The Mainspring Man

Prologue - The Duel

The Mainspring Man
Prologue - The Duel

“You’re a cheat.”

Baldasairre sipped his opiate tea before glancing at the young pirate who’d slung the accusatory slur his way. He’d hoped the bulge of his pistol beneath the black wool coat he wore would have been enough to stave off accusations like these. He’d been mistaken. The clinking of the pirate’s sparse remaining coins as he shuffled them between his fingers demonstrated the man’s frustration – most of his pile now sitting in Baldasairre’s, relocating during the several rounds of cards they’d played.

The other players seated around the table hushed their drunken chattering and stared at Baldasairre, tense and frightened. Silence washed over the small tavern, muffling even the entertainer on stage, his accordion going flaccid in his hands. The games master, with barbell moustache and copper braces on all of his fingers, leaned across the table to look the young pirate in the eye. “Quiet boy, don’t you know who you’re talking to? This here’s Baldasairre LeMonte. I’d think twice afore calling him a cheat!”

The young pirate tilted his hat back; his green-lensed goggles resting atop the curled brim glinted in the dim lamplight. “A fancy name don’t make it any less true.”

“It’s not his name you should be afraid of.”

Baldasairre leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table, his thick black dreadlocks falling over his shoulders and laced collar. “What do they call you?”

A moment’s hesitation before the young pirate answered. “Jossua.”

Baldasairre nodded, pointing a finger at him. “A few tips for you, Jossua, because I know you are new to the trade.” He shot a quick hand out to latch onto the silver handle of one of Jossua’s pistols, strapped to his sides. He pulled the pistol from the holster and aimed it between the man’s eyes before the young pirate had time to react. “A skilled pirate keeps his pistols beneath his coat, or chained at his side so no one can snatch them away.” He twirled the firearm and sank it back into its holster, patting Jossua’s arm.

“Secondly,” Baldasairre continued. “A man doesn’t sit down at a games table without knowing who is seated beside him – less he find himself caught in a situation not unlike the one you are in now. If you had known who I was before, I promise, you would have chosen a different table.”

Jossua snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, youthful rebellion spreading across his clean shaven face. “Oh yeah? What makes you so special?”

Baldasairre laughed, amused by the young pirate’s naivety. There were few he came across who hadn’t heard the tales and fables that preceded him. But to find another pirate who hadn’t heard of him? He wondered if he was getting too old for the business. Pirates were finding younger, newer role models to look up to. There was a time his name used to inspire youth to join the life of piracy. Perhaps those days were gone. The world had grown tired of him. A few more treasure hunts and maybe he would start considering retirement. He’d heard rumors of a treasure that could spur the thought into fruition.

Swirling a long, thin finger into his cup, he grinned to himself. “I’ve shared my bed with Lady Luck. I met her years ago, in my youth, on one of my many trips to the West.” The young pirate frowned and Baldasairre leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I’ve been blessed by Luck herself. There is not a game or competition that I cannot win. Which brings me to my last bit of advice – be wary of who you call a cheat. Those are strong words and you may hurt someone’s feelings.”

The young pirate leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. “No one wins every hand of cards they play. It ain’t possible.”

Baldasairre grabbed his stacks of coins, knowing already that his night of games was over. He dumped the coins into a pouch strapped to the inside of his coat. “I forgive every man once, Jossua. You’ve used yours already when you first called me a cheat. So consider the words that are about to leave your mouth.”

Jossua’s hand went to his chin, mocking contemplation. Baldasairre willed him to keep his mouth shut, he’d not come looking for trouble. But trouble seemed to find him wherever he went.

“You’re a cheat.”

Shaking his head, Baldasairre looked towards the games master, holding a hand out towards Jossua. “Where’s the respect these days?” The games master shrugged and Baldasairre picked up his cup, finishing off his tea. Then, turning to Jossua, he gave the young pirate another once over. “You’ve insulted me. In front of an audience, no less. What do you think will come of this?”

Jossua withdrew the pistol Baldasairre had previously drawn on him, twirling it on a finger before aiming it straight at the older pirate. “A duel, you and me, outside. The fastest draw wins.”

An incredulous laugh escaped Baldasairre’s throat. “Did you not listen to the story I just told you? The one where I said I win every competition I enter? If you duel me, you’ll be walking to your death.”

“We’ll see.”

Baldasairre leaned back in his seat, eyes roving the crowd. There were too many people here now, waiting to see his answer, to just walk away from this suicidal little ruffian. It had not been in his agenda to kill a man tonight, but he supposed there was no way to refuse the proposition without damaging the reputation he’d built for himself. He turned to Jossua. “You’ve questioned my integrity and, I suppose, if it’s death you want, it’s death you shall receive. A shame, really. Pirate’s die so young these days.”

Jossua gave a satisfied laugh, slapping the table and holstering his pistol as he rose to his feet. Baldasairre followed suit, gaining his feet and straightening his coat. He fluttered his hands towards the door, motioning for Jossua to go first. The younger pirate hooked his thumbs into his vest, walking with a smooth, confident gait through the curious patrons. Baldasairre withdrew a coin from his pocket and flipped it to the games master. “For the trouble,” he said, tilting his head towards the exiting pirate. The games master looked on, bewildered.

As he left the tavern, the patrons filtered out, lining the cobblestone street, holding their coats and hats as a winter storm assaulted them. The cramped stone buildings stood dark and looming in the wicked night. Snow covered the flat rooftops and turned to slush on the ground. A low, constant hum filled the air, tucked just beneath the whistling wind. Baldasairre hadn’t been in Burgunderuhr long enough to get used to the insistent noise. Gears turned, beneath their feet, powering the city. He’d not seen the gears himself, but had heard tales of them. The god-kissed mechanisms ran continually, larger and stronger than anything a man could make. Some of the more religious folks he’d met believed the gears had spawned man itself, though Baldasairre harbored his doubts on that story. He’d never been a religious man.

Steam rose from a sewer drain to his right and Baldasairre glanced at his opponent, standing paces away down the road, jumping from foot to foot to keep warm. Baldasairre called to him. “I’ll give you this one chance to reconsider.”

Jossua clapped his hands together, shaking his head. “If you’re scared, you can walk.”

Baldasairre chuckled. “I can hardly hear you above the noise.”

“Old age does that.”

“I have another observation for you.” Baldasairre put his hands on his hips. “Your clothes.” Jossua looked down at himself, then shot his head straight back up, hand ghosting over his pistol. Baldasairre could have taken advantage of the mistake, but chose to wait until he was done with the conversation.

“What about them?”

“You dress for show when you should dress for convenience.” He held his hands out to his sides, holding the sides of his coat, spreading it like wings. “I carry everything I need. You carry everything you want. Have you ever run from a pursuer? Those trinkets strapped to your belt, they will hinder your movements and slow you. The slowest guard would be able to catch you. And where is your gunpowder pouch? Do you not need to reload when you fight?”

“If I can’t win a fight with one shot, it’s not a fight worth having.”

Baldasairre shook his head. “Arrogance is your flaw. Young pirates are so eager to build a reputation, they often overlook practicality. Preparedness, modesty – these come before skill.”

“Listen, I’m not interested in small talk.”

“You’re right. I suppose my advice is wasted on you.”

Sighing, Baldasairre put his head down, looking away from his opponent. He pictured the young man inside his head, wondering if he left behind family, friends, a lover perhaps? Though he doubted a man who valued his life would challenge a pirate who couldn’t lose a duel. Jossua didn’t seem dim witted or idiotic, just foolish. There was a difference between an idiot and a fool. An idiot didn’t know they’re decisions were flawed – a fool knew, but didn’t care.

As Baldasairre looked up, he watched, time slowing to his advantage, as the young pirate reached for the pistol at his side. Jossua's hand swiped at the air, wrapping around the handle. He yanked. He aimed.

Baldasairre fired.

Jossua’s finger itched the trigger of his pistol, not applying enough pressure to fire. Baldasairre watched shock enter the young man’s eyes as red blossomed on his chest. The blood dripped like falling petals. The man stumbled, the pistol falling from his hand and thudding on the snow-padded ground. A woman to Baldasairre’s right gasped, burying her face into the chest of a man in a top hat. He tried not to get distracted with the spectators, instead, keeping his eyes on Jossua.

The man stumbled once more, falling to his knees. The color drained from his face, mouth wide, silent. Blue twinged his lips. A frown creased his brow as he fell forward, the side of his face planted in the snow, hat tumbling away, revealing a mop of dirty blonde hair. One arm outstretched towards the pistol lying in front of him, the other tucked by his side.

Baldasairre holstered his own golden pistol, still smoking, hidden beneath his coat once more. It still amazed him how accustom he’d come to these duels. How he could draw his pistol without feeling it or thinking about it. How he could take a man’s life without hesitation.

He walked over to Jossua’s prone form. Blood stained the snow, a crimson pool spreading beneath him. He stared hard at the man’s wide, open eyes, staring off at a world Baldasairre wasn’t familiar with - the world of the dead. He bent down, closing the man’s eyes and resting his hand on his head. Then he reached to the man’s belt and grabbed one of the trinkets, a pocket watch, before he stood and walked away, leaving Jossua cold and dead in the street.