The planning itself was going about as well as could be expected. The addition of Ariadne made certain problems all but vanish into the aether, which was good.

The problem as I understood matters, was that no-one knew exactly where the boy was being held. There were several houses that could be candidates for where it could all be happening from the details that Anne had been able to give us, but they were unreliable at best. There were also the, almost certain, factors that the purpose of having Anne go down and wander around was to make sure that she wasn’t being followed. We all thought that the spies that Anne was worried about were exaggerated. After all, if someone was there to report on Anne turning herself in, then there were already far more trusted agents that could inform on what was going on.

So Anne had to go down there, by herself, and wander around in order to wait to be contacted. Then she would go to the inn, be taken into the carriage as expected so that we could then track her, find the house, surround it and then take everything out accordingly. The priorities were the rescue of the boy, the taking of captives and ensuring that no-one escaped to warn their masters.

A tall order. But again, the presence of Ariadne made that somewhat easier. An agent with the ability to turn herself invisibile can make all kinds of problems just vanish. She would go with Anne to the market and relay locations and things. The carriage journey was a problem but Damien was confident that his people could track a carriage of that type through the streets.

The biggest worry was whether or not Anne could keep her cool. In theory this was a lady that had managed to keep her cool in a group of potentially hostile people so that she could continue to gain information from all of them. But there was a big difference between being able to do all of that and doing it so that you could rescue your child.

It was a point, well made, that the one was just risking her own life where the other was rescuing her son’s life. That was the kind of thing that could make people a little unreasonable.

She seemed game though. Guillaume commented that she was Toussaint enough to want to rescue her son from the bad people and would take great delight in being part of that rescue. But that was the biggest question, would she hold? Was there some signal that she could give to those people that would, undoubtedly, be watching so that they would know that she was compromised?

I rather thought that there would be a signal. Something that she would have been told to do if she had been caught. But Anne was not stupid enough to use it. If she used that signal then both she, and her son, were dead and it was not much of a leap of logic to understand that.

There was a, very, brief conversation about whether or not it would have been possible to do the job without Anne’s participation. The long and short of it was that it could be done. It certainly could be done. But in doing so, it was also almost certain that the little boy would not survive the event.

We had to try to rescue that little boy. The part of Toussaint romanticism that we all wanted to abide by was coming to the fore again.

So it was set. We would all head down into the city as we were all but certain that the house where the boy was being kept and where the meeting would take place was almost certainly down in the city itself. There was some feeling that it might be along the shores of the river where it was becoming fashionable to build townhouse, warehouse combination, for some of the merchants that wanted to stay in Toussaint to oversee their interests.

Kerrass, Guillaume and I left early. That would be another tricky point. If there was suddenly a large scale movement of armed men and women that were heading down into the city itself, then that would be spotted. And we would need a large number of people to be able to pull off the complete surrounding and assaulting of one of those buildings.

There was still enough there that people built those things to last, but also in order to defend themselves should it become necessary. These buildings were first formed to protect the Elves from the invading humans, and later, to protect the settling humans from the encroaching bandits and monsters.

So we were inventing reasons for us to head down into the city. We still had time. Anne’s timing for heading down into the city was flexible enough to be able to move around the needs of maintaining her cover. There were a lot of logistics involved in that part of the plan. Coming up with excuses to move troops to this gate or to guard that warehouse. Another troop of men went down to escort one of the Ducal tax inspectors who were going to meet some merchant who was disembarking.

Kerrass, Guillaume and I had a ready made excuse that we were going to go back into town to go over some of the previous scenes of the crime. We had views of visiting the Lodgings of the Late Lady de Launfal, the place where she was murdered, the site where Flower of the Night was killed as well as having another go at reconstructing the last moments of the Huntsman’s daughter that was killed. Between the three of us, we thought that there was enough there to be able to waste enough time for everything to kick off. We would be summoned by Ariadne’s spells. We also thought it would be a good time for us to be able to bounce some of our ideas of Kerrass while we went in order to get another perspective on the entire thing.

Kerrass though, was not very helpful in that direction.

“How are you doing Freddie?” He asked while we bought some roast pork buns from a street vendor who was turning an entire pig on a spit. The meat just looked so simple and tasty after all of the rich foods that Toussaint was feeding us that neither of us have been able to resist going over and ordering from him. The vendor was even a little bemused at the look of joy that crossed my face when I asked for apple sauce and he could provide although he was a bit more dismayed when Kerrass asked for the crackling as part of his hot pork sandwich.

Guillaume did not partake. Indeed, the poor man positively turned his nose up at the food. Instead, he offered to go into one of the taverns to get us some skins of drinking wine to quench our thirst.

“I’m as fine as you could expect.” I told him. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“Yes, but as it has been a rough few days. How are you holding up.”

I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes as I extracted a large chunk of the meaty goodness from the bread that was being used as a plate.

“You’re distracting me.” I decided.

“Oh, and why do you think I would be doing that?”

“So that I don’t check on how you are doing. Don’t kid yourself Kerrass. I know you as well as anyone does now and don’t think I haven’t noticed how well you have been dodging the questions every time Guillaume and I try and talk about the case, or this aspect of it or that aspect of it. I’ve seen it, Kerrass and I am far from fooled.”

He said nothing and chose that moment to take a large bite of food himself, wiping the gravy from his chin with a thumb.

“You just don’t seem to care, Kerrass. And I don’t buy that, not for an instant. You hate these fucks as much as anyone and you love pointing out the flaws in other people’s theories. Especially if they’re my theories.”

“You have been doing a lot better since…”

“Don’t give me that crap.” I told him. “Even if I was bang on the money about everything, I would still expect you to be looking for the holes in my arguments. It makes you happy to puncture my arrogant self-importance and you cannot pretend any different.”

He shrugged and admitted my assessment to be correct with a grimace and a nod.

“Come on Kerrass. Time to ‘fess up. What’s going on?”

“Truth time?”

Why does everyone always ask that? When is it a good occasion for people to lie to me?

I might be being a bit naive there. But they had hit a nerve given recent past.

“Of course.”

“I really don’t care.” He admitted around a mouthful of meat and gravy. “I just don’t. I’ve tried really hard to give a shit about Anne and her predicament. It’s a shit one to be fair and I can summon a bit of sympathy if I try really hard, but honestly? I just don’t give a crap. The best that it can offer me right now is a chance to bust some heads. An opportunity to take out some frustrations on some well deserving shits who would take a little boy hostage in order to keep the mother in line.

“It’s the right thing to do on several levels.” He went on. “Not least because when all of this is over and we move on then there are only two options. The first is that she is kept on the hook for the providing of information on her clients. Which means that eventually, she will get caught and whatsername… Madam of the Belles, strikes me as a far less forgiving person than you are, which means that Anne would not survive. Or, given that she has seen multiple faces, neither her son, nor herself was likely to survive.

“So yes. Undoubtedly, we are doing the right thing. But Freddie, I just don’t care.”

I said nothing. What could I have said?

“As I say, the best thing I can hope to come of this entire thing is that I get to bust some heads. Some real, unambiguous violence which I can employ against some real bastards. A sentiment that seems to be going around. But I don’t care. I really don’t.”

“Why not?” I felt that I needed to prompt him along in his line of reasoning so that he didn’t get stuck on that single point.

“Because this is not the avenue that I want to pursue. I want to go after Alain. You know that, I know that. I want to hound him. I want to chase him and torment him until he admits what’s going on. I want to make his life a living hell until he owns up and when he eventually draws his sword, which he will, fucks like him always do, then I will cut the little puke’s dick off and anyone that gets in the way will suffer a similar fate. I’ve tried really hard to care about all of this. I really have Freddie and I’m sorry. But I just don’t care. Jack? Not Jack. One man or many. I don’t care. I want Alain.”

“I know.” I was trying to find a way in so that I could comfort him in some way. But that wasn’t what was wanted, or particularly needed now. I had opened the box and the contents of Kerrass’ brain were spilling out.

“This has crystallised for me. I know why you don’t want me to challenge him. I know all the logical arguments and I know all the reasons. You are right. I am not the swordsman that I was a year ago. I am getting better but even magical healing is only so good and cannot replace long term conditioning and bone deep muscle memory…

(Freddie: I later checked as to why this was a thing. So here goes. Kerrass’ arms had been shattered by a war-hammer. This was not just a case of a simple clean break. There were bone fragments and that part of the arm was like Jelly. That physical trauma was not helped by the fact that we then had lots of open country to cross including land that was far from entirely stable. The constant jarring of the injury would go on to cause… and I have to check the notes that Ariadne gave me to make sure that I get this right, Considerable damage to the nervous, skeletal and blood delivery systems. And the forced changes of behaviour had also had an influence on the… apparently this is a real term, “Limbic system” although I cannot swear that I am spelling that correctly.

When we had returned to civilization, the healing draughts that Kerrass could brew for himself as well as the magical healing that could be provided by Ariadne, Laurelen and other medical professionals, accelerated the healing of all of those factors. But even though the limbs were much more capable, some bits of the muscles were completely new and were meshed together with the old. Same with the blood vessels (I know what they are) and the nervous systems. So in the same way that it had been an arm, it was now a fully functional arm again. But in it being rebuilt and re… grown. Some of it had grown back different to how Kerrass was used to it behaving. So in the heat of a fight, it meant that his arms wouldn’t behave the way he expected them to.

To you or I, that would not make much of a difference. But to a highly trained, refined and experienced person like Kerrass who needed his body to act in exactly the way that he wanted it to, that meant that he needed his limbs to relearn what it was that they used to be able to do. To the naked eye or the untrained observer, which would be most of us including me, there would be no difference. But Kerrass would be able to feel the difference. And would complain about it.

Constantly)

“... So I know that there’s a chance that he might be better than me, even as he won’t be quite as experienced. But I want the bastard and when it’s done, When it’s over. Then I might be able to move on and care about things like Jack again. But right now, she is dead and he is still alive and I want to choke the life from his smug little face. I want to watch him go purple, then red, then blue. I want to watch the blood vessels explode in his eyes and his tongue loll out of his mouth. I want him to shit himself as he feels the fear of knowing. Of knowing that he’s about to die and then I’m going to whisper her name in his ear so that he knows exactly why I’m doing that to him.

“I promised that I would allow Toussaint to have it’s justice on him and I will abide by that. I will be the hangman if it comes to it and I will arrange the rope so that his neck doesn’t break from the drop so the bastard dies slow. If I am the headsman then I will do that willingly although I might take more than a single swing to get his head off if you know what I mean.

“If they want him drawn, quartered, garrotted, pressed, drowned, torn apart. And of those things. I will do them happily so that I can whisper her name into his ear before he dies. I almost hope that they exile him so that I can come upon him in some lonely place. Some mountain pass where there will be no-one around to see him die. Where he cannot appeal to the crowds for mercy. I will be there and I will be the last thing he sees. I want the bastard Freddie. I want him to feel afraid, as terrified as she must have felt when she knew that those guards were coming for her. I want the bastard and I will do it alone if necessary. I will do it. If it turns out, after all this, that he has nothing to do with Jack, then I will still kill him. I will do it alone if I have to.”

He stopped with a crash, breathing heavily.

“I thought you said you didn’t love her.” I said carefully. I was instantly sorry for it and Kerrass looked at me with murder in his eyes. Very carefully, I put my food on a nearby tabletop before turning back to Kerrass and taking his food to place it next to mine before turning back and hugging my friend as he silently sobbed and howled his sudden and unexpected grief into my chest.

“You will not do it alone.” I told him. “Just as I came with you to avenge Saffron, Sally and Pula. I will come with you to avenge her too.”

He nodded and pulled away.

Guillaume cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence before putting the skins of ale next to the remains of our food. He had a plate of cooked meats and ate it with his back to Kerrass so that the Witcher could come to his senses all the quicker.

In doing so, he also made sure that none of the people passing by would see Kerrass’ distress.

It’s the little things that make a friendship.

Kerrass calmed himself a little while later. Taking the time to have some more food and something to drink.

“Don’t get me wrong.” He told us both. “I am here for the pair of you and for everything that is about to happen and will happen. I will back you up to the end. But know that if anyone comes between me and the man that I am going to kill, then that person will answer to my blade.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to make a joke. Something about Toussaint being catching. But one look at Kerrass’ shining Witcher eyes was more than enough to convince me that such words would be… unwise.

We spent some time burning daylight in the most frustrating ways possible. The scene where Lady de Launfal had been found was far too busy for us to spend much time waiting. None of us were particularly invested in pretending to investigate a scene which we were already more than convinced had shown us everything that we needed to see. We had more luck burning some time in the Lady’s former residence.

“Lord Palmerin had had the good grace to arrange for all the furniture and belongings to be covered in sheets and things in order to prevent damage and to preserve the scene should we need it again. Guillaume told us that his Uncle planned to sell the place as soon as possible. It was well known that a house like this, as close to the palace as it was, would be able to gather a pretty amount of money in rents, but Palmerin clearly didn’t want anything to do with it.

Guillaume respected his Uncle’s opinion. It was during that conversation that we learned that Lord Palmerin had made Guillaume his heir. There were no other children for a plethora of reasons and Guillaume was as close to being his Uncle’s son as he could imagine. They certainly loved each other as such.

“Guillaume intended to turn the matter over to his wife who would know where to find a decent estate manager to look after everything. He expected to be busy with the Knights for the immediate future and should he survive, he would keep working until he felt his skills beginning to decay beyond the point of uselessness. A point in time that he expected to take place when he was around thirty. Then he would see where his life lay. In the meantime, he was looking forward to working for the realm and having children with his wife.

Kerrass had recovered enough of his humour to assist me in teasing the poor Knight during that part of the conversation.

We were there when Ariadne contacted us to tell us that Anne was heading into town. So we were back to waiting again.

And don’t worry. This is not going to devolve into another essay about what it’s like to be waiting for the action to start. This was a much more… waiting type of waiting. We stood around, made small talk, kicked the walls and things. I amused myself by inspecting the Lady’s collection of sexual paraphernalia, taking items out (I was wearing gloves) and demanding to find out whether or not Guillaume knew what it was for.

Kerrass ruined that game for us though as rather than being part of the conversation where we came up with increasingly inventive uses for the item in question, he simply told us what it was for, resulting in occasional disgusted noises and the odd curious, contemplative expression.

The step by step commentary from Ariadne prevented much other contemplation and thinking that I would normally take the time to do in these kinds of situations. It seemed that Ariadne’s methods of dealing with her guilt for whatever had happened between her and Anne was to ensure that the two of them would become firm friends. She had spent her time during the planning stage reassuring the, obviously terrified, courtesan that nothing would be allowed to happen to her son or to herself. Not while she, Ariadne, was looking out for them both. Much to my astonishment, it seemed to be working as well. Anne’s remarkable ability to forget the feral… well… creature that had hoisted her up by the throat and began to squeeze the life out of her was astonishing. I’m not sure I could do the same in her place.

But then again, I am not the one who has had their child taken from them so again, maybe our two sets of life experiences are so different as to make it inconsequential.

The three of us listened as Anne took the time to walk down the path from the palace. She stopped to look out at the view and to accept a flower from one of the local gardeners. Apparently this was something that she did every day and I was astonished at myself in that I had to briefly squash a surge of resentment and jealousy as we did so.

She came down the path and over the bridge where she was saluted by a Knight of Saint Francesca, flirted briefly with a passing merchant and bought some sugared almonds from a market stall.

She would chew on the candied nuts for a little while before she was greeted by a group of what Ariadne struggled to call anything other than “Urchins”. A group of cheeky street kids, lacking the back breaking poverty of their northern brethren, the malnutrition and the disease. These were the children of craftsmen, merchants and minor noblemen who had run out of things to entertain themselves with in the home and so had been turfed out onto the streets.

They greeted Anne with a cheer and wave. Ariadne told us that they asked after her son and that she greeted many of them by name. The excuse she was using as to why her son hadn’t been out to play recently was because he had caught a winter chill that he had not quite been able to get rid of.

The candied nuts were passed over to one of the older girls who acted as referee and proper distributor for the treats and Anne walked on. She was well known and seemingly well liked. Greeting many of the passers by by name and with small words of gossip. She stopped at a dressmaker to check up on a couple of items that she had ordered using Ariadne’s payments and then proceeded to the market.

I might have been angry that this was all taking so much time, but it also seemed that Anne shared my views. She wanted to get down into the market and get the entire business running along the way they wanted it to. It was actually Ariadne that forced the other woman to slow the entire pace of the thing down to ensure that anyone watching would not get suspicious.

When she got to the market, she proceeded round the stalls. She stopped to talk with another one of the “working girls” who was on a similar kind of errand. The fresh air and seeing the sights kind of errand rather than the “giving information to the enemy” kind of errand. This woman was obviously a bit more known to Anne as the woman asked about Anne’s health and the health of the child. We found out that Anne would normally leave the child with a tutor during the day and with an “Aunt” while she was working overnight.

Guillaume made a small note of this as we all, almost at the same time, realised that we had no idea how or when the boy had been taken.

Anne bought a small meat pie from one of the vendors that she seemed to know fairly well and was eating it at a beauty spot that looked out over the harbour when Ariadne noticed the cloth in the window. It was a red house on the corner and again, Guillaume made a note of it so that we could later enquire as to who was giving the signal.

Then Anne went to the tavern where she bought a small cup of wine and sat, again, looking out over the harbour.

Ariadne’s commentary of the tavern was not complimentary. Little more than a few planks nailed over a barrel and a stacked set of logs that had been made up in a tiny corner of a basement room. Ariadne was unable to have any wine herself but she said that, from the taste of it, it didn’t look that drinkable. This was a place for workers, market men and haulers to grab a quick swallow of wine before returning to work. Despite the small area and the lack of quality in the produce, they seemed to be doing a roaring trade.

I went back there later for a “scientific” survey of the place and decided that, although the wine was less than entirely quality. It achieved two things. The first was that it certainly quenched a thirst and it was certainly very cheap. I can also admit that I have drank far worse in my travels with Kerrass and been grateful for it.

The carriage turned up shortly after that. Ariadne reported that Anne did not even have time to finish her small cup of wine before it was on the scene for Anne to climb into.

Guillaume made another note. Why he thought he had to be quiet given that Ariadne was talking to me telepathically and that there was no way at all that anyone could hear us was besides the point. The note read “They were expecting her. Where was the carriage waiting?”

Both of which were very valid questions.

Ariadne’s commentary kept moving. Again, it was apparently a very nice carriage. She said that it was definitely the kind of thing that was built to carry passengers rather than any kind of covered wagon that was converted. She said that she could see the joins where the roof and the walls of the carriage could be lifted off so that a couple could go travelling through the countryside.

She imagined a noble couple. Him, a Knight, resplendent in his armour while she would be unable to ride and would follow along in the carriage. It was the kind of image that suggested romance and, almost, abuse at the same time. I can only speak for myself. But if I was riding with a woman that I cared about. I would want to be with her. Either in the carriage, or riding next to her. But then again, I’m old fashioned like that.

We started to move then. A very confused and hesitant sounding Captain de La Tour started issuing orders through Ariadne. The Carriage was in sight now and Ariadne issued the orders for us all to start moving and homing in on it. Timing here was crucial. If we turned up too early, then we ran the risk of being spotted. But if we were too late. Then Anne would need to improvise. Which she might not be able to do given the stress and strain of the circumstances.

They seemed to ride around many of the different areas. The only possible reason that they would want to do that was to throw Anne off the scent as to where the building was. It seemed a little fruitless to me. One way or another, Anne was completely in their power and they had to know that. So if she betrayed them then they would have the hostage.

Kerrass teased me about that. He said that I wasn’t thinking like a guilty person.

Guillaume added an interesting insight when he said that not all evil people feel guilty.

Kerrass and I looked at each other. “Now that’s a thought that’s going to fester.” He joked. I said nothing.

We started to move over towards where the carriage was. The earlier guesses were correct. It was down towards the warehouse district where some of the newer houses had been built. I didn’t like them. They were large, ostentatious displays of money over taste. People that had the money and wanted to buy all of the THINGS because the palaces and houses of the rich people that they visited had all of the THINGS in them as well.

There was a row of them. All built to take advantage of the view of the harbour. There was the odd, slightly smaller house that were much more pleasant to look at which Guillaume told us was because they had been built as summer houses away from the heat of the city where people could swim and boat in the wider area of the river before the harbour expanded. Those houses now looked relatively small and poor next to the ostentatious and rather tasteless wealth that was on display in some of the other buildings.

Kerrass gave me a small taste of truth when he pointed out that my reactions to these people was almost certainly going to be the same reactions that people had to my Father buying Coulthard castle.

That was not a pleasant insight.

Naturally, the guard had an outpost there and we martialled in that building. It was uncomfortably like that meeting that we had held the evening of the Fishmarket. Where the briefing was held and everyone stood around looking nervous.

It was different. There was less sullen hatred in the room. More expectant quiet. De La Tour was there and was, by default, in charge of the mission. It was reasoned that if Syanna had wandered off to get into her full harness to lead this kind of excursion then someone would almost certainly notice and give the game away. And, because it was within city limits. It was not untrue to say that this was more Damien’s beat than it was Syanna’s. He knew the land. He knew the people and the buildings. So he knew the terrain.

He was standing, frowning into space with his head on one side as he listened to Ariadne’s commentary. He seemed to have a habit of tugging on his moustache when he was nervous and waiting for something. He looked up sharply.

“Right. It’s the dark red house and warehouse, three buildings further down the banks of the river. Snipers, get up the hill and see if you can get a good shot into any of the windows. Breaching teams I need you next to the gate and I want a net (not an actual net) around the back entrances. It’s one of everyone’s favourite merchant houses. A house built on top of a warehouse so they don’t have to pay the tax on the goods coming through the warehouse. (Apparently because a warehouse makes it commercial goods in Toussaint whereas a house makes it residential and therefore personal and nontaxable. Both Damien and Syanna were working on that problem.

“Guillaume, you and your team go through the back of the warehouse. We don’t know what’s in there, if anything. The customs agents haven’t got back to us yet and we don’t really have time to waste. Signal is a whistle blast. Two blasts means that the child is sighted. One blast means that he is not and is therefore probably still in the building. So keep an ear out. Regardless, attack when the whistle blows. The aim is for prisoners and evidence, but if it’s a choice between your life and the life of some kind of scum sucking mollusc of a child thieving kidnapper then you put the bastard down. Clear?”

The sounds of affirmative from the Knights and the guards warmed my heart.

“Positions then. Go fast. Go hard. Good hunting.”

And then it was on.

Guillaume led Kerrass and I along with a couple of crossbowmen that raced off to climb some of the nearby houses to get to their vantage points. I saw one swarming up a vine on the outside of a mansion with a speed and an ease that was… intimidating. We also had a couple of shield men with us. When I say that you might be imagining the large round shields of the Skelligan raiders, designed to protect the men standing next to you as much as it’s designed to protect yourself. Or you might think of the Kite shields of Temeria and Redania. These were nothing of the kind. Small, round, metallic bucklers that were held in the fist. The men had short swords in their other hand with wicked quillons that pointed up from the crossguard position which I was quick to take as being designed to catch blades.

Their faces had a hard and brutal look that made me feel glad that they were on my side.

We moved quickly, moving at a low crouch in the, probably, mistaken feeling that moving at that kind of bent crouch would help us to go unseen. Guillaume led us unerringly, seeming to know exactly where he was going. He had left his shield behind as it would hinder speed rather than help it and instead, had a smaller blade for “closer work” as he put it.

We came to the corner of a house where Guillaume pulled us up.

“The house is just down there, two houses further down.” It was not lost on me that he was mostly talking to Kerrass and I. “”Open ground between her and there so stay behind me so that if any quick arrows or bolts are going to glance off my armour first. Weapons out and ready. As the man said, do not be afraid to spike them.”

And then it was back to waiting. One of the shield men skirted round as he thought he could see somewhere with a better vantage point as he walked out in the open with that particular brand of stealth called “hiding in plain sight”. He got a look at the house and came back.

“There is an archer up in the back windows but there is no way that he can get a decent shot off.” Was the formal report. “Angle is too awkward for a bow that size. Stupid fucker would have been better off with a crossbow.”

“Probably couldn’t afford one,” said the other shield man.

“And he looked as though he was asleep.”

The two men sniggered.

“Quiet.” Guillaume said. “Is the window climbable?”

The shield man considered.

“If I had a …”

But he was interrupted by a whistle.

“No time for it.” Guillaume quickly said, “Take him if you think it’s doable. Follow me.” He came round the corner with a bellow of “FOR SAINT FRANCESCA.”

A second whistle blast blew out as we ran. I wasn’t really listening because by then, I felt the release of the fear and the tension. That explosive surge through the blood that sent energy to the legs and speed to the arms. Sometimes I scream when it happens, other times I do not. This time, I decided that I would save my breath.

Guillaume ran quickly, shouting out the warning on behalf of Saint Francesca while he ran. As the guard had said, there was an archer and he fired down at us but he panicked and the arrow went wide. I had time to hear one of the guards snigger.

We reached the back door. Kerrass gestured Guillaume aside from where the Knight was about to throw his shoulder into the wooden structure. The first of the two guards spun to put his back to the wall and held his small shield in both hands on his knee. The other man ran forward, jumped up and used the shield as a catapult to aid in his leap up to the window that was a little way up. We heard a cry of surprise and fear but didn’t have time for anything else.

Kerrass gestured towards the door, a concussive blast, fuelled by a Witcher’s rage cause the thing to explode into splinters which I had to turn away from for fear that they would get in my face.

Guillaume led us inside.

We were in a large open area. Above us was the building which our companion had burst into, I guessed to it being offices of the warehouse part of the building. The main residence was ahead of us and we knew that there would be the garden courtyard beyond that where Ariadne, Anne and hopefully the child would be. But I didn’t have time for that.

The open, warehouse area was empty. The building above us was supported by large stone pillars that braced the ceiling with a series of archways. It was roomy, bright and dry. Ideal for storing whatever it was you wanted to store. But there was nothing here, no boxes, no barrels or bales of cloth. I didn’t have time to think about that too much as the back door of the residence had opened and there were some guards moving towards us.

THere was a flight of wooden stairs off to the right and Guillaume gestured. “Go and help your friend. These paltry fools will not be an obstacle.”

I raised my eyebrows at that, there were Eight men running towards us before spreading out to begin to encircle us. Nasty ratio numbers, even given that we numbered a Witcher and a Knight.

Kerrass and Guillaume exchanged glances before drawing weapons and charging into the middle of them. What’s a poor scholar such as myself to do but follow.

I leapt forwards as best as I could, keeping to Kerrass’ left according to long, old habit. A swordsman came at me. I had time to be surprised at the fact that he seemed to be well groomed, hair clean and with all of his teeth even as he grinned at me, expecting an easy target.

I always love the ones that expect an easy target.

He struck with a nice big forearm strike which I blocked and pushed round in a circle towards his feet. He realised that his weapon was being trapped and went to step back.

The man had training.

But he had come too close with his first strike when he was expecting an easy kill. I followed him, faster than he was expecting given that he was still expecting a spear fighter which he assumed meant that I would want to keep him at range. Instead I followed him, slid my hands along the spear pole to make room and rammed the pommel of the spear into his face.

I ruined his perfect teeth for him. He fell. I had a quick look around to see that no-one was about to stab me in the back and felt I had enough time to stamp on the side of his knee and kick his sword away. He howled in pain but I didn’t have time for that as another man had seen me.

He was trying to back away from the fight with Guillaume and Kerrass which was not going well for his side. This was obvious given that the Knight and the Witcher were easily holding their own against three men each. Easily enough that they were able to rain blows on men that were engaging the other. So this man’s idea was to escape out the back. He had realised that I was in the way and decided that he would kill me and then get out.

He had a lighter sword and a dagger in his off-hand and the way he held them said that he knew what he was doing with them. He advanced on me cautiously before trying for a lunge. I parried and he was quick rough to try for another. I parried this one as well.

A movement over the swordsman’s shoulder caught my eye. One of the fighters who was engaging Guillaume had realised that I might be an easier kill and was moving to support his friend.

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Which, in turn meant that I didn’t have time to play with this swordsman. I had managed to keep my eyes on his as I parried a third lunge which he did his best to push the spear away in order to follow through with his off hand dagger. But his sword was not strong enough for that and it gave me a straight line lunge into his throat.

Another man, killed because he didn’t know how to fight a man with a spear.

The man behind him was a shield fighter. He had been engaging Kerrass, I think, but had wanted to move up to support his friend. He had seen his nearly three to one odds vanish in a blur of blades and blood and he was angry. Beyond him I thought I could see at least two more, probably three of his mates down and he wanted blood.

He was not so far gone as to be stupid, he came at me shield first and I backed off to give myself some room. I could see Kerrass behind him dispatch another foe and had looked around to find another opponent.

I turned so that Kerrass would be in position. Shield man had forgotten, or no longer cared, that the Witcher was there. He struck at me, stabbing forward from behind the shield. I parried with an old quarterstaff maneuver and pushed his sword across his shield, aiming to move up his now unprotected right side.

It’s the first, most basic way to attack a decent shield man. Good shield fighters know this which is why the counter for this trick is one of the first things taught to shield fighters after everything else. He turned to follow me, stepping back at the same time so that he could get a nice, hard back hand swing at my back as I went past him.

It was automatic for him I think. The kind of thing that was ingrained into muscle memory. He didn’t even really think about it. Unfortunately for him, the counter turned him further so that he had his back to Kerrass. Who decapitated him.

The dead man wore a very surprised expression as his head sailed through the air.

Kerrass kept moving forward. In turning to get the shield man in the back, he had left himself exposed and so he dived forward into a roll taking him out of range of the swinging sword of another attacker. I didn’t have time to see who it was really. I just parried the blow, pushing the sword off to one side which caused the man to stagger.

Into Guillaume who pushed him back with a shoulder before taking the time to back hand him across the face.

I didn’t have time to see what happened. I was in the middle of the remaining melee now. A man with a short axe had taken hold of my spear and was trying to push it out of the way, or at least hold it so that I couldn’t bring it to bear as he came down it’s length. I did as Letho had trained me all that time ago and I drew my belly dagger and hacked at his hand. He let go of the spear with a howl of pain and anger before an odd confused expression came over his face. He started to sway as if he was drunk.

Guillaume hit him with the pommel of his sword and he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

And it was over. We didn’t have long to survey our handiwork although I could tell that Guillaume was pleased. I got the feeling that he too had been looking forward to some unambiguous violence.

But we could hear shouts of combat from the main house.

“Come on.” Guillaume shouted.

I turned, just in time to check and see the two shield men coming down from the warehouse building, one was supporting the other who had a bloody cloth pressed to his side. The uninjured guard waved me on as Guillaume led us into the house.

Straight into the arms of a man who was running away from the combat at the front of the house. He staggered backwards in surprise at our appearance before lunging forward clumsily. Guillaume literally side-stepped the lunge, caught the weapon hand with his left and pulled the unfortunate soul into a huge blow from the pommel of Guillaume’s sword. Again, the man crumpled into a heap as we stepped over him.

It wasn’t until then that I realized that we were in a kitchen.

He led us into the building. It was quick work now. We didn’t have time to fuck about. It was about speed, brutality and doing for the other guy before he did for us.

Past the Kitchen there was a set of stairs leading up. There was still sounds of combat coming from the front of the building. Guillaume went that way. Through some kind of unspoken agreement, Kerrass led me up the stairs. It was a small flight, thin and plain in a way that said that whoever was in charge of the building didn’t think that they were all that important. That they didn’t need decorating because such a thing would be wasteful.

They were servant’s stairs. Even for servant’s stairs though, they seemed a little decrepit and underused. If Servants have anything that they can call their own, I have found that they will often find a way to take pride in it. Meaning that those parts of the building are often impeccably clean but there was dust on the ledges and grime on the windows. I didn't really notice these things at the time. I just kind of… absorbed them. I did not have time to think about them.

The stairs turned back on themselves and I had enough time to register a whistling noise before Kerrass pushed me back against the wall.

A crossbow bold whizzed past my ear to strike the wall behind me with a thunk. Again, there was not time to register the fact that Kerras had just saved my life, again. It was the kind of thing that would come back to me in Nightmares for the next couple of days.

Kerrass was off and moving again, almost before we heard the bolt strike the wall. The man at the top of the stairs was still frantically trying to reload the crossbow, when he should have taken the time to draw a sword or something. So Kerrass just ignored him and pushed him aside.

I kicked him in the balls as I ran past. He doubled over, around the pain as men all over the continent do when they experience that particular kind of agony. I grabbed him by the belt and sent him tumbling down the stairs behind us.

I have no idea what happened to him.

We came through a doorway into an upper landing. This was much more the kind of decorations and stylings that I would expect from some kind of manor house where rich merchants live. The wall hangings were lavish, the candle sconces in the walls were golden.

It was still grimy though. Grimy in a way that no real resident of a place like this would allow to take place.

A man had been waiting to ambush us as Kerrass came through the door. He had swung in a huge vertical slice as Kerrass had come through the door. At some point, Kerrass had put his magical shield up and there was a flash of golden light that blinded me for a second. As I came out I saw that Kerrass had got inside the reach of the attacker’s sword and the two men were struggling. I had no doubt that Kerrass would win out eventually, but I didn’t have time for that.

“Hey,” I shouted.

The enemy fighter looked up for a second as I distracted him, giving me a clean shot to ram the but of my spear into his face.

I heard a noise behind me and something in me twitched. In the same way that I would react if a Wraith or a Whight appeared behind me, I dived forward and rolled, thus missing the huge sword strike that would have bitten deep into my neck if I had remained where I was.

Kerrass had finished off his opponent, turned and ran my attacker through.

We were in a corridor with doors coming off to either side. Behind me, I had registered that that was where the stairs leading up from the front of the house were. So I went further into the house. There couldn’t be much more to this building. It wasn’t that large. It was just a manor house.

I wanted to go into one of the doors on either side. But a swordsman came out of one of the doors and charged down the corridor to meet me. He was screaming. For all I know, I was screaming too as I leapt to meet him.

This man had a brain though. A brain that I was lacking. I was fighting with a spear in a corridor. There was no room for fancy movements, twists or pirouettes. All I could do was lunge. He saw that and as he closed, he held his sword across, holding the blade with a gloved hand. I saw what he meant to do but I was committed.

He got his blade under the spear head and lifted so that he could get inside my guard. He kept pushing the sword up to keep my spear out of the way as his other hand went for the dagger at his belt.

It was a close run thing as to who would get there first.

I won. More by luck, I think, than anything else. Plus I had seen it coming and I rather think that the other guy didn’t expect me to have that capability. Or that he had expected me to depend on my spear in the heat of the moment. Or that he hadn’t seen that I had a dagger on my belt, primed and ready to be drawn by my dominant hand. Or I could use the dagger with my dominant hand rather than with my off hand.

For whatever reason, I got my dagger out and rammed it into his belly. I heard him groan as he dropped his sword and Knife to hold onto my wrist. The dreadful fear that I had seen in other men, born of wondering whether it would be better to keep the blade in his guts or to pull it out. He looked up at me and I saw the dawning horror of that knowledge that he was going to die and that it was going to hurt. Belly wounds always take the longest, and hurt the most.

“I’m sorry.” I told him.

Kerrass grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and pulled me away. Remembering that I was in the middle of a fight and that the man that I had just killed, even if he hadn’t died yet, would have done the same thing to me, I tore the dagger free and we moved on.

The first room that we opened was a bedroom. The second was half a bedroom, half a nursery. Other than the fact that it was also clearly a nursery constructed by someone who knew nothing at all about children. There was a woman trying to hide underneath the bed. Kerrass used one of his “signs” to calm her so that I could pull her out. She spent a bit of time shrieking at me. Long enough for us to decide that she wasn’t immediately going to pull a knife out and attack us in the back.

There is a certain kind of hysterical shrieking that is impossible to fake.

Kerrass turned while I tied her wrists together with a torn piece of cloth from one of the sheets. I will admit that I was not gentle, but it was almost certain that Anne’s son was kept in that room. If she thought about it, she could probably have gotten free from the bindings, but right then I didn’t care. Speed was more important.

The next room was another bedroom. It had some more signs that it had been used at various stages but looked unoccupied to me so Kerrass burst into the last room.

We should have gone to that room first, but if we had, we would have left unopened doors to our back. Never a good idea.

We burst in and we found two men who were frantically trying to shovel papers and skins into an already overloaded hearth. One dropped his bundle and drew his sword.

Kerrass was in the room first and gestured. A huge blast of air sent that swordsman flying backwards so that he hit the wall with a wet snapping sound. He started to jerk around like a fish.

I got to the other man who was still trying to get the papers into the fire and hauled him back before using my spear to pull out the smouldering papers and stamping on them to get rid of the flames. The burner nearly got up, but Kerrass had his sword at the man’s throat.

“You should know.” Kerrass said in his “killer” voice. “I really want to kill you.”

Satisfied that the papers were as safe as they were going to be, I checked on the other man who died just before I got to him. The impact into the wall had broken his neck. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t always die immediately after having your neck broken.

“Hit him a bit hard there didn’t you Kerrass?” I commented.

“I was angry.” Kerrass said, not taking his eyes from his captive.

“Are you still angry?” I wondered. Knowing the answer but more to keep the captive quiet.

“Pretty fucking furious actually.” He snarled. I couldn’t tell if it was a pretense or not. Could have gone either way really.

The sounds of fighting were dying down now, so I bent to the papers that we had managed to salvage.

The first page wasn’t that interesting. Something about some noble that I had never heard of and the fact that he was sleeping with one of the maids. On the list of things that I didn’t really care about, this one was quite high. The next piece of paper… They all seemed rather jumbled up and out of order, whether by luck or by design I couldn’t tell, was an estimate of how many Knights Syanna commanded and a projection of how many Knights they were going to have before they were done. There were predictions on the paper as to makeup of the group as well, how many noble born, how many common born… That kind of thing.

I started shuffling through the records a bit quicker taking in small details. It would not be a small job to go through all of this and find out exactly who knew what and when. It would almost have been better to stay and watch this house to see who came and went. We probably would have done that too if there wasn’t a hostage that needed rescuing. Or if we had time to properly turn Anne into a double agent. Which I doubt we could have been able to do given the presence of her son as a hostage.

Kerrass hauled our captive off to a corner as I started to spread the papers out on the floor. They seemed to be written versions of reports that had come in. Properly recorded conversations that were taken down word for word and in doing so I learned a lot of pointless trivia. I started to wonder at the kind of mind that would tell their agents that no piece of information was too small. It is the correct thing to do after all. Speaking as a historian, this kind of thing is like Gold. You can reach huge conclusions from the smallest piece of information.

The Duchess was debating changing dress maker. The Church of the Prophet was talking about properly canonising Francesca to make her an actual saint rather than someone that everyone just “calls” saint. A minstrel had made a pass at seducing Madame Duberton, the Colonel of the Nilfgaardian forces wife, only to be astonished and offended when she rejected him, rather gently according to the report, before the Colonel hauled them off. Gave them a thrashing, broke the man’s harp and threw him into the dung-heap for the insult.

The observer had thought the minstrel got off quite light all things considered.

The intelligence reports could be dealt with at leisure. I was looking for the big items. The things that we could use straight away. The thick, rich pieces of paper with proper calligraphy. Under normal circumstances, I would take a great delight in going through these papers to get at the information that was contained within. It was the kind of jigsaw puzzle that scholar’s like me thrive on. Even if this information was about people that were still alive rather than the long dead.

But time was in short supply.

I found what I was looking for about a third of the way into the bundle. A big piece of paper, heavy, thick and creamy. The kind of thing that only trained scribes work with and only then if they have had specialised training in the matter. It was a glorious piece of paper. So heavy that it had struggled to catch and only the very edges of the paper were singed.

I read it and laughed. I bundled up the other pieces of paper and stacked them well out of the way of the fire. I could not bring myself to resist gloating a little and showed the paper to the captive.

“You should have burnt this one first.” I told him. He actively shrank from me and I felt that sick pleasure that torturers and interrogators must feel. The one that gets off on knowing that people are afraid of you.

“What is it?” Kerrass asked. I showed him and his eyebrows raised. “Well that is interesting.”

“Are you alright to guard him and make sure that those papers aren’t touched by anyone other than…”

“Yes Yes Freddie. I know the drill. Go off and tell Damien that we’ve found something.”

I grinned at him and all but ran out of the room.

The courtyard out the front of the house was a mess. It was once a garden, not a very large one, but there was a very expensive water fountain in the middle that wasn’t currently working. If anything, there was a horse that was drinking out of it.

It was a place of paving stones and small hedges. There were hanging baskets and flower pots everywhere. They were empty of plants but by the looks of them, they were newly composted. There were walkways that were neatly tiled around the walls. The entrance to the courtyard was a pair of large wooden gates that were broken open with a small battering ram that the guard had let fall in front of the entrance. The carriage that had, presumably, brought Anne here was just inside the gates, it looked as though it was just in the process of being turned around when everything had kicked off.

The garden had been ruined by all the fighting though. There was, at a quick glance, four dead enemy guards and the others were in the process of being rounded up. Damien was supervising that. There were a couple of wounded on our side as well. Ariadne was working on them first before she moved onto the wounded on the side of the enemy.

I couldn’t see Anne, or her son but the fact that the carriage was under guard gave me a bit of a clue as to where she might be.

Damien turned to me.

“A lot of guards for an empty warehouse.” He told me.

“That would depend on what they were guarding.” I told him, waving the piece of paper at him.

“What is it?”

I grinned. It felt good. I just showed him the piece of paper.

“Now that is interesting.” He said.

“That’s exactly what Kerrass said.”

“And he was right.”

He led me over to the group of captives.

“So,” Damien began, nodding to one of the guards who hauled one of the captives to the feet. The captive was an older man and moved a little stiffly. He was utterly unhurt and I would have put a, not small, amount of money that he had done absolutely nothing to help his guards in the defence. He had just surrendered.

Every so often in this world, you just meet someone who makes your fists itch. He completed my assessment of his character shortly after he was hauled up to his feet.

“You will never get away with this.” He said. If the situation hadn’t been as critical as it actually was, I do believe that I would have laughed at him.

“Of course I will.” Damien said, not unreasonably.

“These men are accredited and approved guards, hired by me in order to protect this place against all invaders. Your killing and maiming of them will…”

Damien hit him. It was a leisurely, back-handed kind of blow.

“Two of my men were killed.” Damien said.

“Which would not have happened if you had not invaded this house illegally.”

Damien hit him again.

“Normally I would agree with you.” He told the captive in a reasonable tone of voice, quite at odds with the sudden, brutal violence of the situation. “Raiding a place is only, really, a valid technique if there is actively a life at risk. In which case it is entirely justified. In all other cases, it is much better to watch a place, gather information, infiltrate quietly and find evidence. Over and over again it has proven to be safer and more beneficial in the long run. Both for the people inside the building and the people actually doing the raiding. It’s a simple equation. If we attack, you fight back and then it needs to be taken from there.”

“Precisely. So my men who you have murdered…”

Damien pulled a dagger.

“You wouldn’t dare.” the Captive wanted it to sound defiant and powerful. He failed. I was standing behind Damien so I couldn’t see his expression but from the look of fear on the captive’s face, I would guess that his expression was murderous.

“But in this instance.” Damien’s voice was still fairly reasonable. “Where there was a young boy hostage. Forcing his mother to commit espionage against foreign nationals. Forcing a woman to commit treason because that’s what it is. Treason that might be leading to the deaths of many people. That? That makes you treasonous as well. Would you like to know what happens to traitors in Toussaint? The Duchess gets all… irate when she talkies about traitors. Phrases like “Thrown to her hunting dogs” come to mind.”

He turned to me. “Although to be fair, the Duchess doesn’t have any hunting dogs at the moment but I’m sure a pack could be found.”

“Whatsisname.” I said. “The father of that girl who was killed might be able to help out with that.”

Damien clicked his fingers. “You know something Lord Frederick. You might be right.” He turned back to the captive. “And that’s only the beginning of the Duchess’ imagination when it comes to dealing with these kinds of matters.

“You…” The man swallowed. He was clearly unused to having none of the power. “You can’t do that. You have no proof.” He started to warm to his subject. “There were no captives here. The boy was taken in here because the mother was working. She was unable to properly see to the upbringing of such a fine young man and as such, she would have him stay here while she saw to it that her…” He smirked at me. “Her clients were properly taken care of. She was an unfit mother and the one thing that she did right was to give her to me so that we might take care of her.”

“Her story is quite different.” Damien said.

“Are you honestly going to take the word of a stupid whore over me?” He declared. “I am noble born and her word is dirt.”

“If that is the tactic that you seek to take.” Damien said. “Then we might. But in the meantime, we have questions that we are going to ask you, you will answer. Failure to do so will result in my pressing the case for treason. Have you ever seen a person pressed Lord Frederick?”

“I have actually.” I said, pulling a face. “At the end, the head of the person being pressed, explodes like a grape. Except it does so with a crack as the entire skull shatters. The one that I saw was a mage in Novgrad. He was still screaming when the blood shot out of his nose in a fountain.”

“His nose?”

“Yes. His head was on it’s side you see.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“It was.”

“Would you like to see it again? As the injured party, I am sure that the Duchess would be willing to fulfill your wishes on the matter.”

“There is nothing to say or to admit to.” The Captive tried again. “I am a merchant, nobly born of Toussaint. The boy was not a captive, I was in the process of adopting him as my son and heir given that his mother was incapable of protecting him or looking after him. She was an entirely willing factor in that matter. She was even grateful that I allowed her to come and visit as it would be well within my rights to deny her that permission. After all, she is a whore and any court of law would grant me custody based on that factor alone. So you have invaded my house, seemingly on the word of a whore who is using you to exact her revenge. Revenge that is utterly undeserved due to the fact that the boy is no longer her son. He is mine.”

“Your house?” Damien wondered. “You weren’t renting this from anyone or staying here with the permission of anyone in particular?

It is always interesting the way that, given enough time, people will happily hang themselves with their own mouth.

“My house.” The man said. “Meaning you have invaded it without purpose or reason. I shall see you in court sir. At which time you shall answer before the rest of the nobility of Toussaint as to why you should feel free to invade a nobleman’s home without permission or reason. Based purely on the word of some wretch of society.”

Damien hit him again. There was a feeling to the way that he swung his fist that made me think that if I wrote, “He swung his fist happily” would not be far out of reach.

“I wonder how Sir Morgan the Black hand would feel about you claiming ownership of his property.” Damien said, waving the deed of ownership into the face of the man who was still trying to reach for his outrage around the split lip.

“The fact that I have also found numerous reports of other spies that are in your employ might also count against you.” I told him. “It might take me some time but I’m sure I can put it together. If Sir Morgan would be angry at the fact that you are claiming that you own his property, I would be willing to bet that he will be furious at the fact that you were running some kind of spy network out of it. After all, spying on foreign nationals is treason. And given that you were doing it in his house? That would also be treason. For him as well.”

The man lay there, still where he had fallen from when Damien had hit him. His mouth opening and closing.

“Are you going to ask me what Proof I have?” I wondered.

Damien waved the title deed that I had found in his face.

“My advice?” I said. “Tell The Captain here everything. And if you’re very lucky. He might be able to save your life.”

I decided that that was a good enough line to end on and with a desire not to ruin it. I turned and walked away.

If this had been any other country on the continent, then I would have thought that the man would have confessed and told Damien everything. In any other country in the world even. But in this case? I just wasn’t quite sure. People of Toussaint get funny about noble blood and obligations to your betters and there was never really any way to tell. The man was trying to intimate that there was noble blood in his veins or something similar and that kind of thing can do strange things to people if you let it.

Instead, I first made my way over to where Ariadne was working on the wounded. It would not do to let my skills go entirely to waste and it is always worthwhile to practice that kind of thing. I tried to remember when the last time was that I had actually managed to heal any wounded people, but I came up empty. I eventually decided to give it up as a bad job and just got on with things. Also, it gave me a kind of perverse pleasure to try and heal the people that had been fighting us a little earlier while chanting the field medic’s motto “Red to red and white to white and everything will be alright.”

I’ve seen grown men, hard men, towering slabs of muscle break down and cry and the sound of those words. Those same men that would charge into an enemy spear formation would fight claw and nail before breaking down and bawling their eyes out in terror at the prospect of going to see the surgeon.

And they are not alone. I’m the same and I make no pretense about it.

But I soon ran out of work. There’s only so much cleaning of a wound that you can do before it can’t be cleaned any further and you must consign the injured men’s fate to the Gods. Also, even in the most brutal of battlefields, there are only so many limbs that need setting after being broken. Only so many wounds that can be stitched closed and only so many injuries that can be treated. Beyond that, all you can do for those kinds of people is pray that the Gods will intervene, or pray that there is someone with the ability to heal the injury with magic. Otherwise, the person in question is as good as dead.

I was stalling. I knew it too. I was putting off an unpleasant task. Ariadne, who was working next to me and putting my small skills to shame, told me off for it. She had made a special practice of healing magic since she had escaped from her confinement. She found it “fascinating” which was not the most inspiring of words that she could use when examining a man’s injuries. But ever since that first combat in the throne room of Angraal and when she had been guided to helping me with my poisoning and the fact that I was in sincere danger of shitting out my own lungs, she had devoted herself to the subject. Then, when she had learned a lot of what there is to know on the matter, moaned about the fact that human medicinal knowledge did not go too far beyond that.

Why was she so interested? She had three explanations. One was sweet, another was kind of unnerving and the third made me howl with laughter. The first was that she wanted to know how we worked so that she would never have to risk losing me again.

As I say sweet.

The second was when she told someone that it is important to know how to put people back together after you have learned to take them apart.

That was the unnerving one.

The last one, the funny one, was when she said that it never stopped being amusing to frown in though, display her vampiric nature a little bit before sticking her tongue between her teeth while threading the needle. Then she would look up at the injured man, or woman, with fangs showing and eyes glowing and say “Now stay very still.”

I’m told from those people that have had the chance to see Ariadne work, that her needlework is immaculate.

But she was dealing with most of the wounded. We had done well and there weren’t many wounded that didn’t need more than a limb setting or an injury stitching. Most of our opponents were either already dead or just a little dazed and so Ariadne looked up at me and gave me a significant look. It was the same look that men all over the continent know as that look that their loved ones give them when they have done something wrong. It doesn’t matter what it is that has been done wrong. But a mistake has been made and the light of our lives needs to have it fixed as soon as possible.

“Ok, what did I do wrong?” I asked, looking down at the wound that I had just closed on one of the guardsman that had taken a cut across the bicep. The man had sworn at me while I worked before apologising afterwards and saying that he always does that when some poor fucker is having to stitch him up.

“She’s in the wagon.” Ariadne said, gesturing. “As is the son, so be gentle.”

I straightened up and looked over at the, still, covered wagon. I suppose it made sense. Keeping them both in there meant that they were easy to guard and also, so that the little boy didn’t need to see anything that might traumatise him for life. Not that I think that that ship hadn’t already sailed given that he had been kidnapped and taken away from his mother but that was a completely different thought. And out of my hands.

I took my daggers from my belt and boot before handing them, along with my spear, to Ariadne. I don’t know why I did that but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. And then I walked towards the covered wagon in much the same way as I imagine a man walks to his own execution.

I was not looking forward to this.

The guards stayed out of my way as I walked up to the wagon and I knocked on the door.

Again, I don’t know why I did this but, again, it seemed like the right thing to do.

“Who is it?” Anne called in that distinct voice that happens when a person is desperately holding onto their self-control.

“Freddie.” I told her. Another thing that I didn’t know why I said it. Why the informal forms of my name, the one that I allow friends to use and the one which, up until a little while ago, I would have been quite happy for Anne to have used. “Can I come in?”

There was a brief pause.

“Please.”

I opened the door and moved into the interior. The side I had entered had had it’s curtains drawn, again I assumed, so that the little boy could not see the carnage that had been wrought by his rescuers. The other side was open though and it let the sounds of the harbour and the sunlight into the, otherwise, quite stuffy carriage.

Anne was dressed in the same way that any number of ladies might have been dressed to go to market. A simple dress of wool with an over cloak that kept her warm, and presumably dry. Her hair was done up in some kind of arrangement and the hood from her cloak was down. But even without the jewels and the makeup, she was still achingly beautiful. It was made even worse by the fact that she had obviously been crying. I could tell by the reddened cheeks and the flush from where she had done her best to scrub the tears out of her eyes.

I literally had to force my arms to stay still and at my side so that I didn’t, automatically, take her in my arms and do my best to comfort her. That would not have helped anyone. Me, not least.

But apart from my own feelings, and hers which were just as relevant, there were also the feelings of the little boy who, by the looks of him, we could not have pried from his mother’s side with the proverbial pry bar. He too looked as though he had been weeping but instead of relief or sadness or anything like that. He looked confused. I would have put him at about five, maybe six years old. He had old eyes that had probably seen more, and heard more, than people his age should probably have seen and heard and he shared the golden hair of his mother. That he was his mother’s son was obvious in the shape of the face and expression that he wore. If he survived, then I rather think that he could cut a swathe through the women of Toussaint.

Then I realised what I was thinking and felt a wave of shame wash over me.

He watched me skeptically. He was dressed like someone’s idea of a nobleman. Someone who had seen a picture of a young noble in a story book somewhere and had done their best to copy that. Unless I missed my guess, his tunic was made out of a set of old curtains, his bonnet… yes he was wearing a bonnet, was made out of the same material. He was barefoot but his trousers were made out of a cheap cream material that reminded me of a sheet. He was wrapped in a cape that was too large for him and, I rather thought, followed on the theme from being from some kind of bed clothes. I suspected a blanket of some kind. It was comical while also being so deeply tragic and my mood fell from one to the other without warning.

“Fabrice? This is Lord Frederick von Coulthard.” Anne said to her son in the tone of voice of mothers everywhere. It was the same tone of voice where people remind their children to say please and thank you with the immortal phrase that I suspect will still be around long after we have all died “What do we say?”

“He is responsible for rescuing you.” Shem finished.

I thought that was a bit much and was in the process of opening my mouth to say so when the little boy said something that I did not expect.

“Why don’t you just FUCK OFF.” He screamed the last at me.

I could have handled it better, as with so much in this particular part of my story. He said it with such insistence and otherwise utterly lacking in any kind of understanding in what he was saying. The outrage on his child’s face was so at odds with what he had just said that I could not help it.

I laughed.

Anne’s outraged squeak of “Fabrice.” Made the matter worse and I was rapidly heading towards the realms of being helpless.

“STOP LAUGHING.” The boy demanded and his voice carried such hurt that I felt instantly sorry.

“I am sorry Fabrice.” I said as carefully as I could while doing my best to avoid the pitfalls of returning hilarity. “I should not have laughed. But I have just been in a fight and sometimes, after a fight, I laugh in relief.”

“Go away.” He said. “You killed my friends.”

I raised my eyebrows at Anne in question.

“He’s been here a while,” She said quietly as she did her best to calm her son. “He thinks these people here were his friends because they all but let him run riot.”

“I’m sorry.” I said again.

“It’s alright.” She said before taking a deep breath and kissing her son’s head.

I recognised a farewell when I saw it.

“What happens now?” She asked.

“Back to the palace I should think.” I said. “There will be more questions.”

“I know. And then a trial and an execution I suspect.”

I looked at the child but he clearly didn’t know what the word meant.

“Maybe not.” I said.

“I have betrayed…” I waved her into silence.

“You had the best of reasons.” I gestured at the boy who was burying his face in his mother’s neck. He seemed to be able to sense that his mother was unhappy. “And I would like to think that that will make a difference. The Duchess is not unreasonable unless you make her unhappy.”

Anne’s mouth twisted into a parody of what her normal smile would be. I ached with a desire to take her into my arms and tell her that everything would be alright. It was so powerful that I had to turn away so as not to act on it and only turned back when I was sure that that feeling was suppressed.

When I turned back, Anne was looking at me with an odd look that nearly sent me back into a fury. Pity was the part of it that made me angry. But there was also grief there and an awful lot of guilt.

“I am sorry.” She said. “I am truly sorry.”

“I know.” I said before taking a deep breath. “I will speak to the Duchess on your behalf and I have every reason to believe that you will be protected.”

“I have a lot of people that I need protecting from. Madam Isabelle is going to be furious with me when this gets out. I sold the secrets that I learned in the bed chamber. No-one will ever trust me again and in the future, people will wonder why they should ever trust any of the girls from the Belles again. She is going to be so angry with me.”

For another long moment there I thought she was going to burst into tears. Tears of fear and pain, also of loss. The women at the Belles had been her friends and her colleagues and now they would hate her. Again, the surge of affection and sympathy flooded through me, it was easier to suppress this time. But not by much.

“I do not think it will be unfair to suppose that you will need to find a new place of work.”

“Let us be honest with one another here Fre… Lord Frederick. I will need to find another profession. I am done with that. For who will want to be with me in the future? I will need to travel somewhere which means to go North as I am known to the south. And then, what kind of work will I get? Any of the decent, famous houses will learn of my disgrace in short order. So I either turn into some kind of…” She glanced down at her son who was beginning to show the first signs that he might be about to fall asleep. “Street worker or worse. Or I find someone who will marry me. Who would marry such as I? None would ever trust me again.”

Something tickled at the back of my mind. Something was there. Something that I had noticed before but hadn’t acted on at the time. It was an intensely frustrating moment because I knew that there was a solution to the situation in the immediate surroundings but I had no idea what that solution was.

I forced myself to set it aside. I was getting better at setting these puzzles aside. It was easier to distract myself from the puzzle holes that I could fall down far too easily. The ones that led to madness.

“There is a lot to get through before we get there.” I said. “The Duchess must be convinced to grant you clemency first as that is far from certain, although I do think that that particular cause is not as hopeless as you might think.”

“You are going to want me to tell you everything that I know.”

I nodded. “As well as some things that you might know but have possibly forgotten. There will be questions, a lot of them, there may even be magic involved to ensure that you are telling the truth. However, if you act in good faith then I don’t see why people could be too angry with you. People will be angry. You mentioned Madame Isabelle in particular,”

Anne came very close to sobbing there. Very close, but then she swallowed it.

“But,” I carried on. “If you can give us the information which we think you can, things that can lead certain villains into the hands of justice, then I rather think that the Duchess will be forgiving. She might even be grateful. After that?”

I shrugged.

“Ariadne once promised you that we would find a place for you in Angral should you become pregnant. I do not think it would take much persuasion for her to agree to some kind of similar arrangement although it would, now, need to be far away from our household.”

“She hates me.”

“A little.” I admitted. “But one of the things that I have had to learn about loving a Vampire, and this Vampire in particular, is that they do not think the way that we do. They do not feel the way we do. She hates you, yes. But she feels guilty for that hate. She certainly feels guilty for attacking you when you admitted to your crimes. I imagine that she will go out of her way to become your friend. I understand that she regularly corresponds with Lady Marion of Dorne who I once loved, rather fiercely. There will also be an, I suspect, extremely embarrassing conversation about what I might enjoy in the bed chamber. I warn you about that, she will want to go into great detail in that regard. But she will examine her hatred and her jealousy of you in the same way that a jeweller might examine a new stone that has come into their possession. She will not be the person that has the difficulty with you coming North.”

“It will be you.”

“Yes.” I admitted. “I trusted you. I let my guard down with you. You do not know, because you cannot possibly know, how much that meant to me, that I could do that with you.”

“But I betrayed that trust.” There were tears in her eyes again. “I know. I am so sorry. I know that you will say things like that I had the best possible reasons. And I do. I would do it again if I was in the same position because he’s my son. So I do feel the guilt, but I cannot feel regret.”

I nodded.

“He is your son.” I said.

“He is my son.” She agreed as she stroked the hair of her, now, sleeping child. “So I do not think you have it in you to find me a job as a courtesan in the North. Nor would I be able to start a new house in Angral or wherever. I am doubtful that there is call enough for the kinds of skills that I can offer.”

“You might be surprised.” I said. “What there won’t be is the money to be able to afford the kinds of things that you offer. The women up there will assume that you are trying to steal their husbands and the men will seek to rescue you.”

She smiled again. “Ugh. Rescuing me? How awful.”

“Quite.” I smiled back at her before, again, fighting down old emotions, and by old, I meant the day before yesterday. I would not be able to keep this up much longer.

“But there are merchants that will, as you guessed, need a good wife. A woman that knows about the finer things in life and who can decorate a house to lend an aura of class and taste that the man might lack. If we can’t find you such in Angral, then I’m sure that Emma might know someone.”

She nodded. “When compared with the prospect of having my neck stretched or any of the other things that the Duchy can do to traitors, I will take a loveless arranged marriage to an older man. For my son’s sake if for no other.”

I smiled as gently as I could manage. “I think we might be able to do something more than that. There are many young, charming and handsome young merchant sons who need the same as well.”

“I know the type.” Anne admitted with a small laugh, meaning that my comment was taken as the joke it was meant to be. “They will believe that they are the prophet’s gift to women and will need to be taught just how little they know. I almost prefer the older, hopefully wiser, man that knows what he’s doing over that.”

She took another deep breath. “So you want to know what I know.”

“I do. As I say, back up to the palace. If you permit, Emma, Laurelen and Mark will look after your son. They will be delighted to have a child to spoil mercilessly.”

She chuckled at the thought before her face went blank.

“I do not need a hostage against my good behaviour.”

I held my hands up in what I hoped was a placating manner. “I just thought that you might be happier with him being kept with people that you know.”

She considered. “I suppose I would, at that. Thank you.”

I nodded. “What do you know about Lord Morgan Tonlaire?”

“Who?”

My heart sank a little. “We have found a load of paperwork that tells us that he owns this house and the warehouse that is part of it.”

“Does he have any other names?”

“He is known on the tournament fields as “Sir Morgan Blackhand”.”

“Oh.” She smiled as memories hit her. “He’s a jouster. One of the Knights of the Old school.”

“That’s him.”

“I can’t tell you much. Some clients have moaned about him at various junctures. About how they didn’t deserve to lose to such an older man. Long past his prime. They complained about how he should step aside and make room for the more modern man.”

“I see. So you wouldn’t have met him.”

“No.”

“Was his name ever mentioned while you were making your reports?”

“I don’t think so.”

I could not help but contain a sigh.

“I’m not being very helpful am I.” She sighed a little sadly.

“That will not stop me from doing everything in my power to try and help you.”

“That’s ok.”

“We will go up to the castle and go through things with you in detail though. We will need your entire story. THe day is getting on and we’re due another attack from Jack tonight.”

She shuddered.