The Explorer's Code by Kitty Pilgrim Page B

believe it, but I invited her to Ephesus.”
    “To Ephesus !!” Charles was staring.
    “Yeah, to show her the dig.”
    “Are you insane ? What woman would like that? It’s a pit!”
    “Literally,” said Sinclair.
    They both laughed.
    “Great move, I’m sure she’ll love it.”
    “Oh, hell. I don’t know. She’s going on the Queen Victoria down through the Med. It ends up in Izmir. So I tried to convince her to join me.”
    “Well, here’s a thought. Why don’t you just jump on the ship and ride down there with her? You’re going there anyway.”
    “What? No, that’s really too much.”
    “Are you kidding? She would probably find it very romantic.”
    “Charles, no. Forget it. I’m finished talking about this.”
    “OK. See you out there.”
    Sinclair picked out his jacket and mask, and slammed his locker shut. She hadn’t been that interested. She made that clear at lunch. Why chase her?
    The fencing salon had floor-to-ceiling windows. The brilliant Mediterranean light poured in. The room was the size of at least two American basketball courts. Approximately thirty fencers were now laboring up and down their individual pistes. Squeaks and squeals of the rubber fencing shoes, grunts of extreme exertion, were the only sounds. It was a temple of concentration; not a word was spoken. Only now and then a particularly fierce flurry would culminate in a sharp cry of victory or defeat.
    Charles was at the far end, warming up. He had been one of the top-ranked fencers in Europe for nearly a decade. His technique and skill had been well chronicled. Extremely thin and light, he had such flexibility his arm appeared to bend in places that were physiologically impossible. He had his own distinct style, which was now emulated widely in the international fencing world. The point of his saber was impossible to see when in motion. In saber fencing, a touch can be scored with the blade as well as with the tip. In technique, Charles was the best Sinclair had ever encountered. Sinclair learned early on that despite his affable appearance, Charles had a competitive nature that was truly revealed only in the fencing lane.
    Charles stepped into place on the strip without a word. Sinclair faced him. There was a slash of impatience in their mutual salute; blade to the mask and down to the floor.
    “En garde.”
    “En garde.”
    Sinclair had fenced Charles so often he knew the opening moves like a chess game. Charles would hold back, taunting, drawing Sinclair out. He would pull him further into his trap, tempting him to risk more and attack closer. Sinclair, with his left-handed advantage, used every device. He had unique combinations, but Charles had fenced Sinclair often and was wily enough to recognize all the obvious moves. In their bouts Sinclair could always sense when Charles would be about to coil for a final spring. It wasthe way a naturalist instinctively senses when a snake is going to strike. But today Charles had not yet pulled back for an attack.
    Sinclair fought on, breathing heavily—parry, riposte, parry, riposte. Sinclair was grounded and strong, and much taller. But as the bulkier of the two, and a decade older, he worked harder to keep his movements quick. Charles’s feet flew across the floor barely touching it. He was—as the reviews claimed—miraculous.
    Sinclair gritted his teeth, spoiling for a fierce exchange. Charles kept delaying his attack. He could hear Charles laughing behind the impenetrable mesh face mask.
    “Come on,” Sinclair growled. “Come on !”
    His blood was up and he craved battle.
    Charles ignored him, teasing back and forth, advancing and withdrawing. Sinclair felt his muscles starting to rebel. They were beginning to tire, dragging down his strokes.
    Then Charles sprang, out of nowhere, with an assault so rapid and fierce Sinclair would have been astonished if he had not experienced it before. Sinclair fought like a man possessed. Blazing fast, the sabers connected again