The crack of wood on Duffy’s head was not a tantamount highlight of his career, certainly, he’d been so wrapped up in enticing her to play a game or two he’d not seen the swing and was suddenly, most definitely feeling the consequences of his ignorance. He leapt back and rubbed his injury, instinctively checking his fingers for signs of blood, pus or worse. You couldn’t trust a weapon to be just a plain old weapon these days, too much ‘magic’ about.
“What in the blazes did’ a do that for?” His natural reflexes took over for a moment, and his hand raises and tenses, the tell tale signs that it was going to let lose a spray of the liquid propellant that gave his Tinder Gear, and many of his performances that extra edge. “I was hoping you’d indulge me, but something tells good old Duffy that there’s more to you than meets your somewhat superfluous eyes -” satisfied that his injury was merely bashful, and not blood soaked, the troupe master glanced a look at the solitary coin on the floor that would’ve served as his proverbial centre point. “You want these coins? You want to leave? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just leap clean from this rooftop now and leave you to find your own way home, huh, huh? How d’you like those Reddens!” (A local form of apple).
He had been so certain that it was his opponent he’d let himself slip, in a bid to avoid a direct confrontation with a better armed opponent, and no doubt armoured, the lanky and sprightly youth had tried to wager if she was as elegant, talented and as exotic as the women of the far away east were supposed, in the few legends, songs and fables he knew. She was turning out to be more temptress and liar, than tiara and flame. Was the letter a plant? A misdemeanour? He produces it to her, “So - this is not you? Did you see anyone else from the eastern lands, a woman forged in battle who is as courtly and fair as I can be?” Scrunching it up he tosses it with an accurate wrist to her feet. “Look me in the eye and tell me you know nothing of a tournament, and I’ll cut your purse lose and let you be on your way,” he smiled and leapt onto the edge of the rooftop to tease her with the dangling leather coin bag. The alleyway behind him was too wide for even Duffy to clear the gap, so the only way was for him to go down, and lose her in the torrential movements of the crowds, moving between the central square and the markets beyond.
“Or perhaps you can sing, or dance through flame, or take a dagger - I ask nothing more of you than the truth - is that so preposterous, for a mere ‘thief’ to ask?” This was Duffy’s final attempt at calling her bluff and culling the pretence she was hiding behind. It was her, he was sure of it, but he desperately did not want to fight her - he felt for his dagger discreetly, and squirted his right hand with the liquid, in case he needed a call to arms.
“The truth! Nothing more, and let us be done with this - be it with a farewell and a victory, or a righteous fall!”
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