Viktor Krum shook his head like a half-stunned troll, barely keeping himself upright despite the bench beneath him. He suspected his drinking partner was deriving some twisted amusement from the matter, given by the half-twist of the corners of his mouth and the look in his eyes. It was the first time that they had been able to meet in a year, as they habitually did to commemorate the Day of Dragons, the anniversary of the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, nearly some thirty years before.
Quite how the scrawny little Englishman had developed such a capacity for alcohol that he could drink a Bulgarian under the table, Viktor could not conceive. Nor, truly, could he work out how the selfsame scrawny little Englishman had developed the ability to knock off nations. Despite how bad fighting wars of annihilation such as the Second Blood War had been, it had served to make something truly fearsome of what had already been a wolf in the skin of a lamb.
“And, ve vill drink to never fighting dragons, again!”
“Indeed.” the laconic response was accompanied by a silent toast with a stein, soon vanishing as Viktor lifted his to his lips and drained it. “I might suggest you've had enough.”
“Rubbish. Another!” Viktor would not allow the pipsqueak runt of the Triwizard Tournament to outdrink him!
“Ober, noch ein bier für mein freund.” the smirk redoubled as a fresh stein was called for.
“You know, ve should the three!” Viktor announced triumphantly. “Ve three who survived. Where is the pretty blonde one?”
Something changed in Harry's expression, not quite souring, but becoming wistful.
“It's been two-and-a-half decades since the Blood War ended.” he sighed. “We each went our own ways. That when Europe decided to copy Britain and put together a battalion of soldiers leavened with wizards, that you chose to take up my profession is more or less coincidence. Fleur, I haven't had thought about writing in many years, too much separation, too much time, too many wars.”
“Bullshit.” scoffed the Bulgarian, but chose rather than to follow up his comment, instead to slurp down more beer.
The evening progressed, with Harry slowly nursing his tankard, watching Viktor swilling beer like water in a blatant attempt to out-do him in the arena of alcohol. Finally, the Bulgarian slumped sideways into the wall, his hand falling limply from the stein's handle. Harry finally finished his tankard and stood. A few minutes later he would depart. Just as he was leaving, two men in crimson jackets passed him in the doorway.
The two younger officers of the Europäische 2. Magische Garde-Uhlanen Regiment strode in, long boots striking sharply on the bierkeller floor in unison, plumed czapkas gleaming under the lamplight. They were aware that the commanding officer of the Süd-Ost Escadron was overdue back at barracks. A dismaying discovery was soon found – the selfsame officer found, insensate, face-down in a plantpot with half a tankard of bier poured into his underclothes.
A swift investigation, carried out after giving the officer his due dignity back, revealed the name of the gentleman who had left him thus. The table reservation in the name of HJ Potter.
-x-
Her Britannic Majesty's Ambassador to the Federal Republic of Germany, Simon McDonald, was steadily settling into the job, and nothing could be allowed to interrupt his comfortably-scheduled working day. Unfortunately, fate had ignored his pleas and sent him two officers of Uhlans one older and one younger, preceeded by their moustaches. They marched in in unison with grey greatcoats over crimson tunics, blue breeches and highly polished riding boots with spurs. Their entrance caused a deal of disquiet to the security by marching in with swords at their sides.
“Bitte eingeben.” McDonald invited them as he found the two officers looming over his hapless secretary.
They exchanged glances and snapped their heels together, following him to his office. At the door, they halted, exchanging gestures inviting the other to go first. Another sharp motion and they agreed wordlessly to enter together. The bemused ambassador watched on as they took their czapkas off, tucking them under their arms, coming to the attention in front of his desk.
“Von Reiter.”
“Von Schonburg.”
“McDonald.”
“Kannst du Deutsch sprechen?”
“Ja-”
“Von Reiter, being on British territory it would be courteous to speak English.” the younger officer suggested gently.
The elder conceded with a snap of his heels and a bow of his head.
“Oh, I'm sorry, please, be seated.” McDonald gathered himself.
The younger officer pulled up a chair, von Reiter refusing to sit until they could both do so together, sitting bolt-upright.
“We wish for some information on a compatriot of yours, Herr...” von Schonburg consulted what appeared to be a table reservation card. “HJ Potter.”
“Ah yes, we'd heard he was in Berlin, an annual affair where he and an old compatriot get together and get absolutely stone blind drunk. I hope he hasn't done anything...” McDonald replied. A pair of thin smiles was his only response. “They knew each-other from his pre-army days.” he added weakly.
“He is an officer of the British Army?!” demanded von Schonburg.
“Yes, recently returned from Afghanistan.” McDonald hoped this would help smooth things over.
“Ausgezeichnet! Er ist ein Offizier!” von Reiter exclaimed.
“This is excellent news.” von Schonburg thanked the ambassador. “You have relieved us from great doubts.”
“I don't quite understand..?” McDonald asked confusedly.
“We were worried that Herr Potter might not be able to give satisfaction.” explained von Schonburg.
“Satisfaction?” he still didn't understand.
“It is understood that an officer of the Magische Garde-Uhlanen cannot demand satisfaction from an opponent who is not his equal in position and honour. However, since this Herr Potter is a British officer, he can be challenged.”
“Challenged? Whatever to?”
“To a duel, Herr McDonald, to single combat.”
-x-
“Unfortunately Ambassador, the laws are different for each side of the... divide. We have been able to refuse seven challenges on behalf of officers who do not have Brigadier Potter's particular abilities, but there remain some twenty-two other such challenges from those who are equal to him in, uh, what was it, 'position and honour' according to the codex.” the Royal Navy military attaché explained.
“Surely he cannot fight the entire magical officer corps of the Magische Garde-Uhlanen? Do they want him all at once or just one at a time.” McDonald shook his head as they strode down the decorated corridor.
“I understand that our German friends understand the matter, and will draw lots for the right to have the honour of being named Principal and Seconds.” Captain Godette shook his head.
“And can Brigadier Potter not offer an apology, or at least conciliation?” McDonald sighed.
“He attempted to offer conciliation, but in doing so his position of being old friends with Herr Krum was interpreted as further insult to the honour of the regiment. They will now, according to their codex, refuse any further attempt at apology.” explained the Captain. “Furthermore, while Brigadier Potter might leave, it would be regarded as a stain on his honour, ours, and damaging to relations on that side of the divide.”
“So politically, diplomatically and militarily, we cannot avoid a duel.” the ambassador ground his teeth. “Has anyone reminded them that this is not the German Empire and that the Kaiser is dead?”
“Ambassador, I would be careful, we are in their headquarters, and I do not wish to arrange two duels any more than I do one.” Godette remonstrated. “The divide left one side of the German nation with older traditions.”
They reached the dark-polished double doors of the officer's quarters, two Uhlans pulling the doors open and coming smartly to attention, admitting them to a space which was like the drawing rooms of a state suite of any great house, just with a preponderance of lances and sabres on the walls and on stands, and a great deal of crimson fabric, dark-stained wood and military trophies.
A round table was arrayed with decanters, glasses and ash trays, and about it were sat three officers of the Uhlans, the Oberst commanding, Rittmeister von Reiter and von Schoburg. The three stood sharply, coming to the attention with a snap of their heels as the ambassador, military attaché and a secretary from the embassy were admitted.
“Ambassador, ein vergnügen.” the Oberst welcomed them. “I have asked Rittmeister von Reiter to lead our side of making the arrangements for this affair, I will sit in on this meeting, so that, should I be needed, I can act as mediator.”
“Thank you.” McDonald could appreciate the niceties even in such a surreal situation as this.
“May I have the Codex, Herr Rittmeister?” requested von Schonburg, receiving it in a stiff, formal fashion. “This is our Ehrenkodex, heavily based on the work of Maestro Cavalliere Barbasetti, Kapitan Godette, the 'Code of Honour' observed by all duellists. We thought you might not be familiar with it. It will provide the framework for the affair.”
Then the older Uhlan spoke up, having polished his monocle and smoothed his moustache.
“We have permission to offer to you, for the site of the duel, the gymnasium here at the barracks of our Regiment.” von Reiter told McDonald.
Godette was halfway through opening his mouth when McDonald nodded and said; “We agree.”
The Germans looked triumphant and Captain Godette quietly furious.
“Regarding sabres. We are willing to agree to the principals bring a selection of sabres of their choice, and to make a mutual agreement to use the same or similar weapons, being of equal length, hand protection and weight.” von Schonburg took over.
“I understood that the weapon of choice of a wizard was magic?” McDonald was confused.
“It is the right of the challenged party to name the weapons, or the place of the duel.” came the resigned response from Godette.
“So when I agreed to use the regiment's gymnasium...” McDonald suddenly realised.
“I apologise for the subterfuge on the part of my officers, Herr Ambassador.” the Oberst offered. “It was discovered exactly who Herr Potter is, and none of my men wished to exchange spells with a man who has proven capable, magically, of dismantling battalions of 'Hit Wizards' as a mere teenager.”
“A trick unbecoming of your regiment.” McDonald scowled, furious that he had fallen for this sleight of hand. The Oberst just bowed his head. “Besides, wouldn't you be using Mensur schlager?”
“We are a cavalry regiment, Herr Ambassador.” von Reiter admonished. “The choice is cavalry sabres.”
“Very well. We will provide a selection of sabres, to be agreed upon by the Principals at the hour of choice.” Godette agreed. “I expect that they should be covered at the tip, to avoid the matter resulting in manslaughter.”
“Agreed.” the Oberst stepped in. “On a similar line of thought, you will bring your own doctor, of course and we shall bring ours. All fighting parties will be inspected by both doctors prior to the combat. Furthermore, the codex specifies that it is advisable a few hours previous to the duel, to take a bath. This reduces any risk of infection of the wounds.”
“There should be some degree of protection.” the ambassador requested, seeing von Reiter and von Schonburg exchanging looks. “I do not want to see a man disembowelled over this matter.”
“Mesh goggles, gauntlet and a padded waistcoat or vest with gorget, Rittmeister?” proposed the Oberst.
“It is... acceptable.” von Reiter agreed reluctantly.
“We are now in a position to announce the name of our fellow officer, who will fight Brigadier Potter. Oberstleutnant Theodor Kretschmar-Schuldorff.” von Schonburg continued, von Reiter following on; “His card.” the older officer proffered a neatly printed card. “We wished to find an officer of sufficient rank to meet Herr Brigadier Potter on equal terms, but there is none such, and since Herr Oberst recused himself from the matter.”
“The choice is acceptable.” Godette agreed.
“Seconds?” asked the Oberst.
“I am willing to stand second to Brigadier Potter.” Godette decided. It was no use passing the buck when it would inevitably return to him.
“Very well.” the Oberst agreed. “Herr Ambassador, perhaps you and I should stand as officiants for our respective principals?”
McDonald considered it. “Agreed.”
“Have you gentlemen any suggestions regarding choice of leader for the duel?” the Oberst continued, seemingly wishing to make amends for the subterfuge.
“My opposite number at the French Embassy suggested the French Army's Sabre Master who is teacher at both the Écolemilitaire de Saint-Cyr and the École de Cavalerie at Saumur.” offered the military attaché. “The officer in question can be here tomorrow.”
“It is acceptable.” von Schonburg stated.
“We agree.” von Reiter added. “His name?”
“Her name, Colonel Delacour.”
-x-
“Here's our man now.” announced Godette as Brigadier Potter walked in, Atholl-grey greatcoat damp about the hems.
“Couldn't have arranged a better time than sunrise?” Harry asked grumpily.
“Given that you cannot eat before fighting, I thought it best to get it over with early.” Godette shrugged.
“The blood also thickens with the cold and clots faster.” the doctor added. “I will ask that you do a few stretches and movements, I will also take your pulse, hear your lungs and check your blood pressure.”
“Very well.” Harry sighed.
“Have you a first choice for your sword, Brigadier?” asked Captain Godette.
“Yes, the Wilkinson 1845-bladed Heavy Cavalry Officer's Sword.” replied Harry.
“I will convey that to the officiant and to our opposite numbers.” Godette nodded.
“Who's the officiant?”
“An officer from the French military schools who serves as sabremaster.” the attaché replied.
“An important role no doubt.” the sarcasm was laid on thick.
“It's a role of honour more than anything, and one for an officer in their last months of service.” he turned about, going to liaise with the Uhlans.
The French officer approached, splendid in dark-blue tunic and crimson breeches, kepi at a slightly roguish angle. Harry's eyes widened as he recognised the face under the peak of the kepi.
“This is Colonel Delacour, on loan from the Saint Cyr and Saumur military colleges. She will officiate the affair.” McDonald introduced them. “Colonel Delacour, Brigadier Potter.”
A faint smile appeared with the salute, which Harry returned.
“Ah yes, Colonel Delacour and I have met before.”
“Try not to provoke any further duels Potter.” the ambassador sighed.
“Brigadier Potter and I 'ave always been able to resolve our differences... amicably.” Colonel Delacour gave an innocent smile, the ambassador running a hand across his eyes. “Though I am surprised as to who the offended party is.”
“He's not.” Harry rolled his eyes. “The entirety of his regiment decided to take offence on his behalf. Last I heard he was still recovering from alcohol poisoning.”
The Frenchwoman rolled her eyes, but decided to get on with her duties.
“As French is the Lingua Franca, if you will pardon the pun, I will officiate with the terms 'en garde', 'prêts', 'allez' and 'arrêt', do you understand?” she asked.
“Naturally.” Harry replied.
“I will ask your doctor to confirm your fitness to fight, examine your protective equipment and arms before we begin.” Fleur continued. “The combat will be up to three exchanges, which each may last one-hundred seconds or until either party withdraws to beyond fencing distance and raises their off hand. At three exchanges, the offended party may call that they are satisfied. Otherwise the fight will be until either party yields.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of a party of Uhlans, marching in line, their boots striking the floor in perfect unison. A splendid sight in their full uniforms, riding boots and plumed czapkas.
“The Regiment's Oberst, your opponent Herr Oberstleutnant Kretschmar-Schuldorff, Rittmeister von Reiter and Oberleutnant von Schonburg.” McDonald informed him. “Your man's got a record of being a reasonably good swordsman. Academic and fraternal fencing admittedly.”
“We'll get the measure of him soon enough.” shrugged Harry, going through the exercises ordered by the doctor.