Braggart, Karigan thought with distaste. She sighed. If no one else was going to do anything to stop him, perhaps as a representative of the king she should.
“Halt!” she cried after him as he turned to flee. “In the name of the king!”
Everyone stared at her in surprise, including the thief, whose eyes sparkled behind his mask.
“You are breaking king’s law,” Karigan said. The thief took two steps toward her and halted. She felt his eyes look her up and down in crude fashion. She blushed.
And he laughed. “Yes, and what do you plan to do about it, my lady? Certainly nothing to muss that hair so nicely arranged on your head.”
“Oh, good heavens,” she murmured in disgust. She grabbed her skirts and bustled to the nearest wall of weaponry. She yanked a sword from its mount.
“Y–you’re not supposed to t–touch the artifacts,” the attendant cried, fretting at his handkerchief. She glared at him, stifling further argument.
The masked man laughed. “I feel so threatened.”
Karigan rolled her eyes. Grabbing a bunch of skirt with her left hand, she started toward the braggart with the sword held before her. Braymer suddenly came to life and darted to her side, clutching her arm.
“Mistress Karigan, what are you doing? Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from this villain, I’ll—”
She yanked her arm loose and brushed him aside. He fell back several steps, perhaps not expecting her strength. The thief watched with apparent interest.
Though Arms Master Drent had trained her thoroughly in all manner of fighting techniques and scenarios, she had never fought in a dress. She was hoping it would not come to an actual fight.
“Leave the document and go,” Karigan said. “That artifact belongs to the people of Sacoridia.”
“And you will stop me, my lady?” There was much amusement in the thief’s voice, and an upturn to his lips suggested a smile.
Karigan sighed. “If I must.” She shifted the sword in her grip. It was a longsword, much heavier than what she was used to.
“Perhaps you should return to your needlework, my lady.” He turned dismissively and started to stride away, but Karigan shoved the blade between his legs and tripped him. Quick as a cat he rolled and was on his feet again. He tucked the document into his frock coat and gazed at her, this time without the smile.
“Mistress Karigan, is it?” Steel tinged his voice. “You would do well not to anger me.”
“I wouldn’t anger you if you’d simply return the document and leave.”
“And how would that be worth my time?”
“It might be worth your life.”
“That’s a very unladylike threat.”
“And this is the only needlework I know.” She raised the sword to eye level.
The thief barked out a laugh. “You are an intriguing lady, Mistress Karigan. Now let’s dispense with this nonsense, shall we? I’ll be on my—”
Karigan engaged him and their quick exchange of blows rang throughout the expansive halls of the museum. In retrospect, she realized she had done it again; had gotten herself into a fight when she could have just as easily pretended to be helpless and let the thief make off with the document. It was the responsibility of the constabulary, really. She always seemed to act first and think later, a dangerous failing on her part. In this first exchange, the thief revealed his rapier wasn’t just a pretty ornament he wore at his side—he knew how to use it. He was no ordinary thief, this masked man, and she might be in for more than she bargained for.
But she wasn’t helpless, and she hated standing around when she might be able to prevent a treasured artifact from being stolen, and in full daylight no less. And she had to admit, it was a bit of a response to Braymer and Styles, and their conservative Rhovan ways. Let them see what a Sacoridian woman was capable of.
“I see you have practiced your needlework,” the thief said. “A little.”
Karigan scowled.
“Tut, tut, don’t frown,” he said. “It ruins your pretty face.”
Karigan closed in again, and he met her blow for blow, his sword work elegant and nimble compared to her own which was made ponderous by the weight of the longsword. She had to use it two-handed, which left her skirts dragging about her feet and seriously hampering her footwork. He glided about, his other hand set on his hip, his back held erect, his bearing aristocratic.
Karigan thrust, and he slipped aside. Her sword hissed at his neck, and he danced away. The smirk on his face revealed he thought it all a great joke. She brought the sword down in what should have been a crushing blow, but he flitted out of the way. Blow after blow was casually deflected, and when she threw herself into one particularly powerful thrust, he simply stepped aside. Her center of gravity was thrown forward and she had to hurry her feet back under her before she fell on her face.
Her lungs strained against the corset for breath. Sweat trickled down her neck and temples. The thief remained cool and impeccable, awaiting her next move. It infuriated her.
She whirled and their blades clanged together and slid hilt to hilt. They were very close, almost nose to nose. She could look right into his light gray eyes.
“I’m enjoying this dance,” he said in a silken whisper, “and I think you are, too.”
Karigan shoved him away with a growl. For a moment their hilt guards caught and she thought she might be able to tear his sword from his hands, but he deftly untangled it and backed away.