When Gene came out of the shop, someone was staring at him beside a pillar outside the leather-cutting shop opposite. Noticing the gaze, Gene frowned. On reflection, it was a man he had seen several times before. Ordinarily, he wore work clothes and a great leather apron. Today he was in a clean tunic, which was why Gene had failed to recognize him. But his clothes were not the only difference. Something in his eyes was unusual too.
Gene took a few steps. The man turned away, but Gene could feel him watching from the corners of his eyes. Reaching him, Gene deliberately turned sharply. The man visibly flinched.
“Something to say?”
He hastily shook his head. Gene began to turn away, then looked back at him. Only then did he understand the suspicious feeling he had first noticed. He had certainly seen the man in this street before, so he had assumed that merely explained the familiar face. But that alone would not have left so clear an impression. The reason lay in today. He had seen him twice in one day. Where? Outside the library.
“I believe we’ve met.”
At Gene’s next words, the man prepared to run. Gene was not one to miss such a sign. Blocking his escape with his body, he drew a short dagger with his left hand. Even with his left, Gene was quite skilled with blades. He owed that to training under a master who had been ambidextrous.
“Why were you following me?”
“N-no. I wasn’t.”
“Really? Do you know who I am?”
The man was plainly tense. His neck was stiff as he nodded.
“I-I do.”
“Then you know what happens when you talk nonsense.”
Instead of answering, he looked around, then let out something like a scream. At the same moment, movement came from the left, the right, and behind. Gene grasped the situation immediately. Drawing his sword with his right hand, he thrust toward the man before him. The man quickly ducked behind a shop pillar.
Rather than pursue, Gene turned and precisely blocked the sword flying at him in that instant. Then, instead of pressing his attack, he stepped back twice and took a wall behind him. Four enemies surrounded him. Gene spoke mockingly.
“Four of you? How bold.”
Without answering, they swung their weapons. With his long sword, Gene beat aside four blades in succession, assessing the order of their attacks and the differences in skill. Just after the weakest attacked, he darted forward and drew his dagger under the man’s chin. Feeling the cold edge at his throat, the flustered man fell back two paces without thinking, breaking the circle.
Next came the man on his right. With the comrade who should have supported him on the left retreating, he flinched. As Gene predicted, he naturally tried to move left when Gene pressed him. Understanding their lines of movement meant superiority. The instant the man moved, Gene cut his left arm deeply enough to expose the bone. A scream burst from him.
Gene smiled coldly.
“Last chance. Who are you?”
The others knew Gene had shown mercy when he could have cut off the arm. Two were still uninjured, but four of them had failed against him. A mere two could hardly face the ShadowHawk. Spectators were beginning to gather one by one. If they held out much longer, even the way to escape would be blocked. Sensing their mood, Gene swept his sword once through the air, producing a keen sound. A so-called ultimatum. One man spoke.
“You may be strong enough to suit the name ShadowHawk, but you are nothing compared with the real one.”
Gene gave a faint smile.
“Oh? Then you’re saying I’m a fake?”
“You’ve only borrowed the name anyway, haven’t you? The true ShadowHawk vanished thirty years ago. By now he’ll be a worn-out old man catching lice in his clothes.”
Gene had never given much thought to what the old ShadowHawk might have been like. He had merely assumed it was a nickname passed down for decades, or even centuries, among Delphinad’s back-alley swordsmen as they killed one another or took it from someone else. Nor had there been only one man with that nickname. Just before Gene came to Delphinad, two ShadowHawks had died, they said. He had simply arrived in the back alleys at a suitable moment and inherited the name.
From what Gene had heard, most had been wicked men with skill to match their vileness. He had never even thought that there might be an original among them. Even if there was, he doubted the man was very different from the latest ShadowHawks.
“Believe someone from thirty years ago is the real one if you like. I have no particular objection. Whoever he was, he has nothing to do with me. What I want to know is who you are. Don’t want to say? Then I’ll have to find out for myself.”
Gene moved before he finished speaking. Two strides brought him to the man farthest left. He struck aside the man’s sword and cut down at his shoulder in the same motion. An artery burst, sending blood into the air. The spectators screamed.
Then Gene slipped around the pillar behind him, seized the man hiding there by the throat, threw him to the floor, and planted a foot on his back. It was the man who had first followed him.
Pointing his blade at the back of the man’s neck, Gene looked at the others. He stood in the entrance to the shop. To escape toward Tanners’ Street, they would have to pass him. Only one enemy remained uninjured now, the man who had just spoken about the “real” ShadowHawk. Gene said, “If you don’t answer, I’ll cut his throat. One. Two.”
He had no real intention of cutting the man’s throat. Had it come to that, he would have let the man slip away, then injured him and knocked him down. But words like that from the ShadowHawk’s mouth had a definite effect.
“You were the ones who disturbed the general’s manor first. He had no reason to tolerate such an insult. We may have lost today, but the general will soon make you pay the proper price.”
So they were General Nikephoros’s men. Were they angry about his invasion of the manor to rescue Nana and trying to take revenge? There seemed rather few enemies for that, but Gene did not consider it deeply before replying.
“General Nikephoros? Ah, the one who kidnapped a girl?”
The man’s face twisted. He shouted, “The general would never do such a thing!”
“Really? Then who was that pretty girl I rescued and brought out? She looked about twelve.”
There were many witnesses. It was obvious the rumor would spread quickly. If it had been a slave trader or a criminal organization, the incident would have been commonplace. The story that General Nikephoros, a glorious war hero, had kidnapped a little girl would be a scandal. The man’s face grew redder and redder.
“Stop spouting nonsense! The general…”
“Did you come looking for me just to say that? You could have bought some biscuits and come round to explain. ‘There seems to have been a misunderstanding, but that girl you rescued last time was actually kidnapped by some unrelated fellows and merely happened to be held at the general’s mansion.’ Wouldn’t that have done? Then I’d have had biscuits too. Much better.”
Snickers spread among the spectators. Nothing the man said now could reverse the situation. Spectators always sided with the winner. With burning eyes, he glared at Gene.
“I will make you pay for this. Prepare yourself.”
“You want to cut my throat? Get in line. Your turn will come when you’re number one hundred and one.”
“By then, you…”
The man’s mouth twisted and trembled. Something was a little strange. Gene had insulted the general, yes, but Nana’s kidnapping was a fact. He might dislike having it aired publicly, but it was hardly cause for such real rage.
“You’ll come to curse the name of the ShadowHawk.”
That sort of threat was a beaten man’s usual line, so Gene paid little attention. Unless he was truly going to cut someone’s throat, it was time to let them go. Lifting the foot from the man’s back, he kicked him in the backside. The man stumbled out into the street. At the same moment, the other three slipped out through the back of the shop. Apparently, it had a rear door. Sheathing his sword, Gene shrugged.
“Admitting defeat is a good attitude.”
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