“What weapons are these? I expected that we would be using blasters. Or maybe swords, given the nature of your society.”
“No, my dear Sir Robot, these are antique dueling pistols.” Duke Grabbington lifted one out of the velvet-lined case, handling it reverently. “Just feel the perfectly balanced heft of it! These have been in my family for five generations and no Grabbington has ever lost a duel while using them.”
“It will be a pity to break such a long tradition,” James remarked dryly. He picked up the other weapon and the scope on the side of his head came out and fitted itself over his right eye. He examined the pistol rapidly and then took the other from Duke Grabbington and examined it as well before handing it back. He nodded. “Everything seems to be in order. Shall we begin?”
“A moment, if you please, Sir Robot,” Dr. Dowdy said importantly, stepping forward. He was a fastidious little man with short gray hair and a rust-orange frock coat. “We have a few conditions before the duel can begin,” he said.
“What conditions?” James asked, frowning.
“Well…am I correct in thinking that your right arm is, er, mechanical?” the Doctor asked, raising his eyebrows.
James nodded.
“It has been enhanced with electrodes, nanites, and smart metal.”
“And that scope we saw you use to look over the dueling pistols,” the Doctor continued, gesturing to the right side of James’s head. “Is it not true that it enables you to have preternaturally excellent sight and therefore impeccable aim?”
James nodded.
“That would also be correct.”
“In that case, I must ask you not to use either of your, er, enhanced body parts during this duel,” Dr. Dowdy said. “Otherwise, how can this be a fair contest?”
“But you can’t ask Sir James to shoot with his left arm instead of his right!” Rissa exclaimed, speaking up for the first time. “He is right-handed!”
“Actually, I am equally skilled in combat with my unenhanced arm and hand,” James said mildly. “And I don’t need my scope to shoot straight.”
“Are you certain?” Rissa asked anxiously. “It doesn’t seem to me that what they are asking is fair!”
“It absolutely is!” Duke Grabbington exclaimed. “How am I to win in a fight against an enormous alien robot if we do not level the field a bit?”
“Maybe that is something Your Grace should have considered before challenging Sir James to a duel,” Rissa said tartly. “Or maybe challenging him was the only way you could think of getting out of the situation you had created when you threatened me, with your head still on your shoulders.”
“Why, you—” the Duke began, glaring at her.
“Enough.” James raised his metal hand to silence them both. “Can we please get on with the duel?” he growled. “We need to get this finished so that Princess Ka’rissa can appear before the Steward and announce that she is formally rejecting the Duke’s suit.”
“We’ll see about that,” Duke Grabbington snapped. “I am ready to fight you at any time, Sir Robot!”
James gave him a look of contempt.
“Just like you were ready to fight me in the Princess’s rooms, right? Well, just try not to piss yourself this time, Your Grace.”
Grabbington’s face turned positively purple but he only nodded at his second, Lord Flobberton. The other man nodded back and held out the pistol case again.
“Each shall choose a weapon,” he intoned. “When you are ready, gentlemen, we shall begin.”
The Duke and James both picked up their pistols and then the two of them moved to the center of the dueling grounds. It was a long, grassy corridor between two stately rows of trees which had been used for contests of honor for centuries. Rissa stood in the shade of one of the trees, her heart pounding in her throat. There was ice in the pit of her belly and she still felt instinctively that something was not quite right…
“Now then, gentlemen,” Lord Flobberton intoned. “The rules of dueling have remained unchanged for hundreds of years. Nevertheless, I shall state them here. Starting back-to-back, the two of you shall walk ten paces as I count them out. When I call out the last number—‘ten’—the two of you shall turn and fire at each other, each of you shooting to kill. May the best man win.”
Both men nodded and neither one said a word as they went to stand back-to-back. Rissa couldn’t help thinking how very mismatched they were. The top of Duke’s head barely came up to James’s shoulder blades, despite the four-inch heels His Grace was wearing.
The Lord Flobberton began to count.
“One…two…three…”
As the men paced away from each other, Rissa clasped her hands together nervously.
Oh, let James be all right! Let him win! Keep him safe! she prayed to the Goddess of Mercy. Do not let the Duke do anything awful to him!
“Four…five…six,” Lord Flobberton counted as the men continued to pace steadily, further and further away.