Dear Antonio,
Brother, I am afraid this note may seem a bit unsettling. To be
perfectly honest, I am quite out of sorts and haven't been my
usual jaunty self. Let me explain...
It started soon after I instructed Cobb's men in the real
art of Destreza, at least as real as you and I have come to
know it. One of his men, a young mister Beaumonte asked if he
could seek me out for the occasional lesson. Cobb had suggested
it to him, thinking it might polish the brash, crude rake into
more of the subtle, lethal type that is demanded of a soldier
in Her Majesty's Most Secret Army.
I thought nothing of it. I am presently at leisure and I always
have time to pass on the art to those who truly need to know the
way. There is nothing quite as satisfying as drilling the fine
points. The fine points are the heart of the art.
I was soon to learn that my involvement with Mr. Beaumonte would be
more than a trifling. He being not an unhandsome lad, had drawn the
attention of a young woman, a young woman already spoken for by some
banker's son. This banker's son, feeling a bit slighted and
absolutely indignant by being put off by a 'brutish lout' decided
to enlist his father's council in finding a brute of his own to do
the deed of teaching Beaumonte the folly of encroaching his amorous
advances on members of polite society. Now, I won't delve into the
the hypocrisy of all of this, basically the poor sop cannot fight
(though if it had been another banker's son or perhaps a barrister's
cousin, I am sure he'd have wanted to exchange bullets, sure enough)
and feels rather than dirty his hands he get someone else beneath
his class to do it.
So Beaumonte comes to me for advice and to brush up his budding
talents because, although no one has formerly mentioned dueling
he's heard rumours that the man to defend the banker's son's honor
is exceptionally talented.
Now it was a while before I was to learn any of this story. In the
meantime I met Beaumonte as time permited. I grew to like him. He doesn't
know his rapier tip from the end of a fireplace poker, but he shows
enthusiasm. Then the story eventually comes out and I hear he's got
a week to back out of his involvements with the girl or else
to expect a formal challenge of some sort. My first comments were
on the order of "drop her", but he served riposte with undying love.
Drivel, drivel, drivel. I was about to give him my lecture on might
not making right when he blurted out the name of the man to defend
the banker's son's honour: Carlo de Rossi.
De Rossi.
It was some moments before I was aware that Beaumonte was still speaking,
prattling on actually, about how if he could just work on his posture and
opening, perhaps a little work on his alignment he may have a chance of
besting his opponent,while I was there skewered clean through by the
diamond hard tip of the past. As I am sure you remember de Rossi and
I have never been friends, though our relationship has been civil. I have
always felt that it would not have taken much for us to progress to a
relationship most definitely unfriendly. I sincerely hope this is not to
pass.
De Rossi may have been a metric for my past development in Destreza.
When I teetered, de Rossi strided. When I felt my strength ebbing, de
Rossi appeared as stable as a mountain. When I struggled with the finer
graces of strategy and tact, de Rossi was praised for his sharp wit by
Maestro Maturin. In our years apart, I have heard continued praise from
various sources concerning de Rossi's skill as a swordsman. My only hope
is to seek the man out and see if we can settle this foolishness before
it gets too far.
I told Beaumonte to leave me, to let me mull over the matter. As I
watched his retreating back, I wondered how his parents will feel about
burying him.
This is an ugly mess, Antonio. An ugly, ugly mess. I meet with de Rossi
tomorrow. Let's hope for the better. I remain, your humble friend,
-- de Verdin
