Making his way along one side of the mob getting lost in clouds of white dust, Murillio approached the instructor. She noted him briefly then returned her attention to the gauntlet.
‘Excuse me,’ Murillio said as he arrived. ‘Are you the duelling mistress?’
‘I am.’ She nodded without looking at the students, where a couple, of fights had started for real. ‘How am I doing so far?’
Murillio glanced over and studied the fracas for a moment. ‘That depends,’ he said.
She grunted. ‘Good answer. What can I do for you? Do you have some grandson or daughter you want thrown in there? Your clothes were expensive. . once. As it looks, I doubt you can afford this school, unless of course you’re one of those stinking rich who make a point of dressing all threadbare. Old money and all that.’
‘Quite a sales pitch,’ Murillio observed. ‘Does it actually work?’
‘Classes are full. There’s a waiting list.’
‘I was wondering if you need help. With basic instruction.’
‘What school trained you then?’
‘Carpala.’
She snorted. ‘He took one student every three years.’
‘Yes.’
And now she looked at him with an intensity he’d not seen before. ‘Last I heard, there were seven students of his left in the city.’
‘Five, actually. Fedel tumbled down a flight of stairs and broke his neck. He was drunk. Santbala-’
‘Was stabbed through the heart by Gorlas Vidikas — the brat’s first serious victory.’
Murillio grimaced. ‘Not much of a duel. Santbala had gone mostly blind but was too proud to admit it. A cut on the wrist would have given Gorlas his triumph.’
‘The young ones prefer killing to wounding.’
‘It’s what duelling has come to, yes. Fortunately, most of your students here are more likely to stab themselves than any opponent they might one day face, and such wounds are rarely fatal.’
‘Your name?’
‘Murillio.’
She nodded as if she’d already guessed. ‘And you’re here because you want to teach. If you’d taken up teaching when Carpala was still alive-’
‘He would have hunted me down and killed me, yes. He despised schools, in fact, he despised duelling. He once said teaching the rapier was like putting a poisonous snake into a child’s hand. He drew no pleasure from instruction and was not at all surprised when very nearly every one of his prize students either got themselves killed or wasted away as drunkards or worse.’
‘You did neither.’
‘No, that’s true. I chased women.’
‘Only now they’re too fast for you?’
‘Something like that.’
‘I am Stonny Menackis. This school exists to make me rich, and yes, it’s working. Tell me, will you be sharing your old master’s hatred of teaching?’
‘Not as vehemently, I imagine. I don’t expect to take any pleasure in it, but I will do what’s needed.’
‘Footwork.’
He nodded. ‘Footwork. The art of running away. And forms, the defensive cage, since that will keep them alive. Stop-hits to the wrist, knee, foot.’
‘Non-lethal.’
‘Yes.’
She sighed and straightened. ‘All right. Assuming I can afford you.’
‘I’m sure you can.’
She shot him a quizzical glance, and then added, ‘Don’t think about chasing me, by the way.’
‘I am finished with all that, or, rather, it’s finished with me.’
‘Good-’
At this moment they both noticed that an old woman had come up to them.
Stonny’s voice was suddenly. . different, as she said, ‘Myrla. What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve been looking for Gruntle-’
‘That fool went off with the Trygalle — I warned him and now he’s going to get himself killed for no good reason!’
‘Oh. It’s Harllo, you see. .’
‘What about him?’
The woman was flinching at everything Stonny said and Murillio suspected he would have done the same in the face of such a tone. ‘He’s gone missing.’
‘What? For how long?’
‘Snell said he saw him, two days back. Down at the docks. He’s never not come home at day’s end — he’s only five-’
‘Two days!’
Murillio saw that Stonny’s face had gone white as death and a sudden terror was growing in her eyes. ‘
‘Snell says-’
‘You stupid woman — Snell is a liar! A damned thief!’
Myrla stepped back under the onslaught. ‘He gave us the coin you brought-’
‘After I nearly had to strangle him, yes! What’s Snell done to Harllo?
Myrla was weeping now, wringing her arthritic hands. ‘Said he done nothing, Stonny-’
‘A moment,’ cut in Murillio, physically stepping between the two women as he saw Stonny about to move forward, gloved hand lifting. ‘A child’s gone missing? I can put out the word — I know all sorts of people. Please, we can do this logically — down at the docks, you said? We’ll need to find out which ships left harbour in the last two days — the trading season’s only just starting, so there shouldn’t be many. His name is Harllo, and he’s five years old-’
Myrla was nodding, even as tears streamed down her lined cheeks and her entire body trembled. She nodded and kept on nodding.
