The Map of Time (Trilogía Victoriana #1)(79)
Of the two automatons leading the cortege, one took a direct hit in the chest. Despite being made of iron, his armor ripped open, and he spurted a cascade of cogs and rods onto the ground before falling over with a loud crash. The other one was luckier, as the bullet aimed at disabling him only grazed his shoulder, barely causing him to totter. The soldier who had appeared behind the procession was cleverer. His bullet shattered the little steam engine on the back of one of the guards bringing up the rear, which keeled over backwards. A moment later, one of the throne bearers suffered the same fate, felled by a volley of bullets fired by the soldier who had appeared at the side. Losing one of its supports, the throne keeled over dangerously before finally sinking to the ground, bringing the mighty Solomon down with it.
Things seemed to be going splendidly for the humans, but once the automatons had managed to regroup, the situation changed.
The automaton next to the one that had toppled over backwards snatched the weapon of his attacker and smashed it to smithereens. At the same time, no longer encumbered by the throne, one of the bearers opened the little doors in his chest and fired a direct hit at one of the two soldiers attacking from the front.
His fall distracted his comrade, a fatal error which gave the nearest automaton, whose shoulder had only been grazed by a bullet, time to charge him and deliver a direct blow with his fist. The punch threw the soldier up into the air; he landed a few yards away. Pantherlike, Shackleton leapt from his rock, and bounded over to them, downing the automaton with a well-aimed bullet before he was able to finish off his companion. The two remaining soldiers, one now unarmed, stepped back from the fray, and fell in beside their captain, while the four surviving automatons closed ranks around their king. Although Claire knew nothing about military strategy, you did not need to be a genius to see that once the humans had used the advantage of a surprise, which had perhaps blinded them with the illusion of an easy victory, the automatons” superior strength had turned the battle around with humiliating ease. Outnumbered as they were, it seemed logical to Claire that Shackleton, whose duty as a good captain was to protect his men, would order a retreat. However, the future had already been written, and so she was not surprised when she heard Solomon’s voice intervene to stop them as they were preparing to flee.
“Wait, Captain,” he declared, in his tinny voice. “Go, if you want, and plan another ambush. Perhaps you will be more successful next time, but I fear you will only prolong a war that has already gone on far too long. But you could also stay and end it once and for all, here and now.” Shackleton looked at him suspiciously.
“If you allow me, I’d like to make you a proposition, Captain,” Solomon went on, while his guard broke ranks, opening up like a metal cocoon at the center of which stood their king. “I propose we fight a duel.” One of the automatons had rescued a wooden box from the toppled throne, which he now presented to Solomon. The automaton ceremoniously pulled out a magnificent iron sword, the tip of whose blade glinted in the faint light from the sky.
“As you see, Captain, I had a broadsword identical to yours made so that we could fight with the same weapon humans have been using for centuries. I’ve been practicing these last few months, waiting for the moment when I would be able to challenge you.” (To show he was not joking, he sliced through the air with a two-handed thrust.) “Unlike the ignoble pistol, the sword requires skill, deftness, and a knowledge of your enemy, which makes me think that if I succeed in piercing your entrails with its razor-sharp blade, you will acknowledge my expertise and consent to die.” Captain Shackleton mulled over Solomon’s proposal for a few moments, looking wearier and more disgusted than ever by the war of attrition. Now he had his chance to end it all by placing all his bets on a single card.
“I accept your challenge, Solomon. Let’s decide the outcome of this war here and now,” he replied.
“So be it,” Solomon declared gravely, scarcely able to contain his joy.
The automatons and human soldiers stepped back a few paces, forming a circle around the duelists. The third and final act was about to begin. Shackleton unsheathed his sword with a graceful movement and made several feints in the air, aware perhaps that he might never again perform the gesture. After this brief demonstration, he coolly studied Solomon, who was desperately trying to strike a gallant swordsman’s pose, but was hindered by his rigid limbs.
Circling the automaton slowly and nimbly, like a wild animal stalking its prey, Shackleton tried to work out where to strike first, while Solomon simply watched his assailant, sword clumsily raised. Naturally, he had given his rival the honor of commencing the duel. With a swift, agile movement, Shackleton traced an arc in the air with his sword, which came crashing down on Solomon’s left side. But the two-handed blow only produced a loud metallic clang, like a pealing bell that hung in the air for a few moments. Following the pathetic outcome of his first strike, Captain Shackleton stepped back a few paces, visibly dismayed: the brutal blow had scarcely made Solomon teeter, while it had almost snapped his wrists. As though seeking to confirm his weak position, Shackleton struck again, this time aiming for the automaton’s right side. The result was the same, but this time he could not afford to brood over it, as he had to avoid Solomon’s counterattack. After dodging the tip of his sword, which sliced through the air almost grazing his helmet, Shackleton once more put a distance between them, and, momentarily safe from attack, studied his enemy again, shaking his head slowly in a gesture that betrayed his despair.