Secrets of the New World (Infini Calendar) (Volume 2) by Scott Kinkade Page B

significantly. They had to be Deschanel’s lackeys. “Well, now,” she said using her own French, “ I have a choice!” Using all the force she could muster, she drove the back of her head into the big man’s nose. He grunted in pain but did not let go, so she did it again. This time there was a crack and he released her.
    “Too bad for you, I aint as nice as him,” the other man said. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a dagger. He came at her with it, but her years of combat experience kicked in, and she side-stepped the attack. Simultaneously, she brought her hand down on the wrist holding the dagger and, using her other hand, thrust her palm upwards, catching him in the chin. He stumbled backwards.
    “‘Too bad’ is right,” the big man said with strained patience. “If you insist on fighting us, we’ll have to take you down.”
    “Hmph. You fools have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Jeanne replied.
    The smaller idiot yelled, “Neither do you!”
    Jeanne motioned to both of them. “Then let’s find out, shall we?”
     
    ***
     
    Farahilde struggled to avoid the swift and unpredictable attacks of her mystery assailant. Both of the enemy’s hands held stilettos. The enemy clearly favored close-quarters combat. That was OK, though; so did Farahilde.
    Fortunately, Farahilde was wearing her latest model of armored gauntlet. This one kept the blades tucked inside it until she flicked her wrist, at which time they emerged. She wasted no time doing this.
    The assembled crowd of Japanese settlers quickly dispersed once the fighting started. A few stayed and watched in horror as the life-or-death battle played out before them.
    Farahilde’s spirit was more than up for the fight, but while she was in excellent physical condition, she was also rusty. She hadn’t been in a real battle in quite a while. Her reflexes strained to keep up with the sudden demand.
    As they circled each other and exchanged slashes and strikes, she noticed Jeanne was also fighting someone. Farahilde couldn’t afford to waste time worrying about her friend; Jeanne was more than capable of handling herself in a fight, and Farahilde needed to stay focused on her own.
    The enemy swung at Farahilde’s head, and she just barely managed to dodge the attack—merely getting a superficial wound across her right cheek. She swung back, but the enemy ducked and she only got the hood which was instantly torn to ribbons.
    With the attacker’s disguise compromised, he or she ran off into the forested area surrounding the festival grounds. On the way, though, the enemy stumbled and dropped one of the stilettos. Rather than lose time retrieving it, the enemy kept going.
     
    ***
     
    Deschanel’s lackeys suddenly retreated into the woods. They had proven better fighters than Jeanne had expected, but she had given a good account of herself nonetheless.
    She adjusted her wig—which had come loose during the fight—and ran over to where Farahilde was examining some sort of weapon. “Are you all right?”
    “Of course, fräulein. What did you expect?”
    Jeanne noted the stiletto. “Did your attacker drop that?”
    Farahilde nodded. “I have a pretty idea of who it was.”
    “The ones who attacked me were Deschanel’s lackeys. The one who attacked you was probably—”
    “Deschanel herself. That scum! She won’t get away with this.”
    Jeanne, however, suddenly noticed an engraving on the weapon Farahilde was holding. It was a black skull. “Not good.”
    “What is it?”
    “I’ve seen that insignia before. It belonged to a secret unit of the French Army.”
    “What kind of unit was it?”
    “The worst kind. They were known as Les Ombres Impies —the Godless Shadows. They specialized in assassinations and other stealth kills. They did the kind of dirty work that could never be made public. I was once offered a position within their ranks. I declined on moral grounds.”
    “So what happened to them?”
    “King Louis XVI’s