Hero´s Manual 9
Chapter 9: The Confrontation
Having taken a tour through the mansion, the villain took his guests back to the living room for business. Or, as both villain and hero preferred to call it, “The Confrontation,” followed by “The Annihilation” and “The Taking of the Damsel”.
“So,” began Hero, “how do you want to do this?”
“I’ve got a few things set up,” answered Vicky as he gestured to Quasi. “Have some more scones - oh. Well, those were all the scones we had.” Gwen blushed at this, and surreptitiously brushed some crumbs off her dress. “More tea?”
Soon Quasi returned bearing a pair of swords, some cushions, and a set of Risk. He laid them on the coffee table, took out a stopwatch, and sat down on an ottoman.
“You may begin when ready,” said the butler.
“Begin what?” said Hero.
“Traditionally, when two opponents of our mettle meet for the first time there’s the Great Stare Down.” Vicky flipped through his Handbook to a dog-eared page and passed this to Hero.
Having read the highlighted paragraph, Hero looked up and said, “But we’ve met before.”
“But this is the first Confrontation,” said Vicky. “Technically.”
“Alright.” Hero settled deeper into the sofa cushions. “What does the winner get?”
“Five points,” said Quasi, pen poised over a slip of paper. “Ready?”
As Vicky and Hero stared deeply into each other’s eyes, Gwen wandered about the living room. She spent some time looking out through the window to a lawn surrounded by high walls. The middle and right-side of the lawn was strewn with mounds of loose earth and randomly-placed holes. A wheelbarrow and spade lay strewn on the ground under a sickly oak. To the left she could just see the side of a tower, at the base of which was a low window, partly hidden by a rose bush.
Behind her came the sounds of battle:
“You’ve blinked!”
“Have not!”
“There! You’ve done it again,” said Hero.
“You’re not even looking at me straight.”
“Sure I am.”
“Keep your eyes off of my butler, boy.”
“I’m staring at you straight in your tearing eyes.”
“Don’t you call my eyes teary,” said Vicky.
“D’you need glasses, old man?”
“Not as much as you need to blink.”
Gwen sighed and turned her attention to a poorly-rendered still-life painting. It was signed “M. Pike” and depicted a mound of garlic beside a pestle.
“Blink!” called out Quasi. “First round to Hero.”
Gwen turned to see Hero smiling smugly, though both were sweating and dabbing at their teary eyes with napkins.
“Next up,” continued Quasi, “Thumb War. Best of three.”
Gwen turned to another painting. This one showed a sunset, or possibly sunrise, in gaudy pinks, purples and oranges.
“Two out of three for Victorious,” said Quasi. “The gentlemen may take ten minutes to warm up for the sword fight.”
Slightly more curious now, Gwen sat back down on the couch and looked over Quasi’s shoulder as he added points and calculated odds.
“There’s a wager on down at the Dark Closet,” he whispered. The two spent some time setting up the game of Risk. Gwen noticed that one of the die had been gnawed. Checking his stopwatch, Quasi interrupted the arm-swinging contenders and handed them their swords.
“Aren’t you going to clear a space in the room, Quasi?” asked Vicky.
“Obstacle course, remember, master?” said Quasi as he helped Vicky pull his sword from his scabbard.
“It’s wood!” cried Hero.
“Of course,” said both villain and butler. “No point in hurting ourselves, is there?” added Vicky.
The ensuing duel can only be described sparsely, because both Gwen and the narrator were clasping their hands over their eyes. (Not out of fear, but because there is something horrifyingly embarrassing about watching two grown men fight with wooden swords.) Quasi, who glanced at the pair occasionally, hoping for a fatal foul to end the fifteen-minute duel, reports that there was much leaping over sofas and circling about chairs with shouts of “Aha!” and “Take that!” This was all the butler could report before breaking down in a fit of laughter, and further attempts at interviewing him were useless.
Finally, caught between an overturned chair and a sofa-cushion, Vicky fell to Hero’s sword. Hero loomed over his enemy, sword poised over his throat.
“Say ‘uncle’,” said Hero as he nudged Vicky’s fallen sword aside.
“No.”
“Oh,” said Hero, lowering his sword. “Why not?”
“I haven’t lost. I’m just biding my time for the right moment.”
Hero kneeled beside Vicky, pressing his sword to Vicky’s side. “You’ve lost,” he whispered, “now say ‘uncle’.”
“Quasi?” called out Vicky.
“‘Uncle’, damnation!”
“Master?”
“Are the fifteen minutes over?”
“No.”
“Is this a foul?”
Quasi smiled and shook his head. “No, master, that’s a checkmate.”
“Who’s mate?”
“I said,” repeated Hero, “say ‘uncle’.”
Vicky pressed his lips tightly together and shook his head. Hero leaned down further over Vicky and jabbed his with his sword. “I’ll tickle,” he whispered.
Vicky’s eyes widened but his lips remained together. Hero began jabbing at Vicky’s side with his sword. Vicky squirmed, trapped and unable to defend himself. His cheeks puffed out as he struggled to make no sound, but Hero was merciless.
“Uncle!”
“Hello-a!” A head popped around the door. “Did you call?”
“Time!” called out Quasi. “Come in if you want, Mr. Pike. If you gentlemen would just hand me your swords - thank you - we can take a little break before the board game.”
“What’s this then?” said the well-dressed man, helping himself to cold tea, staring morosely at the empty plate beside the teapot.
“It’s the Confrontation,” replied Vicky as he and Hero sat down beside him. “Hero, Gwen, this is my uncle, Mycroft Pike.”
“Did I win?” whispered Hero to Quasi, who nodded absently as he added up points.