given time, and they seem to talk quietly and seriously to each other fairly regularly.”

“Hmm,” I mused, trying to recall anyone I'd seen at Teuring's party that may have fit that description. The youth who lit the candle, perhaps.

“So, I can't exactly figure out what he might have been told or what exactly set him off, but I'm quite certain that Teuring is responsible, and I'm just as certain that the whole reason he was sent after me in the first place was because I was busy snooping around Teuring and trying to say hello. He knew what I was there for, Vince ... he had to know.”

I nodded “How would Teuring have convinced Leventale to attack you in the first place?”

“Don’t know. I don’t think I’m going to get an answer for that question from Leventale either, and not just because of...” he made a quick cutting gesture with his thumb, motioning down the front of his chin.

“Yeah, I don’t imagine he feels much like talking.”

“And then once I got bandaged and went to the tower, you showed up. You drew on him, and his stance went immediately defensive, with perfect foot placement, despite being unarmed. He might actually be a decent swordsman, Vince. At the very least, I think he believes he's good enough to beat you. He wants this duel.”

“Why would he pretend to be lousy though? Why all the smoking and drinking? It's not usual the day before a duel, messes you up ... why would he do it?”

“Don't know. It would be stupid, I agree, and even those fumes were enough to make my head swim. I just-” He exhaled blearily. “I don't know, Vince. Maybe your paranoia is rubbing off on me. It sure as Hades looked like he knew where his feet were. Did you actually see him drinking, or smoking anything?”

“No,” I said, my eyes narrowing as I attempted to recall. “It was on his breath though, I can say that for certain. I'm just having a hard time believing what you're trying to suggest. It would make even less sense than before.”

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” said Theo, finally sitting down in his chair and sighing an intoxicated sigh, “and I've been trying to wrap my head around it all morning. No hard evidence, I could barely get near him today, but I can feel it in my gut. He's had training.”

The leather of my chair grunted in protest as I leaned forward, lost in thought. It was crazy, irrational ... but so were the nagging doubts that had plagued me lately. The swords, the look of anger in the stables, everything that hadn't felt right up till now...

Could Theo be right?

“Say, I've had a kind of exciting day, haven't I?” Theo grinned as he stretched his arms behind him, wincing slightly. “Do you think it would be possible to get your cook to rustle up that steak you promised me? I haven't had anything to eat all day.”

“Of course!” I said, hopping to my feet, feeling guilty that I had not thought to arrange for food earlier. “The bandages are ... on the floor, by your cloak. I guess they got knocked over when you drew your sword. There's also the herbs on the table, creams and other bandages in the skinny cabinet by the bar. Help yourself, they're all clearly marked.”

I slipped out the door to the main hallway. It took maybe two minutes to get up to the main level, relay my requirements to the kitchen, and return downstairs with some wet towels. Returning, I found Theo busy chewing on something, possibly jackweed, while tending to his injured left arm.

“Careful, that stuff is pretty potent if that's what I think it is. How bad is your arm?” I asked, tossing him a towel.

“It's bad enough I won't be seeing any action for a month or so. You probably left the room just so you wouldn't have to see the painful, horrifying injury your friend suffered while trying to help you,” he grinned. “You big baby.”

“You know what just occurred to me?” I said, watching my friend reach for the tendril of white gauze that trailed from his arm and continue his ministrations, “I may have a real problem here. Suppose Cyrus discovers he's had training, as you suspect. What then?”

“Well, you call off the duel, obviously. If you walked into a dueling circle with someone who's deliberately hidden how good they are, I have this dangerous feeling you might get minced into burger meat.”

“Can't do that,” I said, simply.

“Huh?”

“It's not my duel to call off. Teuring was challenged by Greybridge, and I rather suspect that things would go poorly for me if I told him I wasn't fighting the duel for him all of a sudden. I doubt I'd still have two coppers to rub together when he was done with me. If I were still alive, that is.”

I tried not to gulp at that thought. Formal duels and out-smarting someone politically were not the only means a Lord could employ in order to deal with someone. Not by a long shot.

“You could always ask him to withdraw the challenge to Teuring,” he suggested, now looking concerned. “The circumstances around the duel have changed.”

“That probably wouldn't matter to someone like him. Actually, I just thought of something else. Doesn't it seem rather strange that he hasn't contacted me since that night at Teuring's?”

“Hmm,” Theo nodded thoughtfully. “That is odd. Even if he's convinced that Teuring's a pushover, you'd think at the very least he'd have told you how badly to humiliate him. You've put yourself at his disposal, after all.”

“I think I shall go and ask him,” I said, sitting down across from Theo. “He may still be vexed at me for breaking into his keep and simply wishes not to talk to me, or there might be something else.”

“He might be involved?”

“I think I should make a firm effort not to assume anything about what's going on, given everything that's happened. I'll put Cyrus to work tracking down some more information, maybe he'll get lucky. In the meantime, and perhaps to kill time while we eat, we should come up with a few theories about our young Lord Teuring.”

“Oh, as to that,” said Theo, finishing the job of wrapping his bandage and casually inspecting his handiwork, “one obvious theory springs to mind.”

“And that is?”

“He means to kill you,” he said, simply.