Read Johannes Cabal the Detective for Free Online Page B

Marechal was a strong man, stronger than Cabal, and the beats that rained down upon his rapier struck sparks and generated vibrations to his wrist that felt as if they might numb it, given enough time. If he lived that long.
    Cabal considered his options. Marechal was no sporting fencer. He fought to kill. The strength of his attack was clearly intended to destroy Cabal quickly, and the physical power of the heavy horse sabre might do it, too. Fortunately, his sword cane was designed for practical combat, being far more forte than foible but without brittleness. Still, he was already running out of room into which he could retreat. He needed to make Marechal think again if he were to stop this dreadful hail of steel. A poor feint, followed by a quick step back to give him the room for a stop hit with rassemblement , allowed him to pink the top of Marechal’s wrist. Cabal used the moment of surprise to run past the head of the table and gain more space.
    The count didn’t follow him at first, but paused to pull up his cuff and check his wrist. “First blood, Count Marechal?” called Cabal as he returned to his guard position.
    “Touché, Herr Cabal. A scratch,” he said, and Cabal could see that it was no understatement. “I can see that I’ve underestimated you again.” He saluted and allowed the wry smile to evaporate from his face. “But now I have your measure.”
    “Really? Tell me, Count, how did you learn to fence? Correspondence course?”
    Marechal said nothing, but moved to reengage, his face like thunder. This time, there was none of the brutal slashing that had accompanied the first attack. Cabal suspected that had as much to do with the count’s regaining his strength as anything else. He would certainly employ it again should he spy an advantage in doing so.
    They traded attacks and parries for a few moments, the count clearly probing Cabal’s defences. Although he didn’t show it, Cabal was getting more worried with each clash of steel. His sword cane was outweighed by the sabre, his experience was outweighed by the count’s, and his aggression was a pale shadow in comparison. He was defending, Marechal was getting all the information he needed for a telling attack, and there was always the chance of guards wandering in at any moment. Cabal needed a way out of this situation quickly, and he doubted that it would hinge on his skill on the piste. He needed to look at the whole picture and find an escape. For the moment, however, it eluded him, and then Marechal launched an attack and Cabal didn’t have time to think about anything else.
    It ended with a cutting blow that Cabal parried with difficulty, although he made it look easy—half the psychological game in fencing. He countered with a type of sabre riposte he’d seen the count make, from tierce to the head. Marechal parried it easily but made it look difficult—the other half of the psychological game.
    Cabal had looked death in the face on numerous occasions, but he had always been careful to give himself some chance of survival. There were very few grounds for hope here, though.
    “You look worried, Herr Cabal,” said Marechal. “Something on your mind?”
    “There is, since you ask. I was just thinking that this is all a dreadful waste of resources. I appreciate that you intended to kill me whether I succeeded or not, but that was politics. But think! Nobody else knows about me. Wouldn’t it make sense for you to supply me with a laboratory and I work for you? I’m sure I could be of use.”
    Marechal made no attempt to hide his sneer. “Are you begging for your life, Cabal?”
    “Not at all. Just attempting to make something constructive of this debacle. By the same coin, if I were to kill you”—the count laughed contemptuously—“ if I were to kill you, Count Marechal, this country would certainly fall to pieces. There’s nobody around to take your place. Think on it.”
    The count reflected for a moment, their sword tips