The Excalibur Codex by James Douglas Page B

masked man the point of the foil and the little hints betrayed by the body were the key. Now it was all in the eyes. Theeyes measured the distance between sword and target. They calculated the angle of attack. The signals they gave were fractional, at best, but if you could read those signals you had an edge. Jamie had been trained in the art of knife fighting by Royal Marine unarmed combat instructors. Not that long ago he had battled for his life against a man determined to skin him alive. Steele fought with his usual cold resolve, but he found his every movement anticipated; try as he might, he couldn’t break down Jamie’s guard. Jamie knew all he had to do was bide his time for the right moment. It came with a move born of Adam Steele’s frustration. The flèche . Steele executed a running lunge off the front foot designed to batter through the ring of steel that protected his opponent, and delivered with such force that it would have snapped the blade had it been on target. Jamie recognized the moment of decision and was already moving when the foil darted towards his chest, a dancing check step that took him inside the point. In the same instant his arm extended and his point hit Adam Steele in the centre of the chest. Steele’s eyes widened as if he could feel the cold metal in his heart and he stumbled off the mat.
    The sound of a slow hand clap punctuated the stunned silence. ‘As neat an intagliata as I’ve seen.’ Gault grinned. ‘You’ll bear watching, Mr Saintclair, so you will.’
    Steele gave him the kind of look that would strip paint, but his face split in a smile. ‘Neat? A combinationof dumb luck and an opponent who moves with all the speed and grace of a hippopotamus, eh, Jamie?’
    Jamie knew being beaten had annoyed his host, so he kept his tone equally light. ‘Not my fault if you send a postcard every time you attack, old chum.’ They pulled off the fencing gear and by the time Jamie had replaced his jacket, Steele was already bounding for the door.
    ‘Time for a drink, I think. Charlotte?’ he roared. ‘Two bottles of the good stuff and three glasses in the library.’ Jamie exchanged a glance with Gault as they followed in his wake. ‘And I mean now, darling, not when you’ve powdered your bloody nose.’
    Charlotte was walking towards the kitchens when they reached the stair. ‘Why do I put up with him?’ she whispered.
    ‘Because, despite my many faults, you can’t get enough of me in bed?’
    She rolled her startling sapphire-blue eyes. ‘Ears like a bat and a mind like a sewer.’
    True to its name, three walls of the library were lined with books on shelves that rose to almost twice the height of a man. Unlike books in some large houses of Jamie’s acquaintance, many of these looked as though they had actually been read. On the fourth wall, a gilt-framed canvas of some unfortunate Peninsular War general expiring as his red-coated soldiers looked admiringly on hung above the massive fireplace, surrounded by a display of individually mounted swords, each different, but an object of beauty in its own way. Some of themwere in their scabbards, others with the blades glinting dangerously. A window looked out on to the gardens and Adam Steele took his place beside it, staring appreciatively across the damp lawns until Charlotte appeared carrying a tray with two dust-coated wine bottles and three bulbous glasses. She picked up a corkscrew.
    ‘Gault will take care of that.’ Steele reached for the curtains. ‘Switch on the light on your way out.’
    The girl hesitated.
    ‘Please.’ The tone and the word seemed curiously at odds and Charlotte frowned. She shrugged and, as the light flicked on, Steele drew the velvet drapes together, cutting them off from the outside world. He met Jamie’s puzzled glance. You’ll see .
    Gault handed Jamie a glass and Adam Steele picked up another, breathing deeply at the tawny liquid within. ‘The ’eighty-six. Should probably decant it and