THIS IS THE MAN WHO IS HOLDING THE HAMMER

Duel,part 5

The human body is a strange thing. We imagine we have total control over it. Some fellow once said, ' My Body and My Will Are One.' But only when we are ill do we realise how little control we have over it.
I think the definition of health is having some control over one's body.  
The point is, that I passed out as soon as I fell through the doctors door, and when I woke the next day I could not use my arms.
Not an agreeable state of affairs.

'Can I tell you a secret, m'lord?' she asked.
'Certainly.'
'I am not a real nurse.'
'That's not exactly what a patient likes to hear,' I started paying attention to her. she was rather pretty. @tell me more...'
'I am a Governess, I do this in my free time. I dearly wish to be a nurse, and not a Governess. Can I tell you another secret?'
'Go on.'
'I really don't like children.'
That was how I met Annabel.

She took care of me for three humiliating days, when my arms would not do what I tell them. then three more days of Bed Rest. (The children were in France, so she had plenty of free time.) I became fond of her, and her little secrets.
On the final day- when I was thanking her, and thinking of inviting her for Afternoon Tea the next day-  Captain Johnny West burst in.
The great peacock was covered in brass and gold lace, and shon like a tiny sun. Even his ruddy face and pearly teeth shon.
'Annabel!' roared the rum fellow. 'I simply couldn't wait to meet you.'
He embraced her, right there in the ward, and she melted in his arms like a daft maiden.
'Excuse me,' I broke the spell. 'Patient present!  And I must be going.
'Sorry, Lond Stone, ' she turned to me.
'I shall see you soon, Annabel,' said I.
She actually blushed, which made him turn even redder. 
I walked out, I had work to do.

I went straight to my smithy. i had a set of throwing knives to finish, and a Great Sword to start. I have very specialised clients, and they tend not to be very patient.
I worked all day, then I went to the doctor's at eight in the evening. That was the time she finished work.

Duel, part 4

It's a terribly difficult things to kill a man in cold blood.
Hot blood is a different matter. The arms, legs and heart do all the thinking for one. The mind is quite numb.
So I prefer it if I genuinely don't like the fellow.
I really did not like this fellow. I don't like spies in general, sneaky fellows. Also, I don't like fellows who are as keen on killing and dying as I am, makes me uncomfortable in a way I don't quite understand.
And I simply didn't like his face. His damned skull face.

He strode into the glade, sword in hand, cigarette in lips. No Second, didn't give a damn about the rules. Just wanted to fight. Maybe just wanted to do.
I drew my sword as he charged me, and blocked his first blow.
There is something unnerving about fighting a fellow who is breathing smoke, like fighting some damned dragon.
I lunged for his face, he parried.
We crossed swords, testing our strength.
Then he did the most damned unsporting thing.
With his left hand, he burnt me with his cigarette.
I fell back. He slashed my left arm.
Then I was angry, I cut his face.
He cut my right shoulder.
Very angry, I stabbed his heart.
He died, I needed to sit down.
The burn, which was on my neck, stung. Blood flowed from my arm and shoulder. Jack came over and bandaged my left arm. it was cut to the bone.
'This is going to make an excellent poem,' he said.
'I think I need a doctor,' said I.

Duel, part 3

The next few months passed uneventfully. I worked in my smithy, but I don't have much of a social life. 
I am no longer accepted in 'High Society', because I have killed so many of them. 
No word from my family. Mother and Father avoid me these days, but occasionally my elder brother and sister have some time for me.
I dreamed of Emily only once.
Then I met The Smoking Man. I shall always remember him that way, because I fail to recall his name.

I first met him in Miss Molly's Tea Shop. He was morbidly thin, deathly pale, and smoking a cigarette.
'I don't like the look of that fellow,' I said to Jack, who is, amongst other things, my second.
'Don't go starting trouble, Lloyd,' Jack replied. 'That man is dangerous.'
'As am I.'
'He is a different kind of dangerous... He was some sort of spy, but he got himself caught, spent over ten years in The Bastile. But he got used to it, started to like it, if you know what I mean... Imagine it, he started to like the dark, and hunger, and torture. Eventually, the Frogs gave up, let him go. But he was addicted by then... They say he rents a tiny basement flat, and eats nothing but bread, cheese and gruel.'
'I don't like his face.'
I looked at the Smoking Man, and he looked at me. His snake eyes rolled under his lank hair, his cigarette twitched in this pale lips.
'What are you looking at, sir?' he asked.
'You.'
'What is your problem?'
'I simply would not know where to start...'
'Do you think you are funny sir?'
'I believe I can be witty from time to time.'
His cigarette expired. He spat the butt on the floor, and lit another. Then he stood up. He was tall, and his lanky build, black suit and cloud of smoke made him look taller.
'Gentlemen! No fighting in doors!' Miss Molly called over from the counter.
'Sabre, dawn, tomorrow?' I asked.
'Yes.'
'My usual place? Glade of Yews, Freeman's woods?'
'Yes.'
He stalked out.