Rapiers whistled through the air. Small side-swords clanged off each other. The Lordlings grunted and swore with each engagement. Their Florentine styles proved equally matched.
Their blades locked together. Sweaty faces pressed together.
“You’re a fool, Flynn,” said Rathbone.
“Yes,” said Flynn. “But she’s worth it.”
“No. She isn’t.”
They broke apart, catching their breath. The ballroom was silent. The CorpLords and Ladies, the Goblin Bosses, magicians, clerks, adepts, warlords, Swimmers and Technicians watched with eager anticipation. It was a glorious piece of drama for the 6th District’s UpTown Bourgeoisie.
All of the regal, wealthy and lecherous eager for blood. Dressed in their suits, frocks and gowns. They were as bloodthirsty as the lowest DownTown fighting den.
The swords clanged as Rathbone and Flynn danced around each other. Back and forth with lightning fast strikes. The only one in the crowd who wasn’t enjoying the duel was Madam Rathbone.
“When I kill you,” said Flynn. “She’ll be mine.”
“You really are a fool,” said Rathbone. “You think I didn’t know? You think you’re the only one?”
Flynn dashed back, narrowly avoiding a slashed across his throat. His eyes betrayed his confusion.
“I told you,” said Rathbone. “She isn’t worth it. I should know.”
Flynn looked towards Madam Rathbone. His beloved, the one he was fighting for. Their hidden love over the past few years had been a light in the darkness of the Underground.
He grit his teeth, his heart wrenching.
All he saw on her beautiful face was embarrassment and disgust. Whatever plans she had for him had evaporated. Everything had been a lie.
Rathbone rushed forward with his rapier.