WARNINGS: Descriptions of corpses and brutal injuries. Discussion of sex work, the sentiments in which I took from a documentary I once saw on the Porn industry some years ago.)

-

It took me more than a minute to realise that Captain De La Tour had stopped speaking.

It almost felt like he had stopped in the middle of a sentence and it took me a while for my mind to catch up with what he was saying.

I had been staring at the table without blinking. Just staring into space. A habit that has got me into trouble before now when I retreat inside myself to think. In this case I was lucky. I was staring at the silver goblet that I had been drinking from. Specifically I had been looking at the corner of the base of the cup. It was an old cup, rather tarnished by much use and I got the feeling that it was old. Really old. Possibly one of those cups that had been found in a cupboard somewhere when the Knights first arrived at the villa and started to convert it for their own use. I found my mind wandering into the realms of the imagination, where I wondered who had drunk from the cup before. It didn't look fancy and it rather struck me that Sir Crawthorne had been the kind of man that had insisted on drinking from the correct cups, the most perfect glasses and properly carved goblets.

Yes, they all make a difference. I have seen books in Toussaint, dedicated to the proper size, shape and thickness of the glass, silver, tin or wood in the drinking vessel. With literally different volumes devoted to different drinks.

I'm not making this up. The treatise on white wine alone came in three different volumes.

So it took me a while before I realised that, the reason that my mind had the opportunity to run down this path of distraction and imagination was because the Guard Captain had stopped talking.

He was not in a good way and I wondered how long it had been since I had last looked at him. He was sat, both hands on the table, curled into fists. His jaw was clenched and working, his eyes wide and unhappy. I had already known that he was tired but it rather seemedd as though he had been wearing a mask of formality and etiquette since I had come into the room. And, for some reason, that mask had been torn away.

I looked over at Syanna who was watching the Captainn closely, frowning a little. I could not tell if she was concerned or annoyed. Or both for that matter.

Very suddenly, he looked up as if startled. “Forgive me.” He stuttered out. “I need a moment.... I need.”

He rose and walked over to the window.

I was watching. Syanna almost reached for him as he passed her chair. Almost. She was really really close to it. It would have done a lot for their relationship if she had. But instead, she just watched as he walked over to the window and looked out.

I could feel a similar urge to move myself now. There was a jumping movement in my leg. An urge to dance, skip and run. There was so much to take in here. The walls were literally covered in the stuff after all. Covered in it. Maps of the villages and the parts of Beauclair that the Watchmen had chased Jack through. The maps of the Watchouse that the beggar had approached to bring notice of the death of someone and then the site where the body had been left.

The table as well. Mountains of paper and it all started to get too much. It felt like a mountain that was beginning to topple over and bury me under all of the rubble.

The sheet in front of my eye line was a description of the things that Miss Donnet, the bookish girl that wanted to be a nun, had on her at the time of her death. It wasn't much. She had a small ink pot and a quill which I found that I approved of. Any scholar should always carry around a quill and some ink or a piece of charcoal as well as something to write on. She also had a rabbit's foot for luck and a few coins. I started to wonder where her diary had been. I felt sure that she must have had one. A journal of some kind to note her thoughts in.

I felt myself teetering on the edge of the gulf. It was like a hole that I was wobbling on the edge of. The cliff that you could fall off that seems to sing to you. To seduce you into getting closer and closer to the edge of it. To look over into the abyss. That was what it felt like and I didn't want to go there. I didn't want to but I wasn't sure that I could keep myself from tumbling down.

But it was so familiar down there. So very familiar down there. Attractive even. I didn't want to go there. I was afraid of it but at the same time... It was attractive to me. There was something there that I wanted.

What did I want?

I jerked to my feet suddenly, pushing the chair back and I started to pace. I think people started to talk to me but I was ignoring them. Not intentionally but...

What did I want?

I wanted to dive into the abyss. I wanted to... But....

I frowned and stopped dead in my tracks.

“The thing you have to remember about Jack.” I said, slowly at first as the thoughts started to resolve themselves in my head towards some kind of logical order. “The thing you have to remember about Jack, is that he is a being of patterns and rules.”

“How does that help us?” Syanna wanted to know. Not unreasonably.

I stared at her for a moment. Her question had diverted me from my thought process. The urge to run and jump around was back in my feet again.

“I... uh....” I closed my eyes as a moment of dizziness struck me. “I need a moment to.... There is a lot here.... I need to.... uh.... I need some air. I need to talk to Ariadne and Kerrass.”

I rolled my shoulders. The tunic and shirt was feeling tight again. Why wasn't I comfortable in these clothes anymore? Why couldn't I settle?

I fled. Snatching the door open I all but ran out the door and through the hall, past the startled Knights and squires and trainees. I was out the door in a flash and found myself trembling just outside.

I looked left and right. Unsure about what to do next I decided that real Witchers always turn left in a maze and so I went left, half walking, half jogging round the manor house until I came to the training stables. I found a fence post and leant on it with my hands, leaning forwards, bowing my head as I sucked in the smell of horse manure.

Then I laughed at myself. Why here? Why had I wanted to come to the stables.

“Freddie?” Ariadne's voice, but it startled me as I spun round. She was close to me, just outside of arm's reach while Kerrass was still jogging up. He had one of the bundles from his horse under his arm.

“Flame,” I breathed as I fought for calm. Kerrass was watching me carefully.

“Freddie,” Ariadne said again, taking a cautious step towards me. “I know that you said that you would help. But if you can't do it. If you need me to, I can have you back in Angral faster than....”

I waved her off. My sense of calm was slowly coming back although I couldn't have told you why. Nor could I explain it to either of them.

“I'm afraid.” I told them. “Why am I afraid?”

I realised that I was starting to tremble with something very similar, very close to what after battle reaction felt like.

“You are getting used to things.” Ariadne ventured. “You are finding things difficult that used to come easy to you. It's assailing your sense of self and your sense of.... purpose I suppose.”

I nodded. It all made sense I suppose although I wasn't entirely happy with that assessment.

“You want to help. You want to be useful. You want to find the patterns and the rules and things but you are out of practice is all.” She went on. “As I've said before, the brain is a creature of habit. It is no longer used to... asking questions and following through on things. You just need to get back into it is all. Be gentle with yourself.”

I was nodding along. The soothing words were a balm but... Something was missing from it. I wasn't happy with it.

“I think he's sword shy.” Kerrass said, his harsh words cutting through the spell that Ariadne's words covered me with. Tearing the blanket of comfort that she was trying to lay over me and I looked up into his eyes that were boring into me.

“I don't understand.” Ariadne said.

“When I was learning to fight.” Kerrass began. “The realities of the situation is that people get hurt. Injuries happen. There's no way that you can avoid that. But the very first thing that you do after you have been injured is to put the sword back into your hand and get back into training so that the fear of the pain of the accident doesn't hold you back.”

Ariadne's eyes sparkled.

“You do the same thing when people fall off horses.” Kerrass went on. “You fall off and then, if you are uninjured. The first thing that your horse-master teaches you is that you need to get back on the horse and ride around the field to prove to yourself that you can do it and that you won't fall off.”

He stopped looking at me and turned to Ariadne. “You are correct. He should be gentle with himself. But I think we've made a mistake. Right now he's struggling, aren't you Freddie?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“Well I think that we made a mistake in helping him. The damage that has been done to him has been by his mission to find Francesca. There have been other little missions and quests and things but his.... but our.... failure to find Francesca is, essentially, his first failure.

“I think that Freddie needs a puzzle. I think he needs a mission or a quest or an adventure of some kind. I think that... what I should have done all the way back. After he had agreed to renounce the search for Francesca, or maybe earlier, I don't know. But I think, I should have found him a nice little mystery to solve.

“A wrong to right. Something he could look back on and say.... “I did that. I solved that problem, I rescued those people. I helped kill those monsters”. Becuase now that he is in a place where he is confronted with the prospects of another investigation, where he has to hunt the bad guy and save some people. Not helped by the fact that the bad guy is something that he has faced before and.... did not do great.”

I couldn't put it into words then and I still struggle with it now. But what he was suggesting, felt right. There was a feeling of correctness about it. Ariadne had been right too, but Kerrass had added the icing on the top that completed the cake.

“I'm going to venture a theory.” Kerrass suggested. “I am not the only one that thinks that Freddie has looked better, this morning, than he has for weeks. Not since Brenna even. Am I?”

Ariadne was looking at me thoughtfully.

“You are not.” She decided, nodding.

“So I think,” Kerrass went on. “I think that he wants the puzzle. He wants to throw his brain into some kind of mystery and his mind has reacted. He's been more dynamic, stronger, more passionate. There is no way that Freddie would have given Emma and Mark, and the two of us for that matter, the drubbing that we deserve as recently as even yesterday.

“Fuck.” He chuckled. “I still don't think you would have beaten him in the duelling square, but I think you would have done a lot more to put the shits up Raoul if he fought you this morning.”

Even Ariadne smiled at that prospect.

“What you're afraid of.” He pointed at me. “Is that, like with Francesca.... you will fail. Or that like the last time you faced Jack, or someone wearing his face, you will become foolish and do something stupid. Because what you did last time was really fucking stupid.”

I could feel myself calming down. Kerrass was right but...

“That's it.” Ariadne said as she glanced back at me. It was odd being discussed by the two people who I'm closest to in the whole continent. A weird feeling. I almost felt as though I was interrupting something or intruding. I felt as though I should go somewhere else and leave them to it. “That's it, but I wonder if there's something else.” She looked between the two of us. “Freddie? What were you thinking about just before you came out here?”

I thought back. “I was standing on... I was standing on the edge of a cliff... No... I was on the edge of a hole. A deep, dark hole that was trying to suck me into it. A deep, horrible hole that was filled with horror.”

“But...” She prompted me.

“But I wanted to go down there. I was attracted to it. There was something familiar to it, something that I was drawn to it.”

She nodded in satisfaction. “You are correct Kerrass. I really should have seen it and I'm sorry Freddie, I really let you down there.” She said it in the same way that I might order a round of drinks at the bar in a tavern. “But what he's afraid of is sinking into the same levels of obsession as he did with the search of Francesa. It's not the failure...”

She looked back at me again where she saw something that I wasn't aware of.

“Alright, it's partly the fear of failure.” She admitted. “But I think he's afraid of the obsession. I think you've quite enjoyed having a mind free of that kind of darkness, haven't you Freddie. Even when it is debilitating. Even when stumbling around in the light is the most painful, uncomfortable and terrifying thing that you might have experienced.”

I nodded. “That makes sense.” I admitted. “I don't want to get involved in this if it leads to some kind of massive run of things where I become obssessed and lose myself. I don't think I could get out of it again.”

Kerrass nodded. “But it's not like last time.” He said. “You are not alone. We know that there is a danger. You even knew that there was a danger this morning when you demanded that Ariadne accompany you everywhere. You knew that there was a danger and you took steps to overcome. I am with you as well and neither of us will allow a situation where you can get into trouble. As for violence? Even if, as I suspect, you would fight better now than you have done for months. You are stood next to a Witcher and an Elder Vampire. Fuck, if someone tried to get at you, Sir Guillaume is practically vibrating with the desire to do horriblr violence to miscreants on your behalf.”

He considered that. “Hell, I kind of want to see that man in a rage to be honest. It would be terrifying.”

He turned back to me. “This is a good thing Freddie.” He told me. “It's a good mystery. There is no personal stake like there was last time. Emma and Mark are safe. At the moment, this is a series of murders. Monstrous, horrible murders. But murders nonetheless. We can investigate some murders Freddie.”

“And rapes. Don't forget the rapes.” Ariadne reminded him.

“I did not mean to leave them out.” Kerrass told her.

I was shaking. Left over come down from the burst of panic and fear.

“So what do we do now?” I asked, teeth chattering.

“Well first.” Kerrass put his bundle down and opened the top of the bag. “First you're going to take off that damn stupid Toussaint cloak. You need a proper cloak on to keep you warm after that shock.”

He pulled out my old fur-lined travelling cloak.

“You haven't looked comfortable all day.” he told me. “Get that round you instead.”

I did as I was told and, not gonna lie. Smelly, fur lined oil skin though it was. It felt soooooo much better.

“Then,” Kerrass went on as he packed my, ridiculouslyimpractical now I was looking at it, sky blue cloak into the bag in a way that would scandalise the tailor that made it for me. “We are going to go inside and do what we came here to do. Ariadne will keep an eye on you because even though I would gamble that you are stronger than you think you are, you are still not as strong as you should be. And then we will investigate these crimes and give the bastard who is doing this a good sound kick in the balls.”

“What if it's Jack?” I asked. “I heard a number of things in there that suggested that it might, indeed, be Jack.”

“Then we'll kick him in the arse as well,”

“Before we kick him in the balls?” Ariadne wanted to know, her head on one side as she examined the prospect.

“Naturally.” Kerrass decided.

My old cloak did feel better.

Ariadne would later tell me that, as I walked back into the manor house. Kerrass watched me move for a moment before nodding to himself.

But now I had a new problem. The collar of this shirt was ridiculously tight.

We walked back through the din, which seemed a little bit more subdued now although that might have been my imagination, and back up to the room where we found the Knight Commander, Guard Captain and Sir Guillaume waiting for us.

“Have you quite finished?” De La Tour snarled.

I blinked at him.

“We spend days asking for your help to be ignored and insulted. And now, we finally get you out here and suddenly you can't listen?”

His face could really turn a remarkable shade of purple.

“People are dying out there Lord Frederick.” He all but screeched that last. With an added little sneer when it came to the word “Lord”

I could dimly sense Syanna opening her mouth to speak.

I closed my eyes. “You're not going to let him get away with that are you Freddie?” Kerrass seemed to whisper behind me.

The flame that had been born inside my chest that morning swelled.

“I am reminded of a story.” I said. “It was a story that I heard quite recently and I have used this story before to illustrate a point. But it also seems to have a certain, fitting application here.”

I walked in and poured myself a drink.

“The Prophet Lebioda and Kreve the Sky-Father were playing a game of Dice Poker. It was a simple friendly game. Nothing at stake, no money, no souls, power, influence, magic.... Nothing at stake. Just a game of dice between two friends.”

“I don't see what this has...”

“It all comes down to this last throw of the dice.” I told him, putting some steel into my voice to overwhelm him. “The Sky-Father picks up the dice and throws them onto the board. They rattle around a bit but eventually come up with a low straight. Five dice, one through five. The Sky-Father is pleased. He looks up at the Prophet and grins at him. There's only one possible dice roll that can beat that and they both knew it.”

I poured Ariadne a drink as well, taking it over to her before raising my eyebrows at Syanna and Sir Guillaume before pouring them a drink as well. I continued to talk.

“The Prophet picks up the dice. Closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before casting the dice into the tray. The dice bounce around a bit and they come up a jumble. Two, two, three, Six, Six. The Prophet is not entirely pleased. It's a good roll. Two pair, but it won't beat a the Sky-Father's hand. The Prophet picks up two of the dice. Says a little prayer to himself and tosses the dice into the tray.

“The Sky-Father and the Prophet watch carefully. The dice tumble around, bouncing off each other and rolling around the mouth of the tray until finally coming to rest. The Sky-Father's dice now read, Two, Three, Four, Six, Six.

“The Prophet laughs. Knowing that he has won but the Sky-Father is not done. The Sky-Father raises his hands into the air and the heavens darken. After a little while the heavens open and a deluge of rain falls from the sky, flooding the place where the game is taking place. A small rivulet of rain water carries one of the Sky-Father's dice away. Specifically one of the sixes. “The die is swept down the torrent into the nearby river where if floats for a moment, bobbing along on the surface of the current before a huge fish leaps from the depths of the stream and swallows the die whole. The fish struggles now that something is stuck in it's gullet before yet another miracle happens. A huge bird soars in the air and sees the struggling fish. Quickly, it swoops low and scoops the fish from the water intending to eat it, taking it back to the birds nest.

“But the fish is still struggling in it's claws. It gets loose and falls to the ground, a short distance from where the Prophet and the Sky-Father are watching. The Fish lands and the force of the impact jerks the die from the gullet of the fish. At first, the die spins through the air before bouncing off a rock, off another rock, off the edge of the playing board before landing in the scoring tray.

“The Sky-Father grins up at the Prophet. Now his dice read the required numbers for the winning hand. Two, three, four, five and six. This means that the Sky-Father wins and he screams in triumph.

“The Prophet looked up at the Sky-Father and stared him straight in the eyes. “Do you wanna play dice?” He asked. “Or do you just wanna fuck around?””

I sat back in my chair.

De La Tour was staring at me, moustache bristling, eyes boggling a little bit.

“It is known, by everyone in this room, why I couldn't come here before now.” I began again after a moment, taking a small drink to wet my throat.

“I am injured. It was only last night that I fought a trained Knight and I have bruises and stiff muscles. It is also known that I am suffering from... something. Everyone here is also well aware of what Jack means to me. Both personally as he was here when I lost my sister, even in a bastardised, stolen state. And proffessionally. Which is why you wanted me here in the first place.

“So, Captain, you know why I left the room just now. You probably recognise it. A man such as yourself will have seen those kinds of reactions before. So you know what just happened. You may even have felt it yourself. So... Knowing all of these things. Knowing how difficult it is for me to be in this room and discuss these things with you. Knowing all of these things I am forced to ask a question.”

I looked him straight in the eyes and did not blink.

“Do you wanna play dice? Or do you wanna fuck around?”

I leant back and took another drink.

“I don't have to stay here and listen to this...” De La Tour turned for the door and stomped towards it.

“Actually you do.” I told him, putting my drink back on the table. “People are dying out there Captain.”

Cruel? Yes. Undoubtedly. But the fight back has to start somewhere.

He stopped, just short of the door and lifted his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and I instantly felt guilty.

Instantly. On the spot even.

Why?

His hand was trembling. There was something else going on here that I didn't know.

He stood like that for a moment before his hand fell to his side where it hung limply.

If you are ever privilidged to see a proud man pulling themselves together. Always, and I do mean always, take the time to properly appreciate and respect the effort that it takes to do something like that. Speaking as someone that has had to pull themselves together a lot recently, it is hard as fuck. It takes a lot of energy and can leave a person feeling run ragged after it's all done.

He straightened himself up. Largely by effort of will as far as I could see, before shaking his head, as if to shake himself loose of some leaves that had fallen on his head. His left hand lifted to the sword pommel as he did an about face so smartly that it might have cut paper, before marching towards his chair which he sat back down. A movement that he carried off so perfectly that my old etiquette professor would have been proud.

“You are correct.” He said, a little stiffly, but I put that down to his hiding amongst the formality of the situation rather than any kind of lingering anger. “I apologise Lord Frederick. I was at fault and allowed my temper to speak for me.”

“It is I that should apologise.” I told him. “I too, allowed my temper to get the better of me. This is a thorny subject for me and I am angry. Not with you but with those people that prevented me from helping. Believe me when I say that I am not done with those people yet.”

He nodded.

Fortunately, he seems to be the kind of man who is quick to anger, but also quick to admit when he has been wrong in the past. Another thing that, when you find it, you should take the time to respect it.

I also resolved to take the time to talk to the good Guard Commander about whatever it was that was bothering him.

“So Commander,” I turned to Syanna who was trying not to laugh. A bit unfairly if you ask me. “How can we help?”

“Simple really.” She said, losing some of the formality. “Do we have a Jack problem or not?”

Kerrass snorted.

“There is definitely a Jack Problem.” I told her. “But there are definitely arguments on both ends of the scale as to whether or not it's a supernatural one or not.”

“What do you mean?” It would seem that Captain De La Tour, was back to being all business again.

“From the account that you have given me. There are several points that would show that Jack was here in all of his glory. The flashes, the little salutes, the supernatural, but limited speed. The staying just out of reach but still giving the chasers the impression that he could be caught if they just put their mind to it a little. All of those things would be hallmarks of the Jack entity.”

“So it is Jack.” De La Tour breathed.

“Mmm Maybe.” I told him. “The problem being that there are several ways that, everything you told me, could be replicated by someone who isn't Jack.”

“In what way?” Sir Guillaume asked.

“Off the top of my head? Training. Magic of the more normal kind. Proper scouting and planning.”

“Alchemy.” Kerrass put in as he scratched his nose. “Some of those feats could also be performed by a Witcher or some of the other more humanoid creatures.”

“Such as?”

“Vampires for one.” Ariadne said. “I might have forgiven the Knight Commander for her actions regarding Dettlaff, but it is more than likely that many will not agree with me. Especially those that might have worked with, or for Dettlaff in the past. They might have heard of Jack and seek to emulate that in order to obscure their own presence.”

De La Tour seemed to relax a little before tensing slightly and differently, more towards the shoulders now.

“But that shouldn't be a sole prognosis.” Kerrass said. “Any number of shapeshifters could do all of those things. A Doppler, for instance, although if that were the case then I would suggest that the Doppler in question is being coerced in some way. Rape and Murder goes against what Dopplers believe in.”

“There are exceptions to that though aren't there?” Syanna wondered.

“There are always exceptions.” Kerrass told her. “Also Incubi?”

“What are they?” Sir Guillaume asked.

“The Male side of the Succubi species.” Kerrass told him. “Much rarer, much more solitary. Where a Succubus thrives on multiple partners, Incubi stay with one, generally female, partner until that partner dies. Typically of old age and physical exhaustion with a smile on their faces. Then the Incubus moves on. No-one knows how you get new Succubi or Incubi. But they could do what you describe.”

Kerrass stroked his chin.

“I find it particularly interesting that no-one has yet heard this Jack like figure speak yet. That might tell us something.” Kerrass folded his arms.

“Why?” Syanna wondered.

“Freddie can tell you more on that.”

Everyone turned back to me. Kerrass had been calling everyone's attention to him so that they wouldn't see that I was having a little shake and a little panic after the small confrontation with De La Tour.

“The thing you have to remember about Jack.” I told the room. “Is that Jack is a creature of habit.” I sighed and turned to Ariadne. “Is there any way that you can check how Laurlen is getting on with bringing my book?”

She nodded and a vacant look came into her eyes.

“She has just arrived back in Beauclair and is on her way now. Maybe ten minutes?”

I nodded.

“Obviously I have more questions.” I told the room. “And I would be stunned if Kerrass and Ariadne don't have a similar number of questions. But there is a Jack problem here.”

Syanna and De La Tour nodded. Guillaume shifted a little.

“I think that there are three possibilities here.” I went on. “The first possibility is that Jack is here in all his power and all his glory for reasons of his own.

“The second is that the same thing is happening here that happened last time. Elements of Jack's power have been infused in someone. Whether deliberately, accidentally, willingly or by force and that that person is rampaging. There could be any number of reasons as to how or why this has come about. But gut feeling, I think that this is the least likely scenario. I can't confirm that though.”

There was more nodding.

“The third possibility is that there is a copycat out there somewhere. Monster, mage, trained or other in order to be able to do the things that you describe.”

“How do we tell the difference?” Not an unreasonable question from Syanna.

“We identify the pattern.” I told them. “As I say, the thing about Jack is that he is a creature of habit. He has rules and laws that he chooses in advance and he sticks by them to the utter degree. He will not deviate from them at all.”

“What do you mean?” De La Tour asked.

“Jack is a nigh Godlike entity.” I told him. “I am not exaggerating in that. One of the things that you have to remember is that, in the closing stages of Francesca's disappearance...” my fists clenched involuntarily and I had to squeeze my eyes shut as an image of Francesca hugging me ripped through my brain.

“In the closing stages of that.” I began again, only a heartbeat or two had passed. “Lady Yennefer performed a summoning ritual. That ritual is one of the most powerful rituals of it's type. It was dangerous and there was all kinds of things put in place to prevent Jack from escaping when he turned up. It's the kind of thing that is used to summon Djinn, Hym, Elemental spirits and all of the other different kinds of things that people mistake as being called Demons. The ritual was, technically, illegal and was only performed after permission was sought and granted by the Empress herself as it was one of those instances where the knowledge would be used for the good of the state rather than the good of the individual.”

There was more nodding.

“That ritual was keyed to Jack and was the most powerful ritual of it's kind. It was performed in a place of power.”

De La Tour frowned in question.

“A mystical convergence of the lines of force.” Ariadne had seen the frown too. “A place where a Mage could feasibly draw more power and make their rituals or spells all the more powerful.”

“I see.” De La Tour nodded.

“It was performed by one of the most powerful Sorceresses on the Continent.” I went on. “Something that even Lady Vigo and Lady Eilhart would agree. Not least because she defied the Lodge on several occasions and survived.”

“I wouldn't want to fight her,” Ariadne put in. “And I've been practising my craft for over nine-hundred years.”

Syanna and De La Tour took that in.

“All of this was in place and Jack found it funny.” I told them. “He took me from that ritual circle and moved me between worlds. A feat that was confirmed by the Empress as she recognised the place to which I had been taken. He brought me to him. According to Lady Yennefer's work on the subject, Power and refinement on that scale is the kind of thing that they teach apprentices in Ban Ard and Aretuza, simply doesn't exist. It's the kind of power that people ascribe to Gods and Goddesses. If Jack wanted us dead. We would be dead. He wouldn't even blink at the matter.

“The reason why he doesn't is because of the rules.”

“What rules?”

I laughed. “Unfortunately, they change according to the mood that he's in at the time.”

Syanna laughed. “If he wasn't so terrifying, I do believe that I would like him.”

I winced a little. “I would be lying if I said that he wasn't likeable. Terrifying, but likeable certainly.”

“So why are there rules?” Syanna asked after the short burst of chuckling that came after that.

“Jack sees himself as having a purpose. How true that is is unknown as that same purpose seems largely self-appointed. He sees it as his job to remind people that there are dangers out there. He has described it as being the fear in the darkness, the fear of the unknown. He would claim that this fear is vital because without fear of the unknown then we wouldn't be cautious. But that is his job, his task and his purpose. It is his entire reason for being.

“He once told me that when primitive humans huddled in caves and told each other stories about the thing that waited in the darkness. The thing that they were talking about, was him. He is the unknown thief and assassin watching the house that makes people lock and bar their doors and windows. He is the thief, rapist and murderer that waits down the dark alleyways that mean that people walk home at night in groups, down the well lit avenues. He is the enemy soldier that makes generals post proper sentries. He is the monster or bandit that waits in the woods off the side of the road.

“He is the reason that you never, ever leave the path.”

Syanna and De La Tour absorbed that in silence.

“So that's what he does. Periodically, when people are becoming that little bit too arrogant, that little bit too confident for their own good, then Jack will appear. He will then kill five or six vulnerable people, most often women or children, and then he will leave while officials and law enforcement are scrambling to catch him.”

“With all respect to him,” Syanna said carefully. “How can you tell him apart from any number of other similar murderers?”

“There are several signs to look for.” I answered. “The first is that he obeys the rules of the time and place that he is in. So for this world, he would be happy to use certain tricks of a magical nature. He would be a skilled swordsman. It has to be believable that he could be an ordinary man. Even if his capabilities are extraordinary.

“He has a type of victim. Chosen at random in advance... Ah, here we go.”

The doors to the room opened and Syanna's new page showed Laurelen in. She was carrying a large book with wooden covers and a red leather spine. She came over with a slight smile.

“The unedited reference version.” She told me. “As ordered.”

“Thank you.” I told her with an answering smile.

“It should be said,” she commented. “That I had to club your publisher over the head with it and run before he would let it out of his sight.”

“I can imagine.” I chuckled. My publisher is of the view that as soon as the words are delivered to him. Then they belong to him. Therefore, any book that he prints, belongs to him and he only grudgingly sends any royalties or author's copies to his writers. Having said that, he is scrupulously fair and I've never had a problem with him. I am told that this makes me lucky in my publisher.

There was an awkward moment.

“Well I should be getting back.” She said turning for the door and I watched her go.

“Give me a minute.” I told the room.

“Lord Frederick.”

“Just a minute.” I chased after Laurelen who was just on the landing outside as I caught her.

“Listen,” I began.... and completely forgot what I was going to say.

She stared at me with amusement in her smile and sadness in her eyes.

“It's alright Freddie.” She told me. “I agreed with Emma and Mark.” She shrugged. “We were wrong. You still look a little weak to my eyes, but you seem better than you have since Yule.” Her smile retreated a little.

“I feel better.” I admitted. “Something to get my teeth into.”

“I know.” She sighed and rubbed her brow. “I can't speak for Mark. But your sister loves you Freddie. Very much. She lives in terror of losing you before your time, given your life path and choices. She just wants to protect you.”

“I know.” I echoed her. “And that's why I'm not screaming and shouting. But even knowing me a little bit would tell all of you that this would be how I would react.”

“I know that too. And although I knew what was going to happen and warned Emma that that would be the case... We did it anyway.”

“And that's what's pissing me off.” I told her, feeling my own rise in anger before sighing to try and dismiss it. “Look after her though, would you?”

“I will do my best.”

There was another awkward pause.

“Do you need a hug?” I asked.

She laughed. “I thought I was supposed to be the one comforting you.”

“eh.” I shrugged.

“Then I will take a hug.” She said.

I hugged her tight for a moment before we both turned away.

“So as I was saying,” I went back in towards the book. “Whenever Jack decides to manifest. He will deliberately choose a type of victim. Our supposition is that it gives the authorities a kind of hope, for him, Jack, to dash. When he was the Temerian Strangler,” I opened to the correct page. “He would choose young couples that were out courting. As was the fashion at the time, the boy would escort the girl home to their place of residence. Then, just after the girl had entered the home, Jack would appear and strangle the boy to death with a braided silken rope in view of the girl looking out the window. That time, there were five deaths before the killings stopped and it is also why Temerian casual male fashion has high, stiff collared coats and shirts.”

I turned a page.

“He also manifested in Ban Ard very shortly after the University was founded. His target there was first year lecturers. He would wait until the Professor in question had served at the place of learning for a year and then they would turn up dead with their hearts carved out with a bladed weapon and a strange rune carved into their forehead. He killed four victims that time and it nearly brought the nascent university to it's knees. There were rumours for a long time that Oxenfurt arranged for the matter to take place given the rivalry between the two schools, but that was... dispproved.”

“What was the significance of the rune?” Sir Guillaume asked.

“Hmm? Oh, there wasn't any. It was just a weird symbol. As far as we can tell, it has never been used before or since. It has the same mystical significance of a the splattered shape of a squashed fly.”

“Are you sure?”

“The Lodge of Sorceress say so. As does the Hugh-Priestess of Melitele and the leader of the Druids in Skellige.” I told him.

“Why so few victims?” De La Tour was frowning. “For a Godlike entity, he seems to have limited himself to extreme levels.”

“We don't know,” I told him. “But the theory is this. We hypothesise that he kills enough to make it clear that the authorities will not catch him and cannot catch him. He gives them a type of person for them to protect. The new Professors, the courting couples. Then he vanishes, leaving people thinking that he could still be out there and that there's nothing that they can do to stop him.”

“Lovely.”

“Another sign of Jack's presence is the presence of the name “Jack”. No matter where he goes or what he ends up doing, the name of the anonymous predator is always some form of Jack.” I turned the page. “Using the previous examples. The Temerian strangler was nicknamed “Dancing Jack.” After his habit of doing a little jig in order to taunt the people coming after him. The Ban Ard example was called “Stupid Jack” by those who were trying to belittle the effect he was having on the locals. Until the man who called him that was the last victim.

“This goes on and on as well. Your own Jack was called Laughing Jack due to his laughter as a taunt. When he was in Oxenfurt in order to deal with some copycats, he was called Jumping Jack due to his ability to leap tall buildings and literally jump across the river when his capture seemed inevitable. So that would be something to address. In the gossip or taverns or signposts. Are people starting to refer to this killer as Jack yet?”

“Why “Jack”?” Syanna wondered.

“No-one knows. Least of all him. According to him, he actually hates it. He would prefer to be more anonymous and faceless.”

“Interesting.”

“It seems that this often comes about because of local concerns. It would seem that, in an effort to reduce or even mitigate the fear that his presence generates, authorities and those people that are responsible for communicating things to the public, wish to define Jack. The first part in doing so is to give him a name, for better or for worse. Why that name is always some form of “Jack” we don't know.”

Syanna grunted unhappily. “Gaspard.” She called and the young page entered. “I want a message sent to my sister. She is to monitor announcements and rumours for use of the name “Jack.” She is not to surpress it, but rather to get hold of it and find out where the name is coming from.”

The young man nodded and bowed out of the room.

“Not a bad idea but I will admit that it's possibly a little pointless.” De La Tour commented. “There are a lot of people who know that there is something out there that looks like Jack and people are already talking about that.”

“I know.” Syanna admitted. “But even that will tell us something. It will also tell if people are using the arrival of Jack in order to undermine other things.”

“Valid point.”

Syanna grinned. “What other similarities are there Lord Frederick?”

I thought for a moment. “As I say, Jack operates under a set of set of self-imposed rules. He sets them himself and does not deviate from them. We have identified this as a form of personal honour.”

“Honour?” De La Tour was outraged. I didn't think it was at me directly but he was certainly angry. “Killing and raping women is honourable.”

“We're not going to get into the argument of what is honourable and what is not.” Syanna quickly overrode him. “That is a fun debate when I've had several glasses of wine and I'm dealing with courtiers, but I'm sure that we can all appreciate that that is a never-ending debate. You were saying, Lord Frederick.”

“If honour is a self-imposed pattern of behaviour then yes, I think he is honourable. If he is delayed by someone and prevented from getting to his target, then he kills them quickly and cleanly. He does not allow them to suffer. If a person challenges him to some form of duel, then the duellist is often humiliated and scarred in some way, but frequently, that kind of display of courage and... well... honour, will result in the fighter surviving. Often with some kind of scar at best, or missing a limb at worst.

“He always salutes his opponents. Some people might say that he is tormenting and taunting his opponents but a salute is still a salute. These gestures appear genuine. Whether tipping his hat, bowing or saluting.”

“Anything more practical?” De La Tour wondered.

“He always dresses the same way.” I told them. “His suits and coats are of formal cut for the time and place that he is currently occupying. He would be able to walk into any ball and no-one would even notice. They are always black with an occasional inlay of red. However, there is always some kind of tunic of white on the torso. Sometimes it is just plain white, sometimes it is patterned to look like a rib-cage. Again, we don't know why.

“And he always, always, wears an absurd hat that resembles a chimney on top of his head. It's probably a long shot but there might be some mileage in finding out if anyone has ordered a formal black suit with white tunic from your tailors. The people of Toussaint like colour so it's not entirely out of the realms of possibility.”

Once again, Gaspard was summoned, instructed and dismissed.

“How does any of this help us?” Syanna wanted to know. “I've no doubt that it does, but how does it help us?”

“As I say, the key is to identify a pattern. If it's just random killings of opportunity, then it isn't Jack. If there is a motive outside of that pattern, then it isn't Jack.”

“What do you mean?” I was beginning to get sick of that question.

I checked the book index for the entry on copycats and turned to the relevent page. “Ah yes, here we go. There was an instance of a series of similar killings in the Hengfors league sixty years ago. Someone was killing courtesans and was doing their best to make the killings as gruesome as possible before extracting the hearts and leaving them in the hands of the victim. To all intents and purposes, these killings looked like a series of Jack killings.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“After some investigation though, it was discovered that the killer was one of the guardsmen for one of the Princes of the league. One of the Prostitutes had a bad case of the pox and had slept with the Prince who had since passed it onto the other ladies. Turned out that the Prince had ordered the killings to happen. The pox was a rare strain and as such, could be proven to be from him and if that had happened then he would have been disgraced in the eyes of his peers, his wife and his mistress. It would all get very political. And it did as well when the story came out.”

“So if there is a connection between the victims that is not surface level... Then that would tell us that Jack is not our killer?” De La Tour asked. “And if it's anything else then we are dealing with some form of copycat?”

“Correct.”

Silence fell for a moment. Then I was astonished as De La Tour started laughing. And I mean really going for it. Syanna turned to him after a moment, honestly worried which seemed to make him laugh all the harder.

“You make it sound so simple.” He laughed.

Syanna joined him in a chuckle before, never one to do things by half, Guillaume's own laughter boomed out around the room like a roll of thunder.

We let the laughter go on for a while before it died down. Damien had to take a handkerchief out in order to mop his eyes. “Damn me.” He said. “It's like knowing how the conjuring trick is done.”

“Do you have any idea where to start?” Syanna asked me. “We've all been looking at this stuff for the last four days straight and my eyes are beginning to feel as though they're melting.”

“This is where Kerrass steps in. He knows a lot of this stuff, even as he doesn't really know about a lot of the examples and he is twice the investigator I am.” I told them.

“Selling yourself short again Freddie.” Kerrass said. “But in this case, I think that it's a little obvious. The answer lies with... I forget her name. The Courtesan. Flower of the Night.”

“Why?”

“Because the other three girls are... just that.” Kerrass said. “Girls. Young, virginal, beautiful people. Probably virgins. Definitely so in one case. In all three cases, their virtue is protected and guarded, somewhat fiercely. In one case, the case of Miss Donnet, by themselves, but in the other two cases, by their father figures. So Flower of the Night is the odd one out. A respectable plyer of her trade I have no doubt. But she is no virgin.”

“So it's not Jack then.” The relief in De La Tour's voice was prominent. “There is a break in the pattern.” He literally sagged in his chair.

“I'm sorry.” Ariadne surprised us all by speaking up. “But there is a pattern.”

She looked at the rest of us. “You're all thinking like men. You're all thinking in terms of descriptions and attributes that they all have in common. In what you see and in how they are described. The connection is in the behaviour that they exhibit and the choices they make.

“You cannot tell me, that a single, attractive bar maid in a tavern on the main road into and out of Beauclair, would be virginal for long unless she wanted to be. She was literally allowed to walk home by herself. Therefore I would suggest that she could walk to work and that few would note her passing. If she wanted to have a boyfriend, a paramour or some other kind of hidden lover somewhere. A woman like that? She would have had one.”

Kerrass saw the pattern. “The same with Lady Marie I suppose. A spoiled girl like that. If she really put her foot down and decided that she wanted this boy or that girl to be her lover, or even fiancee. Then her father would soon acquiesce. I have no experience of the matter myself but I have seen that daughters tend to wrap their father's round their fingers rather easily. Especially younger daughters.”

The atmosphere turned gloomy again.

“The pattern,” Ariadne told us, “is not that these women were virginal. It was that these women had a habit of rejecting people. We know that Miss Donnet rejected all who came. We know that Miss Appoline was in the regular habit of turning away romantic advances.”

“Flower of the Night kept her own books and was exclusive enough to choose her own clients.” Kerrass agreed.

“And Lady Marie was steadfast in turning away all suitors and allowing no one suitor to gain a hold on her.” De La Tour said. “So it is Jack.”

There was some more silence.

“Speaking personally,” I tried. “I think it's too early to try and say whether it's definitely Jack or not.”

“But the supernatural abilities Lord Frederick.” De La Tour began.

“Forgive me Captain.” I began. “But I am well aware of the power of suggestion in the minds of people. In the same way that the people of the North saw strange eldritch monsters in the bodies of men with hooked, impractical, cruel weapons and strange, flapping cloaks. I would also suggest that your men see Jack in every shadow.”

De La Tour really is not good at hiding his emotions.

“So,” Guillaume spoke up. “It seems to me that the question is simple. Is this a revenge fuelled spate of murders by a madman who has been spurned too many times and has finally cracked. Only to summon or communicate with something that is beyond his capabilities for powers that we cannot imagine.”

“Jack doesn't make deals for this kind of thing.” I said. “Speaking from personal experience, he cannot be summoned and what would he make a deal for.”

“He dealt with you.” Syanna argued.

“For the fun of it. Because he found it funny at the time. You don't summon something like Jack. You run from it. I've gone over that ritual so many times, the ritual and everything that came with it. The fact that I survived with my body intact, let alone my sanity...”

“Which is dubious.” Kerrass muttered.

“... Is a minor miracle.” I finished.

“Is it possible though?” Guillaume was insistent. “Could someone summon Jack and get him to do something. Persuade him or...”

I sighed. “It's possible I suppose. But extremely unlikely.”

He nodded.

“But its still a simple question.” He said. “It's a madman who has been spurned by all four women who is on a rampage. Whether fuelled by vengeance, madness, opportunity or whatever. Or it's Jack in one of the many ways that he manifests.”

“That would seem to be the case.” Syanna agreed.

“Excellent.” Guillaume bounded to his feet. “Then the solution is simple. We approach the friends and family of each lady and get lists of the people that they have rejected. We bring all four lists into one place and see which people they all have in common. If there is no-one, it is Jack and we can start worrying about that. If there is someone then he is our suspect.”

He looked around us all.

“As plans go.” Kerrass began. “I've heard worse. Often from Freddie.”

“I still think that Kerrass was right. Flower of the Night is the loose link in the chain.” I said as we all started standing up. I tugged on the collar of my shirt again. The cloak had helped but I was still uncomfortable.

“More than likely.” Kerrass agreed. “If only because her madam, Madame Isabelle was it?”

De La Tour nodded.

“Madame Isabelle is more likely to have kept notes.” Kerrass finished.

“I would be interested in knowing who it was that attacked Lady Marie that caused her father to start sending guards with her wherever she went.” I added.

“That too.”

“Right.” Syanna said, taking charge. “It's mid afternoon now. May we assume that your party is coming with us Lord Frederick?”

I nodded. “It seems easier. I am in this now and as has been made clear, we come as a trio. It seems easier to do it that way rather than you trailing up to the palace or back here to ask me, or us, questions about this or that when you find something. Or don't find something. Or whatever, and want to know if it's a valid point.”

Syanna nodded. “Guillaume, you know the people to ask so I'm sending you to Fox's hollow. Find a list of people that Miss Donnet spurned. Do it confidentially though. The rest of us will stop at the Cockatrice and ask the same questions as we would need to go over the bridge to get to Beauclair anyway.”

“I, too, would rather stay at Lord Frederick's side.” Guillaume said unhappily. “I rather feel that I owe him.”

“I think we can manage.” Syanna smiled at him. “Catch us up from Fox Hollow, we are likely to be at the Cockatrice for some time as I would imagine that Master Kerrass will want to examine the ground.”

Kerrass nodded.

“If we've already gone.” We will have gone onto the Belles first to catch Madam Isabelle before they get busy, presuming they open tonight, and then moving onto Lord Trastamara at his Beauclair residence. But I would be confident you can catch us before then.”

Guillaume nodded. “Then I shall arm myself and set off directly.” So he said, before putting actions to words and marching from the room.

“He does cut to the heart of the matter.” Kerrass commented.

“Guillaume is many things.” Syanna said. “But there is no-one better at cutting through the bullshit. Apparently, his wife regularly takes matters of court to him to get him to boil it down to simple speech, down to the basics of the issues. Guillaume would never admit it, or even be aware of it really, but he is far more clever than he puts on and the pair of them make a formidable team.”

De La Tour grunted his agreement. “That pair are going to shape Toussaint one day.”

“Not if I get there first.” Syanna argued, winking slyly at De La Tour.

We were all climbing to our feet and sorting out our clothing. De La Tour and Syanna were straightening sword belts while Kerrass reattached his own sword harness.

“Before we set off Knight Commander?” Kerrass began. “Is there somewhere more private for Freddie to change?”

“What?” I like to think that I didn't look entirely stupid as I exclaimed that. But I would be lying to myself and to all the people reading this.

“You can't go out into travelling taverns and speaking to people who work for a living, looking like that. I mean, come on Freddie. You look ridiculous.”

It's strange how the senses work. It's also strange as to how you can get used to the most bizarre things. It had been made clear to me when we were setting off to come to Toussaint, that we would be given clothes for the many parties and entertainments that we were expecting to be part of. This as part of our status as “honoured guests”.

As honoured guests, Emma had been very firm in telling me that we were expected to wear these, doubtlessly very expensive gifts so as to not insult the Duchess. That one time where Emma and Mark had gone to dinner in the reserved clothing of the North not withstanding.

So as a result, I had become used to the strange colourings and the eye-watering colour combinations that Toussaint preferred. I had sweated into silks that I wouldn't have dreamed of wearing to even the fanciest parties in the North and I had blewn my nose into a scrap of cloth that was probably worth more than a considerable amount of my wardrobe.

And I had become used to it.

The common folk of Toussaint were a little more subdued. They dressed practically more than fancily. They still wore a little less clothing than we do in the North due, I think, to the hotter weather in the South. And they aspired to the fancier clothing and brighter colours that the nobility wore. But even so, Kerrass' point was not invalid.

Up until that point, I had been wearing a White shirt with a bright red tunic with golden patterning on it which had been picked out with various small jewels. My trousers, although made for the warmth, were a deeper, almost forest green and the cloak that Kerrass had already taken off me had been tailored to my shape in such a way that it meant that it showed off these, otherwise dubious, colour choices.

Syanna looked at me and smirked. “I had not thought of that before. Very well, we shall wait outside. I suppose you are prepared.”

“As a matter of fact I am.” Kerrass said to me, pulling out my old shirts and leather armour from his bags.

“Armour as well Kerrass?” Ariadne wondered. I couldn't quite tell if she approved of Kerrass' decisions.

“We are going out there.” Kerrass began, “into a place where people are already angry with Freddie for not helping when he had first been asked. You know, and I know, that he had nothing to do with that. But will the average man on the street? Also, we're hunting, at best, a skilled fighter who is pretending to be Jack.”

He lay the armour out with a flourish.

“I'm wearing my armour and not the ridiculously showy thing that I've worn to a couple of feasts. I would say that you need armour as well, but then...”

“Elder Vampire.” Ariadne nodded, agreeing. “Then I shall wait outside in order ot preserve Freddie's modesty.”

“Thanks for that.” I told her, pulling off my boots.

The feeling of being in my old clothing, the travelling clothing that I had worn and had been adding to since I had first set out on the journey with Kerrass. It was...

It was special.

It was like... Ok.

You know that feeling where it is really cold and you're about to crawl into bed. Even if there's a fire in your room, you take your boots off and the rest of your clothes. But then you crawl under your familiar blankets and wrap them around yourself, maybe to have a nice little wriggle as you burrow further in. That comfortable feeling of returning to a homely place where you feel safe and warm.

It was like that. My old cream coloured shirt with some of the stains that no amount of cleaning have ever quite been able to get rid of. My leather trousers that have been patched several times. The leather coat, actually the newest addition to my ensemble as it was made from sealskin from the Skelligan isles. Leaving it with a patchwork between brown to a deep, almost blue, shade of black.

My wrist bracers were the oldest. Hardened boiled leather with metal reinforcements. I had bought these particular bracers in the winter after my first year on the road. I had had them made to special order, to fit me and only me and they all but guardeneed that anything short of a direct blow with a heavy blade or axe, then I would still have my hand attached. I might have a broken wrist. No armour is absolutely effective against all possible things, but Kerrass had advised that the biggest danger to a spear fighter was the glancing blows against the forearms.

Everybody has particular items that they insist on. Things that they cannot do with out. Where they will buy the best possible items, damn the expense. I would settle for any different kinds of shirts, a cloak needs to be waterproof first, warm second although they often go hand in hand, while the ability to look good and stylish are a distant way down the list. Trousers are the same. But there are two areas that I will never scrimp on. Two areas where I will go to the best makers and manufacturers that I can find, be measured, poked, prodded and spare no expense.

The first is boots. There was a reason that I had insisted on making sure that I had worn my own boots to come out here, even with all the rest of the gaudy stuff. I don't care about dyes or colouring. Shoes are fine for parties or dinners or things. But a good, comfortable pair of boots are worth more than their weight in gold.

Take it from a man who has suffered through walking around in shitty boots.

The other area that I will not scrimp on is wristguards. There are a few nightmares in my life regarding physical injury. There are the obvious ones such as the loss of sight or the loss of genitalia. I mean those are the things that everyone is afraid of, I don't care that they might claim otherwise. The genitalia one is just one of those primal things for me, as it is for most men I would imagine. The sight one is also pretty obvious. But my other nightmare is the loss of a hand. How could I work without a hand. I mean, yes, I am dominent with my right hand so there is that. But I use both for reading. My left hand steadies paper, quills and inks. I couldn't fight without one hand which means that I need both hands to be able to defend myself. Eating, drinking and touching the people that I love. None of which I could do without both hands. Not properly anyway.

Losing my right hand.... well that just doesn't bear thinking about. I literally just shuddered as I tried.

So wristguards are a vital piece of equipment. Kerrass feels similarly about swords and the other tools of his trade. For obvious reasons. He shares my thoughts on boots but he would add that a properly tailored and chosen sword belt or weapons harness in order to be able to carry everything that you need. Something that will sit right on your body without cutting into any parts of you. That won't be too tight, or shift around too much when you move. That won't cut of circulation while still holding everything that you need in the right places so that you can get at it at a moments notice.

I must say that he has a point about this too. The only things I really need at a moments notice are my weapons or my eating knife. The tools of my trade are often in a pack somwhere, so it's only my money pouch and tinder box that are on my person at all times.

And my method of contacting Ariadne of course. That doesn't leave my person and no, lesson learned, I'm still not going to tell anyone where I keep it.

Or what it is.

So I dressed in my more familiar shirt, trousers and armour. It felt a little odd but it was a familiar oddness. I recognised it. It was the oddness of setting out after a long period. I had felt the same after that first winter and after all those times where I had had an enforced delay in the journey but had strapped myself in and gotten on with things again.

I felt better.

More comfortable.

I had changed shape a bit. Lost some of the muscle in my shoulders and arms but I was confident that I could get that back in the spring when the weather brightened up and allowed me to exercise more. The same with the fact that I had put some weight onto my legs and around my stomach. Small changes. The rich food of Toussaint, warring with the weeks where I hadn't been eating properly in the middle of the depths of illness.

I kept my dagger where it was though. Wearing a sword is still a matter of status and for now, a dagger would suffice.

Kerrass bundled up the other clothes, again with an attitude of utter carelessness. Just rolling them up and jamming them into the bags that had transported my travelling gear while I was finishing pulling my leather hood into place.

A good hood falls into the middle. Not as important as boots or wrist guards but more important than trousers. A good, properly cured, light archers hood will keep the rain and sun of your head while keeping you warm in winter and cool in summer. You just have to be careful to keep from falling too far forwards and covering your vision, or falling too far back and not doing what it's supposed to.

When I left the room, Syanna didn't notice. De La Tour's eyebrows lifted a little while Ariadne walked over to me, looking me up and down.

“I thought so.” She said as she brushed something from my chest before she stepped backwards and examined me with an odd expression in her eye. Then she did the most Ariadne thing that I could think of. She realised something and frowned as she tried to assess the thought that she had had and examine it from all angles. Then she dismissed it so that she could take it out and look at it later.

Then she nodded to herself.

“Very well.” She told me in her matter of fact voice. “You once told me that, one day, you actively desire me to bring the Evil Queen dress, persona and things into the bedroom for our mutual pleasure.”

“I did.”

She nodded, not changing expression. “One day.” She told me carefully. “When all of this is over. I am going to have you wear this for me. Adventurous Freddie is something that.... does things to me.”

Again, the reactions of the other people told me a lot. De La Tour reddened in embarrassment. Syanna laughed aloud.

Kerrass remained impassive and looked unsurprised.

“I might even.” Ariadne went further. “have to arrange something where I could be rescued by adventurous Freddie and seek to reward you for your gallant efforts.”

She considered this thought for a moment as though she was deciding whether or not there was anything else she needed to say. Then she nodded as though she was satisfied before she firmly took my hand and we moved out of the building.

Syanna followed, not bothering to hide her amusement.

We left the building, pushing through the throng who were a little bit more subdued than they had been when we arrived. Leaving me to think that they had been putting on some kind of show. Our horses were brought out for us and I swung into the saddle. A move which I had performed hundreds of times before and will, doubtlessly do many more times yet in the future before the world comes to it's end. But this time the horse shyed away from me. Much to Kerrass' amusement.

“It's not used to this new, more confident Freddie.” He told me. “Be scared, nervous and frightened.”

“Fuck off Kerrass.” I sighed as I finally got in the saddle. “Flame but I miss Cassie.” referring to our own horses which were still up in Angral where we had left them for the winter.

“And I miss Baby.” He agreed. “But I would still take my old saddle over this.”

The banter lifted my spirits again, just a little bit. Distracting me from the fact that I was riding out again with my old armour on.

According to the grooms that Syanna was questioning. Sir Guillaume had armed himself with customary speed and had been riding out at the gallop earlier. As our little group rode out, we entertained ourselves for a bit with the theory that he was riding so fast in an effort to get out and get back with as much speed as possible.

“He is an odd duck.” Syanna admitted. “I am grateful to him. Along with Lord Palmerin and Captain De La Tour. We would not have gotten as far as we have with the Knights of Saint Francesca if it hadn't been for Guillaume. In theory, he is everything about Knighthood that I hate. But he is brave and noble and caring. His temper is as huge as his sorrow after he does something wrong.

“He answers yes ma'am, no ma'am and no task is too big or too small for him to undertake. He has cleaned out stables, cooked, cleaned and sharpened weapons. His work in the fields was something to see as he laughed and joked with the men and the women next to him. Nothing was beneath him and in doing so he led by example and made it impossible for any of the others to complain at the way that we handled them and expected them to behave. I honestly believe that he would die for me and for the Knights but, I can't understand why.”

“He is Toussaint.” De La Tour answered. “He hates what Toussaint has become. Just as he can't see the problems with it. He longs for the old storybook ideal while also seeing all the flaws in that system. He longs for the old, but realises that the new is necessary. If the Knights Errant had had more men like him then none of this would have been necessary.”

“Wouldn't it?” I wondered. “I get the impression that he was shocked into his current behaviour. He could have gone the other way really easily.”

“The love of a good woman can do that to you I suppose.” Syanna was thoughtful.

We moved off at a more leisurely trot into the middle of the afternoon. Moving past the workers in the fields

Something was bothering me and it was a while before I could figure out what it was. I moved my horse up so that I could ride next to Captain De La Tour.

“Captain?” I began carefully.

“Lord Frederick.” His response was a little too formal for my taste.

“I thought I had been clear on this Damien.” I tried. “Freddie, for friends and colleagues.”

“I apologise... Freddie. I will do my best to remember.” His face reddened a little for some reason that I couldn't quite identify.

“That's not what...” I struggled. “Look, are you alright. You seem... unhappy is the wrong word. You look.... Fuck it.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and, I hoped, amusement.

“You look.” I took a deep breath. “You look as though you're on the edge of losing your temper, bursting into tears, flying into a rage and just riding off at a moments notice. If I shouted suddenly I would not place money on which of those things you would do. So I ask again, just as carefully, are you alright?”

“What?” He was appalled. “I... I'm fine of course.”

“Yeah.” I let the skepticism show in my voice. “I say exactly the same thing in exactly the same way when people ask me that question.”

“Lord Frederick.... Freddie. I assure you that I am quite well.”

I stared at him for a long time. “One of the interesting things about travelling with a Witcher,” I began. “Is that no matter how stoic he might like to think himself, sooner or later he will just start to talk. Sitting beside lonely camp fires while you are saving your money by not sleeping in inns and eating what they, laughingly, call stew. You set a few traps, drop a line into the stream to catch a fish and buy a couple of loaves of bread at the market. A bottle of something strong and throat searing from a passing peddlar and some turnips, carrots and wild garlic from the local fields and woodlands. Taken as tax for the last contract trying to cheat us out of some fair pay.”

“Is there a point to this Lord Frederick.”

“Hush. I'm getting to it.” I told him. “All of that is the foundation of a good night on the road with a Witcher. You sit there, passing the bottle bacwards and forwards, listening to the trees and the water passing by and eventually, no matter how private a man he is, or how much he values his privacy. Eventually he will start to talk. Most of it is nonsense of course. Talk of politics, guessing about the characters and the appearance of people that we've never seen, let alone met. The less enlightened conversations along the lines of which of the Lodge of Sorceresses would be better in bed. Girlfriends and lovers past, present and hopefully future. Monsters that we've encountered, food that we've had, people that we've fought and beasts that we've run away from.

“But sometimes, in the middle of all of this, the Witcher will start to tell you about his process. It's not a one way street of course. Kerrass has taken some of my own investigative techniques from researching the history of places and has used them to great success on the path. But every so often, something will come out where you find out something useful. In this case, whether or not someone is lying.”

Captain de La Tour's eyes boggled and he opened his mouth to start speaking but I refused and talked over him.

“It's a really useful skill.” I said. “Especially in the profession of a Witcher. You come across all kinds of people who want to hid things. People who are getting rid of a troll because they want to mine the ore out of a troll's home. Women who want a Succubus killing because she is sleeping with their husbands despite the fact that they beat their husband with a broom handle and the Succubus is offering comfort and affection where there is none in the home. Men who refuse to accept that the reason that the wraith is actually the spirit of the girl that they spurned all that time ago. That refuse to believe that her death, as well as all the deaths that have come since then can be lain squarely at their feet.

“What's interesting though. Is that some people lie unconsciously. Because they themselves refuse to accept the truth, even when it is obvious to those arround them.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Damien asked, his face reddening again and his moustache twitching.

“No.” I said. “Your eyes did. I asked what was wrong, a simple question and then, all of a sudden, for the brashest, most direct, honest man that I know. Except maybe Sir Guillaume. You paled before reddening. You started to sweat and then your eyes would not settle. They were darting around as you looked at nothing in particular. As though you were looking for answers that you could not recognise. Or if you were looking at memories that you could not classify.”

He said nothing and seemed to calm. He was taking this better than I had when confronted with the same things.

“So I ask again. Are you alright?”

He twisted in his saddle to look behind him to where Syanna was gossiping with Ariadne about something.

“I am thinking that it is time to retire.” He told me.

There are things that you expect to hear and then there are those other things....

“What?” I asked, rather stupidly. Even for me.

“This thing with Jack.” He said slowly. “I think it's too much for me. I don't know what to do. I don't... It's too much. Give me a human opponent. Or a non-human and I can deal with that. I know how to fight that. Give me a group of smugglers that are trying to sneak Toussaint wines through the docks for lower prices, or sneak in Fisstech and narcotics through that same. I can deal with that. I know how to do that. A group of bandits in the woods. I know how to isolate them. I know what rewards to offer and what... things I should do. I know how to cordon off an area, scout out a location. I know how to cut off supplies and.... How do you deal with something like Jack?”

He laughed and there was a brittle edge to the laughter. “Fuck Freddie. I even know about Centipedes and Kikkimores. What the fuck am I supposed to do about Jack?”

I stared at him. “Damien.” I said. “Even at his worst, he will behave as a man.”

“But he's not a man is he. He is... other than that.”

Tears began to fall from his face. “And I thought we were supposed to be looking after you?”

“You are. But we look after each other. That's what it means.” I sighed. “Where is this coming from Damien?”

“I just... I don't think I can do this. I would do anything for the Duchess. I would do anything for Toussaint. Dying is easy and is the very least of the things that I would be willing to do. I would kill for Toussaint. I would torture men for Toussaint to find out what they know. There is nothing that I wouldn't do for Toussaint but... I can't do this. The world is changing. When I started out on the path to knigthood, life was simple. Bandits were terrorising the village. There were insectoids in the fields. Giant man-eating plants. Boars and panthers and the like. Nothing too worrying. They were still things that you could fix by hitting it with your sword and stabbing it with a dagger. But now... We have vampires coming out of the mists. We have cults summoning sinister beings from other realms of existence and killers that laugh as they wield their swords with inhuman swiftness. Where armour is nothing to them and no matter where you go or what you do, they will always always find their way through to destroy us.”

I let that die away for a moment after he had finished. The words echoing into the trees before I tried to let it down a bit.

“Not used to being afraid are you.” I commented doing my best to add some dry humour to the matter.

He looked at me sharply.

“Look.” I said. “This is what we are for. This is what Witchers are for especially. You said that you know how to deal with the giant caterpillars and the Kikkimores. Where did you learn to deal with that?”

“Lord Geralt taught me.” He admitted after a moment. “I hated that man when he first arrived.”

“I read the account as written by Professor Dandelion.”

Damien smirked. “Be careful not to mention him in the Duchess' presence. I still think she holds a torch for that man.”

We rode in silence for a while. Damien was obviously wrestling with his thoughts a little. He looked as though he was on the verge of panicing. So I tried something different. A different approach.

What would I want if I was in his place. Because I was becoming increasingly sure that what I was seeing was almost a mirror's image of some of the things that I had been through. So what would I need? What did I need to do? The danger was that I would very possibly drive him away and that was the last thing I wanted.I found that I wanted to help him, that I needed to help him. So, time to work the problem. When had Damien stopped being the relatively genial man of action? Slightly overwhelmed by his surroundings but with just enough of an air to suggest that he was absolutely aware of what was going on. Just enough of an attitude that he was laughing at himself as much as everyone else was laughing at him.

Then he had changed. He was hiding behind honour and respect. He was on edge. Instead of the comfortable man who was at peace with the decisions that he made, at peace with the fact that there were certain lines that he could not cross and that there were always going to be jokes that he would not understand. That Syanna would always make jokes and he could escape by virtue of simply stomping off in a different direction.

He was... prickly. Sharp edges. Hard and brittle. The unfortunate thing about being hard and brittle is that there is always a danger that you could end up shattering.

So we were at that point where we were riding through the woods on the outside of the estate that housed the Knights of Saint Francesca. Kerrass was in front as was his habit. Damien and I were in the middle with Syanna and Ariadne bringing up the rear. My measurement for whether or not we're in danger is Kerrass. If we're in a risky area then Kerrass moves and rides a little differently. He crouches a little bit in the saddle as though he's ready to dive into the gallop or dismount at a moment's notice. He wasn't doing that. He was sat up, looking around himself in the manner of a man taking in the sights.

The ladies behind us were gossiping like old friends. Giggling about something. I know that it's increasingly fashionable to suggest that women don't giggle like that. But that would be a lie and we all know it.

But to look at Damien, he was darting glances about himself, his hand was constantly jerking towards the hilt of his sword as though he was getting ready to draw it.

He was afraid.

“What are you afraid of Captain?”

He eyes jerked up to my face.

“We're riding through, possibly, the safest place in Toussaint. The Knights of Saint Francesca are just a small cry away. We have a Witcher in front of us. A vampire behind us who could pull the spine out of just about any other threat on the road. The Knight Commander, whatever else we might think of her, has spent time living with bandits and knows woodland and undergrowth better than most. We are as safe as we are going to get. Alertness is one thing. But you're afraid. You actively seem as though you're afraid. So what are you afraid of?”

I don't honestly think anyone had ever asked him that before. He frowned and turned his gaze inwards. “I don't know. But I am aren't I.” He shook his head. “All the more reason for me to retire.”

“I don't think so.” I told him. “All the more reason to move forward. Fear makes us cautious. Fear makes us careful. Once we understand what it is that we are afraid of. Once we know the risks and know what is going on in the world, then the fear goes away. Knowledge denies fear.”

I gestured. “Kerrass taught me that. Fear is an instinctual process. It is born out of our primal and primitive past. But you and I are not primitive. We are educated men. So if we are afraid of something. Then we classify it. Quantify it and tame it.

“I was terrified of Ariadne when I first met her. And with good reason, even she will admit that. The Spider-Queen of Angraal is a figure of terrifying legend to the people in that corner of the world. They scare children to sleep with stories of the terrors that she inflicted on their people.

“Don't get me wrong. I am a historian and I know that history is written by the winners. So I knew that a lot of those stories would have been made up by those people that wanted to de-legitimize her rule. But even despite that. What she did was horrible.

“And she is an elder Vampire. One of the most powerful beings on the face of the Continent. And a Sorceress. I am a good, flame fearing man. She is everything that I was taught to fear. She is a monster and a magic user. She terrified me and it took everything in my power to just be able to spend time in the same room with her.

“So I had to work at it. Bit by bit I had to work at it to get over that fear. I started with education. I learnt everything I could about Vampires. I learnt about Bruxae, Alps, Katakans, Fleders, Nosferat, Garkain and Plumard. I hunted down books on every subject under the sun. Not that it's a competitive field but in the list of experts on Vampires, then I might come up in the top lists behind the remaining Witchers and the Vampires themselves of course.

“Knowledge defeats fear. So the next thing that got to me was the history of the lady herself. All history is written by the winners. We spent a lot of time dealing with that. Talking over the past events. What had happened, why it had happened and what that looked like. Neither she, nor I, will deny that some really dark shit went down back there and back then. Not least because Humans didn't know what Vampires were and Vampires didn't know what humans were. Learning that they were thinking and feeling beings like the rest of us and that they were thinking and feeling beings like the rest of them. That was tricky.

“So here we are.

“So since then it has been about the two of us getting used to each other. Not just our characters but also my bodies instinctive, bone deep terror of what she is. The bone deep fear of the predator that she is. But we have found that, once that has been taken into account. We can ride it out. That over time, my body and instincts will get used to her and then realise that there is nothing to fear from her. It is hard and we work on it all the time. It is the main reason that we are waiting to properly love each other physically. Yes, there are the societal problems of not doing things until marriage. Problems that we both need to address and live with. But there is also the dread of how my naked body is going to react in the presence of a naked vampire.

“The simple truth of the matter is that she isn't human and while my brain might accept that, my body struggles. But I'm getting better. Whereas when we first met, Kerrass had to bully me to spend time with her. Back when she was just a young unmarried woman and I was just a young, unmarried man. Before I had become famous and before she was even Countess. Back when my father was still the Baron, before Jack and Francesca and all of that. A young, pretty woman in a light dress and a young man in smart atire going for a walk in a garden.

“Possibly one of the most terrifying times in my life. And now I am marrying that woman.”

I shook myself.

“But I have gotten off topic. What I am trying to say is that fear can be conquered. There is a trite little cliché here somewhere about how you can't be brave without fear. But you know that speech, probably better than I do. I can easily imagine a situation where you have been working with a young guardsman and had to deliver that speech. So why won't you take that advice on your own behalf. Why won't you cut yourself the same amount of slack as you would give one of those young guardsmen?

“What are you afraid of Captain?”

“I...” He shut down.

“Lets try it a different way. Work into it. Is this a thing that has been coming on for a while?”

He thought for a while before nodding.

“Ok. So when did it start. Work into the story. Work up to it.”

We rode in silence until we reached the tree line. It was as though the pulled a lever somewhere in him and he took a deep breath.

“We thought that the beast of Beauclair was just a normal killer.” He said. “A brutal one, a horrible one to be sure. People were complaining that they had seen something monstrous but, of course, we didn't believe them. I mean why would we? The problems of Toussaint were simple. Bandits were our issues at the time. Bandits, the insectoids that we hate and depend on at the same time, (Freddie: Apparently Kikkimores especially give something off in their secretions that interact with the soil in Toussaint to make the earth particularly good for growing grapes.). There were Slyzards up in the mountains and a few other flying things that meant that the bandit population was kept down. All of them were problems that could be cured by hitting them with various metallic implements.”

We laughed.

“Then Geralt turned up. Milton de Peyrac Peyran and Palmerin de Launfal who were both at the height of their powers, had knowledge and experience of Lord Geralt from previous interactions. They arrived in all the pomp and glory of the Knights Errant at the time while Lord Geralt looked like a vagabond. He arrived and, on the spot, slew a giant. Guillaume will be able to tell you that story as he saw it. A giant that had been plaguing Toussaint for years, if not generations and Lord Geralt rides up and shoots it in the eye with a tiny little crossbow so that it falls dead at his feet.

“Then the bastard proceeds to figure out the patterns of the killings, all still in the first day of his arrival, before identifying who the next victim would be. He didn't save Sir Milton but he gave chase to the killer and fought with him which was more than the rest of us had managed. Me with the entirety of the city guard and the entire order of the Knights Errant put together. In one day, less even, Lord Geralt had made a mockery of everything that we had done.

“I hated him. He then went round, almost literally cleaning up Toussaint. He fought in the Tournament, lifting the curse from Lady Vivienne at the same time. His fight with Sir Gregoire was something to see. He was like nothing we've ever seen before. He just worked at it. He didn't boast about his actions or his deeds. He would just... do the job and move on.

“He got paid. No-one was going to say that he didn't charge for his services. But even that was against everything that we believed at the time. You don't charge for your services. You get rewarded by a grateful Duchess. Or a grateful... whoever it was that you have rescued. There was, at the time, literally an office in Beauclair that monitored the behaviour and actions of the various Knight Errants and the more work that they did, the more they got paid. The more bandit outposts, the more random monsters the more... The more people that they save. Word would get back to that office and then the knight would be rewarded in money, titles and song.

“Even that, the Witcher turned down. Taking the money instead and reinvesting it in the vinyard that the Duchess gifted him with. Which, in and of itself, was a scandal. On the grounds that Corvo Bianco is an ancient vinyard of old reputations and quality. To be given to an outlander and a filthy mutant as well. That was unheard of. Then the Witcher took that place and made a profit with it. It's more profitable now than it has ever been in the past. That says something. I'm not entirely sure what it says.

“He wins the tournament at the time. He rousts out the majority of the entrenched local bandit groups. He rids the heights of the Slyzards. And all the time he was doing that, his competence threw the rest of us into disarray as he showed us everything that we were doing wrong.

Then he started to get down to it. He found the plotters. Syanna said that her group waited for a while in the hope that the Witcher would leave and when he did not. They took some steps. Exploiting all the holes in our defences. All of the things that we took for granted. Things that we took for strength while Syanna knew them to be weaknesses.

Geralt found them. He found that the most famous and trusted vintner in the realm was selling off the most prized wine that we have, in order to make a bit of money on the side. He found a treason that none of the rest of us new about when another famous and powerful landowner was plotting against the Duchy. All of it under my nose and I hadn't seen it.

“He found everything. I had been forced to admit that he had arrived and more than earned the money and the rank that he had been given. Detllaff offered his ultimatum to us all and then... Geralt makes his recommendation to the Duchess and she.... And she just.... ignored him. Mocked him even.

“I remember that moment like it was yesterday. Dettlaff had given us three weeks to produce Syanna. I wanted to turn her over to him. Geralt recommended the same. Fuck, even Syanna wanted to talk to the vampire and was willing to die, if necessary, to prevent Dettlaff laying waste to Toussaint. She is different now, but even then, she loved Toussaint. “But the Duchess made her decision and nothing that anyone would say would deter her. The only person that stood up to her was Lord Geralt. He was the only person that saw that and fought back and we nearly killed him for it. You ask Palmerin about it next time you see him. Palmerin nearly drew his blade on the Witcher in the Duchess' presence.

“I watched and I was appalled at the lack of respect that Geralt showed the Duchess. But then another realisation hit me. Geralt was right. He was the only person that was standing up to the Duchess. That showed respect, not scorn. I should have been the one to insist on that point. I should have been the one that insisted that Geralt was right and that we should do what the expert said.

But then, of course, the screaming started.”

Damien didn't say anything for a while.

“That was the beginning of the night of the Long Fangs.”

“When historians start to look back at this era of history they will say that Toussaint changed that night. A thing that had begun with the arrival of a Witcher named Geralt was solidified during the Night of the Long Fangs. That slow, inertia that was began with a professional showing us all what it was really like to be a professional at anything that came to a head that night.

“I had made my peace with Lord Geralt. I had accepted that he was, indeed, Lord Geralt and I had apologised, admitting to him that I had been wrong in my opinion of him. But I had not truly grasped what it was that I was wrong about until I went down into Beauclair that night.”

We rode in silence for a while.

“The memories come at me in a jumble.” He said. “I remember heat, horrible heat and that smell that can never quite be forgotten. Burning flesh that smells so much like roasting pork that it leaves you feeling hungry. I remember the smoke blotting out the stars and the leathery sounds of wings that beat with a horrible rhythm along with the drum beats of my men's boots striking the cobbled stones as we pounded over the bridge and into the city itself. All of that and it was nearly over before it began.

“In the opening moments, a Katakan slew two of the guard with a single swipe of it's claws. It didn't even notice the armour that it tore it's way through. Faster than a Witcher's blade and two men were dead.

“Another swipe of a claw and another man, a good man who had served at my side since the beginning was disembowled, screaming horribly as he held his own guts in his lap, frantically trying to fit them back in the tear that the Vampire had made.

“But the Duchess had ordered us down into the city and so it was that we went down into the city. I lost another man to a female Vampire. She just appeared behind him out of nowhere, naked and terrifying. She grapsed hold of his head and twisted before biting down into the exposed neck. I swear that he was still alive and looked at me with fear in his eyes as she began to drain the blood from his corpse.

“I actually managed to strike her. I actually managed to land steel to vapiric flesh. She certainly screamed but … I don't know, if she was human then I would have said that she screamed in shock and surprise more than pain. The kind of thing where some of the more uppity Knights are shocked that anyone would dare to strike out at them.

“She came at me then and for the first time in my life. The first time ever, I found myself retreating. I couldn't face this. Here was an enemy that I couldn't defeat by hitting it with my sword. That was the first time that I really felt what fear was. I have been afraid before, of course I have. To say otherwise is a ludicrous proposition. But it was always a fear that I could fight back against. Fear of someone bigger, more skilled or more... powerful than myself. Such fear is always overcome the same way. Step up, move properly and keep swinging. But here was a thing that I couldn't fight.

“But the strange thing was... I don't know why I'm telling you this. The really strange thing was that as I looked at her. A naked woman, maybe a few more ridges across her brows and some extra protrusions around her ribcage. Obviously elongated claws and teeth. But the strange thing was that as I stood there. Looking at this woman, covered in the blood of one of my men. I realised that she was beautiful. She screamed and all I could do was stand there. I froze. I think she smiled at me as she approached me which is when I got this.”

He gestured at the claw makes that scar the side of his face.

“The way she moved, it might as well have been a lover's caress before she laughed and leapt off to cause more chaos.”

He sighed.

“That moment rocked me to my soul. Lord Geralt would later tell me that the purpose of that night was to cause as much destruction as possible. Tying herself up with me and my men would not have fulfilled that goal and as such, she would have moved off to set more fires without really thinking about it. But that moment of terrified eroticism broke my mind. She laughed I remember before leaping off into the smoke and the flames that singed my brows and burned my throat. But I swear that, had someone not held me back, I would have gone after her.

“So, believe it or not Lord Frederick, I can absolutely understand your terror in the face of the monster that you love.”

I grinned at him. “How did you survive?”

“My Sergeant saved me. He grabbed me and shook me. There were only four of us that had survived from my initial squad by that point. He decided that the Vampire had done something to me. Some kind of mezmerising power that had held me still. Some power that meant that I was still in her power.

“In all fairness, I don't actually know if that is true or not. I cannot bear to ask Lord Geralt as to whether or not vampires of that type have that kind of power. I don't know which was worse. The first option where I was not strong enough to throw off the Vampire's power or the alternative. That I was overcome by the raw, primal beauty and horror that I was enthralled by. I find I do not want to know the answer.”

I closed my mouth, open from almost reflexively giving him that very answer.

“But my Sergeant took me in hand and dragged me away. There was a burning house where we broke down the door to get the family out and sent them to the palace. There was another street that was blocked by a burning wagon. Blocked by some of the more intelligent monsters to hem the people in. We linked up with another squad and tried to set up a bastion in the market square. It's almost a straight line from there to the palace and we rather thought of ourselves as some kind of beach-head. If we could keep the creatures out then we could be a rallying point for guard survivors as well as a central point for the people to get to and be directed towards safety.

“For a while, it seemed to work as well. I began to come back to my senses. We directed Crossbowmen to keep the roofs clear. We fought and even killed some of the monsters that I now know to be lesser forms of the vampires. The Fleders and the Plumards.

“And then the Katakan came. Smaller than a giant it was but more powerful. It hit harder, moved faster and had a primal intelligence behind it's eyes. It tore into us as though we were barely there. Crossbow bolts bounced off it's skin. Halbards glanced off it's back while swords and axe-blows barely slowed it down. And what injuries we could inflict on it did not seem to last as the skin started to close over those self-same injuries.

“Men were dying. Looking back, we had put everything in one place. We had been lulled into a false sense of security. Basic level tactics, we had been herded all together and now they were setting about destroying us with ease.

“I tried to lead them through the arch and back towards the palace. It was a retreat. I knew it and they knew it too. We were defeated by the monsters and there was nothing we could do to stop them. We go throught he arch and we some three more of the female.... Bruxa I think they are called and I remember shuddering in terror.

“The bank was there, the Dwarf in charge, a detestable creature despite the fact that he saved us that day, opened his door and called us in. We stood there in the bank's entry way as the bank gaurds used their dwarven build crossbows to drive back the enemy. I don't think we killed the Katakan but we drove it back at least, in search of easier prey we think.

“The smoke was thick. My men were dying and I was shaking with the fear of the entire thing. We barricaded the doors, shuttered the windows and resolved that we would sell ourselves as dearly as possible. A ridiculous, childish oath. We could no more protect ourselves than a toddler could stand before a charging boar. But it was an oath given and we were determined.

“And then out of the smoke came the Witcher and I realised how awfully we had erred. He came with his silver sword in hand, pale from the potions that he had drunk and with his strange, bookish friend that the Duchess seemed to know so well. A man who had walked through the fires of Beauclair and didn't even seem to be armed. We saw him toss something aside which one of my men claimed to be the head of the Katakan before the pair of them, quite calmly actually, asked about Syanna's location. They gave us some advice about how to fight the vampires. Geralt left us some blade oil to help us fight and then he just.... left.

“We manned the barricades, letting in the townsfolk that we could and when we felt confident enough, we made a break for the palace. But we soon found that it was all over by that point. Geralt had found Syanna and had taken her to confront Dettlaff and, surprisingly true to his word. Dettlaff called off his followers.”

We rode in silence for a while. It was an interesting narrative to hear it coming from that perspective. I knew the story of course but the changing in the perspective seemed to make it new in some way.

“That was the night that taught us that there were some things that we simply could not control. Toussaint was polarised that night. There were two camps, two schools of thought. The first, which I belonged to, was that we needed to adjust our thinking. That Lord Geralt, Detlaff and Syanna, between them, had shown us that our society was not as... secure as we liked to believe it. That our people were not all guarenteed to be honourable. That the Knights had lost many of their virtues. That we had become arrogant and secure in our safety. In the belief that we could not possibly be betrayed. That monsters did not exist in the night and that the bandits were relatively small in number and easily dismissed and defeated when in actuality. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“We wanted change. We wanted to adjust things. It had been made clear to us that there were things out there that we could not conceive of. Magics that would destroy us as easily as breathing that a brave heart and a stout sword could not possibly hope to overcome. That we, as a society, needed to adapt or die.

“Unfortunately, we were in the minority. Men like Crawthorne, Morgan and the majority of the Knights Errant refused to believe that the problem was as deep as that. They had been outside of Beauclair at the time and although I will admit that they came back with all the speed that they could manage, they did not see it. They did not feel that fear. The fear that I live with every day.

“To them,... They wanted to believe that if they had been here then the Vampires would have been driven off. That it was the weakness of men like me and the weakness of my guards that meant that so many had died. They refused to admit what would have happened. It was that arrogance, the besetting sin of our people, that almost led to our destruction.

“I was demoted and moved aside. Those of us that I agreed with warned that it would happen again and again and again until we took steps to address these faults were all shuffled aside. Sir Guillaume and his wife, who had both seen it first hand, were made into ambassadors and left. Palmerin believed that the problem was in the scattering of the Knights Errant. There were just a few. Men who had seen Lord Geralt in action and we found ourselves assigned to border posts or, in my case, my duties were reduced to almost administrative ones. I paraded.

“But then it happened again didn't it.” He sighed.

“Jack.” I guessed.

“The very one. Another otherworldly, magical entity that made mockery of us. That didn't even bother tearing through armour. He simply found the gaps.”

“Where were you the night of the Fish-Market?” I asked. “I don't remember seeing you there.”

“I was part of the logistics.” He told me with a sad smile. “It was my job to make sure that the people stayed inside. I had to announce the curfew and the Lockdown. I had led the customs searches for your sister and was preventing anyone from leaving. Important jobs to be sure but the Knights Errant wanted it all for themselves. They didn't want me, a jumped up, common-born, hedge Knight to take any of the glory. I read your assessment of what happened that night. The way that they were goaded into the position that they were in. That they had to reclaim their honour and that was all true. But they didn't want to win the new way. They wanted to win the old way. With shining armour and bright swords. With honour and courage. That was the thing that you missed. They needed to prove that the old way was still relevant. Was still valid and that they could keep Toussaint free and clear of the dangers of modern tactics.”

“And then the Fish-Market happened.

“And then the Fish-Market happened. It is an unpopular opinion but I honestly believe that that night saved Toussaint. Twice, in short succession, the old ways failed us. The old ways lost your sister. As the Duchess says, to this day, they made a liar and an oathbreaker of the Duchess. And then, after we lost your sister, the fish market happened.

“Where was I? I was commanding the relief force. The Palace guard, the dock gaurds. We were all at the palace waiting to be given the orders to come forth. It was a theoretical position at best. There was no way that we were ever going to be called forth. We were the escorts of the physicians. We were the... gesture, to say that we actually had people like that.

“We all knew it too. The fighting elite of the Imperial Guard. The Witchers and the Knights Errant. If we had to go down there then we were all fucked anyway. We escorted the surgeons as we waited for news to come from the Lodge of Sorceresses. I listened as they told us what was happening. I waited off to one side. I sat and closed my eyes as I listened and I prayed.

“I have never prayed harder than I did that night. Never harder. I pray, there is no such thing as an Atheist in armour. But that night I prayed harder than I have ever prayed to anything. I prayed that I would not have to go down there into that cauldron of death as I listened to the news, the death toll rising. The court groaning with the news of every Knight Errant dead and the sheer number of Imperial casualties. I prayed that I would not go down there.

“I remember shaking with the fear. I had moved off so that people wouldn't see it. I was trembling, sweating underneath my armour. I kept seeing that Katakan coming through my men, with the crossbow bolts bouncing off it and the halbards being swatted away as if they were nothing. I kept seeing the horrible smile of the woman that haunts my dreams even today. Both the horrifying and erotic sort.

“And I prayed that I would not have to go down there.

“To this day, I am prepared to swear that I did not hear it when the news came down that the Witchers had caught him. I swear I didn't hear the order that it was all over and that our people were going to escort the surgeons and healers down to see what could be done.

“According to witnesses, I saluted smartly and marched out to follow orders. The first I remember of that night was when I stood in the Fish market and I wept. Both for the loss of life and because I had not been there for that. Whether those were tears of sorrow or tears of relief?... Again, that is something else that I simply do not know.

“And now Jack is back.”

I was astonished as his voice shook. “I can't do that. I can't do it Freddie... I can't. The Long Fangs broke me. I can't go through another night like the Long Fangs and if I can't serve the Duchess in a time like that then I don't deserve to...

“What the fuck am I doing here Freddie?” He begged.

I sighed a little. “Believe it or not.” I began carefully. “I am relieved.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You've just proven that under the gruff manners and the steadfast expressions and the refusal to bend away from formality. You have just proven that you are human after all.”

It was interesting to watch his face. I don't think he could decide whether to be angry or whether he should laugh.

“How do you really feel about the Knight Commander?” I asked. Yes I was distracting him. But also finding a way through to him.

In case you are wondering what I could possibly have been thinking of at the time. Specifically I was thinking about what Rickard and company told me when I was having a similar crisis in Northern Redania. Looking back it had been good advice, unfortunately, I hadn't taken it far enough but that was my problem not Damien's problem.

“What?” He looked shocked, as though I had slapped him. Which I had really, just not in the physical sense. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“How do you really feel about the Knight Commander?” I asked again. “This is just you and me here at the moment. Kerrass in front of us doesn't care. Ariadne is keeping the lady herself occupied so that she's not listening to us.” I deliberately left out the part where I was pretty confident that Syanna knew more about how Damien felt than the good Captain did himself. “So how do you really feel?”

“I.... I don't know.”

“You know how she feels about you don't you?”

“Yes.” He admitted. “She is hardly subtle. She rubs it in my face at every available opportunity. That, when she is not arguing with me about nothing in particular.”

I grinned at him.

“Sounds like foreplay to me.”

His eyes goggled, appalled at what I was suggesting.

“But seriously, how do you feel about that?”

“I... I hate her.” The statement lacked in conviction.

“No you don't.” I told him. “Not even remotely. I think you hate the idea of her.”

“Now is hardly the time to be giving me advice on my romantic life. Lord Frederick.”

I laughed at him.

“Why not?”

“We are hunting a murderer. I have just admitted how....” His words stopped. As though he had run into a wall.

“That's not what I'm doing.” I told him gently before a thought crossed my mind. “Although, I will admit that most of the advice that I have ever received about my romantic life has happened in high stress situations. I mean, I literally met her when I was dying of the awful poison that was turning my insides into a paste. Even the advice that I am going to give you now, I was given when I was losing my mind in Northern Redania. Again, poisoned, running from combat to combat. On the edge of losing my mind. But that's not.... Anyway.”

I turned back to him.

“How do you feel about her. Really. What do you think of her?”

“I think she is is someone trying to be better.” He told me. “I think she has been through a lot, but that doesn't excuse what she did.”

“Forgive me Damien, but that last sounds like a rehearsed line. Like you say that to everyone who asks you about this kind of thing.”

“She is... She is trying to be better. I feel.... I feel sorry for her. She is fighting against the established order of things and no-one is helping her. But on any given day I don't know which Syanna I am dealing with. The refined, sharp, cutting lady of the court. Or the common woman with the crude wit that likes to drink heavily and get laid. I can't keep track of it and it's so.... frustrating and....”

He petered out.

“Exciting?” I wondered. “Then why do you help her?”

“I am ordered to.” He told me. The sternness of his rank re-surfacing to the fore. “The Duchess wants this to happen and it is my duty to see that through.”

“I'm going to call you out on your bullshit again here, Captain.” I beliberately used his title. “You are the Captain of the guard. You barely need to acknowledge each other's presence. But you help her at every step. And if you really hated her. You could also use your position and influence to make her life hell. You are the Captain of the guard, why are you not pushing to expand your influence. Guards like yours are often responsible for patrolling the roads, monitoring the borders, hunting bandits and isolating monsters. But you keep your men, almost rigidly, within their jurisdiction. It could almost be said that you are giving Syanna enough rope to hang herself with. But you are also supporting her in what she's doing. Why is that?”

“You are making me uncomfortable Sir.” He said stiffly. “The Duchess wants her to succeed. I want her to succeed.”

“Why?”

“Because she deserves to succeed. People mock her and tease her and put her down. But she has worked for this. None harder. She deserves it.”

“You're proud of her.” I accused.

“Yes I am.” He admitted after a while.

I gave him a bit of a rest. We were riding through the woodland that surrounded the headquarters, waving to the Knight guarding the place as we went and emerging into the afternoon air. Turning our horses heads back the way that we had ridden that morning we rode easily. There was a new, more frantic atmosphere to the surrounding area. Kids were frantically having as much fun as possible before night began to fall. Adults were still working at the steady pace that only villagers and farmers are able to keep up for any particular length of time before slumping into exhaustion. But all the time that they were doing that, they watched the sun fall steadily and carefully. Measuring the distance between themselves and safety.

“People are afraid.” Damien said. “Four deaths. I hate myself for saying it, but only four deaths and people are running for cover.” Scorn and shame mixed in his voice.

“That is another sign that it might be Jack.” I admitted. “It;'s not the number of deaths that is the problem. It is the fear that comes with it. It is that fear that is built upon by less scrupulous people to justify greater evils. To bring in controls that would otherwise be considered barbaric and tyrannical. Fear of a faceless, remorseless killer.”

“But more people are killed by bandits every day.”

“Yes. But then people lie, forgive me, people like you tell them that there are bandits in the woods and they accept that. They don't like it but they take that in. Bandits, everyone knows what bandits are. Several, grim, dirty, ugly men that steal and murder and pillage because they can't be bothered with any kind of real work.

“But Jack. Ah, Jack is the faceless Killer. What is he doing? Why is he doing it? Who is he? What is all this for? Will I be next? Will it be a friend of mine or a loved one or even someone that I don't like? Will it be that girl that I bought an apple off yesterday that smiled at me even though I didn't have the courage to ask her name. That is Jack. The mystery, the question that he poses. So even if he isn't there. Even though the chances of us being killed by him is, franky, so small as to be ludicrous. The mystery inspires the fear. The unknown is what terrifies us.