Not Dead Yet: A British Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1-3, page 8
“I will not!” Lynch shouted, stamping his boot. “And the matter of honour shall be settled at dawn.” He turned his attention to the fat major at my side. “Major Murphy, will you act as my second?”
Murphy jerked back to life. “Oh, gosh, well, um…I’ve never done it before and…”
“…Is that a yes or a no, Major?”
“Oh, ok, that’s a yes.” His face was pink as he turned gloomily back to his stout.
“Right then, Captain Strapper, I suggest you find a second to act for you and don’t be late.”
And at that, Captain Lynch strode from the room as I was left to contemplate my death.
Of course, duelling was prohibited by British law and whilst I was spending considerable time in the mess latrine attempting to deal with my rapidly liquifying bowels, I explored every possible option for using the law against Lynch to have this whole business stopped.
But the rub was that the law didn’t really exist anymore. Ireland was in a state of chaos and although such situations were usually ones in which lawyers prevailed and grew fat, seeking out such a shyster would only bring with it other problems.
Not only had I mounted Lynch’s wife, but I’d been accused of cowardice into the bargain, doubtless because the man knew me better than all the others and had guessed correctly I’d do anything to avoid a dawn duel with the best marksman in the regiment. Now he’d dishonoured me and to refuse a duel would invite shame upon my person for the rest of my life - Not that I cared overly about that, or of honour and all that tripe or even for the reputation I was slowly building for myself but if ever I desired a life in society, with the ladies I was becoming accustomed to, then to refuse the duel would be to admit I lacked honour - Totally true, of course, and I’d be the first to make the admission.
I’d even hoped the colonel would put a stop to it but Sheehan, who’d agreed to be my second, had informed me that Fitzgibbon was, in fact, all for it and was even planning on stopping by to view the spectacle - And this was our esteemed commanding officer. And the word passed around that the colonel was bringing along the regimental surgeon so everything would be nice and official, if illegal.
So now it looked like I was out of options and had no choice but to duel against the man.
My cowardly mind, however, had been busy, which I find happens when my safety is threatened, and it was to that end I now dined with Captain Dolan at my residence. I’d already spent the last hour plying him with expensive sherry whilst my personal chef fussed over him with the best meat cuts in town.
“I say, Strappy, you are in a bit of a bind. However do you manage to stay so cool?”
I leaned back in the chair and swirled sherry around in my glass. “How’s the sustenance? Ain’t the beef just exquisite?”
He leaned forward and studied me. “I say…you’re such a cool hand. If it were I facing a duel with Captain Lynch tomorrow, I hazard I’d be over the walls and lost in the countryside by now…rather face the dead than the captain, so I would.”
At that moment the beanpole slinked out from around the corner and declared that I was a dead man for sure, and would I not mind stumping up the month’s rent in advance on account of my inevitable death.
I ordered him away and that if I discovered he was eavesdropping again, I wouldn’t hesitate to take the crop to his backside. He soon disappeared and we didn’t hear from him the rest of the night.
I stabbed a lump of beef with my fork and pointed it at Dolan before placing it in my mouth. “Awfully sorry about not naming you as my second. I know it’s what you were expecting but I’d rather hoped Sheehan could talk the colonel into calling a halt to the whole damned sorry business, and with him being more respected around these parts…” he didn’t take it as an insult on account of the quantity of sherry he’d imbibed and besides, he knew it to be true. “Anyway, I had other plans for you, my lad…more important plans.”
I hoped he’d feel special and from the other side of the table, I was sure his eyes were glowing in the lantern light.
“What plans are you talking about, Strappy?”
There was no point in dithering over the thing and I thought best to just come out with it. “Now, Dolan, you’re a poor man…”
“…What the devil?”
I held up a hand. “No, no, let me finish…you’re a poor man and…” I gestured around to the food and the chef who stood idly by awaiting orders, “…and as you can see, I’m not.”
His ginger head jerked back as the light reflected off his mutton chop sideburns, thick like tumbleweeds. “What are you getting at? You didn’t invite me over just to poke fun at my station, surely.”
“How does twenty thousand pounds sound to you?” I slapped the table. “Enough to purchase three lieutenant colonelcies or else retire to Torquay or wherever you fancy. All you need do is offer to load the pistols, as an independent, you see, and fix the thing so only one gun’s loaded.” I leaned back and allowed the words to sink in. I knew my man, the rogue, and that this amount of money would be too much turn down.
“Oh, bejeezus…” His forehead pulsed and he gave it a rub. “But Strappy, why me?”
“I’ve seen the way you deal cards, so don’t tell me you don’t know how to palm a pistol ball.”
He twitched three or four times. “Oh, yes, I could do it all right. But what if I’m caught? It’d be disgrace for the both of us.”
Being disgraced was the furthest thing from my thoughts and I wondered if my man had more honour than I’d credited. “Dolan, the seconds will be busy enough tomorrow trying to talk Lynch out of this madness. You’ll not find much difficulty from those two.”
“I say, Strappy…this is all quite much.” He sank the remnants from his glass and I clicked my fingers for the chef to refill it.
“Best not think about all that, but instead what house you’ll buy for yourself and your tramp.”
That did it and he began rubbing his chin. “You really think she’d renounce the whorehouse if I had that kind of money?”
I swirled the sherry around in my glass. “Lieutenant Colonel, I can guarantee it.”
He beamed his beautiful smile. “Lieutenant Colonel, aye? Oh, Strappy, I could get used to that…maybe find a better regiment down south too.”
“With that kind of money, you could do whatever you wanted.” I’d had a few doubts he’d be game, but I never expected this kind of enthusiasm, but then I knew his buttons and when to press them.
He twiddled his long mutton chop strands between two fingers. “But will they allow me to load the pistols? Thick as thieves, we are Strappy, and they know it, they’ve seen us go out rogering together.”
“You’re an officer and a gentleman. Your honour is not at question here, remember.”
His forehead pulsated so that I could almost make out the gears working inside his brain. “So I give Lynch the dummy gun, which leaves you with the loaded one, Strappy? It’ll be my head on the block for murder, not yours.”
“You have nothing to worry about on that score, my friend.” Sure it’d be convenient having Lynch out of the way but I wasn’t the murdering type.
He nodded, bit his bottom lip, then jumped from his seat like an overly keen puppy. “By God, Strappy, I’ll do it!”
We shook on it at once and I removed the remaining alcohol from his presence, telling him to be at the park early to offer his assistance.
After showing him out, I was left alone to consider the prospects of my plan not going squint, which nearly drove me insane and at one point I even considered looking for Maguire, to give him a whipping for the insinuation I’d be dead come morning.
But I left the man be and went to bed instead, only to experience the most dreadful sleepless night of my life which contained visions of Old Tubs laughing as he struck me with the birch and cutting away the flesh from my arse. I had to survive this, if only so I could one day return as a cavalry officer, to show him how it feels, to have him experience the pain of being thrashed to within an inch of your bones.
Suddenly my prior melancholy was replaced with a new confidence - I would live!
And then I drifted off to sleep, only for the beanpole to rouse me an hour before dawn.
There were more than merely the regimental officers present at Creggan Burn Park at first light. Indeed, what had to be the entire battalion were in attendance, along with a fair number of local nosies to boot, ghouls of the still human type, who stood mostly well out of the way, though some dared wander closer to the illegal spectacle they weren’t supposed to know about, and the trickle soon turned to a wave until eventually soldiers and civilians were mingling and sharing mugs of tea that steamed from flasks in the chill morning air.
A rabble of local Pikies were selling trinkets, charms and spots on the grass in prime viewing positions they’d reserved by standing there. The smell of fried turnip drifted over from several small fires where lines of hungry spectators were keen to hand over their money. The regimental band was playing some Paddy song of yore so that the place of my imminent death was beginning to look like a Sussex village fayre, naturally, the ale was already flowing, and from somewhere amongst the crowds, I was sure the colonel would be watching with interest.
Dolan was standing behind a table on which rested a brace of pistols besides the surgeon’s bone saws and a half-finished bottle of spirits. It was hard to look away, though I tried not to make my interest appear too obvious to Sheehan, my second, who was now with me in a clearing that’d been marked for the duel with barrels from the local cooper. Upon them, the entrepreneur was plugging local merchants so that they resembled a heavily stickered Picadilly advertising column. It was hard not to find it all a bit crass.
There was, however, one thing conspicuous by its absence and when I finished surveying the scene, I enquired upon Sheehan, “who’s running the book?”
He shrugged, “a bit pointless, sir, can’t get odds on your winning so nobody’s taking the tin.”
I gaped, somewhat offended by this. “We’re in Paddyland and there’s nobody running bets?”
“Exactly, sir.”
“Bloody hell.” I rubbed my eyes and felt a dreadful foreboding because although I’d done as much as I reasonably, and illegally, could to ensure a proper outcome, nevertheless the inevitability of it all was contagious.
“Best do the formalities, my friend.” He sighed and sounded solemn, as though the likely result was obvious, which I was almost in danger of believing myself, and we began treading across the frost-coated grass toward the small knot of officers in the centre of the field. “I just wanted to say, it’s been a pleasure knowing you, sir.”
I’d had just about enough of this. “To the blazes with it, man, I’m not dead yet.”
He made a nervous laugh. “I don’t know how you always manage to stay so cool.”
In truth, I was so nervous I could barely stand and had foolishly consumed one of Maguire’s breakfasts, subsequently purging it from my body during the walk up, carrots and all. Despite my best efforts, I could never be sure that nothing would go wrong.
What if Dolan somehow bungled his simple chore? Or worse, gave me the wrong pistol? A hundred different things could go skewed and as my legs somehow carried me towards the assembled group, I again peered nervously toward the ginger Irishman I hoped would save my life as he cleaned his ears out with a rag.
Once that job was out the way, Dolan then took to examining the pistols, turning them and inspecting the pan whilst to his side, the sawbones grasped his bottle and took an extra large pull. Dolan dropped the ramrod into the long grass and motioned for the surgeon to help find it, if you’d be so kind good sir.
That was the life or death moment and typical me, I could not look a second longer.
Major Murphy was standing with my nemesis, who made no eye contact as we approached. There were two other officers I recognised from Fitzgibbon’s staff, along with another man I did not know at all, with a sallow face and long overcoat he hitched up against the cold, but in the moment I had no time nor desire to make further enquiries as to his identity. Murphy gave me a pained stare from behind his steamed up spectacles. “Gentlemen, is there any way we can settle this matter without having to resort to such nasty business?”
I stared coolly ahead as the wind ruffled my hair. Lynch, who’d stripped off to the waist, revealing heavy muscles, regimental tattoos and what looked like a bayonet wound across the shoulder, betrayed no emotion and seemed to stare blankly ahead into nothing, as though he were standing in line for his vittles. The music and soft murmurs of the crowd had receded and there were some who plodded closer, to hear what was being said, but were swiftly beaten away by men on horseback.
“Good morning, Gentlemen.” My silver-tongued second spoke for me. “The captain’s honour has been foully besmirched, publicly, and he therefore demands, quite reasonably, that the captain retract and apologise most unreservedly for the insult, notably that of knowingly undergoing relations with the captain’s wife and even graver, that of cowardice, which the captain denies most strenuously and vigorously. The captain is most gracious and would expect no monetary recompense for the damage caused to his reputation and, for the good of regimental harmony, will even agree to transfer his commission to an English battalion at the earliest conceivable opportunity but the captain stresses, most profoundly, that a full and public apology, both verbally and in writing, by the captain, to the captain, must be made. Failure to agree to these most generous terms can only, and inevitably, mean the escalation of this dispute, which the captain will have no alternative but to see through to its full and bloody end.”
I very nearly lost all cool and screamed for the madman to accept my terms, so that we could all walk away with our lives, but whilst Murphy looked on with hope, all Lynch did was shake his head with as little vigour as he could be bothered with.
The major’s spectacles had steamed up so much that I wondered if he’d seen Lynch’s response. He removed them, revealing red bloodshot eyes before stammering, “the captain refuses your offer, Lieutenant, and wants only that upstarts, philanderers and cowards,” Sheehan gasped at the reiteration of the accusations, “are purged from the regiment and die like dogs for the entire battalion to witness.”
It was definitely going ahead then and there was yet another urge for me to run into the trees from where I could evacuate my bowels, but I would not give Lynch that satisfaction.
Murphy, who seemed to be taking it worse than anybody apart from myself, held his eyes shut for a while, pinched at the abundance of flesh atop his nose and sent us to our marks. “That’s ten paces each, gentlemen.”
I breathed, half wondered if Lynch was watching me, enjoying my torture, and wobbled off at a stride, counting out the ten paces in my head. The still frosted grass was crisp beneath my boots and when I turned around, I was shocked at how close Lynch stood. I never prayed, but I did in that moment because if Dolan had somehow lost his nerve, I couldn’t see Lynch missing from so near.
Dolan approached Lynch, holding out his gloved hand containing a pistol. Lynch took the weapon, cocked it and I was so close that I heard it click before he lowered the pistol in readiness.
Now Dolan approached me and I watched him make the full twenty paces in slow motion. Bigad, but his ridiculous ginger mutton chops and twitching face would not be the last thing I ever saw. Ten paces away then five then two and he held out the weapon giving me a wink.
My heart soared and I took the pistol and felt the hope brim inside. I would live to fornicate another day.
“Gentlemen,” called out Major Murphy holding up a white kerchief, “when I drop my handkerchief, you may fire when ready. I shall drop it in a few seconds hence.”
Silence from the many hundreds present, save for the odd remark that carried over on the breeze.
“Oh, bejeesis, but how cool does Strappy look?”
“He’ll look even cooler in a minute.”
“Quiet!” Chastised another.
The white rag fell and Lynch raised his pistol immediately, firing off his round.
I felt searing heat whizz past my cheek, for a moment wondering if the idiot Dolan had properly charged the pistol but no, if he had then Lynch wouldn’t have missed and so I knew it must have been the wadding.
“God save Ireland.” Murmured many voices in unison, followed by more shouts to be silent because it wasn’t over yet and surely now Strappy, who was a proven killer, would put Lynch down.
Twenty paces away, Lynch was holding up the pistol to his wide eye, inspecting it, disbelieving, but then, in seeming grudging acceptance of his miss, lowered his arm and stood side on, his eye patch closest to me as he awaited my response, his impending death. It was bravery, true bravery, because if it were me I’d be rolling around in the dirt, apologising for shooting, weeping, begging for my wretched life to be spared and to the devil with what anybody thought. Lynch, however, merely mouthed something and I never did get to discover what it was. His life was mine and I could now remove this obstacle forever.
But instead, I did the last thing anybody expected…
I raised the pistol and fired into the sky just as, and I didn’t know it at the time, a low flying pigeon darted out from the trees. The bird exploded in mid-air as the spectators erupted into applause.
Dolan beamed, rubbing his hands together. Sheehan gaped. Murphy had fallen to his knees in prayer. And Lynch had already begun stalking away into the crowds, who now came forth to envelop me.
A brace of likely looking lads arrived first and raised me onto their shoulders before commencing to parade me about the spectators.
“Bravo sir, bravo!”
“Did you see him take that pigeon?”
“He’d have had One Eye’d Jack’s other peeper for sure.”
“Captain Strapper must be the best shooter in Ireland.”
