1The Duel

By Amanda

Though the concept of a picture book of the tall ships was a good one, the letter Jenny sent around proposing it had been so quickly rejected, that only weeks after sending it, the idea was at least in cryogenic storage, if not dead. However, she was ever a young lady with an idea, and pregnancy had only kicked her fertile imagination into hyper-drive. Rather than being discouraged, she had gone to plan B, a fantasy novel. If Margaret Mitchell's broken leg could compel her to pen Gone with the Wind, being mindful of high blood-pressure during pregnancy could surely turn out at least a small epic drama. Having a foster mother who was a writer and foster dad who was a ghost could only be considered inspiring to writing fantasy. Not to mention that her baby's future godparents and a handful of 'uncles' were also very lively dead people.

So it was that Jenny and Carolyn were piled up on the sofa at Gull Cottage watching a marathon of Errol Flynn, Ronald Coleman, and Tyrone Power movies, and possibly, if a showing began at the right time, Star Wars on cable, if she returned home… Carolyn and Daniel hadn't had it installed yet at Gull Cottage. It counted as research for the writing "group" the two had formed. Both were branching into the fantasy realm; Jenny's aforementioned novel; and Carolyn had recently begun writing time-travel novels with Daniel, who was also part of their group. However, he had little patience for television, even after all this time, so he was working on his sea charts. No one had ever figured out the why of that. He wasn't going anywhere. Martha Peavey would take any excuse to watch Errol, so she'd abandoned Ed to baseball or hockey or whatever it was that ABC was running that afternoon to join Carolyn and Jenny's strictly informational movie viewing.

During commercials, the women discussed the swordfights and how to describe them, not aware that Captain Gregg had finished his charts for the day and joined them invisibly, until during one scene, he could stand it no longer and burst out with, "That is a complete farce!"

Three faces turned to stare at him. "Hello, darling," Carolyn smiled. "I didn't hear you come in," she noted with subtle irony. "What's wrong with it?"

"For one thing… it looks more like a ballet than a sword fight," Daniel frowned, gesturing at the screen as Ronald Coleman fought with Douglas Fairbanks.

"I wouldn't mind seeing Tyrone Power in tights," Martha commented.

"Or Harrison Ford?" Jenny grinned. She really wished there was some way they could have put the Empire Strikes Back on the screen. Now that was a duel!

"He didn't use a sword, did he?" Daniel asked, thinking back to the family movie expedition; as he recalled, Han Solo was fonder of shooting, than fencing.

"Nope, but it'd still be fun to see him in tights. What? I'm married not… de… ah… blind," Jenny caught herself before she said "dead." To think the dead didn't appreciate a good-looking person of the opposite sex would be as inaccurate as Daniel claimed the staged fights were. In fact, given that the O'Caseys had been holed up in their cottage for the month since their reunion, the ability to appreciate might be enhanced. Hastily, she went on, "Captain, were you in sword fights when you… back then?" By now, her face was crimson.

Pulling his ear, the old salt modestly allowed, "Well, one or two. You might recall that Jonathan was fascinated by my saber… it wasn't ornamental, after all."

"Well then," Carolyn's lips quirked as she challenged, "Why don't you tell us how it really is? We can always watch a movie later. This would save time, wouldn't it?" She glanced at Jenny, who now looked intrigued, not embarrassed.

"As if watching Errol is ever a waste of time!" Martha huffed under her breath.

Daniel thought about it and shrugged, "Very well, for a price."

"I'm comfortable, so come here," Carolyn argued as he bent to receive the payment of a kiss. "Now, talk."

"Aye-aye, Madam." The ghost began to elaborate, but after a few frustrating minutes, it was clear that he was getting nowhere. Some things just are not easily described.

"Perhaps…" he mused, with a slightly perplexed frown, and then roared, "Dashire!"

"Is he here?" Martha whispered.

"Even if he's not, I bet he can hear," Carolyn softly essayed, shrugging. The ghostly clan sailed in and out of Gull Cottage randomly. She'd given up on keeping track some time ago.

"How often must I repeat..." the second ghost asked in a much put-upon tone as he appeared, "...That I am dead… not deaf? That's twice this century." Then, the late nobleman saw the three ladies and went to greet them each in turn with a kiss to the hand before turning back to say dryly, "You bellowed, sir?"

"Yes, I'm challenging you to a duel," Daniel said in a pleasant tone that belied his words.

Dash blinked. "Really? Over one kiss to the hand? Do I fight Dave and Ed next?"

"No… he's helping us imagine what a true sword fight looks like… for our books," Carolyn smiled. "As opposed to one staged for… The Three Musketeers; or Luke Skywalker."

"And my entertainment," Martha added.

"Ah, noble endeavors all," Dashire agreed, bowing gallantly to the fairer occupants of the room. "Of course, Danny, if we are going for realism, you and I need to remain solid the entire time."

"And move the furniture," the Captain agreed.

In rapid order, the furniture began shifting; particularly anything breakable; the television that could explode if a tangible ghost crashed into it, and the couch, with the three women still on it, was moved out of the line of fire. As their seat slid itself, Martha shook her head, "I'll never get used to that." The back door locked itself so Dakota could not barge in and risk being hurt, or tripping the duelers. The ghosts themselves changed from the more formal attire they both favored to jeans and open-necked shirts. Nothing definable marked them as now tangible, but they definitely were not spectral at the present.

"Very entertaining," Martha commented at that change.

"They haven't begun," Jenny hissed.

"You have your entertainment; I have mine, young lady."

Jenny and Carolyn looked at the fine masculine figures standing before them again. They were definitely, eternally, unchangingly male. "You're right!" they chorused.

"Silence," Dashire commanded sternly. "We must concentrate."

Two swords appeared in their hands. The audience had only a second to register all this before Daniel and Dash went at it. With no fear of actually hurting each other and unlimited stamina, they were able to kill each other more than once. If Carolyn hadn't known the blood would vanish once they both phased out and back in, she'd have been a bit upset over the mess. Even so, she winced every time a killing blow landed on either of the men. Obviously, they were truly enthralled by their 'game.' As well-matched as the two were, their audience could not fail to be as well.

Eternity was compressed into less than five minutes as they chased each other around the room. The battle shifted so that Dash was put on the defensive. Pressing his advantage, Daniel pursued him to the edges of the arena, where the furniture began to intrude on the space. It would have broken his concentration too much to move things around again, so they just kept at it. Inevitably, neither saw the ottoman behind Dashire until his legs encountered it and the nobleman flipped inelegantly backwards over the offending footstool.

At once, the intense mood collapsed. Picking himself up, Dash commented over the three women's concerned questions, "I shall never get used to fighting with furniture," letting them know he was fine with that wry note.

Daniel joined him in laughing as both vanished to reappear in repaired, bloodless clothes. Having overheard their appreciative fans, the jeans and open shirts stayed, however, in lieu of their stuffier clothes. To Carolyn's relief, the splatters of blood that had hit the furniture and floor disappeared when the ones who had done the splattering did.

"Madam... Jenny... do you have enough material now?" Daniel asked, folding his arms. "I trust you see now that a true sword fight bears little resemblance to that choreography?"

Carolyn looked at her adopted child, who was looking at her. As one they nodded, then looked back at the men.

"Actually..." Jenny began wickedly.

"We could use another example," Carolyn mused, "Just to be certain."

"Or two," Martha finished.