SIX MONTHS LATER
The first message read: "If you recall our last conversation, you asked me to let you know how my project was going. Since we now have triple encrypted with multiple proxy servers, I can safely keep you abreast of the proceedings. Of course, I am handicapped in jousting at words with you. Who would not be? But the next time you are near, I will remember these exchanges and then offer you the opportunity of real jousting with very sharp lances. And I will not take 'no' for an answer. I look forward to the contest. If you wish to consider this a warning, that is your privilege."
The reply read: "My friend, I am delighted to continue our conversation in this electronic medium. Despite its artificiality, it does have its appeal. Nor do I forget your not-so-veiled warning. I have no wish to meet you on any field of battle, besides that of wits. It is the only place in which I would flatter myself that I might, in my own humble way, come in any way near your prowess. I will remain candid in our exchanges. I would hardly think you should wish me to be otherwise; however, I will be respectful, naturally. I would ask you to tell me about the boy, but I doubt that is necessary, either."
The next reply read: "My project is working surprising well. He resists, as you said he would, but he is adapting, as I had hoped he would. It has only been four days, and so far our activities have consisted of a few sparring sessions. He is woefully inadequate with firearms, I am sorry to say. He does know the sword, but only as a defensive weapon, not really in offense, yet. In other areas, I am taking things slowly; perhaps, I remember your advice."
The reply read: "I am deeply flattered that you would even consider my humble advice. I did not, quite frankly, expect you to do so. I presume you are referring to my long-held dictum that a great vintage should be sipped with great care and thought, not guzzled? And that such an event should be a great occasion, and celebrated?"
The reply read: "I am. As I told you, a wise man listens. Perhaps I have learned something from my many years. The wine has not yet even been taken from the cellar, to say nothing of being uncorked."
The reply read: "Excellent. Though I doubt you will share this particular bottle, still I wish you joy of the tasting. And may it be a lingering as well as a pleasurable experience."
Slade hit the off button, stood up from the computer and straightened his shoulders, pulling himself to his full height. Well, this is fun," he thought, " no doubt, and a change of pace, but—the man is so artificial. How can he endure himself? I always feel sticky after a talk with him, like I'd just walked through a swamp!
He stretched again, and strode towards the door, the curious image in his mind, coming from he knew not where, simply appearing before his mind's eye, of tangled, dark locks of hair. For just a moment, he was not even aware whence it came or why. He shook his head, smiled and kept walking.