Sprague de Camp's New Anthology

"We will fight it out, pig-dog!"

"How the hell can I fight with Malling tied to me?"

"We shall not fight in the barbarous American fashion, with fists, but in the cultured German manner. Take one!"

"One what?"

Von Wittelsbach thrust the large ends of the objects into Godwin's face. Godwin saw that they were the hilts of a pair of swords. Hardly knowing what he did he took one and waggled it for balance, saying:

"Are you kidding?"

"On the contrary, I am most serious! Only a light-minded American would joke about the duties and honours of kingship."

"Don't be a sap. I don't want the damned kingdom; I got a career and plenty of dough already. If you wanna be king, go ahead. I'm not stopping you."

"A coward, eh? Then I shall have the pleasure of beating your backside raw with the flat. Bend over." Von Wittelsbach's voice, was thick with the effects of alcohol.

"Look here," said Godwin, "I said I wasn't interested in fighting, but I won't let you push me around. I suppose you think I don't know how to handle these silly stickers, huh? You didn't see me do Tybalt in Romeo and Juliet a coupla years ago, didja?"

"Bend over, swine!" yelled von Wittelsbach, and he took a wild swipe at Godwin.

Godwin parried more by reflex than by intention and instantly found himself engaged. He discovered that he was holding, not a foil, epee, or other familiar hand-weapon, but a German Schläger with a big basket hilt, a long straight narrow blade, and no point but a razor-sharp edge. The purpose of the implement was not to kill an antagonist, or even to pretend to do so, but to inflict cuts on his scalp and face which would later result in a prized set of scars, and also give him a chance to show his Aryan mettle by continuing the fight without flinching even when his head was a mass of gore.

If he had been less befuddled Godwin would perhaps have devised a way out of his predicament. After all the weapon was unfamiliar to him, and the Stuart Pretender had an advantage of height and reach. Godwin could not run with the half-comatose Malling chained to him, and he never thought of yelling for help. While he could fence well enough for cinematographic purposes, he had never expected to have to fight a real duel for blood—handicapped, moreover, by having a drunken detective chained to his wrist!

Werner von Wittelsbach, his left arm behind his back, advanced upon Claude Godwin with wide-spread legs, swinging his Schläger at Godwin's head as if he were cutting sugar-cane. ' Godwin, who had learned sabre-fencing for the part of the noble Confederate officer in The Last Plantation, had no trouble in parrying, especially as von Wittelsbach was almost as drunk as he. But crude as the methods of Schläger-fencing seemed, Godwin realized that his opponent would wear him down in time by superior strength of arm and wrist.

Godwin threw back a few strokes without effect and tried to use footwork, but was hampered by Malling. As he dragged at Malling's arm, the detective, aroused by the clang of blades, lurched to his feet.

"Hey!" cried Malling. "Nej i Gronland bliver ... In Greenland is dat forbidden! Stop, at vunce!"

Otto Malling staggered forward, his hands groping the air, just as von Wittelsbach aimed a terrific cut at Godwin. Malling thrust his head in the way so that the long blade came down upon his skull with a short dull sound. He fell to hands and knees, blood running from a two-inch gash in his scalp, and collapsed on the moss.

As he did so, Godwin decided that this mediaeval farce had gone far enough. He stepped forward and kicked von Wittelsbach. As the German doubled over, Godwin brought the pommel of his Schläger down on his head. Werner von Wittelsbach fell across the body of the detective.

Godwin stuck the point of his sabre into the ground so that the blade remained upright and bent to examine the recumbent forms. Both were alive if unconscious, and Malling's wound did not appear serious. Then Godwin examined the hand-grip of the handcuff which Malling still held.

Malling's right hand was secured to the grip by a shaped guard that passed over his knuckles. This guard was hinged at one end and latched at the other, and fitted the back of Malling's hand so closely that while it was in place there was no chance of his losing his grip accidentally. However, the latch that held the guard in the closed position was not locked, and a little manipulation enabled Godwin to open it and remove the grip from Malling's hand.

He had got this far when a suppressed feminine cry made him whirl. There stood Karen Hauch and Karl Bruun. The latter exclaimed:

"What is this? Are they dead?"

"No." Godwin explained.

Karl Bruun said: "So you are free? Good! You wish to come with us, do you not?"

"Where to?"