(Warning: There is some explicit talk about sex here. No lemons but two characters talk about sex in quite a lot of detail that might make some people uncomfortable. It is not a spoiler, nor is it necessary to the larger overall plot. It is important as it is about Freddie becoming more comfortable with Ann (the other character involved), their deepening relationship, as well as his recovery. It is also a signifier of Freddie building up to a much more uncomfortable topic of conversation. If, however, you wish to avoid the section I have marked it, as I did last time this came up, with *** before and after.

There is a whole Ted talk here about how I, and society as a whole, treat sex versus the sometimes extreme violence and horrific elements in my story. But I’m not going into that.

Some of the things that Anne says are, again, taken from a time where I was privileged to be present during a conversation where such matters were discussed amongst several female friends of mine. They might have been lying for my benefit. But I don’t think so.

Also contains a scene from an autopsy, I think it’s relatively minor and tame, but others may disagree

AND, there are some things about a deeply flawed and damaged woman involving unhealthy sexual relationships inside a failing marriage that gets quite intimate.

Last time I had a damaged woman that was portrayed in a less than flattering light, I got away pretty clean, but I have not been able to fit the entire explanation or insight into the woman’s head in a single chapter for reasons of space and time. Show don’t tell is a good rule for storytelling and Freddie doesn’t know about things until later. But that does mean that his insights are a little one sided to start with. Again, as I do with all such things, the character and storyline was run past a feminist academic. I think that’s it. This might end up being quite a controversial chapter.)

-

There are some things in this world that you never expect to find yourself doing.

When I set out on my journey, I never expected that I would meet a woman, fall in love with her and then agree to marry her. The prospect that that woman would be an Elder Vampire did not even cross my mind.

I barely expected to meet a Witcher, let alone become friends with him.

If you had told me when I first set out on my journey, that I would stand on the walls of Kaer Morhen and look out over the valley that contained it. That I would see the mountains that stood, stark and cold, over that great and terrifying keep and see the snow that never quite leaves those highest peaks.

If you had told me that I would stand over the slumbering form of the Sleeping Beauty or that I would have stood on the top of the highest tower of her ruined palace and try to speak with the dragon.

If you had told me that I would stand on the prow of a Skelligan longship and listen to the warriors of Skellige, proud, terrifying men all, as they chanted their ships onto the beach so that we could all, including me, fight off an Ice Giant.

If you had told me that I would be, in private, on first name terms with the Empress of the Continent.

If you had told me any of these things when I had first set out on my journey, I would have told you that such things were the matter of daydreams. Of stupid things that I would tell myself in the dark hours of the night where I would convince myself that what I was doing was worthwhile. That my Father would see the value in all of my silly little books and that he would be proud of what I was doing.

Proud of me.

I would have told you that the most, the very most that I could have hoped for in this entire endeavour was that I would see a bit of the world, learn a few things that had not been written down anywhere else and, as a result, make a name for myself in the very particular field that I had chosen. That I might make enough of a living so that I would not be entirely dependent on my father’s charity.

If you had pressed me, then I might have admitted that I kind of hoped to meet a few girls on the way. To be able to get some sexual partners that I wouldn’t have to pay for, or didn’t leave me with a lingering feeling that they were only sleeping with me out of pity or because they were rebounding off someone else onto me or because there weren’t any better candidates around.

Of course, I would only have told you all of these things after I had picked myself up off the floor after spending a, not small, amount of time rolling around and laughing.

However, now I have another item to add to the list. Another impossible thing that I have seen and done that would have been beyond even the wildest of my teenage dreams.

If you had told me that I would be standing in the private bed chambers of the Duchess of Toussaint, acknowledged as another in the long list of world renowned beauties that I have been privileged to meet, in the early hours of the morning. All while the lady herself did her best to wake herself up from her slumber so that she could get properly dressed and prepared for receiving visitors. If you had told me these things then, not only would I have been forced to pick myself up from the floor after laughing at you for an awfully long time, but I would also have been forced to send for some guardsmen in order to have you taken off to one of the growing number of insane asylums that dot the continent.

But nevertheless, there I was. Kerrass and I, studiously looking out the windows in order to avoid seeing anything that we shouldn’t, while Syanna made the report to her sister and Ariadne looked on curiously.

I will admit that the bedchambers of so important a lady were not really what I was expecting. I shouldn’t have been surprised though. The Duchess is not a lady to do anything by halves and the changes that had been wrought in the palace and in the Duchy originated in this room and in her head after all.

I don’t know why I thought that her rooms would be any different.

The rooms were plain and utilitarian. There was a dresser with a mirror and numerous cosmetics along with many of the implements of torture that my sister would recognise as being vital for the proper marshalling of the feminine arsenal. There was also a desk, a chair and a small bookcase which contained a number of different books and scrolls that I hadn’t had the nerve to go over and examine.

Next to the hearth there were a number of comfortable couches and arm-chairs where, Syanna would later tell me, the Duchess would gather with her closer friends to talk about different things, gossip, drink wine and discuss the virtues and vices of the men in their life.

On the dresser was a small family portrait that was a copy of the previous Ducal family, the parents of the current Duchess and Syanna. There was also a painting of Beauclair in all it’s glory with the sun shining and the flowers and trees in bloom hung on the wall.

But the furniture was chosen for it’s comfort rather than richness, there was no gold on display. No jewellery or precious stones to mark the location and the floor was made from plain wood paneling under the many rugs.

Of course there were rugs in order to retain the heat. Beuclair palace might be an impressive feat of Elven engineering but it is still made out of stone and wood. And we were still doing all of this in the middle of winter.

The Duchess herself had been wearing plain nightclothes when we were shown in before I quickly and carefully averted my eyes and moved to the window, Kerrass walking beside me as he clearly had the same idea and we could look out over Beauclair and the countryside. The Duchess’ window looks out over both. So she can look at her people going about their business as well as enjoy some kind of view of the open countryside. Apparently, her private study has a similar view.

The sun was coming up.

A small army of servants had arrived and entered the room before us, something for which I was rather grateful. Not wanting to be caught otherwise. One of them was kneeling next to the hearth in order to get some warmth back into the room while others ushered the Duchess behind a privacy screen in order to get dressed. Others brought in some refreshments including several mugs of strong Coffee for which I was grateful.

All of this was going on as The Knight Commander told her sister everything that had happened the previous day since they had last spoken. An event that had, apparently, been when Syanna had gone to the Duchess, who had then instructed the Knight Commander to roust me out of my rooms and demand my help on pain of… well… something.

Even though the Duchess now favours plainer, more virginal styles than she used to, it still takes a lot of time to get that look right and she was still putting on the dress and getting her hair done correctly as the Knight Commander finished her speech and brought her up to speed on everything that had happened. Then she had some questions.

“Has Lord Palmerin been informed?” The Duchess asked as she sipped at her steaming hot mug of coffee, maids and other servants still fussing over her appearance.

“Sir Guillaume has been sent with that errand.” Syanna said.

The Duchess nodded, a movement that upset the Ducal hairdresser that was frantically trying to brush the Chestnut hair into some kind of order. It bears noting that even when a fine lady’s hair looks dishevelled as though the owner of the hair has only just risen from her bed, it still needs brushing and styling accordingly and, to my eyes, for an extraordinarily long amount of time.

“Good,” She said. “Such news should come from family. I will speak with Lord Palmerin as well. I would wish to offer him my personal condolences.”

There was another pause as the Duchess examined the information that we had brought her.

“You don’t like Lord Tratamara’s suspect.” She asked Syanna.

“I do not.”

“He does appear to fall into all the categories that you have drawn up for your suspects. He propositioned the other three and Lord Tratamara claims that he assaulted Lady Marie at the party.”

“All of that is true.” Syanna said. “And we will be investigating that as a possibility, but I just don’t buy it.”

The Duchess nodded, taking that in. “Just so long as you take that firmly in mind. What was it Colonel Duberton used to say?”

Syanna smirked, taking her sister’s point. “That these things must be approached without bias or opinion. Investigate the evidence first, the testimony second and then see where that leaves you.”

I saw Kerrass nod his agreement to that.

The Duchess surveyed us.

“So it isn’t the Jack entity?”

“It is not.” Syanna said. “We are as certain as anything can be in this world, that that would be the case.”

The Duchess nodded at this. “The court, and the people will be relieved to hear that.”

“Actually,” Syanna interjected. “Lord Frederick has some thoughts on that.”

“Oh?” The Duchess’ blue eyes turned on me as she took another drink of coffee. “What thoughts Lord Frederick?”

I swore under my breath as I heard Kerrass snigger.

Not that he sniggered audibly you understand. But he was thinking about it.

“I think you should keep it quiet that it isn’t Jack.” I told her.

“Interesting. And why do you think that.”

You know those moments, where you were kind of thinking that you had everything sorted out. You had arranged what you wanted to say and ordered it in your mind. Then, when the time comes, the person says, “So tell us what you think?” and everything just vanished out of your mind as all useful thought processes blow away like a leaf on the wind.

Yeah, it was like that. Made even worse by the fact that the Duchess just sat there and waited patiently.

“There is only one possibility now.” I began carefully, hoping that my brain would start working and that I would be able to get the right words out in the right order in order to get what I wanted to say across. “For reason or reasons unknown, a person or persons unknown, are emulating Jack killings.”

The Duchess nodded, “Go on.”

“If we come out and say that we know that it isn’t Jack, we are showing our knowledge early. Then the killer, or killers, will go one of two ways. They will try to prove that it is Jack. Or they will use a different tactic. Either way, I think that that would result in a higher body count.”

“Explain.”

I took another breath.

“The reason we know that this killer is not Jack is because of specialised knowledge.” I explained. “What the average man on the street knows about Jack is, frankly, derived from what I have told them. They know about the outfit, the methods and the arbitrary nature of the killings. But what they don’t know is some of the more specialised knowledge. Things like, how those victims are chosen. We know that this isn’t Jack because there is no pattern, or rather that we haven’t identified that pattern yet.

“But if we pretend to continue to believe that it is Jack. Then the killer will continue to pretend to be Jack. He cannot escalate matters. He will also, if he…”

“Or she,” Kerrass added.

“... isn’t already, become over confident. The fledgling crime-fighting abilities of the Knights Francesca is still unproven. Our opponents have already made one mistake in making it clear that this isn’t really Jack by breaking the pattern. Their second mistake is that they either did not know, did not care to find out, or simply ignored the fact, from my journals not least, that Jack doesn’t like copycats and that he goes out of his way to kill those copycats. Often horribly.”

“How common knowledge is that fact?” The Duchess asked. Unknowingly echoing the question that her sister had asked earlier.

“It can be inferred from the earliest story of Jack that I published.” I told her. “When he was the Jumping Jack” of Oxenfurt and he arrived to kill those men that were copying his methods. He also told me when I met him.”

“Personally speaking, I think that the matter is one of arrogance.” Syanna told her sister. “The details of the outfit, the behaviour. The… method of these killings is like the Jack of Lord Frederick’s stories.”

“All of those things could be taken from Laughing Jack though.” The Duchess responded.

“True. But I’m not feeling it.” Syanna said. “Laughing Jack was showy, he was there to draw us out. To beat us over the head with the fact that this was Jack and he had come for Francesca. We know that he was a distraction. This… Although the killings are cruder and less refined. There is method to it. I have read Lord Frederick’s journals on the matter of Jack and am reading the original academic reference work.”

“I am so sorry,” I told her.

“This is closer to the real Jack. Laughing Jack wanted collateral damage. This man wants something else. To be this close, you would need to have read, in some detail, at least Lord Frederick’s journals. So they would know that Jack comes for copycats.”

“You are not taking into account the possibility of stupidity.”

“No.” I said. “There is stupidity here. But I agree, it is the stupidity of arrogance. They either don't think it will happen to them, or they have ignored it.”

Kerrass shifted. “There is another possibility.” He said. “We have no proof that this is the case. I want to stress that. But it is also possible that this is part of a greater conspiracy. And, like it was last time, the person carrying out the killings is a scapegoat.”

“So, the plotter knows that Jack will come for the copycat and has no intention of being Jack themselves.” The Duchess mused.

“Precisely. And from my perspective, that is the danger. If we admit that we know that the killer isn’t really Jack. Then the plotter will simply cut his, or her, scapegoat free and find another way to carry out the plot.”

Syanna nodded. “The play is in the open now. And we know something that they don’t think we know.”

“There is another risk as well.” The Duchess said with the air of someone who just needs to hear someone say it. “If… or rather when, it gets out that you knew that this wasn’t Jack, then people will feel betrayed that you lied to them.”

“That is a risk.” Syanna agreed. “It is. But for three points. The first is that you keep secrets from the people and the court all the time. You call them secrets of state and everyone shrugs and says “Of course the Duchess has to keep secrets, it stands to reason.”

“The second point is that it will show the criminal element, the bandits and the nobles of Toussaint that I am not fucking around. That we cannot be gotten around by bribing the right official and keeping an ear open in court. They will learn that, much like they don’t play according to the rules, then neither will I.”

The Duchess nodded, a mix of agreement and acceptance. “The “Black Knight” Gambit. And what’s the other point?”

“If, by keeping this thing a secret, if by lying, just a little bit, we manage to put this fucker on the back foot. If we trick him into being overconfident so that we can catch him all that much the quicker, then the lie is absolutely worthwhile. And even if it doesn’t work, it was still worth trying. The only people who will not understand why I am lying are those people who are terrified by my ability, and willingness to do so. I will note their names carefully, go to bed and sleep like a baby.”

The Duchess’ eyes glittered. “I understand that babies sleep anything but quietly.”

Syanna shrugged. “Then I shall sleep like a log. Or like the dead, or a drunkard. Or as though I have been properly and thoroughly ravished. Choose your own metaphor.”

The Duchess smiled before nodding. “Which begs the question. What is the next step?”

-

It was further proven that I was correct when Sir Guillaume finally got his chance to look at the body of the dead woman. He had been directing the traffic of the place, going off to interview the people that had first identified the disturbance and those people that had come down to discover the thing. The same questions that we all ask. “Did you see anything unusual?” Which might come across as a bit of a pointless question given that the answer is nearly always some variation of “You mean apart from the dead woman who had had her insides sprayed around the local area.”

There is more benefit to these questions and answers than you might think. If only for the one time that one of these witnesses gets a funny frown on their faces before shaking their heads. Which means that they did see or hear something and dismissed it as a pointless factor.

So it was actually a few minutes later that he finally came in to survey the scene for himself. He looked down at the dead woman and sighed unhappily.

“Aunt Josette.” He closed his eyes and sighed again. A little more dramatically than I thought was truly necessary.

“Who?” Kerrass and I were examining the body and the site. Going over the place minutely.

“My uncle, Lord Palmerin’s, estranged wife.” The big man moaned unhappily. “I must go and inform him immediately.” He told Syanna who nodded.

“Well that definitely breaks the pattern.” Syanna commented after he had left. “The woman hated me, which was fair enough as I thought she was a stuck up cow, but she was not a bad woman. Despite that, she was not known for guarding her honour particularly closely.”

“Especially when she thought it would annoy her husband.” De La Tour agreed unhappily. “On the other hand, it would mean that whoever she denied would make for a prominent suspect. Especially if he turned up on any of the lists.”

Syanna shook her head. “She didn’t deny anyone that I ever heard of. I will admit that she liked them young and pretty and she was proud of her conquests. It meant that she could hurt Palmerin with the scandal. I know that she often claimed to have taken Lord Moineau to her bed and he never denied it. Nor did Sir Gregoire when she claimed to have conquered him. Although that was the least of the scandals that involve that particular Knight.”

“Guards should be sent to seal her residence until it can be properly searched.” De La Tour spoke up. “I will see to it.”

Syanna nodded and he moved off.

“The body will need to be examined.” Kerrass said. “Freddie and I can arrange that, but not until morning I think, after we’ve both had a chance to rest up a bit.” By which he meant that I had had a chance to rest up a bit.

“I can assist with that,” Ariadne said, “And might I suggest that Corvo Bianco has the best setup for that kind of thing. I can arrange the matter with Lady Yennefer.”

“Hmmm?” Syanna was startled out of a thought while her brain caught up with her ears. “Yes, good ideas all. Although I think getting some rest will have to wait for now.”

“Oh?” Kerrass wondered.

“My sister will want to be informed. She and Lady de Launfal were close once upon a time and she will be… upset that she is now dead. But also, I think we can no longer delay going to see Lord Tratamara. This latest death will be an excuse to disturb his grieving.”

“The hour is late.” Captain De La Tour had returned.

“Would you be asleep?” Syanna wondered. “The night after your daughter has been killed?”

He harrumphed, kind of a mix between a grunt, a snort and a sniff“Having never had a daughter, I wouldn’t know. But I will not deny that it is a valid argument.”

“Very good.” Syanna turned back to Kerrass and Ariadne “Do you need to do anything here?”

“Several things if I am to be of help.” Ariadne said. “Indeed, I think I will stay here and arrange things, taking the relevant samples if I may.” She smiled. “I would appreciate it if you could assign me some strong stomached guards who can protect me while I do these things. Some of the things that I am about to do might be considered somewhat… ghoulish. And I would rather not have to explain myself, or protect myself, while helping the Duchy.”

Syanna nodded.

Ariadne took my hand and led me away.

“Will you be alright?” She asked.

“I think so.” I said. “Flame Ariadne but I feel better than I have in ages.”

“You look better.” She said. “You sound better, you move better and I can actually see that your mind is working better.”

“I feel it all too.”

“Be careful though. There is always a possibility that this is a temporary boost, sparked by the sudden action. Be wary and do not hesitate to tell Kerrass or Syanna if you feel weak. Or contact me and I will take you to safety at a moment’s notice.”

“I will.”

“And let me know when you go to retire.” She said. “I wish to be there when you go to bed and I will be there when you wake up for when you talk to your family. I think I deserve that.”

I nodded. I had almost forgotten that latest small family betrayal. There had been so many over the years, small betrayals between parents and siblings that put tiny cracks in my heart. I sometimes thought that that was what family was, the small heart breaks and the forgiving of those same heart breaks. Then I wondered how many times that I had broken their hearts.

Not a pleasant piece of introspection.

“I love you.” I told her. “I am still angry, but I love you.”

“Oh Freddie.” She pulled me into a kiss of reaffirmation before she pulled back and whispered in my ear. “It’s been a long time since I was this close to forgetting that I had promised myself that I would wait for my wedding night.”

I shuddered, but she held on.

“One of the reasons I am staying,” she told me, “Is because seeing you looking this dynamic is sorely testing my self-control.”

Then she pulled away, leaving me gasping for air and trembling with aroused frustration. I won’t lie, it actually felt really good to feel that familiar wonderful frustration that Ariadne summoned in my body. It had been so long since I had felt any kind of physical arousal or desire that it was a shock.

We mounted up and Commander Syanna led us through the city to a large, enclosed house, just out of the city itself. Captain De La Tour stayed behind to be the official in charge of the murder scene.

Lord Tratamara is a distinguished gentleman of fine reputation. I had only met him in passing up to that point and I dare say that we had not left much of an impression on each other. This due to the fact that we had very little in common and we both knew it. Lord Tratamara is one of the few Lords, especially in the south, who would have gotten on really well with my Father. This is due to the enthusiasm that both men had for the sport of hunting.

Unfortunately, Lord Tratamara never saw the need to go that far north and Father had been unable to break much South of the Yaruga, except by sea, so the two men had not had much cause to meet each other.

Lord Tratamara is one of the last of a dying breed of noble, dying because the wars have all but wiped them out. He was already senior when the last two wars were being fought which kept him from the lines and I don’t think that Toussaint was that heavily engaged in the fighting anyway. There used to be a kind of noble who were, essentially, stuck in their positions.

They could not advance in their rank because they would not be able to marry any higher, nor would they be allowed to. They were rich enough as it was and their lands and estates had been managed in that way by men, and occasionally women, who were far more competent in the management than the Lord could ever become. So all the Lord had to do was to sign the papers and agree with everything that their estate and business managers told them to.

They could not climb any higher, so all they had to do with their lives was to maintain their current positions in life. They had reached the glass ceiling of nobility. The only hope for these kinds of men is that the current ruler of the local area might have daughters which could then be married to the Lord’s Sons.

Father had hit his own glass ceiling when he achieved the rank of Baron, ironically the same title as Lord Tratamara although titles are less linked to the amount of land that a Lord is in custody of in the South. The difference would be that this ceiling embittered father whereas the majority of the Lords who fall into this category are well aware of their position. Indeed, they have been taught this from their earliest memories. Such men find themselves hobbies.

Sometimes that hobbie is politics. They go to court and see if they can advance themselves that way. Sometimes that hobby is warfare, I spoke about this when I was talking about Lord Cavill in the North. They read accounts of battles and spend time dissecting the faults of this general or that Knight on such and such a field of battle. Other men throw themselves into being a Lord of the land, getting to know the farmers and villagers. Education is some men’s vice, it’s certainly mine. Lord Tratamara had chosen hunting and his lands contained one of the largest hunting reserves in Toussaint.

My understanding was that his preferred game was boar, but he often acted as the unofficial ducal huntsman. Even though the Duchy had it’s own gamekeeper and huntsmaster. Such positions had fallen a little out of favour in the presence of Lord Tratamara as instead of calling for the proper tradesman, the Duke, or Duchess after him, would consult Lord Tratamara instead.

As such, Lord Tratamara would often provide the game for the Ducal feasts. Was crazy rich and had an admirable dislike for politics, which meant that he only turned up to court and to the feasts when there was something important going on, or when the quarry needed some time to breed.

And when we were shown into his rooms, it was quickly clear that he was drunk.

“Have you met my sons?” he demanded for the third time.

“Lord Frederick has met us several times now.” The eldest of the two that were present said. His name was Jean de Tratamara. He was home for the winter from his diplomatic post somewhere in the Empire. He looked tired. The kind of tired that only comes after several hours worth of fresh grief while also having to manage a drunk and grieving Father.

His story was a little sad all told and not just for the loss of his sister. He, like his father and elder brother, had realised that the only way that he could progress was by either marriage or that he would need to make his own way. Not wanting to find himself in the Knights Errant he had left home to join the Nilfgaardian military and had fought in the most recent war with the North where he had lost his right arm during the invasion of Aedirn. His birth was still noble enough that he had been able to transfer to the logistics division and had become the primary aide to the Governor General of Vengerberg until the end of the war.

During which he had made the mistake of making himself indispensable and when the Governor General had retired from the service after the end of the war, he took Jean with him to the Imperial Court where Jean still serves the man as an aide. As a result, he finds that his career has stalled although he has been engaged to one of his benefactors younger daughters.

The girl in question is twelve while Jean is actually older than me, meaning that the age difference is well over a decade. Jean was in Toussaint “visiting with family” while actually being home because, apparently, the girl was hopelessly enamoured of the older military veteran from Toussaint and it made him uncomfortable. He told me, when I briefly met him at a party, that he was just hoping that her, understandably childish, crush could turn into something more adult and that they would make each other happy in the long run.

My understanding is that the eldest son and heir is part of one of the Toussaint diplomatic missions somewhere and the eldest, now only, daughter, was married to a noble of one of the conquered nations of Nilfgaard although I forget which.

The youngest son was clearly devastated and I had not met him. Some utter bastard had told him that he shouldn't be shedding tears in front of the well-wishers, some of whom were still present at the late hour that we had arrived and my guess was that he was tearing himself apart. He had asked his father to be excused shortly after we had arrived and Lord Tratamara had told his son to act as host while the Baron dealt with the newer guests.

“Lord Baron.” Syanna tried again. “I do not wish to take up too much of your time under these trying circumstances.”

“Yes, yes.” Tratamara waved his hand negligently as he flopped down into a chair before turning to stare into the fire that was burning in the hearth. The Firelight reflecting off the tear tracks that were still running down his cheeks.

We had been shown into the Baron’s study and I wish I could tell you that it was any different from any other Nobleman’s study that you could expect to find. It was not the kind of study that I might have maintained, or that Emma or Father maintained. My feeling of the place was that it was that place that the Baron retreated to when the business of life got too much. A habit that had formed when the poor man’s wife had still been alive, she had died of an illness some years before.

When the “women” got a little too gossipy for his tastes then he and his friends would retreat to his study while the women carried on in the drawing room of the manor house. As a result, the study was a little, very male, retreat.

There was little sign of learning or written work in it. There was a small bookshelf behind the desk with a series of, all but identical, leather bound volumes that I would have guessed to contain business, or land records. There was also a large map of Toussaint on one of the walls that had the various game territories marked out in so many crossing lines of different coloured ink that it was impossible for me to translate. I have no doubt that someone else could have looked at it and figured it out, or the man himself would be able to tell me what it all meant, but as it was, it was all but gibberish.

There were several artifacts that I assumed to be of a sentimental value. There was a broken hunting horn on a table along with a very old, scabbarded sword. A pair of boar spears were hung on the wall as well as a broken bow that, for reasons that I never found out, was displayed prominently.

There was also the portrait of a woman above the fireplace who I took to be the late Baroness. She was wearing hunting attire that in certain corners of the world would be considered “scandalous”. If he reads this I hope Lord Tratamara takes it the right way when I say that the woman did not look overly beautiful, but I rather got a sense of the joy in her face that would make her attractive.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” The Baron asked.

“We have been chasing down other leads.” Syanna told him carefully. “And we did not want to intrude upon your grief.”

“No, I mean why didn’t you come sooner. Why couldn’t you have stopped this? You’re supposed to protect us aren’t you?”

“Yes I am.” Syanna told him firmly. “And I am sorry for your loss.” She added a bit more carefully. “Now there have been further developments that have made the movement of our timetable a little more urgent.”

Jean, who was far more sober than his father looked up from where he was leaning against his father’s desk. “There has been another killing.” It was not a question and I began to see what a Governor General would see in a man like this one.

Syanna considered. “There has.”

“Who was it?” Not an unfair question.

“We are waiting to announce that, until the next of kin have been notified.” Syanna responded easily. It was a rehearsed line. A practised one and I wondered who had taught her that line. I suspected Colonel Duberton of the Nilfgaardians. It is a good line. It prevents further questions being answered.

Jean saw the trap and didn’t step into it. His father was not as well up on the nuances though.

“What?” He demanded. “How dare you Madam, don’t you know who I am?”

“Father?” Jean stepped forward and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. The older man quieted at the touch of his son.

Syanna took a deep breath. “I know exactly who you are sir.” She said formally. “And I know how you would have felt if I had told everyone who the newest victim was before coming here and informing you of your loss.”

The Baron nodded. “I know, forgive me. My daughter…” His jaw worked for a moment. “Lord Frederick?”

“Lord Baron?” I stepped into the fire light.

“Is your Witcher friend helping with this?”

“He is. Allow me to present…”

Kerrass moved forward.

“Yes yes.” The handwave again before he went back to staring into the fire. “I never expected to lose my daughter.” He said finally. “Not until I walked her down the temple aisle anyway. A man in my position can expect to lose sons. Duty is the great killer of our time. Toussaint, Nilfgaard. You get used to the idea. But my daughter.”

He sobbed.

“Why did it have to be my daughter? Why did it have to be my daughter?”

We said nothing.

“That was not a rhe… rhetori... cal question.” THe Baron snarled suddenly, turning on Syanna.

“Father.” Jean warned.

“It’s alright.” Syanna told him. “That is what we are here to find out.”

“What could there possibly be to…”

“Many things.” Syanna told him calmly. Throwing the proverbial cold water over the older man’s anger.

Silence fell again as the flames in the hearth crackled.

“Commander.” Jean ventured. “Perhaps it might be better if…”

“It would,” Syanna agreed. “If I had my choice then I would leave you, Sir Jean, and your Father, to your grief and your anger. And if this were a decent world I would do those things. However, there has been another killing and the killer is getting bolder and… more brutal. There were three killings before your sister…. Before your daughter sir, and there has been another killing since. If I am to avoid anothing killing tomorrow night as well, then I must get the answers to our questions, sooner rather than later.”

Jean looked unhappy but nodded. Baron Tratamara had turned back to the fire.

“What are your questions?” Jean asked.

“Witcher Kerrass?” Syanna prompted.

Kerrass stepped into the firelight. “We already know that Lady Marie was going to the party that night. Did you know about that?”

“Yes.” Jean answered for his father. “We both knew.”

“So it was not a secret that she would be attending.”

“No. She was looking forward to it and had often expressed her anticipation both publicly and privately.”

“Did either of you intend to attend?”

“We did not.”

The Baron was, to all intents and purposes ignoring us now, tears still streaming down his face.

“Why not a larger escort?”

“I don’t see what…?” Jean was frowning.

“Are you suggesting….?” The Baron was listening after all.

“No.” Kerras spoke coldly.

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to…” THe Baron stood up.

“Fine.” Kerrass added, just as coldly. “Then other men’s daughters will suffer the same fate.”

The Baron looked as though Kerrass had struck him as he sank back into his chair.

“Cruel, Witcher.” Jean looked away.

“Sometimes….” Syanna began with a cliche.

“I am a Witcher.” Kerrass said. “My duty is to the living. Why two guards? Why not four? Fourteen? Why guard her at all? Why not one guard?”

“Two guards.” Jean answered. “One guard to get her away, the other to delay the attacker.” He sighed. “The general’s guards work the same way. Some guards delay the attackers while the others get the general away.”

Kerrass nodded. “I understand the theory. But that does not explain the numbers.”

“We didn’t think we needed more than two.” The Baron spoke up. “THe guards were not there to protect her from assassins. They were there to protect her from muggers, thieves and rapists. I am not hated, so we did not fear a mob. But a pickpocket? She was walking through the wealthy part of town. She wanted her dress to be a surprise so we weren’t too concerned. I was more worried that she might have her drink doctored at the party. Or that someone might trap her in a tight corner. Or that she might forget how much wine she had drunk and allow herself to get carried away.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Syanna leant forward, but Kerrass kept speaking.

“Has your daughter been compromised in such a way before?”

“My daughter was a good girl.” The Baron’s tears came again. “She never did anything to…”

“But did others try it with her?” Kerrass was insistent. “You were obviously afraid of other people doctoring her drink or trap her in a corner. Has anyone tried that before?”

The Baron had an interesting reaction to that. He seemed to pull back and sober up a little.

“All women of her station have stories like…”

“That’s not what I was asking.” Kerrass intoned.

“I will not… I will not sit here and be talked to like this. My daughter is dead.”

“And I am trying to catch her killer.”

“You have to understand.” Syanna interjected. Time for some good watchman. “There has always been rumour about your daughter in that regard. Not regarding her virtue or her behaviour which was always above reproach. But that someone had tried to force the issue. An incident that, after which, your daughter was never accompanied anywhere other than in the company of one, or two, grim faced and highly skilled swordsmen.”

The Baron turned back to the fire.

“She came to me in tears one night.” His voice was clearer. Less slurring on the words. I watched carefully.

“She came to me in tears one night. It was after some party that we had been forced to attend and that I couldn’t avoid.”

“Which party?” Kerrass asked.

“I don’t know.” The Baron moaned. “I honestly can’t remember. I was not ready to let go of my daughter yet, but she enjoyed the attention. Nor was she ready either. I was discussing some business with someone. Lord Treville, I think, when my Marie came to me in tears, her dress torn.” He just about swallowed a sob.

“Some “knight”.” He sneered at the title. “Had followed her out to the balcony when she went for some air and asked her for a walk in the gardens. She had tried to say no as she didn’t want to get too far away from the rest of us. But the Knight insisted and she ran out of excuses. She went with him, reassured that people would hear if anything would happen and she resigned herself to a boring walk, talking about swords and tournaments and the like.

“Then he grabbed her and tried to force her behind a hedge. She tore free and fled.”

“Who was the Knight?” Syanna asked.

The Baron looked shifty. For the first time that knight he looked uncomfortable. “It was Gregoire de Gorgon. The Brute of Beauclaire. Who else could it have been?”

He was definitely more sober than he had been when we had all first entered the room.

Syanna and Kerrass exchanged glances. Kerrass shrugged.

“Thank you.” Syanna said, rising. “We know that you have declined a number of marriage proposals. We are interested in anyone that might have taken that hard. Or anyone that Marie might have rejected and accidentally broken the wrong person’s heart.”

“I can have the records sent to you.” Jean said, forestalling his father. Also wanting this entire thing to be over I think.

“Then we shall leave you to your grief.”

A servant led us out. It was not lost on me that the servant himself was in tears as he did so.

We mounted up and headed back into Beauclair. The Guard had taken over the inn that was over the last murder site. The innkeep was more than happy as it meant that he could charge us all for the watered wine, which was gradually being replaced by tea and coffee given that the hour was increasingly growing early rather than late, and food that we were consuming.

We met up with Damien and the four of us sat down at a table where we were quickly served. I went with tea rather than coffee as I wanted to be able to tell the difference between trembling limbs from the coffee or my own special headspace.

“How was the Baron?” De La Tour asked.

Syanna had been frowning into space for a while since we had all sat down. She blinked at Damien, before her expression returned to one of concentration.

“That man lied to me.” She said reflectively, as though she was making her mind up that this was the case.

“Yes he did.” Kerrass agreed. “But I think the fact that he did is not as important as the question of why he did.”

Syanna’s eyes widened. “Explain please?”

“Gregoire, sorry, Sir Gregoire de Gorgon is easily proven innocent of both the past crimes and these current ones. He is not the kind of man that passes unnoticed after all. Men step out of his way, women look away and hope not to meet his gaze. People actively avoid him. To do all of that, you need to know where he is. So I think it will not take long for our esteemed guard Captain to find out where Sir Gregoire is and where he has been, in the minutest detail since the killings started.”

“He is not the kind of man that blends into a crowd.” Damien agreed.

“As for the party where his daughter was attacked? Or let’s be fair here, the party at which he claims his daughter was attacked or his daughter claimed to be attacked. It is not as common as people think it is, but she might have claimed an attack to avoid embarrassment of a different kind.”

“I knew Lady Marie.” Syanna said, a little angrily. “She was not the type for that kind of thing. Nor would she have been the type to enjoy the salacious scandal that would have resulted.”

“I never said she was.” Kerrass countered. “But we should also confirm that. Confirming what we know is just as important as finding out what we don’t. Freddie taught me that.”

Syanna grunted unhappily.

“Still,” Kerrass went on. “I think that there were enough clues given so that we can figure out which party it was. We know a rough time frame as I am sure it can be found out when Lord Tratamara started to hire mercenaries to protect his daughter.”

“It would not be hard.” De La Tour agreed.

“We know that Lord Tratamara spent time talking to a Lord Treville, which was when his daughter approached him to tell him about the attack, something that would have been remarked upon if the gentleman in question is local and questionable. And we know that there was a Garden for some assailant to pressure Lady Marie into taking a walk with him in. That’s plenty to get us going.”

“I would also suspect,” I added, “That such places would have guest lists. Even in the past records such things will be kept. If a Ducal party, which I would suspect as there are not a lot of gardens that someone could use for an assignation, either consented or forced. And the Duchess will certainly have a herald or a master of Ceremonies that would keep such lists.”

“As would any of the major vineyards that could also qualify.” Syanna agreed.

“Then we have another list to check off suspects against. As well as the lists that Lord Jean will be providing us.”

Syanna nodded. “So we have plenty to be going on there.” She said. “I think we need to start talking about Madam de Launfal. “Do you have anything else for us Damien?”

“Not a great deal.” He admitted. “Her residence is sealed off by my order. Mademoiselle de Angral took the body and some samples off through a magical portal of some kind after staring into space for a moment. We are in the process of questioning witnesses and I have ordered her butler that all of her servants should make themselves known at the house. They have not been informed as to what has happened yet.”

“We will not be able to keep that quiet for long.” Syanna said.

“No.” Damien agreed. “But there is a lot there. And back from when I was commanding the Duchess’ guard. I remember being cynical about things when there is quite so much evidence. Real conspirators hide evidence, frame jobs just keep adding to it.”

Syanna nodded. “Ok. In which case Damien, I think it’s time that you go and get some rest. You’ve had less sleep than I have over the last few days and you’re beginning to look like a runny egg.”

“Charming.” Damien commented. “This from a woman who actually looks less appealing than your average Bog Hag at the moment.”

Syanna stared at him in astonishment. It looked as though her mouth carried on speaking without any impetus from her. “Well at least I don’t look as though I’ve been punched in the face, twice, once in each eye.”

Damien nodded. “Well, given that you look very like your sister, and therefore one of the most beautiful women in the Duchy. I have to admit, I would sooner kiss a Nightwraith than yourself.” His face brightened as new inspiration struck. “No, a Pesta. I would sooner kiss a Plague Maiden than you with the way you look at the moment.”

Kerrass and I watched in astonishment. “Let him have it, let him have it.” I chanted under my breath.

“Well…” Syanna reddened slightly. “At least you didn’t say that you would rather kiss a troll.”

“I’ve known some nice trolls.” Kerrass commented, only to be ignored by both.

“And it shows how tired you must be if you are sinking to my level.” Syanna went on. “Off you go, a bath, a shave and some sleep.”

“Very well, but only if you do the same after you have seen your sister.”

“Including the shave?” I muttered back to Kerrass.

“Done and Done.” Syanna agreed, spitting in her hand and shaking with Damien.

“I will sleep much better knowing that we are not dealing with Jack at least.” Damien commented as he rose from the table.

“I think we should keep that to ourselves for now.” I said, almost without thinking.

Damien stared at me for a long moment before slowly sinking back into his seat.

“Why?” Syanna asked carefully as she gazed at me.

-

“The next step?” Syanna asked her sister. “I share, with Captain De La Tour, the relief that we are not dealing with a... return of the Jack menace. I agree with Lord Coulthard and Master Witcher Kerrass that this also means that we cannot be complacent. We have a lot of work to do. But frankly, I am exhausted. Damien is as bad if not worse. Freddie is sick. Guillaume has lost his aunt and will have family things to take care of. Ariadne is working but won’t have anything for us before tomorrow. The only man capable of working through the night is Kerrass. And I do believe that he has missed an appointment to be with us now.

“The next step? I think we should take a few hours to rest. Then, at least, I will have better answers to that question for you. We need to narrow our list of suspects is what occurs, but there are plenty of things in the wind to help us do that.”

The Duchess nodded. “So ordered. Get some rest, all of you.”

We bowed.

“I will see you both in the morning.” Syanna told us. “In the meantime, I want to gossip with my sister.”

The Duchess was in the process of speaking to a servant so Kerrass and I looked at each other and nodded.

“I’m off too Freddie.” Kerrass told me. “Maybe I can salvage something of the evening.”

I took a deep breath. “Good luck Kerrass.”

“Thanks. I don’t think I’ll need it but you never know with women, especially ones like this who love the drama.”

“Remember that I want to talk to everyone in the morning.”

“I have not forgotten. Just as I hope that you have not forgotten that you promised to let Ariadne know that you were heading to bed.”

“I know I’m supposed to. But I’m far too hyped up to….” I shook my head.

Kerrass grinned. “I would let Anne take care of that if I were you. But also that you told Ariadne when you were retiring for the night.”

“Good night Kerrass.”

“See you in the morning Freddie.”

I wandered through the palace. The first time I had been alone in, what felt like, forever. I was escorted of course. One of the Knights Francesca that was permanently attached to the palace had fallen in behind me when we had arrived back at the palace. But I had fallen into the same trap I always fell into as a noble. I had forgotten that he was there.

I wandered out onto a balcony as I passed and took a moment to enjoy the night air. I was feeling good. A pleasant buzz that is associated with the truth that you have worked hard, for the betterment of others and that you feel tired because of it. I enjoyed the crisp night air and the cold view below me. I watched the stars as they twinkled and enjoyed the shape of the moon as it stood, clear above the mountains.

Then I looked down at the city and therefore the Duchy below me. Somewhere down there was a killer and I was going to find them, catch them and then I would see Justice done.

I felt my mouth turn into a grin.

“I am heading to bed.” I told Ariadne through our link.

“I will be there directly.” She told me.

I took another long lungful of the cold night air before turning back to the palace within. A small part of me feeling a little bit guilty given that some people would be quite angry for being outside in these temperatures with my health being the way it was at the moment. But then I remembered how angry I was at those people and felt myself chuckle.

I climbed through the palace until I reached the guest wing and walked up to the entrance of our rooms. The ways were known to me now and I found myself wondering when that had happened. I entered and found Ariadne staring down at a sleeping Emma who was lying on the couch.

Ariadne smiled at me.

“Do you want to wake her up?” She asked through the link.

“No,” I answered. “I feel really good at the moment. Better than I have felt in ages and I want to enjoy the moment. I want to enjoy it without having to get into a fight, or having to worry about my sister’s tears or my brother’s recriminations. I don’t want to feel the guilt over hurting them. Not yet.”

“They kind of deserve it. We kind of deserve it.”

“Yes, but that will not stop me feeling guilty.”

She stared at me. “How much better are you feeling?”

She was wearing a black robe. The kind that I thought of as being her “working robes” which showed that she had been in the lab. Just a loose dark robe with a tool belt around the middle that kept it all together. When she wears it while travelling, she would have a satchel over her shoulder which would contain anything else she might need. In this iteration, her hair was tied back and her sleeves were pulled back from her wrists. I thought I could see the shine of wetness on her wrists, telling me that she had cleaned her hands before coming.

She never believes me when I tell her that I find her incredibly attractive when she’s in her “working robes”. I mean, I find her incredibly attractive anyway but…

I held my hand out to her. She moved towards me and gave a little yelp as I pulled her into a kiss.

A kiss which took my breath away, let alone hers.

“Oh that much better.” She said quietly with a little chuckle before she dived back in.

The moment was ruined by Emma giving a little grunt in her sleep and rolling over on the couch. Ariadne and I giggled like children and ran to the corridor leading to our rooms.

“You should get some rest.” She told me.

“I am tired,” I admitted, “but I don’t think I could sleep.”

She stared at me critically. “If we were married, I would use your hormones against you.”

“Oh?”

“Afterglow Freddie.”

“Oh. I would not deny that that would be pleasant.” I admitted. “What with Kerrass recounting his recent exploits and your earlier comments, I am recently reminded that it has been a long time.”

“I know.” She said, “It is alright. It is part of why I contacted Anne. I know humans Freddie, you need this and...”

“Stop.” I said. “I am tempted, I cannot deny.Not least because she is a beautiful, wonderful woman. But I have to say this. I…. If you don’t want this. If there is even a small part of you that is jealous or will feel bad. Then I won’t. I will take another couch or find another room and Anne can leave in the morning with my good wishes, sincere gratitude for all her help and all my care in the world.”

“Freddie….”

“If you don’t tell me that then… Then I don’t think I can… I find that I really am very …”

“The Word is Horny Freddie.” She told me.

“Ariadne, I don’t want to hurt you and…”

She took me by the hand and led me into my room where we found Anne, sat at one of the tables and was reading a book.

“I was waiting for you.” She said as she carefully placed a scrap of cloth as a bookmark. “I wanted to….” Then she saw the pair of us and her eyes widened. “Oh. Well.”

She stood up and smoothed her skirts. Then she smiled in a certain way and a jolt of arousal swept through me.

“It’s about damn time.” She said, swaying as she moved towards me.

“Ariadne.” I pleaded although I have no idea what I was going to say.

“Hush love.” She said, kissing me on the cheek. “Enjoy, I want this for you. And I have work to do anyway.”

She turned to go “And I am not leaving you.” She added through the link.

“You look much better like this.” Anne told me as she undid the buckle on my cloak.

“Listen.” I said.

“And I really enjoyed watching you take certain people down a few pegs this morning.” She grinned wickedly.

“Stop,” I said, taking her hands, and a moment to catch my breath.

“Is everything ok?” She asked, concern shining in her eyes.

I took another breath. “You don’t have to do this.” I told her. “I know why you are here. I know why you came. This wasn’t exactly in the original remit.”

“It really was.” She grinned at me. “I was beginning to fear that it wasn’t going to come up.”

“No, what I’m saying is… You don’t have to if you don’t want to. If you would rather…”

She silenced me rather effectively as she started undoing the ties of my clothing.

“I do want to. You are kind, and going out of your way not to take advantage of me. You are a good man and I must also admit that I am curious about all of these jaded courtesans you claim to have satisfied, or that Witcher of yours claims to have satisfied. He waxed quite lyrical about your capabilities.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Not after I’m through with you you won’t.” She told me as she pulled my shirt off. “Besides.” She kissed me again. “You really do look good in those clothes.”

I surrendered to her feminine wiles. And afterwards, I did indeed sleep.

The following morning started slowly and erotically and I’m not going to talk about that too much. I passed in and out of an odd, extremely relaxing and restful state of mind that was part dozing, part love-making and part just enjoying being relaxed, happy and comfortable.

It had been a long time since I had felt this good and I was putting off waking up. Not least because when Anne went off to find us some breakfast, or at least some coffee, she admitted that my family were outside and waiting for me.

After we had eaten and I had, again and may I do it every time it happens, marvelled at the fact that I was allowed, indeed I was encouraged, to touch a beautiful woman.

***

“So I wouldn’t normally ask but…” I began as I traced the slightly bony protrusions of Anne’s spine with my fingertips.

“Oh Prophets preserve me from the pride of men,” She moaned as she giggled. “Is this the “How do I compare” question? I thought your male pride was more solid than needing to know how you measured up in the bedchamber against other people.”

“It wasn’t quite that question.” I told her with a slight smile. “And I am reasonably confident in my own assessment of my own ability.”

“Do tell.” She laughed.

“As I have previously written, the oddest and strangely pleasing compliment that I have ever been paid was that I was “pleasingly average” when it comes to manhood.” I told her. “I asked that question once when I was feeling somewhat less secure in my own abilities than I am now.”

She laughed at that. I found that she had a nice laugh when she was thinking about erotic things. Different from when she was laughing otherwise. I was much more pleased with how relaxed she seemed in my company now. Although I still claim ignorance on being able to properly tell when a woman is satisfied, I was pretty sure that I had managed it at least once, either last night or this morning. Even if she did have to fake the rest. But I hoped that this contributed to her feeling of relaxation.

“Matters in that regard are down to personal taste.” She told me. “I would agree with whoever gave you that compliment, and it is a compliment, believe it or not. There are times when a lady wants more and there are times when a lady wants less.”

“Oh?”

“Oh yes, would you actually like to know?”

“I will admit to some curiosity. Always nice to talk to a Professional, in any field.”

“I once knew a man, tiny little manhood. But it bent in a certain way which meant that when he found the right spot, it rubbed in exactly the right way to reduce a woman to jelly.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best possible way. His technique was to move his angle of thrust until he found the woman’s “spot” and then he would vary speed accordingly. He was always successful. I will admit that I would not have found it satisfying all the time but the sensation was entirely different. And sometimes, a change is as good as a rest.”

“Ok.” I was fascinated. “And for the other end of the scale?”

“Size, either length or girth…” She considered, leaning back to drink her coffee and giving me access to so many more treasures. “There is a point, in either direction where it comes down to physiology. A man can be too long, or too wide to physically fit in the girl and no matter how much technique or other aids are applied, it will never work.” She winced at a memory. “I have no way of conveying to you how much that kind of thing can hurt.”

I ensured that my ministrations became more gentle in an effort to soothe away unpleasant thoughts.

“But otherwise, it is a matter of technique and build up.” She went on, leaning into my caresses a little more. “Proper lubrication and a man who knows how to be gentle, how to take his time and work up to it are invaluable. If all of this is properly seen to, then yes, a large manhood can be… quite something. The problem lies that most men, not all,” She smiled at me, “do not have the patience for such matters. Especially when they have convinced themselves that size is everything. It’s not. It helps, don’t get me wrong….” She thought about it.

“I think what I’m trying to say is that…. Speaking as a professional.”

“Of course.”

“I would rather have a skilled lover on the smaller side, who knows how to use his fingers and mouth properly, as well as being concerned for my pleasure as well as his own. Than a larger endowed man who just pounds away.”

I absorbed this.

“I also know,” I went on after a while. Speaking a little slower as I concentrated on what I was doing. “That I lack stamina in certain areas, am not as flexible or as strong as I could be and this means that certain acts and positions are beyond me.”

“The classics are the classics for a reason.” She told me with a smile as my gentle caresses started to bear fruit and her eyes became hooded. “But you do have one advantage over many partners, or customers if you prefer, have.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You actually seem to enjoy giving your sexual partners pleasure.” She had to rush to get those last words out.

Then she gasped. We stopped talking for a while after that.

“Such things are rarer than you might think.” She went on after she calmed down. “Many treat a woman’s pleasure as a transaction. They must give a woman pleasure before they can have it for their own. Almost like a matter of honour. That can make the act rather mechanical when it should be beautiful. Others, most even given my line of work, think that their pleasure is their right. They’ve paid for it after all and if the woman enjoys herself then it is an added bonus. Let me put it another way. You have just given me an enormously pleasant orgasm. Not the most powerful that I have had, even from you. But it was gentle, caring and wonderful. But if I did not reciprocate, you would not be angry. That is what makes you an unusual lover.”

“What can I say.” I told her. “It’s fun. Also for my money, women are beautiful creatures and yes, you look beautiful when your hair and makeup’s done and you’re wearing your fancy clothes. But to me, a woman is never more beautiful than when she’s in the throes of pleasure.”

She laughed.

“Not just pleasure you understand.” I told her with a grin. “But the full on, eyes rolling like you’re possessed, hair tangled, flushed skin, limbs everywhere, body twitching uncontrollably kind of pleasure. The stuff where you’re past moaning, past screaming, the sounds are more like… primal grunting.”

She laughed for a long time. “That Vampire of yours is a lucky woman.” She told me.

“It’s been said.” I commented. “Personally speaking though, She has put up with a lot of nonsense from me. Things I’ve said and done… I have been incredibly foolish and unthinkingly cruel in the past. I prefer to think of myself as a lucky man.”

She smiled gently. “All men can be foolish and ignorant and unthinkingly cruel. So can women actually, especially when we are young.” She told me. “The trick is to see this when you are, or shortly afterwards, and then turn up with flowers shortly afterwards.”

“Not Orgasms?” I joked, a little uncomfortably.

She laughed again.

“Flowers first.” She insisted. “And maybe some wine if she forgives you.”

***

I laughed and pulled away.

“But you have lost the mood haven’t you?” She asked gently.

“It was a glorious high.” I told her, pulling on a robe. “But my mind is moving away from this now. I want to be up and about and doing things.”

“You said.” She told me. “You have a killer to catch.”

“I do.”

“What happened?” She asked carefully. “Why were you so late back last night?”

I sighed. “There was another death last night.”

“Who died?”

“Lady Josette de Launfal.” I carefully didn’t give any details despite this. I didn’t want to ruin our morning with gruesome details.

“That poor woman. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You might regret asking that question.” I told her, gazing at her steadily for a moment.

“It can hardly be the most personal thing that you have asked me so far.”

I considered for a moment before deciding that I could trust her. After all, she had literally held me at my weakest point.

“Are you sure?” I checked.

She nodded.

I sighed. The truth was that I would have probably had to ask the question, regardless if she had said yes or no.

“Tell me about Sir Gregoire.” I told her.

I have no idea where the instinct had come from that this would be a big question for her. I have no idea, but it was and I saw it strike home.

She changed from lying back in the bed, relaxed, naked but for a sheet, hair in disarray, beautiful and pleasantly tired. Then she was closed off. She sat up, wrapping a sheet around herself to preserve some modesty, turning her back as she did so before wrapping her robe round herself. And as I watched her close herself off, I felt my heart break a little.

“I am sorry.” I told her.

“Don’t be.” She ran some fingers through her hair to straighten some of the tangles. “I told you to ask.” She tried to smile as she looked at me. “It is I who am sorry.” She said. “I pushed you into asking and I have hurt you.”

I allowed a small smile. “I try to limit my overall maleness where I can.” I told her. “But I feel like I have just hurt you. You certainly look hurt, and hurting a woman goes against… well, everything that I believe. Especially a woman that I care about.”

This time the smile was more genuine.

“You really are very sweet.”

“Not the kind of thing a man wants to hear after waking up in the arms of a beautiful woman.” I tried for the joke, I was even a little successful.

“Why do you ask about Gregoire?”

Not “Sir” Gregoire I noticed. Shortly before cursing my suspicious mind.

“He has been implicated in the deaths.”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t…” She was getting angry.

“I agree.” I held my hands out to placate her. “I really do. We have been looking for connections between the dead women. One of which was that Sir Gregoire Propositioned all the victims.”

She took that in stride. “He would.” She scratched her head with an odd look on her face before she sighed and poured herself another coffee and offered me another, which I took. More to accept the concession than because I wanted one. Her mouth jerked towards a smile and she relaxed a little, opening up a bit more. “Although I should warn you that it is generally bad form to discuss past lovers with a woman.”

“He was your lover.” I stated, it didn’t seem like it needed a question.

She nodded. “Although that’s not quite right. He is an occasional customer of mine.”

She started to relax, staring off into space as she sipped her coffee.

“Flower of the Night rejected him.” I prompted

“Yes she did.” Ann set the cup down, then she laughed. “This is the strangest post-coital conversation I’ve ever had.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ah Freddie, don’t be. You have nothing to apologise for. Just don’t ask me to compare the two of you.” She laughed.

“Yet I am still sorry.”

“I know.” She climbed out of her chair and knelt before me, taking my hands. “Look at me.” She said and I did as I was ordered.

“Do not be afraid.” She told me. “You surprised me is all. I was not expecting your question. You are a good man, you did not hurt me. If you did, it was by accessing an old injury that you did not know about, could not have known about and is therefore blameless from you. Whatever happens, I have enjoyed my time with you and, if it’s ok, I will continue with that. I have had far less pleasant experiences with clients, and few better.”

“Why?” The question was automatic.

She thought about the question. “I feel…. I feel valued here. I feel as though… It’s more than giving pleasure or release from stress. I feel as though I am making a difference here. I like your family, I like Ariadne and I like you.” Then she grinned, a little hungrily. “And the Love-making was far from unpleasant. I will admit that I would kind of like to see some of your other skills in evidence. You were tired last night and your need was great. This morning you were either mostly asleep or had your mind on other things. I want the full Freddie experience.”

I laughed with her then.

“I will still be here when you return.” She told me. “And should you ever return to Toussaint, come and find me. I will be more than glad to forgo other clients for you. That is not an offer I give to many clients by the way.” Then she laughed again. “You may even bring that Vampire of yours. The way she looks at you sometimes, I think I would like to see that, be part of it.”

I nodded and she rose.

“Do not be afraid.” She told me.

“Is it wrong of me to be afraid.”

“Not wrong.” She said as she settled back into her own seat. “Incorrect. You are still very vulnerable I think, despite how much better you are.”

She arranged her robe again. “Now, let me tell you about Gregoire and Fleur.”

“You make it sound like it was some kind of grand romance, or horrific confrontation.”

“Heh. It was really very simple.” She thought about something. “Ok…. Ok look. I loved Fleur. She was my sister, my teacher and my friend.”

I felt myself smile.

“Something something, anything before a “but”, something.”

She smiled too. “But… But I hated her as well. There is a strange kind of competition between us as members of Isabelle’s little troupe. We cannot exist without each other. If we did, we would be isolated and destroyed by the people who we threaten by our very existence. Those men who would not dare strike a working girl in Toussaint in fear of what Isabelle would do, would be free to find someone who has none of that protection and act accordingly.”

“How bad is it? Your profession seems relatively well protected here. Even with Isabelle’s fierce reputation and despite all the things that she would do.”

“Yes, but it makes people fear us. For a while there was a lot of legal wrangling. Back when Toussaint was going through a moralising phase we were stripped of a lot of protections. Technically speaking, we can be beaten by our clients.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yes it is. But not unusual in the world. THe law says that once our bodies are paid for, then our body belongs to the client and he, or she for that matter, can do what they like with it. It was not as bad as I’ve heard it be in many places. But a man that whipped a girl to death would not be arrested. He would need to deal with the scandal, but to a certain kind of person, that only adds to the arousal.”

“But that’s where the Knights Errant come in isn’t it? A girl could go to the Knights Errant for protection and championing.”

“You would think that. And most people don’t know it, but the law prohibits another Knight from fighting on behalf of a prostitute. The language is quite interesting. It’s supposed to mean that a man can’t be arrested or charged for beating up or hurting a prostitute when paid for. But according to the wording, a sex worker is actually exempt from the term “Lady.” Which means that they are not protected by the rights of calling a champion. A noble could simply ignore it.”

“Wow.”

“I thought you knew this kind of thing. It’s not unusual according to other working girls that I’ve met.”

“It’s not. I just thought that Toussaint was better than that.”

“It is now. These things are technicalities. Only the people that know about them would enforce it. But if I said that the sky was blue and a passing nobleman, merchant or… anyone really, if they live in Toussaint… If they said that I was lying and that the sky was red. Then I would be considered to be in the wrong and punished accordingly.”

I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You would never treat me like that. But I’ve gotten off topic.

“Despite our sense of sisterhood, we are also in competition with each other. It is a competition that Isabelle encourages. Who can bring in the most clients, who can bring in the most money, who has the best ideas and who has the most repeat clients. It would be true to say that we are all different and that we all do different things. That would be true and more than just the surface fact that I am blonde while Flower was dark haired.

“But that didn’t mean that I didn’t celebrate any week, or any month that I brought in more money than she did. Or that I snagged a better, richer client than she did.

“And that was made worse by the fact that she didn’t seem to care about the competition. We used to say that she thought her shit didn’t stink and that she thought she was better than us. Which is unfair because she was better than us.

“Prophets but I miss her.”

She bowed her head for a moment.

“I’m sorry.” I said.

“Don’t be.” She said.

“No.” I told her. “I am sorry for your loss. And I’m sorry that I… made you…”

“Oh for the love of the Prophet.” She said, with a small laugh, throwing her hands in the air. “You literally asked me again before we did anything. When I was all but throwing myself at you, you stopped me and checked for my consent. You made me do nothing I didn’t want to do. Sex is life affirming apart from anything else.”

I settled down, a little mollified, but only a little.

“Her thing, her gimmick if you prefer,” She started up again, “Was that she knew how to dress, talk, look, move and behave like a lady of high stature.” She was the first to accompany an out of Duchy Lord to a party because she knew how to exist in that environment. She provided that fantasy for her clients.

“But here’s the thing about Clients. Sometimes, what they think they want is not actually what they really want, or need. Which is where Sir Gregoire enters our story.”

She laughed at a memory.

“We were all much younger then, fuck, we were younger than you are now.” She glared at me. “Before you ask, do not ask me how old I am?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I told her. “And I would remind you that the woman I’m marrying is well over 900 years older than I am.”

“True. Not really uncomfortable with older women are you.”

“There are some jokes about experience that I could make here. But I’m not going to because I have more class than that.”

“You lose class when you point out that you didn’t make a joke.”

“Curses.” I snapped my fingers.

“We were just starting to establish ourselves. Flower was already the pre-eminent worker and some of the rest of us were coming up behind her. As I say, her thing was the Fantasy of the Noble-woman. My gimmick was still developing but what it came down to was that I was the caring person. I work best with the broken hearted. Those men, and occasional women, who have been hurt and need comfort. Men who have been turned down. Who have been betrayed by those that they love. Those that might have… lost something. Recovering from war, tragedy, grief.

“I find it easier to empathise with the people that I work with. Flower was always playing a role whereas I could work with what I found. Isabelle used to say that I was more… adaptable and Flower was more specialised. I remember some bitterness then. I thought that if I was more adaptable, then I should appeal to more people. Where she should only attract a narrow field.

“The other problem, the other wedge between the two of us, was that we would regularly get clients who wanted the best. They had heard of Flower because of course they had, and wanted her. But being slightly younger and therefore, less famous, I would often be made to feel like a consolation prize.

“So, in walks Sir Gregoire and we all gape at him. I mean you’ve met him. He’s a giant of a man. So big that his feet hang off the bottom of the bed. And in a normal bed, a woman has to, at least in part, use him as a cushion. Which is not as comfortable as you might think. His muscles are hard and unyielding when resting next to him.

“He was young then, we didn’t know much about him at the time but his Father had just knighted him as some form of bitter joke. There is some debate on that. More charitable people than me have suggested that his Father was trying to provide for his bastard son.”

“So he was born out of wedlock?”

“Oh yes. You would be better off asking him for the entire story. His Father was a nasty piece of work, never married and ran his manor into the ground. He never married as when he was of marriageable age, he was a younger son and had little rank or… money to his name. Then he inherited late after the older brother died and by that point he was already embittered so no woman or girl wanted to go near him.

“He gambled, drank and whored his manor into poverty, selling the lands to pay debts. Gregoire was born to a maid of some kind, he does not remember her fondly as she would insist that his father recognise him. The father would laugh, beat the woman and bully Gregoire. Young Gregoire was of the opinion that they should just move away but the mother refused, insisting that they stay put and that Gregoire gain “his birthright”. One day the father went too far and beat the woman to death and knighted Gregoire the same day. Did it properly too by all accounts.

“Gregoire had no idea how to be a knight, except from the stories that his mother told him. Which were not the same kinds of stories that you and I might have been told about becoming a Knight. I am of the opinion that the Father was dying and some part of him wanted an heir, even a broken one like Gregoire.

“Gregoire has always been a freak of nature. He was already tall and found it really easy to put on muscle mass. He entered his first tournament without knowing that just wearing chainmail was suicide and that his sword would snap at the first blow. Which was one of the first and only times that someone showed him any kindness. Another Knight, a Sir Phillibert de Gilebin, was of a similar size and strength if a few years older. At one point, Gregoire wondered if Philibert was some kind of distant relation. It was never proven because Philibert died a few years after in a duel.

“But Sir Philibert saw the difficulty and leant Gregoire a spare suit of armour. Gregoire had no idea what he was doing, lost the joust and the sword, mostly because he didn’t know the rules. But, to everyone’s astonishment, he won the melee by showing everyone just how angry he was. He converted his prize into coin and outfitted himself a little better and had some money left over. He asked the… probably the weaponsmith that he got his first sword from, what he should do and the man told him to go and get laid.

“So he came to the Belles, and not knowing any differently, he asked for the best and was sent to Fleur. It was the first time that Fleur referred a client to me. She sensed the bruised and battered heart that lay in the young giant’s chest and said I would do better.”

She shrugged. “She was probably right.”

“What happened after?”

“He wanted to prove himself to his Father. Without realising that his Father would never approve. He trained himself to the Joust, learned the rules of the Sword…”

“Hang on, he’s self taught?”

“Oh yes. I’m told his technique is unique and is shaped by his size and strength. At the sword he wins by hammering his opponent’s defences away until they can’t do any further. At the joust he can carry the biggest, heaviest, longest lances, wear the heavier armour and ride the biggest, strongest horses. So he just ignores the impacts that he takes and makes sure that his own strike take the opponent to the ground. I’m told that it’s simple, elegant, effective and no-one else could emulate it. I once heard another client call it “The truest example of the form that could be applied.”

“He equipped himself with what he earned and rode back to his manor house after the season ended. Only to find that his father had died and had willed the Manor to a distant cousin who couldn’t possibly be less interested.”

“Ouch.”

“Gregoire’s words were stronger. He has since decided that he deserves the best. He travels the continent in a straight line from tournament to tournament. Competing in the joust, the sword and the Melee. He wins more than he loses. Much more than he loses and he takes the money, upgrades his equipment, hires the best courtesan that will have him despite his reputation and moves on. He bought the manor house off his cousin for a ridiculous sum and is investing in it. It will never be as good as it was a century ago and more than one person, including me, thinks he should have it knocked down and built up again from scratch. But he insists. In the meantime, he avoids social engagements and carries on, ignoring what other people think of him. Still trying to prove himself to his dead Father.”

I stared at her for a while, she had spoken into the air and her eyes had attained a distant look and a suspicion formed in my mind.

There is a spell in Toussaint, a curse if you prefer. That curse is called romance. The people there believe in the romantic stories and the existence of true love. I was infected with this curse and will admit to being a romantic. I like the good guys to win, the bad guys to lose and for people to get the object of their infections. Some people call this optimism but I don’t think that’s quite right.

But I began to suspect that Anne was a little in love with Gregoire. The ugly, broken man with the heart of gold.

“You sound like you love him.” I told her.

She laughed.

“Yes and no.” She admitted. “Yes, My thing is Empathy. I fall in love with all my clients a little bit. But no, I could never have a man like that. I am a whore. Who would marry a whore? Even one who has left the job. So I do not love him. I cannot allow myself to love him.”

My heart broke for her a little. Yes, I am under the curse of Romance. It was the fact that she seemed at peace with this declaration.

“Why does he allow himself to be portrayed as the villain in all these jousts. His reputation is awful, people believe him to be a rapist and a murderer. If he doesn’t do that…”

“He doesn’t. That isn’t him. He hates anyone that mistreats women, taking care to be particularly brutal to them in the tournaments. And then it breaks his heart again when those mistreated women go back to their tormentor and call Gregoire a brute. I think he sees his mother in all the badly treated women in the world.”

“Then why does he allow people to say that of him?”

She thought about the question. “I think that there are two answers to that question. The first is what he believes which is that it is part of the business that he’s in. He once told me that that’s what jousting is. The organisers take a Knight that the people are predisposed to like and a Knight that the people are predisposed to hate. They arrange the draw so that the two Knights are bound to meet in the joust or the sword. Then they sell tickets.

““Never think that the draw isn’t decided well in advance.” He once told me. Gregoire is a large, ugly, brutal man. Those are his words. People hate him and if people hate him then they want to see him get beaten by the Knight in the Golden armour. He takes a cut of the purse and so… It’s money.

“But I think that the real reason is that he feels as though he deserves it. He likes to pretend that he doesn’t care, he might even believe that himself, but he does care and it hurts him. But what’s he going to do about it.”

“He could have joined the Knights Errant, or the Knights Francesca.”

“He was a Knight Errant. He was Knight Errant enough that he saw their worst side. I don’t know why he didn’t join the new order but I suspect that he would think it beneath him. I think he thinks that his Father would not like it and he is still trying to please his Father.”

“Which he can’t.”

“Which he can’t.” She agreed.

I sighed. “Gotta admit, that hits a little close to home for me. I can relate to that quite a lot.”

She looked at me oddly. “Yes, I have read your journals. You and he are a lot alike, you know.”

“Oh?” I fought down a swell of anger. No-one likes to be associated with a known rapist and murderer. Even if the accusations are untrue.

“Yes. For a start, you are both far more skilled in the bed chamber than people might think to look at you. You are both remarkably gentle.”

“Huh.” I shook myself free from that train of thought. “The records I have seen state that he still propositions Flower though. To the tune of once a month when he’s in Toussaint.”

“Yes he does. He still insists on the best and she keeps referring him to me.”

“Does he ever complain about that?”

“No. Nor does he complain when she recommends someone else if I am busy.”

I nodded.

“So why.” I began carefully. “Why is he travelling around the countryside propositioning young women?”

“Are they beautiful?” She looked a little unhappy as she asked.

“Yes.”

“Young?”

I nodded.

“Then there is your answer. He is trying to be the kind of Knight that you read about in the storybooks without anyone actually telling him how to do it. He sees a young, beautiful, unattached woman and aims to sweep them off their feet. He wants to be the hero of the story. Just this once. To take the young woman and carry them off to happiness. He chooses the beautiful ones because… why wouldn’t he? He knows he needs a wife. He knows he needs children. But he refuses to have illegitimate children because of what happened to him. So he can’t have an heir until he’s married.

“So he tries to get them young so they can provide him with an heir.”

I carefully did not ask her about whether or not I could detect any bitterness in her voice. And whether or not he had ever asked her. I didn’t think that there was a way I could do that and not come across as a complete asshat.

“So here’s my last question.” I said. “This before I go out there and face the music.”

She nodded.

“Could he do this? Could he kill these women?”

“Could he? Of course he could. Do not be absurd. You’ve seen him. He is deadly in his movements and his strength. That kind of power… Of course he could kill those women.

“But would he?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. As I say, he’s trying to be a Knight but he doesn’t know how. He wants to be the hero but he’s portrayed as the villain. He wants to be the storybook hero, but every time he tries, people run away from him, screaming. He can’t try and be otherwise because… Fuck, I barely think he can read and write. All he knows how to do is violence. He is shockingly good at it. But he wants to be the hero. He would not do this.

“He would not do this. He is not clever enough to do this. If Gregoire wanted him dead then he would just batter the offending idiot with his sword. He would not disguise himself with other methods.

“He knows why these women said no to him. He knows that he is a terrifying brute of a man and he knows that his behaviour does not help in that regard. He is in desperate need of a friend and a lover but where will he find one. Who would be his friend, knowing that in talking to him, they would be consumed with the same blight on their reputation.

“And he is still trying to prove himself to a dead father who hated him and laughed at him.”

I nodded, knowing that I had my answers. To the questions that I had needed to ask as well as so much more. For reasons that I did not entirely understand, I approached where she was sat, curled up onto herself, and gently put my arms around her. Not as a lover but, I hope, as a friend.

“I’m sorry,” She sobbed. “A few truths came out there that I did not expect.”

“Would it upset you too much if I could tell?”

“Not really. I feel sure that you would not use that against me.”

“Friends?” I asked tentatively.

“Friends.” She said, pulling back and wiping her eyes. “With benefits?” She asked slyly. “I still kind of want to see what else you're capable of. As I say, I got the feeling that you were not exactly on the top of your game.”

“I would like that.” I told her. “I should warn you that I might get worse again.”

“I know.”

“I also want you to know that, if anything makes you feel uncomfortable, then you can tell me and we can stop.”

“I know that too. Just as I hope that you know that I will still be charging you. Or rather, charging your fiancee.”

“Yeah, because that doesn’t make me feel any the more comfortable.”

She laughed and recovered. Even though I thought she looked a little haunted.