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Eclipse at Noon by James Axler

Some of the mirrors in the ceiling were two-way glass. Behind one of them, two faces were pressed together, watching Jak. One was a fat, multi-jowled face, the other as thin as a cutlass blade.

Both faces smiled, and the both smiles never got within a country mile of the stone-cold eyes.

Chapter Fifteen

Violence was always close to the surface on board the Golden Eagle as she plowed her way at high speed, north, along the dark brown Sippi River.

It was late afternoon, while Ryan was washing to be ready for their dinner invitation at the table of Captain Melville Huston, when he heard the sudden uproar on the deck just outside, below their balcony.

“Trouble?” asked Krysty, who was brushing out her crimson hair in front of a gilded, scallop-edged mirror. Ryan had been watching her out of the corner of his good eye, convinced that he could actually see fiery sparks fountaining from the brush into the washbasin below.

“Yeah.”

They went out together, peering down over the wrought-iron railings onto the deck below, where two men were engaged in a furious argument. One was short, skinny and dapper, with a waxed mustache. They noticed immediately that he had the scarlet imprint of fingers, livid on his pale cheek. The other, who had done the slapping, was taller and older, with a fringe of thin hair. He wore an elegant suit, with a beautiful embroidered vest and highly polished knee-length boots. A small crowd of passengers held them apart.

“Nobody, nobody says that of me,” the little man yelped. “Upon my honor, they do not!”

“Honor.” The other spit over the starboard rail into the river. “A word that soils your lips, you shit-eating piece of scum.”

The little man was overtopped and outweighed, but he refused to back off. He pointed an angry finger at his opponent. “I demand satisfaction from you.”

The other man laughed. “A little bantam like you. What are your weapons? A stun gren and a pair of stilts?”

The other man was almost apoplectic with rage, eyes popping from their sockets. “You refuse to fight me?”

A uniformed officer had appeared, pushing through the growing crowd, calling out for order and silence.

“I heard a demand for a duel,” he said, voice ringing out over the sudden stillness.

“This pig fucker said that”

“The lady he spoke of was”

The sailor wore a sword and he half drew it, the blade shining in the bright sun. “It is of totally no matter, gentlemen. Affairs of honor are carried out in the half hour before the evening meal commences. This is normally at half after six. On the foredeck. An officer of the Golden Eagle acts as witness so there will be no problems with the law in the event of a chilling. What are the weapons to be?”

Krysty nudged Ryan. “Got it real well organized, don’t they, lover?”

“Must happen most days on a place like this. Combination of cards and women and drink.”

The taller man half bowed. “I am the injured party. I choose swords.”

There was a murmur from the watching crowd, many of whom seemed to know both the protagonists.

The little man shrugged. “All one to me. I shall be there.” And he spun on his heel and walked quickly away.

The officer saluted the tall duelist and also stalked away, back along the deck, in the direction of the bridge. Ryan guessed he was going to report the incident to the captain.

At that moment Ryan was aware of a familiar feeling, a cold prickling at his nape, and he looked around, seeing Krysty also look behind her.

“What?” he said.

“Shadow over the sun. Someone walking over my grave. Got the sensation of being watched.”

Simultaneously they both looked above and behind them, but the blank wall of the guarded stateroom shielded them from any unseen observer.

“Going to watch the fight?” Krysty asked.

“Likely. J.B. and Doc’ll probably want to check it out. And young Jak.”

THERE WAS a public-address system installed throughout the Golden Eagle , but it often seemed to be crackling and generally unreliable. At about twenty minutes past six, a message was carried around the boat by a half dozen of the sailors, reminding all of the passengers that an affair of honor was about to be resolved on the foredeck.

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