Odal’s face remained calm, except for the faintest glitter of fire deep in his eyes. His voice was quiet, but had the edge of a well-honed blade to it: “I cannot be blamed for my background and experience. And I have not tampered with your machines.”
The door to the room opened, and a short, thick-set, bullet-headed man entered. He was dressed in a dark street suit, so that it was impossible to guess his station at the Embassy.
“Would the gentlemen care for refreshments?” he asked in a low-pitched voice.
“No, thank you,” Leoh said.
“Some Kerak wine, perhaps?”
“Well—”
“I don’t, uh, think we’d better, sir,” Hector said. “Thanks all the same.”
The man shrugged and sat at a chair next to the door.
Odal turned back to Leoh. “Sir, I have my duty. Massan and I duel tomorrow. There is no possibility of postponing it.”
“Very well,” Leoh said. “Will you at least allow us to place some special instrumentation into the booth with you, so that we can monitor the duel more fully? We can do the same with Massan. I know that duels are normally private and you would be within your legal rights to refuse the request. But, morally—”