Vienna Blood

68

THE ROOM CONTAINED NO furniture except for a small card table that had been placed in the center. From downstairs the muffled sound of carousing rose through the bare floorboards. An inebriated chorus of male voices seemed to be exploring the limits of musical coherence over an out-of-tune piano. The instrument rang out its discords, and occasionally a shriek of delight betrayed the presence of several indecorous females.

A single gas flame sputtered, tainting the air with pungent fumes. Above the lamp's stanchion and cracked glass bowl a black smear of sooty ejecta broke the continuity of a floral motif on the yellowing wallpaper.

Gathered around the table were seven men: Lieutenant Ruprecht Hefner, his seconds, Renz and Trapp, Count Zoltan Zaborszky, his seconds, Braun and Dekany, and the unparteiische-a pale-faced emaciated man with blue lips and transparent fingers.

Thirteen slivers of wood had been laid out on the table's green baize, arranged in a semicircle like the struts of an open fan. Twelve were identical. The thirteenth, however, was distinguished by a daub of red paint. The unparteiische pushed it into position, attempting to create a perfectly symmetrical arrangement.

“You may inspect the lots,” said the unparteiische in a voice that was surprisingly stentorian for such a cadaverous man.

Renz picked up one of the wooden slivers and rotated it in his hand. Being more accustomed-in his capacity as a second-to testing the weight and quality of pistols, he was not sure what more he could do. He shrugged, somewhat puzzled, and tossed the sliver back onto the baize.

“I am satisfied,” he said.

“Herr Braun?” said the unparteiische.

The younger of the count's seconds stepped forward. He was a gaunt fellow, whose prominent jawline and dark eyes suggested a certain rugged charm. However, the inherent nobility of his lineaments had evidently been ruined by a dissolute life. His thick hair was greasy and his chin scabrous, while the stubble on his cheek was speckled with silver bristles.

Braun touched each of the slivers, working his way systematically through the half-dial arrangement. Hefner noticed that the cuffs of his jacket were frayed, and that the man's hand was disfigured by a thin white weal-it looked like a dueling scar. The wretch toyed with the red slip for a few moments and then said, “I am satisfied.” This utterance was accompanied by an exhalation of breath that smelled strongly of alcohol.

The unparteiische handed Braun a velvet drawstring bag. The young man stretched it open and offered the exposed interior to Renz.

“Lieutenant?” The unparteiische prompted.

“Yes, of course,” said Renz, suddenly comprehending his role. The officer scooped the slivers together and dropped them into the open mouth of the bag. Braun pulled the string tight and began shaking the bag. The wooden slivers clattered inside. From the room below came a sudden burst of raucous laughter.

Braun continued shaking the bag.

Clatter, clatter, clatter…

He seemed to be taking his relatively minor task far too seriously. The unparteiische, unable to contain himself any longer, glared at the over-earnest second. The baleful look from his luminous eyes had the desired effect, and the young man handed the bag back with a muttered apology.

The unparteiische addressed Hefner and the count. “Gentlemen, are you ready?” Both nodded. “Good. Let us begin.”

The duelists positioned themselves at either side of the unparteiische, who loosened the string of the bag. Then, holding it out in front of him, he tilted it toward Zaborszky.

The count tucked his cane under his left arm and stroked his drooping oriental mustache. The expression on his broad, almost Mongolian features was difficult to interpret. It had a curious, almost alien intensity. He crossed himself slowly, allowing a limp forefinger to touch his forehead, chest, and shoulders-his hand moving over his body in extravagant arcs. An emerald ring glittered, then disappeared into the black velvet bag. Before withdrawing his hand, the count locked stares with each of the three Uhlans. He withdrew the lot. Holding it up, he turned the sliver around, demonstrating that it was unmarked.

Disgusted with the count's excesses, Hefner plunged his hand into the bag and removed another unmarked lot. He held it up for a few moments, then threw it angrily onto the table.

The count was not persuaded by Hefner's example to change his ways. Again, he executed a lymphatic sign of the cross before tugging at the black ribbon attached to his vest. He retrieved the dangling monocle and pressed it into the orbit of his left eye.

“Insufferable,” whispered Trapp.

When the count was ready to proceed-determinedly in his own time-he explored the contents of the black bag for what seemed like an eternity before withdrawing another blank sliver.

The unparteiische-whose neutrality was being sorely testedoffered the bag to Hefner. But before the soldier could respond, Braun called out, “Stop!”

He stepped forward and peered at the bag. The three Uhlans shifted impatiently, their collective movement producing a jangling of spurs.

“Would the gentleman explain,” said the cadaverous umpire, “why he has seen fit to interrupt us?”

Braun pointed at the bag. “I thought I could see a hole.”

“Where?”

Braun took the bag from the unparteiische, lifted it above his head, and turned it around.

“No-I'm sorry. I was mistaken.”

He handed the bag back to the unparteiische.

Renz and Trapp groaned.

Braun faced them indignantly. “Sirs-I will not be party to an improper contest. When our business here is concluded, my conscience dictates that I must leave this building secure in the knowledge that it was fate alone that harmonized the discord. As you well know, it is our solemn duty-mine and yours-to intervene if there is even the slightest possibility that the code of honor is being violated!”

Before the Uhlans could respond, the unparteiische raised his hand.

“Thank you, Herr Braun. You have been most vigilant. I take it you are now satisfied that the duel can continue?”

“I am,” said Braun, still glaring at the restive Uhlans.

The unparteiische offered Hefner the bag for the second time.

Without hesitation, Hefner plunged his hand into the bag and pulled out his lot. He glanced at it in the sheltered bowl of his cupped fingers. The Uhlan's face showed no sign of emotion. Turning the sliver of wood around, he exposed the fatal red daub.

Renz and Trapp gasped.

The unparteiische looked directly at Hefner. “The duel is concluded. Count Zaborszky has won. You know what this means… I trust that you will respect the code and fulfill your obligation within the next week.”