“That wouldn’t be fair,” the youth protested. “I didn’t say I could cross swords with a fencing master and win. But there aren’t that many fencing masters around. I can hold my own against the kind of opponent I’d be likely to have to fight, though.”

Hosato smiled. “It seems there are a few misconceptions here we should clear up. First of all, I’m not a fencing master. I’m a professional duelist. I’m supposed to teach you to fight, not score points in a tournament. Second.”—he showed a few more teeth— “I didn’t say I’d cross swords with you. I’m betting you’re sloppy enough with that weapon I could defend myself without using a sword.”

The boy started to reply angrily, but caught himself.

“No deal,” he said suspiciously. “You’ll probably use karate or something.”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t know karate,” Hosato lied easily.

“Why not?” asked the boy. “I mean, you’re Oriental.”

“That’s right. I can’t use chopsticks, either.” Hosato caught himself before his annoyance grew. The boy had inadvertently touched a nerve, but it wouldn’t do to go into this fight mad.

“We’re getting off the subject. I’m proposing a little contest. You use a sword, and I don’t. If you can draw blood on me in five minutes, I’ll go to your father and tell him you don’t need lessons. Is it a deal?”

The boy hesitated. “What if I kill you?” he asked.

“Then I’ll be dead and you won’t have to take lessons.”

“I mean, what would I tell my father. With you dead, there’d be no one to say it was an exercise. I’d look like a murderer.”

Hosato smiled to himself. The boy was bright enough. Maybe he’d make a fencer after all.

“Don’t worry about it, James,” he said confidently. Hosato pulled a small flat box from where it was clipped inside his tunic. He thumbed a dial and lifted the unit to his lips.

“Suzi!” he said.