“Am I ready? If you say I am, I will seek him through the world. If you say no, I will spend another ten years and another ten after that, if that is needed.”
“Stop saying that word. It was inconceivable that anyone could follow us, but when we looked behind, there was the man in black. It was inconceivable that anyone could sail as fast as we could sail, and yet he gained on us. Now this too is inconceivable, but look—look . . . See how he rises.”
Inigo screamed. He could not believe it; it had not happened. He screamed again. His father was fine; soon they would have tea. He could not stop screaming.
“That was below your heart. Can you guess what I’m doing?”
“Cutting my heart out?”
“You took mine when I was ten; I want yours now. We are lovers of justice, you and I—what could be more just than that?”
“You are better than I am,” Inigo admitted.
“So it seems. But if that is true why are you smiling?”
“Because,” Inigo answered, “I know something you don’t know.”
“And what is that?” asked the man in black.
“I’m not left-handed,” Inigo replied, and with those words, he all but threw the six-fingered sword into his right hand, and the tide of battle turned.