THE MAGIC LABYRINTH by Philip Jose Farmer

“Helas, you would not have been also known for being long-winded, would you?”

“No, nor for possessing a huge nose,” Burton said.

The man’s teeth shone whitely.

“Ah, yes, always the reference to the proboscis. Well, know, monsieur, though I was not honored by my sovereign, Louis XIII, I was dubbed a genius by a queen even greater than yours, by Mother Nature herself. I wrote some philosophical romances which I understand were being read centuries after I died. And, as you obviously are aware, I was not unknown among the great swordsmen of my time, which gave birth to the greatest swordsmen of any time.”

The thin man smiled again, and Burton said, “Perhaps you would like to surrender your blade? I have no desire to kill you, monsieur.”

“I was about to ask you to hand over your weapon, mansieur, and become my prisoner. But I see that you, like me, would then be unsatisfied as to which of us is the better at bladeplay. I have thought about you many times, Captain Burton, since I drove my rapier into your thigh. Of all the hundreds, perhaps thousands, that I have dueled with, you were the best. I am willing to admit that I do not know how our little passage in arms might have turned out if you had not been distracted. Rather, I should say that you might have held me off a little longer if it were not for that.”

“We shall see,” Burton said.

“Oh, yes, we shall see, if the boat does not sink too soon. Well, monsieur, I delayed my leavetaking to have one more drink to toast the souls of those brave men and women who died fighting today for this once-splendid vessel, the last of the great beauties of man’s science and technology. Quel dom-mage! But some day I will compose an ode to it. In French, of course, since Esperanto is not a great poetic language and, if it were, would still not be equal to my native tongue.

“Let us have one drink so that we may toast together those we loved but who have passed on. There will be no more resurrections, my friend. They will always be dead from now on.”

“P’raps,” Burton said. “In any event, I will join you.”

The many doors of the huge and long liquor cabinets behind the bar had been locked before the battle started. But the key was in a drawer below a cabinet, and de Bergerac went behind the bar and unbolted the drawer. He unlocked a cabinet and unshot the bar across a line of bottles and pulled one from the hole in which it was set.

“This bottle was made in Parolando,” de Bergerac said, “and it has journeyed unscathed through many battles and much mishandling by various drunks. It is filled with a particularly good burgundy which has been offered from time to time in various grails and which was not then drunk but put into this bottle to be used for a festive occasion. This occasion is, I believe, festive, though in a rather gruesome spirit.”

He opened another cabinet, and unlocked the indented bar holding a line of lead-glass goblets and took two and set them on the bar.

His epee was on top of the bar. Burton placed his own on the bar near his right hand. The Frenchman poured the burgundy to the brim, and he lifted his. Burton did likewise.

“To the dear departed!” he said.

“To them,” Burton said. Both downed a small amount.

“I am not one for drinking much,” de Bergerac said. “Liquor reduces one to the level of the beast, and I like at all times to remember that I am a human being. But… this is indeed a special occasion. One more toast, my friend, and then we shall fall to it.”

“To the solution of the mystery of this world,” Burton said.

They drank again.

Cyrano put his goblet down.

“Now, Captain Burton of the defunct marines of the defunct Rex. I loathe war and I detest bloodshed, but I do my duty when it must be done. We are both fine fellows, and it would be a shame if one were to die to prove that he is better than the other. Gaining knowledge of the true state of affairs by dying is not recommended by anyone with good sense. Thus, I suggest that he who draws the first blood wins. And if, thanks be to the Creator, who doesn’t exist, the first wound is not fatal, the winner will take the other prisoner. And we will then proceed with haste but in an honorable manner to get off this vessel before she sinks.”

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