The Alchemist of Souls

Invited? Well, that was one word for it.

“Yes, sir.” Mal swallowed, anticipating the worst.

Leland walked around him in a slow circle, eyeing him up and down as if he were a horse for sale. Mal stared straight ahead. If Leland thought to intimidate him, let him think again.

“Not exactly what I expected,” the lieutenant muttered. “But I suppose you’ll have to do.” He paced some more. “Maliverny. French name, isn’t it?”

“My father’s second wife – my mother – was Béatrice de Maliverny, from Aix-en-Provence. Being her first-born son, I was named in her family’s honour.”

“You are half French, then?” Leland frowned at him.

“By blood only, sir. I am an Englishman born and bred.” Mal could not help adding, “The French are our friends, sir.”

Leland muttered something under his breath, then turned to face Mal again. “How old are you?”

“Sir?” “It’s a simple enough question, surely?”

“I am five-and-twenty, sir.”

“That dagger you were carrying is of fine workmanship. I fancy it is part of a matched set, a mate to a rapier?”

“Yes, sir.” Was that what this was all about? Surely they wouldn’t haul him into the Tower over an illegal duel. “I’ve had lessons from Saviolo himself.”

“Hmm. Italian swordplay is all very well, but what about real fighting? I have been told you served