Chapter 91.
Thirty minutes later, The Host hands Ant Tipton and Saad al-Harbi their classic LeMat revolvers, the style of gun men were likely to have used in duels in the nineteenth century—heavy in the hand, ugly.
Hannah is already back in her cottage, packing up her belongings. Jack’s injuries are being treated by an Italian doctor who has been summoned to the main house.
In the ballroom now, it’s just Tipton, Saad, and The Host.
“In the past,” The Host says, “formal duels were conducted most frequently with smoothbore pistols that held only one bullet. Very tidy. Very polite. Very deadly.”
He gestures at the revolvers in their hands.
“The guns in your hands are reproductions of the legendary cap and ball revolver that the Pietta company of Brescia, Italy, started making again forty years ago,” he continues. “Beautifully made. And they have a history.”
Both Tipton and Saad study the guns in their hands. Saad remarks on their craftsmanship. Tipton simply asks, “How many bullets?”
“It’s capable of holding nine,” The Host says. “But for our purposes today, you each have one in the chamber.”
“How do you know?” Tipton asks.
“Because I loaded them.”
“Is it really going to be twenty paces and turn and fire?” Tipton asks. “If so, where are our seconds?”
The Host ignores the remark, and says, “You will each be escorted by my guards to different points of the wooded area at the far end of the grounds. Then you will hear one shot fired into the air.”
He pauses, enjoying the weight of it.
“That shot means you’re free to move. Hunt. Or run.”
He looks at the two men.
Tipton looks at him. “Any rules?”
The Host’s smile widens. “Only the oldest one.”
“And that is?” Saad asks.
The Host spreads his hands.
“Survive.”
Tipton swallows something hard.
“Any more questions?” The Host asks.
“Just one,” Ant Tipton says. “Are you expecting us to shoot to kill?”
The silver-headed man walks over and then claps them both heartily on the back.
“Why not?” he asks.