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in much respect of your social standing and former courage in the name of our nation, however, events of the past week have lead me to find no alternative in writing you and requesting an apology for your scandalous words of me in public regarding my monetary affairs and for striking me in the street this very morn.

  I have the honour to be,

  Your obedient servant,

  D. Hobble

  As I sealed the letter, my messenger knocked on the door and took receipt of my correspondence. I bade him warning that if he should fail to deliver it in person to Mr. Sobel that there would be dire consequences. He looked unnerved, and sped away as fast as his little legs would carry him.

  I wrote another letter to my good friend Albert MacCourighn, the captain of The Temerarious, upon which I had sailed all those many years ago, explaining to him the sad predicament I found myself in, and requesting him to be my second, the assistant to a coming duel. This letter I passed to my driver, and gave him generous monies should he need to find lodgings for the night in the city after presenting the request and waiting for a reply.

  As the driver pulled away from the house and rattled down the street, I caught sight of young master Hemmel, who puffed and panted till he came close to my legs, holding in his hand a reply.

  It read,

  Sir,

  I have mused over your letter and find that there is nothing to my mind that necessitates an apology. In fact, it's style is forthright in it's impertinence, seemingly so much as to draw me to a ill tempered reaction. I am afraid to say you will find no such reaction from me. It is from yourself, not I, that an apology should be requested, sir, for calling me a coward in a common thoroughfare for all to hear. I am no coward, sir, and refute the accusation.

  Sir, I have the honour to be,

  Your obedient servant,

  O. Sobel.

  I held the note tightly in my fist. I could almost see his deriding smirk as he'd penned it. I returned to my office and considered my next actions. The turn of events was becoming clearer and clearer, much to the suffering of my ever fearful heart. Oscar had no intention of apologising, and as a gentleman it was my duty to request a meeting and seek my satisfaction with shot.

  As I stated before, this was a cause of much apprehension, for I had only seen pistols in the hands of others, and was unhappily aware that a duel would ultimately end in my life's extinction. On the other hand, I had to consider the possibility that I would indeed survive. By the rules of the Code Duello, we were permitted only one shot, and if we both missed our mark we would face a fine from the local constabulary and told to never do it again. If I hit my mark true, I would be considered a murderer and required to make my escape, with my second, from the county of Grantaburgh. This is partly the reason as to why I requested Captain MacCourighn to be my second, for we could make haste upon The Temerarious and set sail for France. Another ground for bespeaking his respected presence was the fact that he was, on board his galley, in possession of pistols and shot.

  Confident in a positive answer from Captain MacCourighn, I penned a note to another respected friend, and colleague, in Grantaburgh. He had consoled me when I had spoken of my dealings with Mr. Sobel, and I told him of what was to happen next. I told him that, ‘In the event of my falling, I beg of you to make no foolish lamentation, as I feel confident before God that I am doing my duty as a Christian and as a respectable member of society.’

  Every time I think of those last words I cannot stop myself from laughing. Who do were think we are in our value to have the right to take the life of another, in the sake of honour or God? These years in The Wilderness have taught me much about sitting quietly and contemplating a resolve, and I wish I could lay my hand upon my former shoulder in those last hours and urge myself to relinquish my misdirected dignity, to throw asunder my grievance and gather more, happier, memories for me to recollect once cast into The Ferryman's pit.

  But, as history now teaches me, the clockwork of fortune takes all actions into account, not only my own, and into that consideration came those of all who's fate brushed against mine during those last days.

  I think a lot about fate now that I have only The Wall to watch. I wonder if we had any say in the proceedings of our lives at all, or whether we were simply swept along by the actions of those around us like the cogs in some insufferably complex instrumentation. Had Mr. Lacey not been otherwise engaged, would he have explained these ambiguous financial discrepancies and the matter been resolved? I cannot say, and whoever can? We attain no more answers in death than we are given in birth, and ponder the same unanswerables as any living soul.

  The next morning I was surprised to find that Captain MacCourighn had returned with my driver. He was brash and loud as ever, sporting a wide smile and dark bushy beard, and his colourful presence frightened the birds from the trees and almost burnt the mists away. He slapped me hard on the back as though he had been waiting for this kind of excitement for years.

  In my office his tone dampened, and he asked me if I was certain to go through with it. I told him that I was and that it was a question of discipline, and that I should rather face my death than have the likes of Mr. Sobel look down upon me.

  He agreed, and asked if I had written my will. I replied that I had, including several letters to relatives. I'd also spent much of the last evening putting my affairs in order, and had documents prepared for Mr. McCourt, requesting he do right by me in sending forward any unpaid debts on my behalf.

  “Then let us see my side of the bargain,” he said, drawing from beneath his cloak a small leather case. He opened it to reveal a beautiful pair of pistols. It was a sobering thought that one of these items was soon to kill me.

  I cleared my throat and the captain pre-empted my response, saying, “Now, I know you've never fired one of these, Davey, that's why I insisted on coming with your driver this morning. We need to get you practising.”

  And so we spent the day on the far side of the Abingtowne Wall, where the wilderness stretches to Grantaburgh and beyond, taking aim and shooting at trees and game.

  The crack of the shot split through my ears as though I'd been struck with a hammer, though the heavy mists enveloped the noise as softly as volcanic ash smothering a town.

  We were interrupted by Master Hemmel, who brought news from my adversary. I had replied to his correspondence the previous night, though it was growing too dark for my messenger to venture into the streets, so at first light Hemmel had made his way across the village to Mr. Sobel's grand house.

  I had written to the effect of,

  Sir,

  Much as I am vexed by your response, I shall give you one chance to apologise for your actions over the past days. I must remind you, as a gentleman, it is my on my honour to seek satisfaction from you, and I request that you comply with an acknowledgement post haste.

  I have the honour to be

  Your obedient servant,

  D. Hobble.

 

  Captain MacCourighn looked up from cleaning a pistol and asked, “What does he say?”

  I sighed and ignored him for a few moments, each breath added to the reality that this would only be solved one way.

  “Davey? What's the bastard said?”

  “He says,

  Sir,

  If you so wish to waste your ink and parchment on corresponding with me then all is well, though I must remind you that I am a busy man, and cannot continue in this fashion. I have stipulated already that it is not I who need make apology, and that you should look inside yourself to find acknowledgement for myself.

  I have the honour to be

  Your true and obedient servant,

  O. Sobel.”

  I passed the letter to him and took the pistol, firing at a tree that was by now torn and infused with lead.

  “Insolent prick,” MacCourighn mused, scratching his beard. He watched me miss the tree and said, “Listen, don't worry old fellow. I have no passion to see these trees deformed, but this
swell of turds...” he flicked the letter and shook his head, “I'll teach you to shoot him between the balls.”

  Returning home that afternoon, I replied once more to Mr. Sobel, requiring him to meet me at Lagden's Grove the following morning at eight O'clock. It was now up to him to find a second, and Captain MacCourighn went into the village to request that Doctor Oldfield lead the proceedings.

  I heard nothing more from Mr. Sobel that day, though I heard rumours that he had difficulty finding any man to be his second, for he was so uncommonly despised in the district. Eventually, his trust was found in a cousin, and both he and Captain MacCourighn met at The Three Tunnes Inn to try and find a resolve.

  “It is a grave thing,” he said when he returned that evening, “when a man cannot find pardon over a flask of ale.”

  “There is no hope,” I said, resting my head in my hands. My training with a pistol had been disastrous and not even the captain could make light of the matter.

  “God is on your side, Davey. Remember that.” He said staidly, coming to me and putting his hand on my shoulder. “Just remember what I told you and He will do the rest.”

  The following morning we left the house before the church bell had tolled the end of curfew, and we made our way though the morning twilight to Ladgen's Grove.

  When we arrived the crows were squawking their death-knell, warning The Grim Reaper that there would soon be another soul to add to his list. It was a