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	This was unexpected. Damn these people and damn his cousin Gregory for sending them. By no means was this the end of the discussion. If Cavendish had his way, they would set fire to the silversmith's after every one of these people were tied up inside. [i]Including[/i] that fly-in-the-ointment Jacques Mallard. Needless to say, he had to turn this fight around, and quickly. 

	Cavendish righted himself with a remarkable demonstration of dexterity. It still cost him a precious moment, but this was not his place to fall and people would know it. As he rose, the Constable's fingers closed around the hilt of a vicious-looking shortsword at his belt. He kept low, and set himself to the utilitarian labor of a simple and unrelenting series of motions designed to aerate someone's midsection. He was aiming to cripple and set an example of this tall, critically annoying woman. 

	The first such blow landed in what might have been a critical spot, were it not covered with stout (enough) armor. The shortsword clanged and turned, incapable this time of penetrating Kathryn's physical defenses. He was so flustered by what had transpired that his second attack was even more poorly executed. Even if Kat were wearing no protection at all, this wouldn't have been effective. 

	Such failure was unacceptable. Perhaps it was nearing time for other methods to be implemented.