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“That depends on the terms.”
“You must promise not to use sword skills in any nefarious activity.”
“What would you class as nefarious?”
“Anything that could land you in prison.”
“That does not leave much room for innovation.”
“Take it or leave it,” Lucinda said adjusting the straps of the basket and lifting it away from the tree trunk.
“I’ll take it.” She offered her hand to Lucinda like a man. “I believe we have a pact. Same place, same time next week. I do not have my own sword. Should I steal one?”
“No! Were you not listening to a thing I said?”
“Ha-ha-ha. The look on your face.” Moll slapped her own thigh greatly amused by Lucinda’s reaction. With a more conciliatory tone she offered to carry Lucinda’s basket for a while. Peering at the reeds she asked what they were used for.
“Sword drills,” Lucinda explained. “Bound in tight bundles they make good practice dummies.” Despite her protests that she could manage perfectly well, Moll insisted on carrying the heavy basket all the way to the wherry landing where she rolled it off her shoulders and dropped it at Lucinda’s feet. Perhaps taking Moll on as a student would have its benefits.
“It’s all yours,” Moll said passing the basket handles to her with a wink. “I have to get back to work. Same time next week?” It was not until Moll was out of sight that Lucinda noticed the knife that she had taken from Moll was no longer in the basket. How and when did she do that? You had to admire her skill. She was obviously good at her 'trade'. Too good. No one had ever snuck up on her like that before. She must be losing her instinct for danger, which was even more reason to agree to Moll’s terms. With a sigh Lucinda hefted the basket into the wherryman’s hands. She would, no doubt, regret this arrangement, but by the same token, any time spent in the company of her new acquaintance would certainly never be dull.
As she stepped onto the small watercraft, a cheer rose from the crowd at the Bear Gardens followed by the baying of the mastiff hounds and a roar from the angry bear. Leaning forward she rested her elbows on the tightly packed reeds and watched the waves slap the sides of the boat. The afternoon’s exertions were catching up with her, and a great weariness pinned her to the bench seat. Lulled by the rhythmic dip and splash of the oars she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift with the currents. The straw-swampy smell of the cut reeds mingled with the stench of the tannery yards carried down river on the breeze. The bear let out a growl of pain that pierced the air and prodded her from her temporary rest. Plenty seemed to enjoy the bear baiting, but to her way of thinking, one chained bear against a whole pack of angry dogs hardly seemed a fair fight. Give her a pair of well-matched swordsmen any day.
Or swordswomen.
Swordswomen.
Just saying the word under her breath was a secret thrill. She had never fought against another woman before, let alone taught one. The idea quickened in her mind like an infant in its mother’s belly, starting with a flutter then building to a definite kick. Despite being virtually blackmailed, she was in truth looking forward to teaching Moll.
There were so many things a woman was not permitted to do; sword fighting should not be one of them. That was her firm and absolute belief.
Now finally she’d met someone else who whole-heartedly agreed.
