First Lessons
“Dr. Carnovo!”
Dr. Chris Carnovo, the tyrannosaur, turned around in the university courtyard and saw a young lion walking briskly toward him, carrying a swept-hilt rapier by it’s evidently blunt blade—3-bar model, simulating the turn of the seventeenth century, the professor of Renaissance studies couldn’t help but note. The lion had a lean, athletic build, and a brown mane was starting to grown on top of his head and around his face and neck.
“You’re Dr. King’s son, aren’t you?” Chris said. He smiled momentarily—his college Dr. Audrey King the lioness and her husband Dr. Leonard King, the lion physicist, both worked at the university with him. He knew of Audrey’s son, but they’d only briefly met a few times.
“Yes,” the teenage lion said. “Luke King.”
The tyrannosaur nodded. “That’s a lovely sword you have there. May I ask why you have it?”
“I was hoping I could ask you for a lesson,” Luke said. “Or at least some pointers.”
Chris stopped, studying the young lion. He was carrying a backpack—which the tyrannosaur hoped contained a fencing mask—and was wearing a thick denim jacket and sweatshirt, and had a pair of leather gauntlets—clearly he meant business. But something seemed off. Perhaps it was the lack of the fencing mask, or perhaps it was something in the seriousness of the lion’s face—Chris may have needed corrective lenses in his maturity, but even without them he could tell the difference between a teenager pursuing a hobby and and a hunter pursuing his prey. This was not the former. But the tyrannosaur had long learned to pursue the most innocent threads first before giving in to suspicions.
“You know I train at Eddy’s Boxing Gym,” the tyrannosaur said casually. “Why don’t you meet me there? I believe some member of your family owns it.”
“My cousin, Leo,” Luke said. “I know, but I just couldn’t wait till then.”
“And why not?” Chris asked.
Luke paused. “I was just really excited to get a lesson,” he said, quite smoothly. “Plus, I know you’re the best when it comes to this stuff.”
Chris smiled. Flattery. Nice touch. Didn’t disguise the fact that it was a bald-faced lie. But still, the kid had style. Chris decided to keep following Luke’s lead.
“Well, I’m quite flattered,” Chris said. “But I really think the best place to learn is the gym.” He looked up at the dark clouds in the sky overhead, and Luke looked with him. “It looks like it’s going to rain soon.”
“I’m fine,” Luke said. “I actually have something to take care of here, so I can’t leave.”
Ah, at last a shred of truth, Chris thought. “What do you need to take care of here?” he asked.
“Nothing too important,” Luke said.
Well, that was as far as that line of questioning would go. Chris tried a different tactic. “Alright,” the tyrannosaur said. “We’ll do a quick lesson here. Take off your backpack.”
Luke did so, and stood straight, with is sword tip resting on the ground.
“Salute!” Chris said.
Luke raised his sword to his face, then swung it down.
“En guard!” Chris barked, and Luke settled into his stance.
Chris started walking around, pretending to inspect the young lion’s posture. He could still tell at a glance that Luke was too stiff, copying the postures he probably saw in a copy of Capoferro, but without the looseness of a fencer used to such a position. Finally, he looked at the tip of the sword. Usually, it was the custom to wrap it in electric tape so it wouldn’t fall off the sword in a bout. Luke’s tip was not.
Before Luke realized what had happened, Chris grabbed the blade of the sword and yanked the tip off. The sword’s point had been filed down crudely into a point sharp enough to cause a nasty wound—certainly not a clean one.
“Let go!” Luke said, trying to pull his sword out of the tyrannosaur’s grasp. Chris spun around instead, twisting the sword out of the young lion’s grip, and held it in his claws.
“This point was filed down on purpose,” Chris growled deeply. “Now I’m only going to ask one more time—what are you doing here? With a deadly weapon?”
Luke refused to speak.
“Listen, if you don’t tell me right now, I will have no choice but to call the police for bringing a concealed weapon onto a college campus,” Chris said. “But if you tell me now, we can settle this issue like gentlemen.”
Luke huffed. “I challenged someone to a duel,” he said quietly.
“Who?” Chris asked. “And who would say yes to something like that?”
“Stephon Hart,” Luke said bitterly. “He’s a deer in drama. I tried out for Romeo and Juliet and I got the lead. Ever since, he’s been picking on me—he’s been pushing me into trash cans because he says ‘that’s where I belong,’ stuff like that. But the worst part was when he spilled chocolate milk on a huge essay I had worked on, and we have the same English class so he knows my teacher’s super strict and would mark me down for that.”
“And why didn’t you tell your teachers or your principal? Or your parents?”
“Because they won’t be able to do anything about it,” Luke said. “All they’ll do is nod their heads, maybe say some threatening words, and then leave him alone! He’ll get away with everything, and nothing will change!”
“And you thought the best way to stop him was to kill him?”
Luke paused. “No, just…injure him, maybe.” His voice got quieter as he went on.
“You planned to drive a sharp sword into his flesh, tear his muscles apart and burst holes in his veins to punish him for what he did.”
“Yes!”
“You would use force and violence in order to bend someone to your will?”
Luke but his lip, then hardened his glare at the tyrannosaur. “That’s the only way to stop a bully.”
Chris frowned, but then his gaze softened. “It sounds to me like you’re sinking to his level.”
“I am not!” Luke said.
“You’re right, you’re worse,” Chris growled. “You would cripple and maim a person in order to force them to do what you want. At least this Stephon has the decency to limit his behavior to what amounts to pinpricks. He restrains himself, which means he has self-interest and fear of authority. You, on the other hand, are mad—you have no fear of authority at all! You are so blinded by anger that you don’t even fear that I’ll call the police right now.”
Luke bristled with impotent rage, growling at the older tyrannosaur, but remained rooted in place. “Fine,” he snarled. “If that’s the way you want to play, go ahead. You win.”
Chris sighed. “No, it’s not. Because you don’t need a jail cell. That would do nothing to cool the wrath in your heart.” He drew himself up, with all the dignity and bearing of a lord, of one who knew they came from an ancient and noble lineage. “Luke King, I, Dr. Christopher James Carnovo, challenge you to a duel.” And he tossed Luke’s rapier to his feet—without the protective tip.
Luke shook his head at the unexpected turn of events. “What?” he asked, bewildered.
“Pick up your sword,” he said. “We are fighting a duel, here and now. The campus is mostly deserted. I will not call the cops. I will not even tell your parents. Let us fight, here and now.”
“Why?” Luke asked suspiciously. “I thought you didn’t want me to fight a duel.”
“I don’t,” Chris said. “But if your heart is set of violence, let it be against me.”
“You don’t have a sword,” Luke said. Chris flipped up his cane. “You think I carry this because of back problems?” His mouth twisted up into an ironic grin. “I’m not that old.”
Luke cautiously picked up his rapier. Chris studied the young lion—he looked as though he was struggling to hold the sword up, as if it was suddenly too heavy. It was, in fact, a rather heavy sword, Chris knew—17th century-style swords were hefty things—but it hadn’t seemed too heavy for him earlier.
Chris slipped into his guard position, a more modern posture, his cane held in front of him, its point twitching, his legs making subtle movements in place as he readied his muscles to move. He gazed straight at Luke, his orange eyes alight with attention and intellectual energy.
Luke held up his rapier, but the point immediately fell to the ground. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to fight.”
“You said you wanted to fight,” Chris said. “Now’s your chance.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Luke protested.
“You wanted to hurt Stephon,” Chris said. “You wanted violence. I’m standing in the way of your victory. Now’s your chance—strike me down!”
“No!” Luke said, throwing his rapier away. “No! I will not fight you! I won’t fight anyone!”
Chris relaxed and flipped his cane back down. He tucked it under his arm and sighed nodding. “Excellent,” Chris said, “you have just learned your first lesson in the art of the sword.”
“What are you talking about?” Luke asked, bewildered.
“The first lesson of swordsmanship,” Chris said, “is never use a sword in anger or for harm. The sword was a tool for defense in ages past. Now, in our modern age, it is a tool for personal development—physical, mental, moral.” He picked up Luke’s rapier and handed it to him. “You are not a killer, Luke,” he said. “A fighter, perhaps, but not a killer. I wanted you to see that for yourself.”
Luke hung his head and nodded. “So what do I do?”
“You fight with the weapons you are allowed to use,” he said. “Talk to your teacher. Talk to your principal. Give them a chance to use the law and to use their authority to execute justice. Don’t take it into your own paws.” He gave Luke back the protective tip to his rapier. “Then I want you to file down that tip so it’s blunt again. When you have, I’ll teach you your next lessons in the art of the sword.”
“What?” Luke asked. “I—Uh—Thank you. Thank you, Dr. Carnovo.”
“Go on,” Chris said. “I’m sure you have a lot of homework to do.”
“Yeah,” Luke laughed nervously. He turned to leave. “Thanks again, Dr. Carnovo.”
“You’re welcome,” Chris said. “Ask your mom for my number. And I’ll see you soon.”
Luke nodded and scampered off, looking almost ten pounds lighter. Chris smiled and continued walking towards the parking lot again, satisfied that the kid was headed on a better path.
The other combatant may or may not come, Chris thought. He paused, wondering if he should stay and confront the potential offender. Then he shrugged. No, he thought. That’s not my battle to fight. It’s Luke’s. And, the tyrannosaur added, smiling to himself, young Luke was already winning.
