Dufonsier Hotel, Fontaine-sous-Briovere.

"Is there somewhere we could talk in private?" DuBois asked the clerk.

"Of course, please follow me to the night concierge office." DuBois followed the clerk into the office and closed the door behind him. The clerk indicated to a chair and leant nervously against the desk. "Is there something in particular I can help you with Monsieur?"

DuBois coughed and then replied. "Yes, a colleague of mine, a Herr Moller. I need to leave this package for him to collect. I will be away until late this evening, and may not be back in time to meet him. Would you oblige?"

"But of course. We like to assist the Police where possible. It makes for a mutually beneficial arrangement."

DuBois held back a snort. He understood the implications of the clerk's words. Forget the illegal workers racket and the package would be delivered intact. The sly fellow probably thought it contained drugs. Let him think what he liked, as long as Moller got his money. The last thing he needed was a pissed-off TREVI agent hunting him thinking he had been stiffed.

"Indeed it does, and thanks." Smiling he held it towards the clerk and shook it. "Nothing breakable, and nothing ticking."

The clerk laughed and took the package from DuBois who watched him lock it in the safe. He stood up from the chair and walked back to the lobby. When he reached the counter he pulled a 100 Franc note from his pocket and slid it over. "For the service charge."

The clerk nodded his thanks, "Merci."

DuBois climbed the stairs and headed to his room. He needed to sleep and prepare for tonight. Most of his battles had been spur-of-the-moment challenges but this one needed proper preparation. Rest and concentration were required. Once in his room he locked the door and unplugged the telephone. He removed his sword from its case and touched the edge lightly with his thumb, watching the blood well up instantaneously. It was sharp enough to do the job. He placed it back in the case on the floor in case of more nightmares and lay down to sleep.

When he awoke DuBois showered and stretched, preparing his body for the forthcoming battle. Sword case in hand he made his way to the bar and picked through a light salad and sipped mineral water. The hangover had gone, replaced with a sense of apprehension. Nothing new there, it was the same every time he prepared to face another Immortal. The anger had not gone away, but it had changed and become a cold rage. He would channel it when he faced his enemy.

At 2145 he left the hotel and walked down the street looking for a taxi. Dropping his case in the back seat he climbed in next to it and fastened the belt. "The SNCF yard, Tessy."

The Algerian driver looked at him in the rear view mirror and started to protest when DuBois showed him his ID. The driver shrugged and said nothing, which suited DuBois just fine. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat.

The driver pulled away from the kerb, and sped towards the main street.

SNCF Marshalling yard, Tessy-les-Pueles, 20 minutes later

DuBois paid the taxi driver and stepped out of the cab carrying his sword case. Behind him the taxi sped off back to the town. The silence of the night was complete once the sound of the taxi engine had faded into the distance. The driver had made no secret of his desire to leave as soon as possible. The generous tip he had received had not hurt either.

The yard was deserted as his information had suggested. A few rickety old trucks and boxcars lay idle in the sidings. A shunter looked like it hadn't seen a paint job this side the War. Moller had better be right, he thought. Immortal or not it would be highly embarrassing for a member of the Police to be discovered by the local Gendarmes prowling an old rail yard with an antique sword.

Clicking the clasps of his case he removed the straight Dragoon sword, feeling the reassurance and familiarity of the hilt in his hand. He hid the case and scabbard behind the fence before walking further into the yard. The smells of old wood, engine oil and rust teased his nostrils. Taking a deep breath he continued on, searching, familiarising himself with the location. His eyes picked out the cables running overhead. So far Moller's information had been good. Silently he whispered his thanks to the TREVI agent.

In the centre of the yard stood a solitary building, the station terminus. The yard opened up around it, making it a perfect ground for fighting. The old bunkers were small and offered little cover for an ambush. Cautiously he headed towards it sword pointing to the sky.
A hundred yards away he stopped dead in his tracks. He let the waves of recognition wash over him. He was not alone.
"Staniek!" he called, "I know that you are here, come on out and face me."
He looked around slowly hoping to catch a glimpse of his adversary. There was nothing. He continued walking. The gravel of the rail beds crunching under his feet, he crossed the tracks towards the asphalt outside the terminus. A dim white light shone from a single bulb protruding from the wall. It cast eerie shadows over the building and the surrounding bunkers. The presence was stronger there.
"Staniek, I can feel you. Face me!"

His shout echoed off the buildings, mocking him. "Face me, damn you, face me!"

Taking a deep breath Staniek stepped out of the shadows, behind DuBois. "I'm here."
DuBois froze. The voice sounded familiar. No, it couldn't be. He turned and faced Staniek, the horror of betrayal written all over his face.

"Moller? You're Staniek?"
Staniek tilted his head. "So good of you to drop in."

"I should have known when I saw you at the cemetery. That was no coincidence. You're the one who murdered Yvette! You're the desecrater of graves!"
Staniek stared impassively at him. DuBois stared back and slowly pointed his sword at Staniek. "Sutemi."
Staniek's smile was icy. "You speak Japanese DuBois? Now I am impressed. Very well, to the death it is. Only one will walk away."

Carefully he eased out of his overcoat and removed his sword. The light arced off the Swedish blade as he pointed it towards DuBois. "Lay on."

They circled each other carefully neither giving ground. Staniek's eyes sparkled as his gaze locked onto DuBois. Examining, analysing, searching for a weakness. DuBois thrust at Staniek, who parried. "You'll have to do better than that." he said.
He swung back at DuBois who blocked, and then charged in again. Staniek dodged quickly and tapped his opponent's blade. Minutes passed with neither man scoring a hit on the other. The sound of metal on metal filled the air as the cycle of stroke, parry, counter-stroke continued until both men broke by common consent.

DuBois switched hands, from right to left, wiping the sweaty palm on his trousers. His opponent was good all right. Moller, Staniek, whoever he was, wasn't lying.

A change of tactics was needed. He stepped in for an attack. Spinning around he swung the blade left-handed at Staniek's throat. Staniek leaned back and avoided the blade. DuBois however continued turning and back-fisted him across the face with his right hand. Instinctively he jumped back assuming a guard position.
"First Blood!" he yelled.
Sword raised Staniek wiped the back of a hand across his mouth, and looked at it, then back to DuBois.

"When two tigers fight, one hurts, one dies." He spat blood on the floor. "I'm hurting. Guess what happens to you?"
"I'll have to see about that."
Staniek could see the confidence that the blow had given DuBois. The sword grip was stronger, the stance more controlled. Not for long, he thought.
He advanced towards DuBois, who stood straight and still, waiting for him. When he was close enough DuBois lunged at Staniek. Staniek swept the blade aside with a flick of his sword arm and punched him in the mouth, hearing bone break on impact. DuBois backed away and touched his damaged jaw, wincing.

I bet it does, thought Staniek. "Now we're even."
They began circling each other again. Concentration. Staniek's eyes again bored into DuBois. To his credit the Frenchman did not seem adversely affected. Defiant, the fire of rage burning inside him. His fuel, his motivation. His downfall.

::The true warrior sees everything and misses nothing. He is aware of all around him allowing him to take advantage of any weakness or opening in his opponent. If no opening occurs create one. Feint. Distract. The warrior's greatest weapon is surprise::

Staniek took several steps back, increasing the distance between them "Tell me about Yvette. Did she know how you felt about her? No? Such a shame. A pretty thing wasn't she? I can understand your ardour for her. Her relations with Ward must have left you feeling rather angry? I should imagine that the thought of those two in bed together would make your blood boil."

DuBois flinched. Gotcha, thought Staniek. He continued.

"And what about the other things? How about her going down on him? Swallowing everything he pumped down her throat? Did you wish it was you? You did, didn't you? But it wasn't. Good old Mitchell Ward. The high society man, skirt chaser and lech, the man who had the one thing you wanted, but couldn't have. Who would have thought it? A filthy gutter-mouth whore, who would go with anyone who showed her a touch of kindness capturing a rich man like him, and turning you down. I bet that made you fell less than a man."

He saw DuBois' shoulders sag slightly, and the grip on the sword loosen. It was time to press home the advantage.
"I take it you saw the scene. Well I'll say one thing for the dead. They can't tell you everything that happened. Shall I fill you in? What would you like to know? How she moaned like a whore and begged me not to stop as I ravished her?"

DuBois tensed.

"Or how about after I had her head? Ward wasn't the only one to enjoy her post mortem. I had never fucked a corpse before, but I must say it was a rather pleasant experience. She was still warm and very pliable. It causes me stirrings just thinking about it."
"You murdering bastard!" DuBois screamed and charged towards Staniek. Staniek sidestepped and drew his sword across DuBois' stomach. DuBois crashed to his knees, sword falling to the asphalt with a clang. Desperately he sucked in air, fighting against the darkness that threatened to overcome him. He heard Staniek move and stand next to him, waiting to feel the cold prick of steel on his neck.
He could feel the tingling inside him signalling the healing process. He wanted to close his eyes, to die and to heal, but he knew that he couldn't. He had to fight it, or lose his head. There was no other option. His eyes fell upon his sword. If he could just reach it... He lowered himself to all fours. If he could distract Staniek he might be able to reach the blade.

"You never told me why you killed her." Reaching…
"Yvette? She was there"
Almost there, fingers on the pommel... "But she was new. She…"
"It's the Game, DuBois. You know ...Oh no you don't!"
Staniek flicked the sword away with his foot. Grabbing a handful of hair he pulled DuBois back to his knees. DuBois inhaled sharply as he felt Staniek's foot drive into his rib cage. Foot, leg and hip went into the kick giving it devastating force. DuBois felt bones crack. Breathing hurt and unconsciousness beckoned. He had lost.

Releasing the grip on his hair, Staniek let DuBois fall back onto all fours.

Yvette, he thought. My dearest Yvette. I've failed, forgive me.

"Give my regards to Yvette," said Staniek raising his sword, "You're about to be reunited."

When he heard the blade sweeping down through the air, DuBois closed his eyes and embraced the darkness.