Outside, Samuel waited. Then there were more voices, more light, and a group of men came down the path. A shrouded figure walked in their midst and the lantern caught the glimmer of white beneath the cloak and the deep golden radiance of her hair.

Tension ripped through Samuel with a surge of almost unmanageable fury. He breathed long and slow until he had himself in control again. All but two men entered the crypt.

Those two, pistols in their hands, moved to either side of the entrance, each taking up a position in the thick bushes.

They were awaiting the arrival of Hugo Lattimer.

Samuel waited until the deep night silence of the countryside had reasserted itself after the flurry of arrival. Then he moved. He moved like a sylph made of air, belying his size.

The first man didn't know what had hit him when the flat edge of a hand chopped at the base of his skull. He went down into the underbrush without a murmur. The second man half turned as the dark bulk of a figure sprang at him. His finger slipped on the trigger of his pistol, a cry, strangled at birth, broke from his lips as the hand chopped at his throat and he went down like his partner.

Samuel eased open the heavy door to the crypt. He slid through the narrowest gap he could manage and then crouched in the shadows at the top of the stairs. He held a pistol in each hand, a wicked double-bladed knife in a sheath in his boot. He could hear the voices from below clearly.

Chloe stood still in the middle of the chamber. Her eyes darted surreptitiously from side to side as she took in her surroundings. This was the place that had created Hugo's painted devils. The evil miasma of the place rose up from the tombstone slabs of the floor, seemed to writhe out of the stone walls with the serpentine flickering of the pitch torches This was the place where Hugo had killed her father.

For some reason she wasn't frightened. The last residues of the drug she'd been given had vanished and she was as clear-headed as she'd ever been. Even her hunger had disappeared, although she was conscious of a void inside her. But it was a void that seemed to create the energy that thrummed in her veins, infusing her mind and body.

When would Hugo come? She had to save him. It was the only thought, the only purpose, and since she had no plans, she must rely on instinct and circumstance as they arose.

Someone was taking the cloak from her shoulders. A rapt silence fell as she stood in her pure white gown with her golden hair, now loosened, falling about her shoulders.

Then Hugo spoke, his voice echoing in the silence. "It seems we finally come to a meeting, Jasper."

They all looked upward. Hugo, in his shirt-sleeves, swung one leg over the narrow rail of the gallery. He held the two epees in one hand. With a twist of his wrist he sent one of them spinning down.

Automatically, Jasper reached up and caught the hilt in his gloved hand.

In stunned silence but as if under the command of one will, the group of men moved backward against the wall. Chloe was at first thunderstruck, then filled with a wild exultation. Hugo had set his own trap.

Suddenly Jasper laughed. "I wasn't expecting you to be ahead of me, Lattimer. I forgot that you're now a model of sobriety and clear-thinking. An oversight-and a pity… as I had your reception so well prepared. However-" He raised his epee in a fencer's salute. "As you say, we have unfinished business. Let us finish it."

Huyo swung his other leg over the gallery rail and jumped down. It was a long jump, but he landed easily on the balls of his stocking feet-a man who'd spent many years climbing the rigging of a ship of the line.

"I've pistols, if you prefer," he offered courteously, watching as Jasper also shrugged out of his coat.

"No… no…" Jasper said calmly, bending to pull off his boots. "It should be done according to ritual, as always."

"And according to ritual, the honor of the woman falls to the victor."

"Exactly so."

Chloe understood what was happening; Jasper's bedtime story had left nothing out, and she knew all the details of the rules and rituals of the Congregation. Hugo was fighting for her as he'd fought for her mother. If he won, then she would never have to take her place in the crypt again. If he lost… but then nothing would matter. If he lost, he would be dead. The duels of the Congregation were always mortal combat.

Crispin was hissing through his teeth, his body very close to Chloe's. Hugo suddenly turned to look at Chloe for the first time. "Go and stand on the stairs, lass," he instructed in even tones.

"But I-"

"Do it!"

For once she obeyed immediately, and as she reached the stairs understood the reason for the order. Samuel was standing in the darkness behind her. Hugo was not going to play by the rules. Even if he lost, she would not be abandoned to the Congregation.

The two men saluted each other. Then Hugo said softly, "En garde." He lunged in a straight thrust and Jasper parried in quarte. The blades met and disengaged.

Chloe watched with a numb and dreadful fascination as the two men danced over the tombstone slabs, their blades glimmering, flashing with an almost impossible speed, moving from one position to another in a rapid series of attacks and counterattacks as they probed for an opening in their opponent's guard. It seemed to her that neither man held the attack for more than one engagement, as each attack was parried, the defender became the attacker.

Ten… fifteen… twenty minutes it went on, and it seemed impossible that any man could maintain such speed and accuracy for another second.

Finish it… please God, finish it. The prayer went around and around in Chloe's head. She could feel their growing fatigue amid the desperate clashing of invincible wills… the desperate purpose that fueled them both… the terrifying knowledge of imminent death.

Then came a moment when Hugo seemed to fall back on one knee, his free hand grazing the floor, then he sprang upright as Jasper's blade thrust beneath his arm, twisting sideways so the deadly attack met only air. His own blade caught his opponent's and the ring of steel echoed in the hushed vault. Hugo offered a feint to his opponent's forearm, and as Jasper jumped back to gather for a reprise, Hugo's blade came down and under.

Jasper fell to his knees, his blade clattering to the ground. Blood welled from his side.

Crispin with a frenzied hiss leapt forward, grabbing up his stepfather's weapon. His salute was perfunctory. "En garde."

Hugo didn't seem to draw breath. He parried his new opponent's attack smoothly, moving backward, allowing Crispin to press the attack as he assessed the skill of the younger man. He knew he was exhausted. Just as he knew that for one almost fatal second he had allowed himself to believe he'd won and it was over. Now he had to face the knowledge that it was far from over.

Chloe gasped in horror at this villainous intervention. She gazed around the room, waiting for someone to protest, to call a halt to such an infamously unfair fight. But they all remained still, watching closely. Denis was licking his lips almost convulsively in his anxiety, and once his eyes darted across to her, predatory and filled with hungry anticipation.

Hugo moved backward, invited a thrust in sixte, counterattacked to Crispin's left shoulder, lunged as his opponent feinted, and saw the epee snaking into his forearm too quickly to evade. It sliced through his shirt, nicking the skin. It was no fatal strike, but it was a deadly warning.

Chloe's heart seemed lodged somewhere in her throat, so she could hardly breathe. Her eyes raced around the crypt. Now no one seemed interested in her; their eyes were all fixed on the lethal combat. Jasper had been pulled to the side of the crypt and someone was staunching his wound. His eyes were closed and his labored breathing was an audible accompaniment to the ring of steel on steel.