“That is the power of Jack. Even though, most frequently, he manifests as a man. An extraordinarily talented man to be sure. But a man nonetheless. Five deaths. Maybe six, and he will flee back into the imaginations of the people that he's terrified. And his impact will be felt for centuries to come.”

“Do you think it's Jack this time?”

I sighed. I had been deliberately avoiding the question. “It's too early to tell. I'm a scholar and a historian. In this case, if it is Jack, then I am not his type. The worst that he can do to me is kill me in order to get to his target and I find that I am no longer afraid of that.”

I chuckled. “Probably not the best way of looking at it all but there you go.”

It was my turn to feel gloomy and reflect on what was happening to me. But this time, I saw it coming. I realised that I was descending into maudlin thoughts. I knew that I was brooding on illness, relationships with family and efforts to hurt myself and do myself a mischief. So I took the steps to force myself from that mental path.

“I think that you and Syanna are made for each other,” I told him.

“What?”

“No, let me finish. I think that both of you are working your way into a centre, a centre that you share. You are the common born man, risen to knighthood. Everything that you have, you have had to work for. Your knighthood, the acceptance of your peers, your arms and your skills. Your deeds were hard fought and hard won. But that will never be enough. Not for your Duchess whom you love, nor for your fellows who will always look down upon you for your common birth.

“You are an intelligent man, even if your education might be lacking....” I held my hand up. “That is not an insult. Some of the cleverest people I know were lacking an education while some of the most mind-bendingly naive, ignorant and stupid people that I've ever met, had access to the best teachers in the face of the continent. You are intelligent but uneducated. Having said that, you are aware of the faults in your society. You can see the gaps and the arrogance and the way that people treat each other. Not least because you are one of the people that has been mistreated. So instead of serving Toussaint, the way it is, the nation that it is, you serve the ideal that is Toussaint.

“You serve that. The land of milk and honey. Where men are handsome, work hard and are noble of thought and deed. Where women are beautiful, also work hard and hold a Love in their hearts regardless of station or deed. You believe in the Knightly virtues and you can see how they would build a better place, even when so many people corrupt those virtues and try to turn the office of Knighthood into something that it is not.

“You see all of that and you work, you fight desperately for that Toussaint. The storybook ideal even though you know, in your heart of hearts, that Toussaint can never be that Toussaint. But by the Gods you intend to work as hard as you can to make sure that it is as close to that as it ever can be.”

I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes. He was taking it in and could obviously agree with a lot of what I was saying otherwise he would have rebelled against it by now.

“Now let's look at Syanna. She is everything that you are not with one exception that we will get to. She is nobly born. Indeed, she is born higher than anyone else can be in Toussaint. She is educated, skilled and talented. She had a doting sister, servants and probably even paid for friends. She was surrounded by everything that Toussaint is supposed to be.

“And she hated it. I only know some of the official lines but my understanding was that she did everything that she could to act out. Knowing that she was the less popular child she soon realised that she was always going to come off worse against her sister and so she acted out more.

“I can relate to that.

“So eventually, she was thrown out. Beaten, probably raped and abused, by the very Knights that she had been taught to believe would come to her rescue. So she, too, sees the holes in Toussaint. She sees the gaps and the injustices and yes, she reacted like the angry child that she had been and yes, she made some catastrophic errors. What was that error?”

I pretended to consider even though I knew the answer.

“She loved a vampire and expected that vampire to react as though he was human. Now all of Toussaint, including you, hates her for everything that she is not. Despite all of this, she still loves Toussaint. She still wants the Knights to be the shining paragons of virtue. She, like you, still wants to believe that Toussaint can be what children all over the continent believe that Toussaint is. And she is fighting to make it that. Despite all the people that told her that she couldn't do it. That she shouldn't do it. The people that hate her for her part in the night of the Long Fangs. She is struggling to make Toussaint a better place. A place that she can be proud of.

“Because she, like you, is intelligent enough to know the difference. To see the difference and the huge gap between what Toussaint is and what Toussaint could, and should, be.”

I stopped talking for a moment and took a breath before continuing.

“The two of you are working towards the same goal. When I first met the pair of you and she told me her plan of seducing you. I told her that you hated her. I was right too. Then she said that the thing that the two of you have in common is that you both Love Toussaint. That is because both of you are Toussaint and whether or not you like it. When you look at her, you see Toussaint. You see the Noble born woman who is persecuted and, she will hate me if she hears me say this, needs a bit of rescuing. From herself if not from any other. You see her and you see someone who is struggling to redeem herself. Someone who is working so very hard to be better and to make Toussaint better. What could be more Toussaint than that?

“And she looks at you and she sees the good and noble man. A Knight by virtue of action and deed rather than by right of blood or coin. A man who is devoted to his nation and his people. Who will go to any length to serve them both. Again, what could be more... Toussaint than that?

“And you both love Toussaint.”

“Then why is she so cruel?” He wailed. A much more serious cry of despair and pain than he had given at the feast and I considered my answer.

“I used to think that I know very little about women.” I told him. “And it's true. I do know nothing about women when they are romantically connected to me. But here?” I shrugged. “The answer is obvious sir. She loves you and thinks you are too good for her. She is trying to drive you away because she thinks she doesn't deserve you.”

He gaped at me.

“I mean,” I continued. “I don't know that. But I'm pretty sure I'm right. But even if that wasn't the case, and this is why I started talking to you like all of this in the first place. It's also the advice that a much wiser, much more experienced man than I am, gave me when I was distraught with everything that was happening.”

“Kerrass?” He wondered.

“No. A Temerian man, knighted on the battlefied by Constable Natalis by the name of Rickard. Currently serving as the head of the Coulthard house guard. He told me this before he took that post. He is a good man and a good friend to me. Saved my life more times than I care to think. You'd hate him.”

He grunted at that.

“He told me.” He said. “That I needed to talk to someone. That I should talk to the woman that I love about my problems. I did and it brought Ariadne and I all the closer together. I already loved her and she me. But of all of the things that have nearly gone wrong for the pair of us. The problems have always come up that we didn't talk to each other about what was happening. But, inevitably, when I told her about the problems. All the ugliness that I felt and the horror that infested my mind. Then not only did she help me, not only did she advise and council and help to ease the problem. But she loved me all the more for it.

“So that's my advice. Talk to the lady. She is your friend as well as your colleague. I can tell, you snipe and bicker with each other but I guarentee that she would die for you and you feel the same. I can tell. Talk to her. Do it at a time when you are in private and she doesn't feel the need to perform for an audience. Fuck, do it now. I could do with some time with Ariadne anyway.

He looked me in the eye for a while. Then, abruptly and suddenly, he turned his horse and pulled alongside the two women, Ariande rode up beside me.

“Matchmaking Freddie?” She wondered.

“I like to see people together.” I admitted.

“You're just an old fashioned romantic aren't you.” She accused with a smile.

“And you love me for it.”

“It's only one of the reasons that I love you.” She told me as she looked back. “They have their heads together. They are talking quietly.”

“I bet you the lead in our first dance that they beat us to the marriage bed.” I told her.

“No bet.”

We rode in silence for a bit longer, both of us desperately trying not to look behind us to see how the two of them were getting along.

“So who's your next target for coupling up?” Ariadne wondered.

“To be honest,” I began carefully. “I have not been that successful in the past. So far my only success stories have been matchmaking Dr Shani with Sir Rickard. That went fairly well and mostly, that went well because I got Emma involved. The next target is the same as the first target. Back from when I first noticed my overt desire to see my friends and loved ones getting together.”

“Kerrass and Princess Dorne?” Ariadne theorised.

“The very one.” I agreed. “The problem being that Kerrass is the one that needs working on. She's already there. Already bought into it but Kerrass?” I shook my head.

“Don't worry about it.” Ariadne said. “We put them in the same room together for a prolonged period of time at a suitably romantic juncture and let nature take it's course.”

“When did you have in mind for that?”

“Our wedding of course. I have it all planned out.”

“That's a little sinister my love. Not going to lie.”

She shrugged. “But I think you are a little harsh on yourself. You have been successful in two other major situations in getting two other couples together.”

“Oh?”

“Well first of all, you gently persuaded Jarl Helfdan to finally make his intentions plain to Queen Cerys.”

“I had nothing to do with that.” I told her. “I think it's much fairer to suggest that Svein and Hjallmar had that well in hand before I got anywhere near that.”

“Once again, a little harsh on yourself.”

“So who's the other couple?”

“Why you and I of course.”

“I seem to remember having very little to do with that as well.” I said after considering her words for a moment.

“It takes two to dance Freddie.” She said. “And two to make a romance.”

We rode for a while through the gently rolling farmland of Toussaint.

I have an almost overwhelming urge to wax poetic about the place. The drive to talk about rolling fields and little streams and rivers that feed into the greater one. Streams that move too fast to be able to properly freeze over. I want to talk about the way that the ice glittered in the weak sunlight and the way the ice seemed to hang in the air and shine.

But there are better poets and artists than I that have already done more than their fair share of making sure that the continent is already well aware of just how beautiful Toussaint is. We rode gently but with purpose. Mostly, we were taking our time so that Guillaume could catch up. But we soon came to the bridge that the Cockatrice is situated on.

The Cockatrice is a tavern that had been known to me from my previous visit to Toussaint as I had gone out her to get properly drunk a couple of times. It is a nice place and the drink is certainly palatable. It is as powerful and profitable as it is due to the fact that it's on one of the main bridges that takes you into Beauclair itself and as such, just about all travellers that come from the mountain passes that are coming to Toussaint and Beauclair with business have to go over that bridge.

There are plenty of other inns and taverns in Toussaint. Some of them have better food. Some others have better wine and beer. Some have better beds. Some few have all three but none would be able to say that they are in a better location. And speaking as a traveller myself, when you are coming in after a long journey with several nights spent by the side of the road, eating whatever you can catch for yourself and setting a watch for fear of bandits and monsters, you are not looking for much in the way of luxury. A clean bed, a cold beer, some hot food that you haven't had to cook for yourself, a kind word from a pretty barmaid, or barman if that's your taste, and a small gossip with the landlord. That's all you want and the Cockatrice provided all of that.

It's a rowdy place as well. Many of the field-workers go there before returning to their homes and it is one of those plaaces that epitomises the general rules of “work hard, play hard,” that Toussaint feels so strongly.

But the one thing that it does have going for it is it's fish chowder. I'm not going to lie, that stuff is worth the price of admission in and of itself. The Barman claims that it is world famous and although I am a little convinced that he might have been exaggerating in that regard as I certainly don't think that the greater people of Zerrikania particularly care about the chowder in the relatively small Duch of Toussaint, it is certainly famous throughout the continent.

And it deserves that reputation.

The place also has something of a macabre reputation as the third victim of the beast of Beauclair was found entangled in the nets that are used to capture the fish that go into the chowder. There is a certain kind of person that is fascinated by that kind of thing and people come from all over the continent to see that and to see the place where the famed Monster Hunter, Geralt of Rivia, was forced to take action.

According to what I've been told, there is a steady stream of well-wishers, visitors and other tourists that make the trip up to Corvo Bianco to meet the man himself and to bask in his fame. To the point that the estate was forced to hire some guards to protect the place. Not from the visitors as you might think. But rather in order to protect the visitors from the temper of the Lady of the manor.

But I digress.

The Landlord of the Cockatrice has capitalised on the macabre nature of his inn and now runs tours. He has employed a minstrel who will do a tour of some of the more gruesome bits of history of Toussaint. Out of curiosity I went on one, long after the events that are depicted here and I found the minstrel to be so offensive and wrong that it was actually quite funny. He dressed in what children's puppet shows think of as being a vampire's costume and he spoke with a blatantly false but kind of sinister accent. He then led us round Beauclair showing the sights of the Beast's attacks as well as some of the, what he called, “Highlights,” of the night of the Long fangs.

He also gave tours of the fishmarket and the sights of the Laughing Jack killings but he did so in such a laughably inept way that I found it funny rather than offensive.

The tour came to a conclusion at the sight of the killing beneath the Cockatrice where we were all then encouraged to go and have a drink and a bowl of the famous Chowder that had led to so grisly a fate.

I entertained myself for the entire thing by correcting historical inaccuracies. The Tour guide had an interesting response to this as he seemed to suggest with rolled yes and long-suffering sighs that I wasn't there and I couldn't possibly even begin to comprehend the levels of detail that this man was divulging to us.

But the beer was good, the chowder was delicious and the innkeeper was suitably mortified when I walked in and he recognised me.

But that late afternoon as we all trooped in, he didn't know me at all. We dismounted at the small stables where a groom came to look after the horses. I was still studiouly ignoring both Syanna and Damien's interactions with each other. I rather think that they were being professional and calm but as we trooped towards the entrance of the inn, Syanna walked next to me and gently pushed me with her shoulder. When I looked at her she just winked.

“Thank you.” She mouthed.

I nodded as we reached the entrance to the inn.

I know that these essays, journals and articles are meant to be regarding Witchers. Or at least, that is how I have justified their existence to my publishers. It has been noted that they no longer, entirely, fulfill that function and that is a criticism that I am more than aware of. These works have become more... a series of travel journals where I recount the adventures that a person can get up to when you go travelling with a Witcher on the roads of the Continent.

I have also been accused of romanticising Witchers to a rather extreme amount and that is true. It has also been said that, as a result of my works, the tolerances for a Witcher have been increased and people are much more trusting and accepting of the tall men with yellow eyes and two swords than they ever were in the past.

This is incorrect. In more civilised lands then that might well be the case but in the average town or village, Witchers are still treated with, at best, distrust and disdain, while at worst, outright hatred.

I have lost count of the number of times that Kerrass and I have been told that our money is no good and that there was no room at taverns and inns which, even to my eyes, are falling down and deserted. We have had stones and dung and worse thrown at us to walk on past.

And it was in this attitude that I was unsurprised when we walked into the Cockatrice to ask the questions that we had. Syanna led us into the inn and the people there did that familiar dance of local people the continent over who see and hear strangers coming into what they see as their territory.

Talking stopped. People turned in their chairs to examine the newcomers, someone in the back of the room coughs. It's always the same no matter where you go. In those places where people are playing instruments in order to lead some kind of dance, there is normally a few, discordant sounds that signify the band coming to a halt, always ending in some kind noise that sounds like a fart.

Syanna acted like she didn't care. Just moving past us towards the bar. Damien lounged in the doorway while Ariadne was still coming in. The atmosphere was increasingly tense as someone shouted. “Finally taking this seriously are you, Bitch.”

Syanna spun, eyes flashing. Damien stepped away from the door and it wasn't until this point that Kerrass stepped into the room. People actually called out to him and cheered his arrival. The returning cheer evaporated like a block of ice thrown into a furnace as Kerrass snarled at them.

“Did someone just insult my friend?” He asked quietly.

Instantly, on the spot, the atmosphere of the place changed.

“Master Kerrass.” The innkeeper exclaimed happily. “We haven't seen you since....”

“That's not important.” Kerrass hissed, his rage on display.

I know Kerrass well and I was perfectly aware that the anger was a pretense.

“Who insulted my friend?” He demanded and the inn's patrons flinched back. “We come here in an effort to stop the monster terrorising the countryside and this is the thanks we get.”

“Master Kerrass, Master Kerrass, please forgive us. It is simply a matter that...”

Kerrass spun on the poor man.

“It is not me to whom you should be apologising.” He said.

The innkeeper nodded. “Forgive me Ma'am.” He turned and bowed low to Syanna. “The company still mourns the loss of our beloved Appoline. Please accept my humblest apologies. A bowl of Chowder and a cup of wine each?”

Syanna nodded. I don't think she cared really and would have let the matter drop. But when a person offers you a bowl of the Cockatrice' chowder. You say yes.

The innkeeper scuttled behind the bar and brought a bottle and a tray of cups over to a table, from which he evicted a number of patrons.

I wondered if the man who had insulted Syanna had been sitting at that table.

“They will bring the chowder over shortly.” The Innkeeper said. “Now what can I do for you?”

“First, Adam I have no doubt that you know Knight Commander Syanna as well as Captain De La Tour. But may I present my friend and companion, Lord Frederick Coulthard of the North and his fiancee Madamoiselle La Comtess Ariadne Du Angral.”

The man's eyes widened at the title from Ariadne but he seemed to take the rest of it in stride. “My Ladies. My Lords.” He sketched a half bow from the waist as he poured us some of his... excellent wine. Although I will say that the wine that they use to purify water in Toussaint is better quality than some of the stuff that has been served at some noble tables in the past.

“Any friend of Master Kerrass is a friend of mine.” He said. I noticed that he had the proper twisting technique as he finished pouring that meant no wine was wasted.

“Adam de Guy here,” Kerrass began. “Is the latest in a long line of Adam de Guys who have kept the ownership of the Cockatrice going since the first Adam de Guy had the inn built and nailed the head of the Cockatrice over the door.”

“A Cockatrice that later turned out to be a fake.” Adam agreed with a chuckle before he became sad. “Now I need to find someone to carry it on as I doubt my son is going to be interested now that Appoline is no longer with us. He loved that girl.”

We all toasted the dead girl in silence.

“Are you taking up the hunt?” Adam asked Kerrass.

“Not really.” Kerrass told him. “It's more that Freddie and I are offering a different perspective. The hunt is still being led by the Captain of the Guard and the Knight Commander.”

The Innkeep nodded.

“I don't know what I can tell you then, other than what you already know.”

“That's alright.” Kerrass told him. “I would like a guide to take me to the site and to lead me down the path that she took. It's a long shot but I might see something that other people might have missed. But what we're really here for is to see what the connection between the four victims might be.”

The innkeep nodded sadly before taking a deep breath, steeling himself for the unpleasant part. “What do you need?”

“Freddie?”

“We're looking for a list of people that Appoline rejected.” I said. “We know that she was guarding her virtue carefully.”

“Aye, she was a good girl.” Adam said. “Although I rather think she might have preferred to guard her virtue a little less carefully, but she didn't want to upset her da you see. It would have broken his heart I think.”

He took out a cloth and blew his nose noisily. “Not that losing her has done the job any less efficiently.”

“Well, we will ask him the same question. We need a list of people that might have tried to... take her virtue. Either forcefully or as part of some kind of marriage negotiation. Both friendly and aggressive.”

He stared at me for a long time as I carefully reminded myself that uneducated does not mean stupid and that this man was a famous card player.

“That's a long list.” He said finally, “and it includes most of the people in this room.”

“As much as you can.” I said. “It's important.”

“What are you going to do with this list?”

“How we investigate...” Damien's temper flared but Syanna put her hand on his shoulder, restraining him.

“We're going to catch the bastards that killed her.” I said slowly, looking the man directly in the eye.

He nodded. “I think we can put that together.”

“No-one is in any trouble.” I told him. “But give us as much information as you can. How aggressive they were, how serious they were. All that kind of thing.”

“I can do that. We can get it together in a bit.”

“In the mean time,” Kerrass finished his drink. “I will go down to the river and have a look at these tracks. Freddie?”

I nodded and rose.

Damien and Syanna waited with Ariadne for the list as Kerrass and I were led down to the river by the young son of the Innkeep who Kerrass seemed to know quite well. He was a good lad and he seemed to be going through that part of adolescence which meant that everything was an excessively emotional drama. I couldn't really blame him in this instance but even so, the stammering and the tears and the large mournful eyes became grating after a while.

I have a whole new perspective on how my parents saw me when I was that age.

We walked down the river bank for a while, Kerrass occasionally stopping to look at the ground closely.

Now I stress that I have no idea when this happened. Kerrass would later claim that it was at one point that I was climbing down from bridge and the road, to the banks of the river. There was a slope, kind of picked out by some stone steps and some wooden ones but some of the going was fairly steep. I have no doubt that the young lady Appoline would have made the trip easily and on any other day, I would have done the same. But something was getting in the way of my moving easily over the land.

It turned out to be my dagger that was still strapped to my side in the same way that you would strap a sword to it.

Way back in the mists of time, when this record of Kerrass and my travelling together, I asked Kerrass about why he carried his sword on his back rather than at his side like everyone else. He claimed, and I believe him, that it was a matter of habit. That the simple fact that that was how he had been trained to carry and draw his sword meant that he found it natural. That he honestly thought it was strange that other people carried their weapons at their sides.

So he had no answer to the reason as to why Witcher's carried their swords on their backs but we came up with some theories and I was later forced to agree that there was some truth to the supposition. Witchers often have to travel over rough terrain. Climbing down into sewers to deal with drowners and the like. Climbing up cliffs to get to Wyvern and harpy nests. All the while, having your sword clanging and swinging around at your side is simply impractical. Apart from anything else, the blade striking the stone of the cliff would have made the matter impractical.

I found this out first hand that night.

There were other reasons as well, arguments for balance and the like.

At some point that evening I had to turn sideways in order to properly descend the bank in order to get to our destination and suddenly, the blade at my side was uncomfortable. It got in the way of where I wanted my body and legs to move so, angrily and on instinct, I moved the dagger round to it's old position across my belly.

I cannot tell you how much better the world felt when I finally managed to get that sorted out but it was only a little while later when I noticed that I had done it all. It was just one of those things that you do subconsciously. Ariadne has a term for it. She called it a moment of unconscious competence.

But there was still something wrong. There was still something missing that I couldn't quite identify that left me feeling off centre and out of focus. The same feeling that you might get if there is a small stone in an otherwise comfortable boot. Occasionally, I would try and figure out what it was that was missing but nothing ever occurred.

Kerrass moved carefully along the river bank, bending down to the track often with a frown and a look of concentration.

“How are you holding up Freddie?” He said, straightening up after one set of tracks with a look of disgust on his face. “You doing alright?”

“I'm not doing too bad.” I said. “There were some bleak moments back in the Chapterhouse but I seem to be getting over the worst of it now.”

I thought about it. Taking a bit of time to examine my own thought processes. A habit that is beginning to become increasingly easy. “Gotta admit.” I said after a moment. “It does feel good to be doing soemthing useful rather than moping around and getting in people's way.”

The young lad looked at me appalled but I ignored him.

Kerrass grunted. “It's a tricky balance.” he admitted as his eyes wandered over the ground. “I speak from personal experience of course. But on the one hand you need to be occupied enough that your brain isn't just resting on it's arse and having room to just stew in it's own juices. But on the other hand, high stress can mean that you don't notice it when you are getting sick. It's a tricky business finding the right kind of balance.”

“Any tips?”

“Goddess no. Plenty of things not to do of course. Over-dependence on a God like figure who believes that the struggle is part of worship is probably not the best case forward for you.”

We both laughed. The lad had clearly decided that we were both insane.

“I would also say that you need to be careful with your consumption of certain things.” He went on. “Alcohol, Fiss-tech, women, work, religion. All of that can be a crutch so learn what your limits are.”

I nodded. All of that made sense.

“Also, anyone that says that your problems are punishments for perceived sins gets to be punched in the face. I know that you like the worship of the eternal Flame but some of those bastards will chew you up with that kind of thing. So be careful.”

I nodded again. “Any more advice?”

“Oh, loads of it. Be careful of stillness and quiet. It's relaxing, don't get me wrong, but it also gives you room to think that, all due respect, someone in your position doesn't really need. It can give the mind room to grow and brood on unhealthy things.”

“So no more solitude in the chapel then.”

“Solitude in the chapel is fine providing you get skilled enough to remove yourself from that position when you realise that your brain is going to dark places. Or take someone with you, fuck Freddie, you're a rich man. Hire a chaplain who's job it is to monitor you when you get into those places to make sure you don't go mad. Just be careful that he's someone like that... fellow in the North with the wife rather than some fuck like Sansum.”

“So noted.”

“Also, think about hiring a minstrel of some kind. Someone that you can order to play you something cheerful when you're feeling low in order to force your mood into better directions.”

“I will think about that.”

“That's Appoline's cottage there.” The lad pointed. Obviously disgusted that we could be talking about things like this when the lvoe of his life had so recently been killed. I mock, but the kid was obviously upset.

“Right.” Kerrass said and walked up and down a bit. It really wasn't that far between the inn and where the cottage was.

“Are you going to help him?” The Lad asked me.

“Nah,” I told him. “Witcher's work best alone.”

“But it's getting dark.” He said. “He might need help.”

“Trust me wen I say, that the best thing we can do to help him at the moment is to stay out of his way. Witcher's have been doing this for a long time after all. And they can see in the dark.”

“What really?” Despite his broken heart. The kid was still young.

“We can.” Kerrass said. “But that doesn't mean that we can't see what isn't there.”

“Too many people have been up and down here?” I guessed.

“Yes and no.” He said. “There is that problem but all that has done is flatten the grass. The cold has made the ground harder than stone and there's nothing to see here. Nor is there any blood though.”

“What does that mean?” The lad wondered. I was not far off wondering myself.

“It means that she wasn't clubbed unconscious.” Kerrass replied. “Or it means that she didn't come here by this route. I think she did though. I think she was grabbed over by that rock.”

“Why?” The kid asked.

“Freddie?”

“Because someone could hide behind it.” I said. “It's still not conclusive over what happened.”

“What does conclusive mean?” The lad asked.

“Why don't you explain it to the lad.” Kerrass told me, “while I go and talk to Appolline's father and see if he has any more names to add to my list.”

I kept the young man back and took him down some exciting new linguistic pathways while Kerrass went to the cottage to discuss a few things. When he came out, he came with an older man who hobbled off towards the inn as Kerrass came back to us.

“Right. I think it's time for me to see where Appoline was found.” He said.

It was not an easy route to find the way as we had to climb over a wall, and a fence before going through another field to get to the place. The field was not easy to traverse either, still organised into rows of canes with dead vines, frozen in the cold. I had wondered if we might find any signs of passage in the area but that was a remote hope as the sun was setting. It would seem that there were plenty of areas where the canes and the withered vines had been damaged by passing animals and the like. So this was nothing new.

I was feeling a little discouraged. I had not expected us to find something. It had been a remote chance that we would find something useful. Indeed, I was more than a little bit convinced that the crime was being solved back at the inn, or that the process of that being solved was happening back at the inn. But even so, it was that sinking feeling that we were chasing a dead lead. I didn't like it. But that is the way of things when you are hunting a monster.

Even if that monster is of the non-magical variety rather than the creature or magical entity kind of monstrous.

The young man came to the corner of the fields as marked by a meeting of two stone walls and a fence. We could have found it though. It had become, almost a shrine of kinds. Several wreathes of holly had been laid there along with several candles that had been lit. There was a small box of candles nearby and I think that I won the lad's heart as I bent and lit one. Kerrass was more practical, sniffing the air and moving around a bit looking at the ground before his face twisted in disgust.

“Anything useful here is long gone.” He decided.

Then he drew one of his many knives and chipped away at the ground for a little while in all three parts of the ground where he dug up a little bit of the soil and rubbed it between his fingers before sniffing.

Then he nodded in the deepening gloom.

“Back to the inn I think Freddie.” He said and led us there unerringly.

“You know this part of the countryside well then Kerrass?” I noted.

“Yeah. The Empress wanted us all to be staying at the palace when we were here but several people, including Lord Voorhis and the Duchess thought that it would be unpolitical when the quarters there were mostly reserved for visiting dignitaries. Client kings and the like.”

“I rememeber.”

“So Cousin Geralt told us all to come down to Corvo Bianco and sleep there. It was not hard. I think Yennefer was a bit dismayed at all these Witchers invading her home but she seemed to reserve most of her ire for Lambert who was moaning all the time due to Lady Metz being housed elsewhere.”

“You know Lord Geralt?” The lad whispered in awe, his eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Kerrass grunted, winking at me. “The white haired puke owes me 20 crowns at dice.”

“Cor.”

“But yeah.” He turned back to me, “When you get more than a couple of Witchers together in one place, all you can do is train, play dice and Gwent and talk about the old days. Periodically Yennefer would throw us all out so she could get some peace, and so she could gossip with Keira and Triss. We would all troop down to the Cockatrice and do our best to damage his ale and wine stocks while kicking his ass at Gwent. We failed, he's actually really good at laying them down, even if he is found of the Skelligan faction.”

I laughed as I felt was my duty. The younger lad was looking at us both as if we were crazy.

Again, for the record, I am not the hugest master of Gwent, I always rather felt that time spent playing was time that I would better spend reading. But, during my time in Toussaint, I have dabbled with the Skelligan faction. To address the controversy, I don't really see the problem with them. It is just as easy to say that you want a traditional tournament, or ban this faction or that faction. There are closed deck tournaments and another interesting varient which I have seen in Oxenfurt is a varient on the rules that bans weather cards. So if you don't like the Skelligan faction. Just don't use it. It's not that hard.

Personally, I found the Skelligan faction a little too dependant on luck. Even more so than your standard game of Gwent. It's a deck of gambits where you can build several gambits into the deck that would reap high rewards. But if you don't get the cards out in the right order, then that can leave you crippled. I especially found them vulnerable to the Northern Realms and Nilfgaardian decks with all the spy cards flying around.

There is something to be said there although I don't know what it is.

We got back to the inn shortly just as the sun was dipping over the western horizon and again, I felt grateful for the fact that I was wearing my own clothes with my own travelling cloak. I will take comfort and utility over fashion any day of the week.

The inn was loud and full of light. Syanna and Damien were looking a little harried while Sir Guillaume and his squire had turned up and were taking a heartening drink. There was no way that we could deny some more of the, genuinly delicious, food that was on offer. People were still being active in the pursuit of such things, yelling out names and descriptions of people that either Damien or, now that he had arrived, Guillaume's squire carefully noted down.

“What did you find?” Syanna quietly asked.

“Not a great deal that I suspect you don't already know.” Kerrass told her. “I am pretty sure I could point to the place that she was jumped.”

“How do you know?”

“It was the only place on the track that someone could hide from someone carrying a torch. Say what you like about riverbanks, but they are often rather devoid of cover. Beyond that, time has not been our friend. She was taken from there and my guess is that she was killed where the body was found. There is blood and other... fluids that soaked into the ground there. But that still doesn't tell us much. The warmth of her blood did melt the ground a little before it froze again but there are so many tracks around the place that there is nothing there that could be useful. The tracks could just as much be from the people that found her as from whoever killed her.”

Syanna nodded before sighing and shrugging. “Ah well. We knew that would be a long shot.”

“We did.” I commented. “I take it you had more luck.”

“Yes, much more luck. Far too much luck. So much luck that it's probably useless. Guillaume is better and we might find something if we put the lists side by side.”

“Let's not do that here though.” Sir Guillaume had been listening while watching the crowd. “These people are ready to murder anyone that even hints at being the person who took their beloved Appoline from them.”

It was a fair point. Despite the volume in the room, the people were angry and sullen. As we listened a few of the regulars were talking to Captain De La Tour and Kerrass both, saying things like “Just a moment in the room with him, that's all I ask, just a moment.”

“We can probably talk Madam Isabelle into lending us a private room.” Syanna commented. “From what I understand, business is right down in the city after dark.”

“Would we not be better waiting until we have all the lists?” Sir Guillaume wondered. “After we speak to Lord Tratamara about suitors for his daughter we can take it all back to the palace or the guardhouse and examine all the leads there.”

“In theory.” I said, “But speaking as a researcher, it's far better to have an idea of what we're looking for before we start having to sift through far too much information. I don't know how long your list was Sir Guillaume but from the sounds of it, this one is going to be huge. I would expect Flower of the Nights lists of clients and rejected clients will be similarly huge.”

“And Marie Tratamara was going to be quite a catch.” Syanna added. “Not only was she beautiful but charming, elegant, well educated and the youngest child and daughter of a filthy rich, devoted Father. Her list is not going to be small.”

“True.” Guillaume began to nod. “However it is most interesting to me who it was that might have assaulted the lady in such a way as to cause her father's over protectiveness. Surely that is the biggest lead.”

“It might be.” I came back into the conversation. “But that can be misleading as well. It would be a mistake to assume that the two are connected.”

“It is also true to say that his daughter's good name is all that matters to the man now.” Kerrass added. “Grief can do unpleasant things to people and he may deny that such a thing happened, or that he might give a false name in order to besmirch an enemy. Such things are well within the characters of good men when they are grieving. We have to assume that our reception will not be rational. We must also be careful not to suggest to the man that we may have a suspect, or that any of the people on the list that he would be providing might be a suspect.”

“It might be worthwhile,” Syanna plucked at her lower lip in thought, “if we spoke to whoever her regular chaperone might have been instead of, or as well as, Lord Tratamara.”

“Are we done here?” Kerrass asked. “I just heard one man call out “That bloke with the red shirt,” as someone we should consider as a suspect.”

“Probably.”

Sir Guillaume made a speech. I couldn't have done it. Nor could Kerrass or any of the other people with us. It was the kind of speech that men make on battlefields in order to get people to stand in the way of enormous odds without flinching. It was a long speech, with flowery romantic language, talking about the goodness in the hearts of the men and women of Toussaint. About how he was proud to bear arms in the name of the people of Toussaint and about how his oaths mean that he loved each and every person there. About how he respected their courage and their passion for victory, care and about their longing for Justice.

But then he pivoted to tell them that this justice was his first concern. It was actually a speech about leaving the work to the proper professionals. A speech about staying at home and letting the Knights of Saint Francesca as well as the city guard and the Witcher here present, do their jobs.

And here is the remarkable thing about Sir Guillaume. No-one told him to do it. No-one ordered him to do it. Syanna didn't give him a nod or anything. We were rising to our feet and on our way out of the door with a few coins passed to the landlord in order to pay for our food and drink when we realised that Sir Guillaume was no longer with us.

Instead he had stood up and “Begged for the attention of the company.” Just one of those things. He had seen the mood of the people, he had felt the mood of the room and had realised that we had roused up their spirits. That the fact that we were taking them seriously meant that they were getting angry and that that anger would soon be directed at someone or something.

If he was any other man I would have guessed that he had a number of speeches ready and waiting depending on the right circumstances. I hope that he will not take offence if he reads this when I say that the speech was also quite manipulative. He acknoweldged their anger, fear and resentment that the death of one of their own had happened. He acknowledged that he felt the same way which made him to be one of their own. Then he reminded them of all of their virtues because he told them all that he knew them all to be good and honourable people. While doing all of that, he reminded them about the virtues of mercy, compassion, and not leaping to conclusions.

Then he promised results.

As we left, the people there were no longer murmering their dissatisfaction as to the inaction of the people in charge. Instead, they were talking about Sir Guillaume and the Knights of Saint Francesca. “Good man that,” and “We can rely on them,” were both comments that I heard as we left.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

But here's the kicker. The thing that separates men like Sir Guillaume from people like you or me. He genuinely felt all those things. He genuinely believed them and that belief and the honesty of that kind of thing meant that it swept up the people as well.

“Good speech.” I told him as we mounted up.

“What speech?” He wondered, his face a mask of confusion.

I shook my head and walked away, catching Syanna's bemused smirk out of the corner of my eye.

We collected Ariadne and started to ride through the deepening gloom towards Beaclair itself. Now that I was outside of the protective bubble of the palace, it was easy to see the changes that had taken over the countryside. Gone were the regular groups of farmers or townsfolk walking the tracks and the paths. There were no longer heavily wrapped young lovers walking together, heads close together giggling at some kind of private joke.

Instead there was a sense of watchfulness. Of waiting and fear. Captain De La Tour led us with Sir Guillaume along side him as we rode along the banks of the river to one of the lower gates. We passed a couple of groups, large groups of armed men that were walking to and fro in the streets. They parted for us with gentle bows of courtesy but I cannot have been the only person that heard the whispered and muttered comments as we passed. As they complained to each other about the fact that still nothing had been done and that “decent folk can't walk abroad anymore.”

One brave soul heckled Captain De La Tour from the safety of numbers. Wanting to know when he was going to catch the bastard.

This is not something new to Kerrass and I, we have heard this sort of thing before. Normally when we discover that the problem is not what the local populace thinks it is and are therefore seen to be wasting time on other, less important things. Normally the best thing to do is to ignore these shouts. There is a trick to it however, the trick being to know when the shout is just someone wanting to make some noise, or when the shout is someone who is really, genuinely angry and is coming to start a fight.

So we just walked on. As did Syanna, and Sir Guillaume.

Damien turned and shouted. “When I can stop wasting my time arresting you lot for trying to take the law in your own hands. I see you there Thom, hiding behind the miller. You want these things to stop? Then stop wasting my time.”

The group walked on with more sullen whispers.

The gates to the city were closed but upon seeing and recognising Captain De La Tour, the gates were opened and we entered Beauclair properly.

I want to state for the record that I had never been to this part of Beauclair. Not because I am ashamed of going to the Belles of Beauclair as I feel that I have more than made my stance on such establishments plain. I have nothing but respect for those ladies and, I understand, gentlemen that ply their trade with the use of their bodies and have many fond memories of visiting such places and the ladies that I have known in those self-same establishments.

But I had never been to this particular place.

The reason for that is simple, which is nothing to do with my engagement to Ariadne although I feel as though that is the reason that I should be giving. The reason is a purely practical one. Which is that the Belles of Beauclair is situated down near the docks of Beauclair and as a result, to get to it, you have to go down the hill from the palace. When I was last in Beauclair and was going out and about in the city, my aim was to get so ridiculously drunk that I could not possibly remember what was happening and there is a certain amount of practical logic that occurs to the drunken mind that might not occur to the sober one. That logic being that if I had walked down the roads to find another way of drowning my sorrows then, sooner or later, I would have to walk back up the hill in order to get to bed.

Where that logic falls down of course is that if I had spent the night in the Belles itself then I would have been able to stay there to my heart's content.

But the last time I had been in Beauclair, I had spent most of my time in the drinking establishments, of which there are many, that were closer to the palace itself. Which had the added convenience that I could start drinking all that much earlier in the day.

But for those people that don't know anything about one of the most famous brothels on the face of the continent, a place that is mentioned in the same breath as the Passiflora in Novigrad. Then these are some of the things that you should know. It is situated down near the docks and the lower markets. The kind of place where servants go to buy the fruit, vegetables and, most commonly, fresh fish from the incoming fishing vessels. The place is a normally thriving area with ships unloading and loading. Rowdy fisherman and sailors milling about and enjoying the short period of shore leave that they have to be able to take advantage of. Servants heading to market as I said, sellers and buyers as well as those special kinds of Lords and Ladies who like to think of themselves as being “men or women of the people” because they occasionally like to go down to the rougher areas of town and buy a round in a couple of pubs.

For those people wondering, the reason that they get away with that and don't just get their throats slit is because everyone knows what will happen if anything happens to these nobles. Which is that the Watch, guard or whatever would descend on the place in a tide and then all manner of normal life in the area would just stop.

If they went at night then that would be a different matter but I'm getting off topic.

The Belles of Beauclair was originally just a kind of dockside Brothel. The same as you would find in any number of places. Kerrass enjoys the company of the women in Crippled Kate's in Novigrad on the grounds that they treat him normally. Just like any other punter. But also because they can keep up with him when he decides to start drinking properly.

The Belles was a place like that. Rooms and girls hired by the half hour. Booze a plenty before turfing you out in order to make room for the next customer. But all that changed when Madam Isabelle took over the establishment.

Her ambition was simple, she wanted to create a place where people, not just men, but people could take some time to relax in the company of beauty. Whether that was the female of the species, or the male. But also culturally. She wanted the best food, the best art and the best music to be played there, before, should the lady or gentleman wish, the customer could be taken upstairs for the evening to continue in private.

She paid for the education of the girls, she put the process of choosing the clients into the hands of the girls themselves (the boys came along later). She no longer paid the workers by the customer, but more as a percentage of the amount of money that that worker brought into the belles. Which meant, the richer the client, the more they spent on food and wine and lost at dice and cards, even if the girl never took the client into a bed chamber, she would still get a cut of that kind of profit.

Madam Isabelle was not the first properietor to make some of these changes. The Passiflora hosts card tournaments and dice tournaments. The House of the Night in Vizima had long been operating on serving their clients with the most beautiful women and the finest food and drink. All over the continent, brothels have started changing their names from the more derogatory term of Brothel to the more mysterious versions of “Bordello's” and the like.

But what Madam Isabelle did was bring a lot of those things together and she was certainly among the first to spread the profits of the other elements of the business, gambling, food and drink, into the pockets of the sex workers.

She was phenomenally successful and as of time of writing, she was still not done. Anne and the Late Flower of the Night, were among the first that were properly educated and trained to be able to accompany noblemen to more formal parties so that travelling merchants would not have to go to the Duchess' ball by themselves. The fact that they could then be engaged for further services was unimportant. The number of such women was increasing and I am informed that there are a growing number of young men that fulfill the same function for widows or ladies who's husbands are elsewhere but still need an escort to certain things.

All with the utmost discretion of course.

The success of the venture also means that Madame Isabelle is expanding into the nearby buildings in order to expand the dining facilities and kitchens. She said, that although she could appreciate some bawdy humour, food fights and loud noises as much as the next brothel owner, she felt that there was a need for a quieter, more romantic dining experience for those clients that simply wanted to eat dinner in the company of a beautiful companion. A little bit of romance, even if faked and bought with money, can be a powerful thing.After that, she intended to expand the gambling side of things and I have no doubt that she will not stop there.

If the Duchy of Toussaint is ruled from the palace of Beauclair then I have no doubt that, given time, the docks will be ruled from the Belles. The powers of Beauclair are aware of this and Captain De La Tour maintains a watchouse nearby. Commander Syanna is even rumoured to have an office in the building although I never had the nerve to ask her if this was the case.

But where I might have expected loud noises and revellery, even in this, the early part of the evening, I was sadly disappointed.

The streets were all but deserted. People were hurrying to and fro with the speed of fear. They moved quickly, came wide around the corners so that they couldn't be jumped by someone hiding out of sight. They were always looking at the roof tops and all of them, absolutely all of them, had their hands inside their cloaks and coats where it was easy to imagine that they gripped the handles of long knives and daggers. As we rode into Beauclair, we even saw a guard patrol that was far larger than the pairs of men that I had seen in the city earlier and on previous visits.

Damien's mouth twisted in distaste.

There is no missing the building of The Belles. It's a huge thing right on the docks. It was an old building that has been converted to look like a swanky manor house from the outside, draped in red flags and bunting which, now, hung limp and forlorn in the night air. Where there should be fires and torches and light everywhere, the building looked all but deserted. The windows were shuttered and the door was closed.

There were things going on in there but this was no longer a thriving centre of commerce where people go for a bit of entertainment at the end of a long day.

Captain De La Tour called over a couple of watchmen to guard our horses which we tied to the railings outside while Syanna pounded on the door. It was a long while until we were let in.

And then we discovered the real reason why the Belles of Beauclair has managed to attain the status that it has. Which is that Madame Isabelle genuinely cares about the people in her employ.

We had gatecrashed a wake. The contrasts were striking. On the one hand this was a bright and cheerfully appointed room, but someone had draped all the artwork in black cloth. Torches and fires danced merrily in the sconces, hearth and baskets that lined the walls. But Empty vases and a deserted stage told a completely different story. And the largest collection of beautiful people that I have ever seen were gathered round a table with forlorn faces and plain clothes, many of them openly weeping on each other's shoulders.

I was just getting through the process of taking all of this in when someone slapped me across the face.

“I see how it is.” A female voice hissed. “It takes a nobleman's daughter to get you out of your bed and offer your aid. A bed that I made for you. A nobleman's daughter. Far more important to the likes of you than a common whore or a fisherman's daughter. Where were you when...”

I was blinking the flashing lights from my eyes and I saw a woman in front of me with her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

“Where were you?” She sobbed. “Where were you when my flower was having her guts torn open and her innards being spilled forth. Where were you when...”

“I didn't know.” I tried to speak into the gap. “I swear I didn't know.”

“Bullshit.” She snarled through her tears. “You tell yourself the lies that you want to tell yourself if it helps you sleep at night. How could you not have known, how could you not know?” The anger faded to a wail of grief.

Ariadne came to my rescue and did the one thing that, I imagine, none of the rest of us would have taken into account. She took the angry, weeping woman into her arms and just held her.

I was struck dumb with the force of it and, yes, the shame that I felt. She was right of course. I should have known. I really should have known.

“Not your fault Lord Frederick.” Sir Guillaume put his hand on my shoulder. “Not your fault.”

“I know.” I told him. The fire that was burning in the depths of my chest flared up again and I looked up at Kerrass. “I know it wasn't my fault.”

Kerrass wouldn't meet my eyes.

The woman, Ariadne and Syanna stood talking for a little while before the woman nodded and came to stand before me.

“I am sorry Lord Frederick.” She said formally. “I...I just....” Tears stood in her eyes again. I took a leaf from Ariadne's book and took her in my arms.

“It is I who am sorry.” I said. “The fault may not be mine, but the shame surely is.”

She waited in my arms for a couple of heartbeats before she pulled away and nodded.

Madame Isabelle is a beautiful woman. North of thirty I would think but there was no way of guessing her age. There was an aristocratic cast of her features that left me thinking that she might have some noble blood in her somewhere. A noble bastard result of some knight taking his ease in a brothel possibly, but I didn't ask.

Her dark hair is turning grey at her temples even though she looks too young for that to be happening. She was wearing a relatively plain dress at the time. A dark one of mourning, but she moves with a dancer's grace and a slight limp although I never knew where she got the limp. Rumour has it to be anything from repeatedly kicking a violent patron to being the injury that prevented her from serving in some nobleman's household.

She has a sharp gaze and I would warn any that might consider it, to not try and cheat either her or any of her employees. I could well believe that this was a woman that held most of the secrets of Beauclair in her bodice and also found myself wondering if she was in the employ of the ducal court yet. Or if not, how long before she would be.

“How can I.... How can I help?” She visibly forced herself to calm. In many ways, she reminded me of the way that Ariadne does that. It was curious, watching the same process of hiding extreme emotions behind a mask of calm and formality.

She had shifted her treatment of us I think. We had stopped being intruders and people to her, instead, we had become customers. Only this time the customers were trying to right a wrong.

“We need a room.” Syanna stepped forward. Taking charge again. “A private room with a large table and chairs.”

“Notepaper,” I added. “A hide or a slate if you don't have it or can't spare any. Something to write with.”She nodded. “All of that is easy to lay our hands on. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Syanna said, stepping closer. “We need Flower's client list. Who she accepted but also, in particular, who she declined.”

Isabelle frowned in thought. “We should speak privately. Such information is guarenteed as private.”Damien and Guillaume both opened their mouths to speak but Isabelle held her hand up. “I am perfectly accepting of the probability that her killer is in those lists somewhere. Indeed, it seems rather obvious that that be the case. However my name and my house stand surety for the discretion of all my girls and boys. I am sure that some among you would have cause to agree to those kinds of measures.”

“I cannot speak for any else here that might have.... enjoyed your services.” I told her. “But my reputation is not something that I care for that much. Especially when it comes to the lives of people that I might save otherwise.”

Madame Isabelle looked at me for a long time.

“But you are a rarety sir.” She told me. “And, if I may be so bold, political, mercantile, military and other alliances do not depend on your reputation where they would for some of my clients. Some of my clients have marriages that would be dissolved if it were found that one, or other, of the participents were unfaithful in matters of the erotic.”

“Are you saying no?” Syanna wondered with just a hint of steel in there.

“No.” Isabelle replied. “But I do want to know how the information will be used. And... I will not allow my copies of the lists to leave these premises.”

Syanna nodded.

“We cannot allow you to know the identity of any of our suspects however.” She countered. “I know you Madam. Your wrath is feared in Toussaint and not without reason.”

Madam Isabelle's eyes flashed before she calmed again. “Follow me please.”

She led us through the building and up some stairs, the sounds of gossip started up again as we went out of sight from the main room. Eventually we came to a large room with something that would pass for a banqueting table in the middle of the room with several chairs around it.

“We use this room in order to teach some of the youngsters how to properly wait at table.” Isabelled told us. “I can fetch you some paper and charcoal to make notes but before I bring you the records, you will explain to me how you intend to use them or I will see them burned.”

Syanna looked at each of us.

“I will not remind you that what is said here needs to be kept discreet.” She told the brothel keeper. “As your discretion is obviously legendary. However it does.”

Isabelle nodded.

“We are following a lead that Lord Frederick has led us to.” Syanna said. “The being Jack chooses his victims arbitrarily. Who they are is unimportant to Jack, it is what they are that is important. We believe we have found the arbitrary connection between the four dead women.”

“So it is Jack.” Isabelle breathed.

“Maybe not.” Syanna said. “Lord Frederick explains this better.”

Isabelle turned to me.

“There are,” I began before having to clear my throat. “There are a number of instances in the past where people have used the legend of Jack to hide their own crimes. There are other factors here that would suggest that what is happening here is not the work of Jack. Just as there are factors here that would suggest that it is. But short of catching him in the act... What the Knight Commander is saying is that there is an arbitrary connection between the four victims already. However, if there is a more human connection, a more human motive, then it is not Jack and we might be able to catch a killer.”

Isabelle nodded. “Can you give me an example?”

“Certainly. How many would you like?”

Kerrass groaned. “Don't get him started Madame, we will be here all night.”

She smirked at that.

“Very well.” I considered. “Let us say that Jack is killing priests of... Saint Lebioda. If there is no connection between those priests then it is the work of Jack. If, however, the priests turned out to have been trained at the same seminary where one of their classmates died in a rather specific accident.... then there is a real motive that connects the priests and that makes it not be Jack.”

“I see. So how does it affect me?”

“The “Jack” pattern.” I said. “Is that all four women were selective with their affections and had a habit of rejecting romantic advances. The first, because her father wasn't ready to let her go and she still honoured her father's wishes. The second because she was uninterested in such things and wanted to be a nun. The third.” I gestured at Madame Isabelle, “because she was good enough at her job that she could afford to choose her clientele and the last because... we think... her father wasn't ready or willing to accept suitors on her behalf. So all four women were selective with their affections, if they gave them out at all.”

Isabelle nodded.

“However, if it becomes clear that all four ladies rejected the same person then we have a motive that has nothing to do with Jack and this becomes a copycat series of killings.”

She nodded again.

“We have the lists of those men and boys that were rejected by the first two victims. We hope to narrow the field of suspects using your records and then we will take the results to Lord Tratamara.”

Isabelle nodded. “You could tell me who you suspect and then I could check the lists to see if that name....”

“Come on Izzy.” Syanna groaned. “We are not.... What did we say downstairs. We are not going to give you the names of any potential suspects for you to pursue on your own. If you don't want to help us then that is fine, we will leave. But I would remind you that no matter how powerful you are or think you are, no matter how many friends you have at court or how much dirt you have on powerful people. You exist on sufferance.”

The words landed in the room like a hammer striking an anvil.

“I know this,” Syanna went on, “because you have nothing on my sister who chooses her Lovers with greater care than you can imagine. Nor Captain De La Tour here as he is far too annoyingly incorruptable to use your services or to be ashamed of the matter if her did. Nor do you have any dirt on me.”

Silence fell as the two formidable women stared at each other.

“We are trying to catch, either, a killer... or an extradimensional entity of fear.” Syanna went on. “You can help us. So we are asking for your help. You can help us or not, but do not... bargain with me.”

Isabelle rose. “You are right of course. Nor will I admonish you for your threats. I spoke out of sorts as my grief is all to raw. I hope I have not ruined our friendship Sylvie.”

“Ah Izzy.” Syanna laughed as she moved round the table and hugged the other woman. “You are grieving. I am sorry for forcing the issue.”

The two women embraced for a short while before parting.

“I will fetch the papers.” Isabelle said, “And I am aware that making threats is tasteless, I shall offer rewards. If the killer is human and you can catch him. Each of you have a night here on the house, full treatment.”

We looked at each other for a moment as she moved to the door.

“I cannot speak for the others.” I said. “But if I come back here, I would properly pay for any services I received.

Isabelle looked at me, her hand on the door handle before she turned to Ariadne. “You are lucky in him,”

“I agree.” Ariadne told her.

Isabelle turned back to me with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “When your wife brings you back here... for a birthday or anniversary gift or something.” She told me. “Then I shall remind you of what you just said. And yes, your betrothed is well known to me and there is a reason why she came to me to engage Anne's services.”

She turned back to Ariadne. “The cost of which will be removed from your tab.”

Then she left.

Kerrass and I turned to look at Ariadne. I cannot speak for Kerrass but my mouth was hanging open.

Ariadne was unashamed. “I told you before Freddie. Sometimes a Vampire has needs and when I seek to meet those needs, I engage the best. Novigrad or Oxenfurt are too close and I would be recognised, Vizima means that I might meet someone, but this far away lends a certain anonymity which is useful.”

I stared at her for a moment before blinking and shaking myself.

“Lets have a look at these lists.” I said.

“How do we do this?” Guillaume pulled over a chair, reversed it and sat down.

“Take it from someone who knows.” Kerrass spoke up from where he was making himself comfortable near the door, “and from someone who has been in this position before. We do this however Freddie wants to do this. On a horseback? Call for a knight. In the lab? Call for a Sorceress. Against a monster? Call for a Witcher. Finding patterns and details amongst mountains of insignificant details? Send for Freddie.”

“You make it sound romantic.” I told him as I sat in the middle of the table.

He shrugged. “Tell me I'm wrong?”

“What do we do while you're looking?” Syanna asked, looking resigned.

“It might be useful.” I began, taking the rolls of parchment from Guillaume and unrolling it to my right. “To ask as to how Nightflower went about choosing who she took on as clients, and how she rejected those people that didn't suit her... criteria? I think that's the best word for it.”

I set to work. The list of suitors regarding Miss Donnet of Fox Hollow was considerably shorter than the one from the Cockatrice regarding Appoline.

“Talk to me about Fox Hollow.” I said absently as I started reading both lists at the same time.

Yes it can be done. Don't ask me how though. It was a skill learned over time in the libraries of Oxenfurt academy and in various places on the road with Kerrass and I can only say that it took a long time to get that skill into place. One day, I just realised that I had several texts open in front of me and that I was taking in the information from all of them. I will say that it only works if all the texts are regarding the same thing.

“What would you like to know?”

“General stuff. How well off are they are they... are they a community or a collection of individuals.”

“They're more a group of individuals.” Sir Guillaume took up the account. “They are a small village, relatively speaking, that makes it's living off the river. The loading and the unloading of stone from the quarry mostly as that's the closest harbour area for the stone to be placed on barges.”

I nodded. I knew this stuff already but it helped give me the character of the names that I was looking at.

“It was taken over by bandits at one point.” Guillaume went on. “Happened back when the quarry was cutting down on production due to the presence of some local monsters. So some of the villagers wandered off to find other work and the bandits drove off the remainder. Then Lord Geralt came along, killed the monsters and drove off the bandits meaning that the villagers could come back. I judge that it would be a community with the next generation. Those kids, which included Miss Donnet, were fairly close-knit. Prophet only knows what's going to happen to them now.”

“And the Cockatrice is one of the centres of commerce in Toussaint.” I said as I looked at the much larger list. It was not a question but Guillaume answered it anyway.

“Yes, that's right.”

“How easy would it be to come across Fox Hollow randomly?” Kerrass wondered, asking the question for me.

Guillaume scratched his chin. “You would struggle to get there unless you had business at the quarry.” He eventually decided.

I rolled my shoulders as I sat. I was uncomfortable again, something missing. I wanted, or needed a weight at my shoulder and I didn't know where that weight was. Or what it was. I blinked and shook my head.

The door opened again and Madame Isabelle walked in with a large tome under her arm that I recognised to be some kind of ledger format. She handed it to Syanna and opened it, showing the Knight Commander how it all worked.

But I was lost in the lists so I missed the conversation that followed which Ariadne recounted for me later.

“How did Flower of the Night choose her clients?” Kerrass asked.

Isabelle sighed. “Ok, let's just make a couple of things clear about the way that the business works.”

She settled into a seat. “Or at least, how it works in my particular corner of the world. I agree with the saying that no-one in their right mind, no young girl or young man, wants to make their living by being a sex worker. There is a small period of time where young girls, especially when they are on the poorer end of the economic scale, might be able to see the romantic side of things. Seeing the finery and the makeup and the loose hair. They might see the men courting the more wealthy courtesans and that might spark something in their souls.

“But as soon as a young person realise the truth of what's actually involved, no-one wants to make a living of being a sex-worker. The realisation that you will be hired and then not really have a choice about who you give your body to is a hard one. Finding out that your virginity has a price is one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone. It, forever, soils your relationships with other people. Especially romantic relationships, knowing that what you would have given to someone who you love and who loves you back is now being given to the highest bidder is something that can never be walked away from.

“And those people that come to it later in life often find that their memories of young and innocent times are tainted. Women in our line of work, men too now that society is happier with that kind of thing, tend to die young and die hard. The best places can hire an alchemist and a surgeon to examine for disease and the like but many can't. I can provide an education for my young folk, but many can't. Disease is rampant, abuse is rampant and there is always a risk, always a risk no matter how often we inform people differently, that a client believes that the use of a body for sexual purposes means that they can use that body for whatever they wish. Beating with a stick for instance.”

According to Ariadne, the only people uncomfortable with this speech were Guillaume and Damien. Ariadne knew all of this of course and so did Kerrass who has regularly claimed that there have been years where the only kindness he had received needed to be paid for. Syanna didn't change her expression either, which speaks for either her history, or her self-control.

“So no-one comes into this life by choice is what I'm trying to say to you.” Isabelle went on. “But after a while, what can come into it is a certain amount of job satisfaction. Physical pleasure comes and goes. A skilled worker can trick a body into a state of arousal and orgasm without enjoyment coming anywhere near the act. After a worker can achieve a certain amount of Job satisfaction from taking a client and reducing him, or her, to a puddle of sexual gratification then that can even become enjoyable it can become... fun.

“Normally this happens when a client is both caring and skilled. And after a while, an experienced and skilled worker can tell after a few moments of conversation, whether a person can fall into these categories. Also for the record, the vast majority of my girls and boys would much rather caring over skilled, any time.

“Now I can see you growing impatient and that is fine. I can understand that. You are wondering what the point is. Flower was one of the best girls that my line of work has ever seen and will ever see again. Leaving aside her physical attributes which were not inconsiderable, she had the best instinct for people that she would be compatible with. Her looks, skills and temperament soon meant that she was in demand which soon meant that she did not have to take anyone and everyone.

“She also had the best.... She found enjoyment in her work. If you could create a person in a mages laboratory and have them fashioned to be the ideal sex-worker then you would have come up with Flower of the Night. She liked doing this job. True, it had made her rich, but she liked it as well. She could have retired years ago but she didn't. Not only because she liked it but because she wanted to help those workers that came after her. She was one of my investors. She had the looks, the attitude, the character, the mood, the bearing, the enjoyment and her body and mind were an instrument that she could control in every circumstance.

“So she could afford to choose who she wanted. She had regulars to be sure... You will have been told that her training and looks meant that she could pass as a noble lady.”

There was some nodding around the room.

“Well she would also choose people based on who she felt deserved it. I could see no pattern to it. She took clients once and then never again. She took regulars. She took clients from all walks of life. From the lowliest farmer all the way up to the highest Lord. She takes frightened young virgins as well as old widowers who miss the company of women in their lives. She claimed to be able to walk into a room and choose potential clients from the lineup and I absolutely believed her.

“But no amount of money would persuade her to take a client that she turned down. I once had to hire guards to prevent a visiting Northern Lord from setting his guards to take her away with him in order to make her his wife or mistress. She was having none of it though and eventually we had to call the guard.”

“I remember that.” Damien said.

“Who was it?” Kerrass wondered.

“He's long gone. Tailles, his name was from Ellander. Uppity little puke here for the tournament.”

“So she was arbitrary in her choices.” Kerrass said. “Did she ever explain this choice or that one?”

“She would just say that this one or that one felt wrong, or felt right. It seemed like an instinct of some kind. She even once said that she was wrong for one person but recommended another worker that would be right for the client. That is how Lord Frederick over there got Anne. Flower said that Anne would be better suited for Lord Frederick.”

“Interesting.” Kerrass said.

I was deep into the lists so I didn't hear that part. Later, much later, I would be told about that interaction and shiver at how close the two of us came.

“Who's this?” I asked Guillaume was sat next to me watching me as I pointed at a name. “Terrence the bargeman.”

“He's a small boat owner.” Sir Guillaume told me. “He works the river ferrying goods up and down. Merchant goods, that kind of thing. Has an inflated sense of his own worth.”

“He's on both Appoline's list and Miss Donnet's list. Offering Marriage.”

“He has decided that he needs a wife, but is obsessed with looks only which makes him superficial. Or at least that's what Master Donnet tells me. Apparently he's offered marriage to all of the young and pretty girls around Toussaint that are near the river.”

“Is he a client of Flower of the Night?” I asked Syanna who was near the ledger.

“He's not in the book.” She said.

“He could never afford Flower. I doubt he even knew of her existence.” Isabelle said. “He comes in occasionally but is only after something attractive to vent his lusts on. Flower wouldn't have even looked twice at him.”

There was some small conversation while I looked for my next possibility.

“I think it's time you leave us Isabelle.” Syanna said as she steered the Ledger round until it was in my line of sight.

Madame Isabelle frowned a little before her face seemed to relax and she nodded before rising. “I will have someone send in some watered wine.”

I'll be honest, I didn't even notice her leave.

“Who's this person?” I asked. “A Knight with a lion on his shield and on his armour?”

“Sir Jean de Carnier.” Guillaume answered. “He is known for being remarkably randy and is famous for a number of mistresses, but I had not heard of him taking it to heart whenever he was turned down and always made sure that any resulting liasons are looked after. His wife is considerably older and, as far as anyone can tell, well aware of his liasons.”

“Where is he at the moment?” Kerrass wondered.

“He commands the Garrison for the Northern pass.” Syanna responded, making a note of her own. “I don't think he's the right kind of fit for this but I will have someone check that he's always been there.”

I had started scanning the ledger that Isabelle had brought in.

“Hey Sir Raoul's in this ledger.” I exclaimed suddenly and the fantasy ran off in my imagination. Sir Raoul the White being disgraced, clapped in irons before being publicly dragged through Beauclair in his shirt sleeves as his air of arrogance is beaten down by the thrown eggs and otherwise rotting produce. “Wouldn't it be great if it were him?”

Then I sighed.

“It won't be though. That's too easy. Not on either of the other lists anyway.”

“It is a nice thought.” Syanna agreed.

We spent a couple of hours like that, poring over the three lists, occasionally running off on flights of fancy as we found some form of corroboration in one list that wasn't in another. Theories would be suggested, discussed, dismissed and then we would go on to other details. It was hard work and un-satisfying. Part of the problem was that, especially in the lists coming from the Cockatrice, there was no real identification. No names to go with the faces. A knight who had a helm with a red crest could have been any number of people. As could “A merchant with the face of a warthog” was another.

The list about Miss Donnet was much more useful. If the visitor came from out of town then, in the manner of all small villages and towns, the people there kept a close eye on them and watched them intently. Their names were discovered and the details were carefully kept. As Guillaume had said, it was not a town that tourists or visitors to Toussaint would go to unless they absolutely had to. It was a place of merchants and fishermen.

There was lots of names common to the two lists from Miss Donnet of Fox Hollow and Miss Appoline of the Cockatrice. Most were easily identified as fishermen or barge people that made their living from the river and would therefore run into both women. But none of them would have had the kind of skills that would be needed to take down some of the trained swordsmen that Lord Matamara had at his disposal in order to protect his daughter. That was one of the few things that we knew the person that we were looking for, if it wasn't Jack, had to have. They had to be athletic and skilled with the blade.

If it wasn't Jack.

But it would inevitably turn out that someone in that line of work would not be in Flower of the Night's ledger. So the only way that she could have turned down such a person would be if he had propositioned her on the docks or when she was passing through in this direction or the other.

There were also quite a few people that both the Belles of Beauclair list had in common with the Cockatrice list. Men who had the wealth to spread around in the Belles but also liked a pretty face at the inn. These were generally merchants who were arriving after days, weeks or longer on the road with only donkeys, guards and whatever for company. They get to the cockatrice and see a pretty face and then ask to sleep with it. Not ideal behaviour, but certainly understandable. There was also a large number of people who were looking for official mistresses. Men who got their rocks off in the Belles and would literally tour the countryside in an effort to find pretty faces, hoping to dazzle these women and girls with extravagent gifts and flowery words. Promises of the ability to provide for the girl...

“Until they got pregnant,” Syanna said darkly,

… and family. Often these were young, strapping older sons who had inherited struggling lands and who the younger and prettier brides could not be found with sufficient dowrys to be able to prop up the ailing holdings. As a result, they found themselves married to older widows who came with proper amounts of money. Again, an understandable motive, even though it was far from ideal.

This was the particular route of enquiry that gave us the most progress and it was this list of enquiries that gave us our most promising suspects.

There were men who, presumably and from the testimony of Guillaume, had heard of the beauty of Miss Donnet and had approached her father regarding “coming to some arrangement.” Apparently these men were either merchants or nobles or Knights or sometimes a combination of all three. All of them local enough to Toussaint to have heard about Miss Donnet's beauty. They would have approached Miss Donnet with an offer of a library that would dwarf anything found at a convent and tutors that would expand her horizons. When Miss Donnet gave the expected answer, they would appeal to her father. The Father would also react appropriately and the person would move on.

Guillaume's exhaustive knowledge of the heraldry of the travelling Knights and nobles came to our rescue, as did Captain De La Tour's knowledge of the men that made their money through trade. Enough so that there were actually several names that appeared on all three lists.

But we were still not hopeful. The hour was getting late and we had already resolved to speak to Lord Tratamara in the morning. After all, his daughter had only died the previous evening and would be dealing with the invading army of well wishers that would have arrived at his house. Not exactly the best time to be dealing with a Witcher and the Captain of the Guard turning up.

But neither were we quite willing to give it up and head for home yet so we sat around and talked about what we had found.

There was also a dread that none of us had articulated up to that point. That dread was that it was now night time. If “Jack”, whether supernatural or copycat, was going to strike again then it was going to be soon.

There were patrols out. The guards were in the streets and the Knights Francesca were in the countryside. We knew this. But there was a, not small, part of us that was also waiting for the alarm bells to start ringing.

For myself, I mostly was just listening to the discussion. Looking back, I don't think I had made my mind up as to what was going on. But I felt wrong. Something was missing and I had no idea what it was.

I was trying to practise the self-examination that I had been told was necessary. That looking at the self which would mean that I could tell, or guess, what was going on in my mind so that I could properly manage my mood and see if I was making myself ill. None of those signs were showing though. My breathing was regular, I wasn't light-headed, my pulse was regular if just a little bit fast which could easily be put down to a generalised excitement.

But something was missing. Something was off. I felt unbalanced and I couldn't figure out what it was.The discussion had come back around. We had a list of suspects that we would be taking to Lord Tratamara in the morning. One of the problems that we were running up against was the swordsmanship thing. A problem that was best brought together by this small speech from Captain De La Tour.

“The problem is that there are only a couple of these people, only a couple and I believe none of them. There are only a couple of these people that have the skills to see off that many armed guards. Like Sir Guillaume, I too, know the men that were guarding Lady Marie, skilled swordsmen all, even if I disagree that any of them would make good candidates for knighthood. But they were skilled professionals at that. It would take a master swordsman to be able to off-handedly kill one of them, let alone several, with an added chase, then to kill and rape a woman before escaping through the city away from pursuing guardsmen.

“So the only way that it could be any of these people is if they had been training, in secret, to a level that belies their physical appearance and conditioning. Then they would have to become consummate actors in order to be able to convince people that they don't have the skills. That suggests a level of planning apart from anything else that I don't think any of these people are capable of.”

And that was our problem in a nutshell. We had suspects, nearly a dozen of them in fact. But none of them inspired confidence and when I came back to the conversation again after trying to figure out why I was feeling out of sorts, they had returned to the topic.

“There are only four names on this list that I think are good candidates.” Damien was saying, “and I firmly believe it's none of them.”

Syanna sighed and I guessed that this was not a new conversation.

“Well lets go through them again.” She said.

“The Merchant. Velles. The man that claims to have fought at the Line in Vizima.”

Sir Guillaume shook his head in disbelief. “If everyone who had claimed to fight at the line in Vizima had actually been there, then it would have been a bigger battle than Brenna and Sodden combined.”

“Still it's possible.” Syanna picked at her lip. “He moves well enough, he still has swordsman calluses.”

“But he was injured.” Damien said. “Injured enough that he is not still in the armed forces and none of the captives that were taken that day were treated as kindly as the Emperor might have wanted. And such a man, if he fought at the line, would be in a place of high honour somewhere.”

“Records were lost.” Syanna argued.

“We're hung up on this subject of the Line.” Kerrass said. “I agree though. He is military, or former military, and his skills might be enough for a short engagement. But regardless of any injury, he is not a young man and what has been done here needs vitality and strength. That requires training, a lot of it, and merchants simply do not have the time. He is definitely a merchant right?”

“He is.” Damien sighed. “And known to us. He's known for trying to shave things on the wrong side of legal. Not quite a smuggler but certainly the kind of man my people and I keep an eye on. I don't like him for this though”

“Who else?” Syanna asked.

“Are you alright Freddie?” Ariadne whispered in my ear.

“Yeah,” I murmered back. “Just feeling, a little off balance is all. Feeling... wrong. I can't get my brain to think straight. Not comfortable in my own skin.”

“It's been a long day.” She nodded. “Nearly time for you to get some rest. You've done really well today though.”

I nodded and frowned again, paying closer attention.

“Sir Jean de Carnier.” Damien said. “Good swordsman.”

“But not that good.” Guillaume said. “He would give a good report of himself to be sure but against more than one of those guards?” He shook his head. “There are only a handful of men in Toussaint that could have taken those guards.”

“Oh yeah?” Kerrass wondered with a smile. “Such as?”

“Well you, for one.” Guillaume grinned. “Colonel Duberton of the 4th who is still here after all. Me for another.”

“Gregoire could do it.” Damien said nastily. “And he's on these lists.”

“I don't buy it.” Syanna said, shaking her head. “Remember that Gregoire is a huge man. His frame alone would dismiss him. Witnesses describe a slender fighter. And the wounds are precise strikes. Gregoire is a master because he knows how to use his size and strength. Not everyone can do what he does or fight the way he does. Why would he use such strokes?”

“I know.” Damien sighed. “I know. Like Lor... Like Freddie with Sir Raoul, I just want it to be him.”

“Sir Morgan could and he still has the conditioning for it.” Guillaume went on. “But he's not on these lists at all. And lastly we come to Lord Alain.”

There was some nodding round the table. Alain de Moineau. The man who was married to Kerrass' lover. The man who, after talking with him for a few minutes, made Ariadne want to take a bath. The man who epitomised everything I hate about the physically beautiful and arrogant.

“The man is slime.” Syanna declared. “And yes, he could do it. In fact, he would be my first suspect out of this lot.”

“He is on all three lists.” Guillaume said unhappily.

“He is. But he doesn't seem to care. He was not insulted when either Appoline or Miss Donnet said no. It was just a.... He would settle for something else. He's a quantity over quality man.”

“Why does he look elsewhere?” Ariadne asked curiously. “His wife is more than beautiful.”

“It's his way of keeping score.” Guillaume said unhappily. “I never found out why. He always needs the finer things in life. I agree with the Knight Commander. I don't like him for this. He is not short of admirers and why should he be. He is rich, handsome and I understand he can be charming if you can go for that kind of thing. This.... This speaks of anger and hate to me.”

“I can easily believe him to be the kind of man that molests a young Lady Marie at a party.” Damien opined.

“So can I.” Syanna said before shaking her head. “We will see if he has alibis but then we have to be careful. Out of everyone, he could duel his way out of this the most easily.”

“What do you mean?”

“By some margin, Alain is the best duellist in Toussaint.” Guillaume said. “There are better than he on horseback and if we were both properly armed and armoured on the battlefield, I reckon I could take him. But on foot, in the dueling circle, that man is unbeatable. The Knight Commander is right, we must be discreet in enquiring about him.”

“So we're back here then.” Damien said to the room. “We don't like our suspects, or it's Jack possessing someone else again. What can we do against that...”

We didn't find out what “that” was as the door opened to admit a guardsman who whispered in Damien's ear.

The Guard Captain paled.

“There's been another one.” He said, rising to his feet.

We gathered our weapons and rose.

I allowed my body to take over a little bit as we filed through the building. I just let myself move in the pack, following the others along. The adrenaline had surged and I was ready for what I could see, or would see. I was taking in details, small things that I could already guess to be the case. Little bits of reasoning that would be registered for later.

The movements were quick but not urgent which meant that whatever had happened had already happened. People were calm which meant that Jack was not prowling the roof tops. If it was Jack, then he had already found his victim and moved on. No point rushing, take it slow. But that wasn't really where my thinking was.

Not really.

Instead, I was trying to nail down where the rest of my brain was. Trying to figure out the feeling of wrongness that had only increased since I had been told about this change. Adrenaline had spiked, I was undobutedly going tos ee something gruesome. There was a threat in the air and I was preparing myself. But for what?

And why was I so uncomfortable?

We left the Belles and I was able to, at least, register that the workers were huddled together, eyes looking out at us were huge and shining in the fire light. One or two of the olde women were holding the youngsters that looked so young that it was off-putting.

I climbed into my saddle and turned my horses head to follow where I was being led.

The night was cold. I remembered that as I rode along behind. I was dimly aware that we were being escorted and that we didn't... rush through the city. We took our time. We trotted the horses. No more than that. Not really. I was dimly aware of the logic. If the Knight Commander of the Knights Francesca and the Guard Captain were seen to be rushing around then that would cause a panic.

But I dismissed it from my head, an automatic, mechanical, response.

Why was I feeling so uncomfortable? I felt, almost light with the way I moved and sat in the saddle.

We rode up through the city at a reserved trot. Up the slope and along the road. Still a short while before true midnight if I was to judge. It was freezing cold, cobble crackingly cold. The air was still and painfully quiet to a degree that I had not heard since... Since I don't know when. I could literally hear a baby in one of the nearby houses being quieted by her mother. I know it was a girl because the mother called her “Darling Daughter.”

The moon was clear and the stars glittered down and as we rode up through the city, I could hear the world seeming to come to terms with itself behind the sounds of hooves striking cobbles and the guttering of fliaming brands. It was a breath, a moment of clarity as the city seemed to take things in. As though Beauclair was a living breathing thing that was listening to itself. The same way that you sit awake in bed, trying to figure out whether the noise that woke you up was part of a dream, or if there really is an intruder coming to slit your throat.

We had wasted a lot of time sitting in the Belles trying to figure out the puzzle. There would be some recriminations for that later I had no doubt. Where we would be forced to explain to some people, maybe many people, why we had spent so much time chasing down a lead when it might not have been a lead after all.

If it was Jack.

The streets were not deserted either. There were guardsmen on the street and I noticed, with something of a smile, that the way had been cleared for us. Small groups of people, all armed, all wearing arm bands of different colours which left me feeling... a little amused to be honest. They were there in groups of people between four to maybe a dozen. If it was Jack, then Jack would make mincemeat of any number of people optimistically armed with cudgels.

To be honest though, the same could be said if the “imposter theory,” came to be the true one. A proper, trained swordsman, would cut his way through an angry mob like those. Killing one, injuring another in the first pass and then drawing them out in order to pick them off one by one. Groups like that, they're more of a danger to each other than they would be a danger to the person that they're facing.

They glared at us balefully although none of them dared to shout out at us. Glares yes, shouts... No. The silence was too oppressive for that. The dread was too real.

We rode up through the city, past a checkpoint that was opened up for us as guardsmen stepped aside. Further up.

I had a brief chill as we turned towards where the cemetry was where my final confrontation with Jack had taken place all that time ago. Not something that I particularly wanted to think about. Not that sense of symmetry.

I had another brief flinch of amusement as I saw that we were avoiding the alleyways that would have cut our journey time in half. We were riding in the open. In the wide streets.

Finally, we came to that part of Beauclair that, I understand, is the oldest part of the city. The fact that I don't know that for sure is a little bit disappointing given my chosen profession, but that is the way of things I suppose. Not really getting the chance to do the things that you would really be interested in doing.

But it was that part of the city that gives the meaning to the term “Rabbit's warren.” Where buildings had multiple levels and there were bridges and walkways everywhere. During the day you wouldn't even notice that you were passing under this or that, but at night, with what I now knew, the entire area had a sinister kind of feeling to it all.

It was towards where one of those archways were formed, that we were led. A line of guardsmen kept a line so that people couldn't pass into what I assumed to be the crime scene. A useless gesture, there was no-one arround that was trying to get into it.

Some of those guards dismounted and took our horses so that we could walk to the mouth of the little, artificial tunnel.

One of the guardsmen was young. Not nearly as young as he looked that night. He was pale, shaken and trembling slightly, his teeth chattering in the cold. Damien clapped him on the shoulder in passing before turning with Syanna to talk to the Sergeant in charge. Kerrass took a torch from one of the guards and led me past the line.

It became necessary for us to watch where we put our feet. There was so much blood. I have, literally, been in slaughterhouses where there was less blood than this.

The thing being that in actual slaughterhouses, they try and save the blood for other uses.

A little way into the alley we found her. She was, or had been a tall woman. The tatters of a red dress were about a slender frame. Her body was broken and torn. Her insides were tossed about the place as though they had literally been torn from inside her before being thrown about negligently. I saw it all with a detachment as I looked at the woman's face.

Her hair was dark, a little too dark I thought but that might have been a trick of the firelight. The upper part of her face was mangled, her eyes had been put out and it looked as though someone had made an effort to scalp the poor woman.

I didn't recognise her immediately although there was a glimmer of something there that tugged at the memory. Something about the mouth which almost looked untouched. Tongue, jaw and the like were all intact although I rather thought that she had a tooth missing.

She would have had a pretty mouth.

Not that I could really get too close for fear of stepping on something and ruining the site.

“What do you think Freddie?” Kerrass murmmered to me.

“I don't know.” I told him. I could feel myself frowning as I thought. “I really don't know I can't.... I'm struggling to get my mind to work here.” I thought I could hear an insect buzzing and swatted next to my ear, disturbing nothing but air.

He straightened and led me a little distance away. “Look at me Freddie.” He instructed.

I did as I was told.

“What's wrong?” He asked.

“I feel wrong.” I told him.

“Do we need to get you back to the palace? Are you having a...”

“No, it's not that. There's something missing.” I frowned as I tried to explain. “I keep going for something and it's not there. If I was having an incident, I would be struggling to breathe. I would be light-headed and dizzy or my legs would be made of jelly. That's not what's happening. I feel, off balance. I feel... I feel as though something's missing and I couldn't tell you what it is. So I keep trying to look around and see what's happening. To let my brain think about the problem and I can't. Every time I reach for a logical path of thought I just can't quite get there. I feel as though I need to anchor myself and I don't know how. The way you settle your weight before a fight. I need to anchor myself before making the thoughts and I don't know what I'm missing.”

“Breathe Freddie.” He told me.

I smirked. “The smell is rather...”

“Just breathe. Look around and take it in. Damien is getting the report. Wait here.”

He left. Heading over to where Ariadne was standing at the mouth of the alleyway with the horses.I turned back and surveyed the scene, trying, really trying to see what I thought I had got a glimpse of. There was a lot here. A lot for me to see and I needed to take that in. Things for me to see and to understand and every time I reached for it, something was missing.

Syanna approached my shoulder.

“Well this is a fucking mess.” She commented.

I grunted.

“Damien is getting the full story now. It would seem that there's a tavern on the upper level. Someone who had headed out to vomit their guts up heard a scream that was suddenly cut off before they heard, and I quote, “sinister laughter”. Correctly, they called for a guard and they found this.”

I grunted again.

She sighed. “There's something written on the wall.” She told me. Someone passed her a torch and I shook myself, following her to one of the walls of the alley.

The torch glistened off smeared writing from a dark liquid. Droplets had run down the wall from excessive amounts. The writing was crude and badly formed.

WHAT DO YOU THINK FREDDIE? HA HA HA HA.

I felt my lips pull back into the beginnings of a snarl.

“I need some air.” I whispered, “I need to think.”

“Freddie. Lord Frederick.” She began. “Help me out here. I really need something that I can...”

“I just need...”

“What do you need? Prophet's ballsack, what do you need and I'll get it for you.”

“I don't.... Flame but this is frustrating.”

“Do you need some medicine I can get...”

“NO.” I snapped. “I just need to find....” I shook my head.

“Freddie?” Ariadne was there, careful and supportive but that wasn't what I needed. Not what I wanted.

There was a clicking noise, sounds of metal scraping against itself followed by another click.

“Freddie?” Kerrass called.

I turned and caught the thing that he threw to me.

And suddenly, everything was right in the world again. My ungloved hand closed over the cold metal. It was off balance for my grip, and I spun the long pole so that the blade glittered in the torchlight. It no longer felt ugly, not ungainly as when I had fought Raoul. The spear spun in my hands and I heard myself chuckle as a cramp that I hadn't noticed in my hands disappeared. It was as though the cold of the metal scoured away a scuzzy feeling and I felt... clean.

“Your hands have been clenching with your frustration. As though you were trying to grasp at something.” Kerrass said.

I spun the spear again, running through some basic maneaouvers. It felt so good. Better than the weapon had felt in my hands for so long.

I grinned and held it to the firelight, examining it again as though it was new.

“There's my Freddie.” Ariadne breathed. I looked up at her and I saw an expression that I hadn't seen in a while. Her mouth was hanging a little open, her eyes were hooded slightly and she was smiling.

Hungrily. She was smiling hungrily.

I returned the smile. The spear fell, sliding through my hands, so that the butt rested on the floor and I leant on the solid weight, hooking my left hand in my belt.

“Lord Frederick we... uh...” Syanna.

I spun on her abruptly as everything, suddenly, came straight in my head.

“It's not Jack.” I told her. The certainty suddenly sure in my soul.

“What? Why?” She asked, startled.

“How do you?” Damien began coming up behind her.

“This is too crude.” I told them, leading them back to the alley. “This is... This is too... brutal, too unrefined. It's a sledgehammer to Jack's rapier. It's.... tacky. Classless. Look.”

I led them to the body.

“This was done quickly. Her insides were flung every which way because it was done quickly, frenzied.”

“The killer was rushing.” Kerrass agreed.

“Why would he rush?” Damien asked.

“Exactly.” I told him. “That's the point. The killer was rushing, because the killer was afraid of being caught.” I said. “Jack would not care. He would not be afraid. He is the thing that people are supposed to be afraid of after all.

“I bet that she,” I gestured to the poor woman, “whoever she was, was taken elsewhere and brought here. That,” I pointed to the head injury, “is to disguise the blow to the head that she took to knock her senseless. The reason that her lower face is uninjured is because it was covered. She was gagged. Then the site was staged, quickly and carelessly. She was brutalised before, in the middle of that, the gag was removed and she screamed.”

My mind was on fire as the realisations hit me one after the other.

“The killer knew where the watch was and that they wouldn't have long. They mutilated the corpse and fled before the watch could get here.”

“The writing?” Damien asked.

“I don't know.” I said. “It would need to be tested. But I bet that the killer knew that they would have to stage the scene in advance of the killing, so they also brought another blood source and painted the writing with it.”

I let that sink in for a moment as people stared at the writing.

“This was staged.” I said. “You're looking for a copycat.”

“What about the magical effects, the leaps and the vanishings?” Damien protested.

“I can't answer for that.” I told him.

“I have some ideas.” Kerrass suggested.

“But this is not Jack.” I told them. Ariadne would later claim that I was almost hopping with excitement. “This is a copycat with some kind of other motive.

Syanna breathed out. It looked as though she had been holding that for a while. “A copycat.” She sighed. “Well that makes it easy. Thank you Lord Frederick. I think we can all breathe a bit easier now and...”

“No you don't understand.” I told her. “The danger is still real.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jack hates copycats. We need to catch this killer sooner rather than later. Because if we don't, Jack will notice. Then he will come here and he will teach everyone the difference between a copycat.” I gestured at the alley. “And the reality of what it is like when Jack comes a calling.”