(A/N: Writing this chapter has been hard work, a lot like having my fingernails pulled out. A classic example of knowing what needs to happen but the difficulty lies in getting the words on the paper. I hope it works for you all. Thanks for reading)

Kerrass likes to give lectures.

He will dispute this, but he is lying to you. The earliest example of his formal lecturing prowess was the time where he acted as a guest lecturer at Oxenfurt university. He gave a lecture and practical demonstration on the nature of monsters on the continent. I attended that lecture. It was actually quite good, aided by the physical specimens that he had procured for the purpose as well as his gruff, no nonsense way of answering questions from idiots.

When well meaning, if arrogant, idiots who had never left Oxenfurt since arriving there to begin study, argued that Kerrass was lying, he could easily refute that. Like many other scholars of that time or place, they were upset that an uppity Witcher would so casually disprove their own theories. So it was easier for them to suggest that Kerrass was spreading falsehoods or making up stories about the various monsters that exist in the world. He was able to point out that their theories were utterly wrong. He would cite sources, manuscripts and known books from renowned sources. He could go through their theories, hypothesis and methods before easily pointing out fallacies. Many of my, now, fellow faculty members were astonished at the “itinerant vagabond’s” ability to speak so adeptly on the subject.

I remember laughing when I heard those arguments and almost violent tantrums. I was well aware of Kerrass’ ability as a teacher, because he had been teaching me from the moment that I had first met him. Not always in the most enjoyable way, but his methods certainly bore fruit.

In those early days, it was rare that we weren’t training with weapons, talking about monsters or any of the other things that he would wake me up at all hours to talk about and discuss. On those rare occasions though, he could be persuaded to go through the investigation process when it comes to how to figure out a curse or a monster.

I had some ability in this field although I was far from entirely confident in my own abilities. But I could use those skills taught in my history classroom to learn about buildings and what used to happen there. Also, my formative years, training as a courtier was also a lot more applicable in the investigative arts than I might have thought. Neither side of the divide would be pleased to learn that there are actually a lot of similarities between the highest court in the land and the village politics that occupy so many people’s time.

Who has an agreement with who? Who is training who? Who is sleeping with who? Who has a marriage agreement with who? Who is jockeying for position with the people in charge? Why did they say or do that, when they could have said or done this? The same questions are discussed in a courtroom, just as much as they can be dissected on the village green. Or the market place, or the… Well, I’m sure you get the idea.

Early on in our relationship, when I was not as comfortable in offering my own opinions or thoughts on the matter as I would become later, Kerrass would sit me down and talk about these kinds of things. His expertise in this area was most in use in tracking down the origins of curses. Who said what, with which emotion behind it and where. It is detective work, very similar to how the town guard will investigate a murder and I remember that one of the subjects we discussed one night was about how people react under stress.

It is very easy, now, for me to imagine the situation. The two of us, sitting around a small campfire on tree stumps while I turned a steak over on one of the frying pans, or stirred my little stew pot. Doing so until I reached the magical point where the stew was as cooked as it was going to be before it turned into mush. We would be sharing a bottle, passing it backwards and forwards between us and given that Kerrass would be involved in this, the bottle would smell sharply of apples.

“You can tell a lot about how a person reacts.” He said. “If you stand somewhere and say something in a loud voice, even if it is a lie, or you cannot prove everything that you have said, it can still have a massive effect. You have to watch what they do. Who goes for a sword, who listens attentively, who scoffs, who laughs, who runs to obey, who gives orders, who asks questions. All of it tells you something.

“The Wolves have this trick where they go to the seedier end of town and wait until someone picks a fight with them. They wait until it becomes obvious that someone else attacks them before defending themselves in the same manner that they are attacked. They can see how that particular part of the world is going to treat them and can, from there, adjust their behaviours. To the end of being able to work within the confines of what that particular bit of society was expecting.”

“Does it work?” I wondered at the time.

“I only saw it done once.” Kerrass answered. “I was travelling with Eskel at the time and he did the trick. The other purpose of the trick is to prove your competence to whoever might be watching. The Lord Mayor, the Monarch, Lord or whatever. As well as sending a message of “Don’t fuck with us.” I didn’t like the trick myself. Too many risks. If you need to explain to someone who you are, then they are not going to hire you or treat you with respect anyway.”

I remember being impressed with what he said and wondering if I could apply it in any other walks of life.

I had even seen Kerrass do a version of this activity on occasion. Except his method was to start shouting orders, throwing out demands and explanations in front of large groups, that the watchers might not want to be public. He had said it was like throwing a rock into a pond in order to see where the hidden rocks and things are.

I had never quite seen such a perfect example of this in action as I had that night in the Manor house of Raoul Leblanc.

I had told everyone that I knew what had happened and that we needed to get back to Beauclair.

Right. Fucking. Now.

Kerrass’ reaction to my declarations was instantaneous. He didn’t even pause, he was already on his way out the door to find us all transportation. Now to be fair there. Kerrass and I have been working together for a number of years now. All but living inside each other’s pockets. We have worked together, fought together, thought together, dreamed together, eaten, drank and laughed together. The only thing that we hadn’t done was loved together and that was because our tastes didn’t run in that kind of direction.

So it was entirely possible that he had seen what I had seen, realised what I had realised and had acted in the same way that I wanted to act.

I never checked with him about that later.

Damien de La Tour, Captain of the Beauclair town guard. His job has been to investigate the sinister goings on that happen on the underbelly of every city in the world, even one as perfect and idyllic as Beauclair. Since he had been raised to the Knighthood, he had investigated the murders, the smuggling rings, the enemy intelligence agents and all of the other unglamorous, unromantic, dirty crimes that were beneath the notice of the Knights Errant. He was an investigator, a soldier rather than a Knight, and the kind of man that does what it takes, rather than what is attractive. He reacted next.

“What? Why?” He demanded.

He was asking questions. Every inch the investigator. I would like to believe that if he had been allowed to be more of a courtier and to be allowed to work some of the more “high level” crimes, then he might have spotted what was happening that little bit quicker. But the strict social arrangements of Toussaint meant that he didn’t think the way that Nobility did. He thought the way that scumbags think.

He was also tired, in pain, had given himself up for dead and had just allowed the possibility of romance with one of the highest ladies in the realm to enter his mind. He was not thinking in the way that he was fully capable of.

That didn’t matter though.

“What do you need me to do?” Ariadne asked.

Ariadne, Scientist, Sorceress, Non-human. If there is one person in my life that understands that you get the right person for the job rather than getting anyone to do it, it’s Ariadne. The very pinnacle of, “get a professional.” She was not an investigator, she was a scientist. And a Sorceress. Which meant that she had a very clear idea of what her capabilities were. If someone needed to be torn apart, then she could do it. If something needed some magic or science to applied to it, then she could do that as well. She had an outsider’s perspective that was useful on occasion, but she sometimes lacked the ability to leap to the right conclusion in social situations. Why? Because she is not human and therefore does not, can not, think like us. So instead of trying to guess what we needed, she asked how she could help.

“Can you get us to Beauclair using, I don’t know, a transport gate or something?” Syanna asked.

Syanna was the wild card. She had been a princess, a bandit, a conspirator and now a commander of Knights. Her perspective was unique and I honestly couldn’t tell you whether or not she had seen what I had seen. If she had, then she cut out the middleman and leapt to what was needed.

If not, she had that absolutely most treasured quality of a ruling person, or person in charge. She was able to listen to the professionals that she surrounded herself with and expected them to do their jobs. She didn’t get in their way, or second guess them. She just acted.

“No.” Ariadne said. “The transport gate is closed for the night now and warming it up to be opened outside of its normal operating hours would need an hour or two’s work. And that would be if Fringilla was standing next to it, ready, willing and able with all of the…”

“I get it.” Syanna waved her off as we all started to stride towards the courtyard.

“I still don’t…” Poor Damien tried to keep up.

Syanna ignored him. “We need horses. Guillaume?”

The last name was shouted at a bellow and the man himself came running over. Guillaume, Knight, warrior and as dependable as a rock. You could see him thinking, you could see him take in the expressions that I wore and that the other people in the group wore and you could see the questions that formed on his face. And then, with an effort that was almost Witcher like in it’s discipline. He took those questions and set them aside.

“Horses Guillaume,” Syanna ordered. “Myself, Lord Frederick, Lady Ariadne, Witcher Kerrass. You and Gregoire as my two best swordsman and and whoever you need as an escort for the road.”

Guillaume saluted and spun, shouting his own orders.

Syanna turned on Damien. “I’m sorry Captain.” She said formally, it would seem that after the romance of the preceding times, the Knight Commander had returned. “But you are injured and cannot ride at the pace I fear we must set.” She gestured to his arm. “I will leave you and any that Guillaume does not think he needs, to secure this place and the prisoners. See if you can find any testimony that corroborates…”

Damien waved her off. “I know what I’m doing.” He said without bitterness. “I would like to know why though.”

“So would I.” Syanna turned on me. She had not followed. I could see it in her eyes. After the emotions and the turmoil of the last few hours, she looked as though she was almost in a daze. But she trusted me and was acting accordingly. I was suddenly struck with an irrational fear of what might happen if I was wrong.

Kerrass was leading his and Ariadne’s horse. Mine was already tied to Kerrass’ signifying his intention to keep me safe. It would seem that Kerrass was turning back into being the ever present nursemaid again.

“What is happening in Beauclair Freddie?” Syanna asked.

I looked around. Ariadne, Damien and Syanna all looked at me expectantly.

I took a deep breath. Flame but I was so tired. And I committed.

“Jack is going to kill again tonight.” I told them all. “And we must stop him.”

Syanna nodded. “Of course.” She said and turned away while Damien gaped a little.

They didn’t understand and I needed to make them understand.

“No you don’t get it.” I said. “We need to stop him and we need to take him alive. It is vital that we catch him.”

I went to my horse and vaulted into the saddle.

“I don’t understand.” I heard Damien complain as I moved.

“Neither do I.” Syanna admitted. “But this is one of those times that understanding is clearly not required. See you soon.”

Apparently they kissed farewell and Damien wore a goofy smile for a few minutes as Guillaume, Gregoire and a party of four Knights rode up.

Someone was laughing. “So you have finally realised it then Freddie?” Raoul called. His laughter was edging towards the hysterical end of the scale. Pain will do that kind of thing to you though so I can’t really get too amused at his predicament. “This raid of yours was illegal.” He shouted. “I am innocent of what you have charged me with. I have done nothing wrong and yet I lie assaulted and crippled in my own…”

“Best speed to Beauclair then gentlemen.” Syanna shouted, drowning him out.

“Your time is coming bitch.” Raoul shouted as we clattered down the road.

Kerrass led my horse. Two men with Torches went in front and there were another two men behind. We rode quickly. Far more quickly than was entirely advisable if we’re being honest with each other. Riding at night is dangerous anyway. The sky was overcast, so there was little light from the moon or the stars to see by, an advantage that would disappear the closer we got to Beauclair anyway. The other thing is that that kind of light will not protect you from potholes and broken cobble stones.

Torchlight doesn’t help as much as you might think it does. All that can do is make the shadows leap about, so small inconveniences can look like massive problems, minor banks by the side of the road can hide armies and a wheel rut can become a gaping maw in the ground that threatens to open up and swallow you whole.

The purpose of torchlight is to make sure that you don’t lose the trail. Easier said than done when there are only patches of the road that are cobbled.

In this instance, all I could do was to trust that Kerrass was leading my horse in the right direction, Ariadne was behind me and that there were enough powerful people in my party to scare off any that might want to do me harm.

It was not the worst ride to and from danger that I can remember during the last few years. Now that I am coming to the intended end of my journeys, I find I am looking back on earlier adventures with a certain amount of nostalgia. I look back at the earlier monsters, at the earlier fights and the earlier horrors with a strange kind of nostalgic affection. This monster is scary but it wasn’t as scary as that time we faced the Thing at the village of the Blah. This curse is insidious and horrific but it isn’t as bad as that time we had to do such and such in order to lift the curse of the frozen doo-dah. So I find that I do that a lot now. I will freely admit that I lost my objectivity a long time ago but now, the more recent circumstances never seem as bad as the ones that have gone before.

So it was not the worst journey that I have ever had. I was afraid, certainly, but that was not a fear for my life, nor even really a fear for the people that I really loved or cared about. They were riding nearby, far away from this place or surrounded by so many guards that any attack on them, even by Jack, would be almost laughable.

Instead, I was scared that all the work that we had done was going to be for nothing.

I was worried about myself and whether or not I was becoming more of a liability than an aid. The morning where I had been woken from too little sleep after a long day seemed so very far away. Days, months, even years ago.

I knew that the artificial energy that had flooded through my system would not last forever. The buzz of the fight, the joy of the triumph and the undeniable satisfaction that I had received from breaking Sir Raoul’s nose had been wonderful. That had carried me through the battle. The herbs that Ariadne had given me were powerful things and in theory, could last for hours.

The problem there was that it had taken some of the power of those herbs to lift me from being utterly exhausted, to being merely tired. So I fretted and in fretting, I made the problem even worse. I tried to see if I could tell what was actual paranoia about the creeping fatigue and what was I imagining. What was legitimate fatigue and what was just my fear of not being able to do what I would need to do.

The exhaustion that hovered at the edge of my vision in a grey haze that seemed to ripple with the torchlight. But was it real?

I determined to husband what strength I had left. I had no doubt that I would need it. I tried to keep it warm and keep it safe against what was to come. To that end, I was glad that Kerrass was leading my horse as it meant that I didn’t have to devote any strength to that effort. Unfortunately, what that left me with was time to think. Too much time to think.

I was tired. I knew that and so I found myself doubting my own thought processes. We were tearing through the night air on a hunch of mine. A hunch that stood every chance of being utterly wrong. So utterly wrong in fact, that it might result in us losing everything that we had worked for.

I tried to go over it and over it again. Going back to the beginning of the events and putting it back together. Again and again and again. To the point that it all started to blur together rather than to actively come together. I could no longer tell where the thought process began and where the fatigue took over.

Kerrass called a halt.

“What’s going on?” Syanna demanded after seven heavily armed men and one woman came crashing to a halt. “Surely we do not have time for…”

“Freddie’s about to fall off his saddle.” Kerrass told her, taking a length of rope from his pack. “And if he’s going to be of any use to you at all, I rather thought that falling from his horse and breaking his neck would be…”

Syanna waved him off. “Of course. I apologise it’s just…”

Kerrass said nothing as he got to work

Syanna visibly fumed but sat her horse still as Guillaume dismounted to help Kerrass tie me to a horse.

“Sorry Freddie.” Guillaume whispered.

“I know the answer to this.” Syanna said to Ariadne, “But I have to ask anyway. Is there anything you can do to…”

“No.” Ariadne said firmly.

“It’s just that I kind of need him to…” Syanna wasn’t arguing. I think it was more that she just hadn’t stopped talking yet

“I know what you need him to do.” Ariadne said. “I love him for that reason. If I give his body anything else, whether magical or herbal, then it stands the risk of permanently damaging his heart or his pulmonary system. As it is, he is almost certainly going to be quite ill when…”

“And of course, the Ducal physician will attend to him when…”

I lost track of that conversation. There is something about being tied to a saddle that kind of draws the mind. The problem being that if it’s too tight, then you’re going to lose circulation. But if it’s too slack, then you’re going to fall off and the ropes are pointless. The two men worked quickly. They were not gentle but they could have been a lot harsher at the same time.

I would normally have protested at such a treatment. After all, Father had insisted that we all be learning to ride from a young age. But I rather thought that the extra aids were needed.

Then we were off again, riding as fast as we dared through the Toussaint countryside.

It was one of those times where I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember waking up when Kerrass, who had changed his mind and had started riding next to me, gave me a little shake.

I had been in a dream where I had been sliding down a muddy hill in a large pool of water. I remembered thinking that it had looked deep enough to be perfectly safe when I had started the descent but now that I was on my way down the slope, I was not sure that it was deep enough to arrest my fall. I had buried my face in the armpit of the person that I had been sliding down the hill with, when Kerrass woke me up. I have no idea who the person in the dream was.

“Talk me through it Freddie.” Kerrass said.

“What?” I was blinking furiously. I desperately wanted to rub the sleep from my eyes but my arms had been tied down along with the rest of me.

“Talk me through it. Talk me through the thinking. I know you Freddie and by now you’ve convinced yourself that you’re wrong. Tell me what’s happening in Beauclair right now. Work it through, stay awake.”

“I don’t…” I blinked. “I’m not sure I can… Flame Kerrass, I feel like I’m losing my mind here. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course you can.” He scoffed. “You carried me through the Northern Redanian wilderness. You can explain why you are sending us careening through the dark now.”

“I must admit that I too would like that answer.” Guillaume spoke up.

Syanna said nothing but I could tell she was listening. I remember taking a deep breath and considering where to start.

This was a mistake as no sooner had I started that consideration than I felt my head begin to nod forwards again. This time I shook myself free of the warm embrace of the darkness and just started speaking. Hoping for the best that the babbling that I was sure that I was going to produce would be, at least, coherent.

“This is not about you personally.” I said. “This is not about the Knights, me, Raoul or any of the rest of them. It doesn’t matter who Jack is, it doesn’t even matter what Jack is or who he’s killing. It only matters about what it looks like and what people think about it.

“All they need to do. The conspirators I mean. The only thing that they need to do is to sow doubt into people’s minds. They knew that they might get caught. They also knew that there might be a weak link in their chain somewhere and that someone might give them up. They also knew that you are not stupid. So they knew that there were going to be mistakes made by them, that would lead you to them.

“And they know several other things too. They know that you are not the most popular person in Toussaint. They know that you have worked on that and that it has not been easy. You have to live to a higher standard than they do because one little mistake can send you over the edge into a disgrace that your sister cannot protect you from.

“So there they are. They are the landowners and the famous Knights. The dashing men who have led Toussaint for centuries. And here you come with your new fangled Imperial ways that go against a lot of the traditions that Toussaint holds dear.

“So your accusations, your case against them, needs to be absolutely perfect. There has to be no doubt at all in anyone’s mind that you are right and everyone else is wrong. Therefore, all they need to do is to suggest that you might have made a mistake. Just a hint that you might be wrong, and everything comes crashing down around you.

“Their mastermind, the man, or woman to be fair, behind all of this. And I’m convinced that it was Raoul now. They will have made sure that each of the people involved in the conspiracy are disposable. We know, or have some proper proof, against Alain and Sir Velles right?”

There was some nodding.

“Those two men will break.” I told them.

“Velles already has.” Someone muttered but I didn’t catch who it was.

“It will be a condition of Velles’ diplomatic whatnot with Temeria, that he tells everything that he knows. Alain will talk because he’s a coward and a bully. The thought that he might lose his head over this will be terrifying to him. So he will talk. But there will be arguments against why anyone would, or should, trust either of them.

“Velles is a foreigner and a merchant. Both things, as Guillaume said, count against him and mean that in the eyes of Toussaint, he has no honour and therefore, his word cannot be trusted when up against the other conspirators.

“Alain can be dismissed as either working with Velles for the money in order to… Oh I don’t know, pay off gambling debts or to ensure the silence of irate male relatives. Or that he will be desperate to say anything in order to get out of the penalties resulting from his lost duel. His well known capacity for bullying will play into that. Kerrass proved him to be a liar and a cad at the point of a sword. Therefore, why should the rest of Toussaint trust anything that he says? ‘He will say anything to save his own skin,’ they will say.”

“And they would be right.” Pretty sure that it was Gregoire that muttered that.

“The same can be said of Velles. That you caught him doing something and that he would then do, or say, anything in order to get his sentence commuted or to arrange that he would be saved when it comes down to it. In both cases, it will be argued that you fed them the lies, you gave them a script in order for them to take down your political enemies in court and they said those things in order to have their own sentences commuted.”

“It’s a believable story.” Gregoire admitted. “I would have believed it once upon a time.”

“So all we have,” I went on. “Against some of the most famous, wealthy, powerful and known-to-be-honourable men is the word of two liars, one proven and one generally known to be a liar anyway. So the rest of it will be done on word and incidental evidence.

“I would even bet you some money that the reason that the body of Madame Duberton was hidden in Raoul’s basement is because there is, so far, nothing else to incriminate him. Everyone else is disposable with built in reasons as to why they can’t be trusted, he will have seen to it. Other men will not be stupid and will have realised that Raoul has made them disposable and therefore, they will have wanted a card to play against him.”

“Why wouldn’t Raoul have protested that evidence being planted on him?” A woman’s voice, probably Syanna.

“Because he didn’t care. His motive is to watch Toussaint destroy itself. And he has mercenaries in his pay. It will not be difficult for him to argue that he knew nothing about the body. That he has not been home in ages and that the mercenaries have been using it as a base to engage in some petty banditry.”

I made my voice sound like a skeptical courtier, “Why hire mercenaries Lord Leblanc?”

I swapped back to my normal voice, “Why, to protect his villagers from Jack of course. As well as the bandits that the Knights of Francesca, who are little better than bandits themselves judging by the recent actions of Captain De La Tour and their allies, are singularly unable to catch. It is not his fault that one, or some, of those mercenaries had less than entirely honest tastes. Or was involved in a conspiracy to frame him.”

I fell into silence then.

“But they would still need something to prove their innocence? Something to make everyone doubt our story.” Kerrass prompted me when it became clear that I wasn’t going to start talking again.

“Which is why they had another Jack.” Gregoire hadn’t realised that Kerrass was just prompting me in order to keep me awake.

“Yes.” I said before yawning enough to crack my skull. “I don’t know, but I think they’ve always had an endgame in reserve. I think that they’ve always known that we might figure it all out. So one of the first things that they did when they were putting all of this together was getting ready for that moment that this happened. I doubt that it was part of the plan that they would get caught, but I can absolutely believe that they had this as a contingency. I can also believe that it might have been part of Raoul’s plan that some people, or some of the conspirators would get caught. But we can’t prove that of course.”

“So what happened?” Kerrass prompted again.

“I think that they have had this strategy in reserve since the beginning.” I told them. “Or as close to the beginning as it doesn’t really matter. I think they set up a fall guy. Someone who can take the blame for anything and everything.”

“But didn’t they want the fall guy to be Kerrass?” Guillaume wondered.

“I think that would have been an ideal,” I mused. “Although it’s entirely possible that that was an improvisation on the part of Alain. After all, he had recently, or relatively recently found out that he had been cuckolded by Kerrass. He strikes me as the kind of man where he would be angry that what he did to other people would be something that was done to him. It also makes a certain amount of sense. A Witcher, especially a Feline one, does make a good fall guy for a set of supernatural, superhuman murders. It would also play into the prejudices of those people that are angry that as prestigious and historic a vineyard as Corvo Bianco would be given to Lord Geralt. Those people will fall over themselves to automatically believe something negative about Witchers. They would use it to try and hound Lord Geralt out of Toussaint.”

I was rambling and knew it too. It just felt so good.

“But why will that work?” Syanna asked. “We know that there has been more than one Jack, we have known that for a while. So why does it help them for another Jack to come out of the woodwork?”

I took a breath, trying to rein in those parts of my brain that were trying to run away with themselves. Trying desperately not to follow those thought processes down into slumber.

Over the years and especially during my time as a student, having an ongoing thought process can have two outcomes when applied to a tired mind. The first is the stereotype of the tired, nay, exhausted scholar staring at the ceiling while the thoughts go round and round in their head. I have certainly done this. Enough so that the beams holding up the roof in my student rooms have started to take on a whole new meaning.

The concept of a Mind vault doesn’t really work for me, but the closest that I’ve come is that when trying to remember something or some form of answer to the riddle that lies before me, I have leaned back in whatever chair that I find myself in and tried to imagine myself in my rooms, staring at the ceiling until the answer, or the train of thought, comes back to me.

The other thing though, the one that doesn’t get talked about too much, is the moment where a tired mind can follow the thought process down into the deepest parts of fatigue. That sucking hole that calls to us to just lay down our heads for a little while longer and that the entire world will begin to seem that little bit better after several days snooze.

“We know that there is more than one Jack.” I told them. “We have even said so in the courtly system of things. But does the average person on the street know that? Does the average courtier? And do they believe it? I am an outsider to Toussaint and it rather strikes me that, although I like, respect and admire the people that surround me now. You people that are trying to make a difference and drag Toussaint into the modern continent while still preserving what makes Toussaint, Toussaint. There are a lot of people that are trying to hold onto you, to drag you back and to keep you from going too far.”

“Not too far from the mark,” Guillaume said. “Certainly the case from what Vivienne tells me.”

“So the conspiracy isn’t playing to the Duchess. They’re not really even playing to the common man. They’re playing to the court. The only people that the court has that are telling them that there is more than one Jack are the Duchess’ treasonous sister. The jumped up peasant Knight who most of them hate for ordering them around when they don’t want to follow orders. A Witcher who they distrust because, who knows who the Duchess is going to give out writs of land to. The foreigner whose sister is showing them all up for their incompetence by ignoring centuries of tradition that they, the court, have died trying to uphold…”

Stolen novel; please report.

“We get the point.” Syanna said. “A puppy dog of a Knight who does whatever his wife tells him which goes against the laws of prophets and man.”

“Hey… wait… that’s me isn’t it.” Guillaume grinned. “But Vivienne is so much smarter than I am.”

“Precisely.” Syanna said. “They hate us.”

“All of this against the Knights and nobles that come from long lines that are not trying to turn Toussaint on its head. Now I’m not saying that they are bad people. Sometimes people do need to be hauled back from the precipice of going too far and too quickly. But in this case, they are the target of the conspiracy. The men and women like Lord and Lady Tonlaire who remember you, Syanna, and the Duchess herself, setting fire to the Nilfgaardian ambassador’s headpiece.”

“Heh,” Syanna smirked at the memory. “People still don’t believe that that was Anna’s idea.”

I didn’t stop.

“The people that agree that Toussaint is doing better with the Duchess ruling rather than the Duke who was incompetent at best, corrupt at worst. But they still believe that Toussaint should be ruled by a Duke, not a Duchess. Those are the people that this arrow is aimed at.”

I took a deep breath.

“There they all are, the conspirators that we blame for these crimes. They are under arrest, their resources and their… whatever… taken away from them. They are in prison. Their guards and their mercenaries are neutralised by Ducal forces. So what are they able to do?

“And then a new Jack comes forth and drowns the streets of Beauclair in blood.”

We could now see Beauclair in the form of an orange haze on the horizon. It had begun to drizzle, just a gentle kind of rain that soaks you through to your skin. It was cold, in that place just shy of when water turns into snow instead of rain.

“At that moment,” I said. “The doubt that they are wanting to sow reaps it’s harvest. Suddenly, everything is wrong. Everything has been wrong and everything will be wrong. The Knights of Francesca are failures. The foreign Witcher, Scholar and Vampire have led you astray. The treasonous bitch, the stupid Knight and the jolly jump up have so colossally fucked up. Going after their betters, in order to fulfill some old grudge of hatred, they became so blind to the truth that they locked up their political and historical enemies. And they had been wrong because Jack was still moving around Beauclair. Killing.”

“Doing it just when everyone thought that they were safe too.” Guillaume commented.

“And now, the conspiracy will be there, protesting their innocence. ‘What do they have?’ they will cry. ‘The word of a foreign merchant and a disgraced bully of a Knight. And with this they are tainting the word of good, honest and decent men.’ And the court will rise up because their greatest fears will have been realised.

“The good, noble and honest conservatives of the court will think, ‘What happens when Syanna, Guillaume, Damien and the rest become dissatisfied with me? What happens when they decide that I need to be removed for the good of Toussaint?’ And they will demand that the Knights of Francesca be disbanded. That Knights become lone operators again without a central control, answering only to the Duchess, or better, to answer only to the court. They will demand it and the conspiracy believes that the Duchess will be forced to agree.”

“But she can’t.” Guillaume said. “The changes were ordered by the Empress.”

“Ah my friend.” Gregoire shook his head. “You are sometimes the most progressive, and most traditional Knight I’ve met at the same time. The people that Lord Frederick is talking about don’t care about that. They see themselves as peers of the Empress. They will argue, indeed they did at the time, that Toussaint is it’s own sovereign nation. And who was the Empress to arrange such a thing in the first place. They see that as foreign interference. They will use the fact that The Duchess refers to the Empress as ‘cousin’ in order to wonder why they should ever have to listen to the Empress in the first place.”

“And they are the same kind of people.” Syanna said. “Who thinks that Toussaint can stand up to the Empire on a military level. I’ve seen the reports of what would happen. The wine industry would be decimated, yes. And yes, there would be protests, but all of the allies that we would have once depended on to defend us. All of those allies are now part of the Empire themselves. It will be their troops that come into our borders with a view of taking our land and taking our money. Because those allies, as well as being our allies, are also jealous of us.

“They have been jealous for a long time. Those of us that actually know about such things are well aware that the myth of the military might of Toussaint is just that. A myth that we tell ourselves in order to keep us warm at night. The flower of Toussaint Knighthood would be obliterated in hours. Days at most. That is why these bastards are quite as dangerous as they are.

“If they are allowed to take power, or to take control of the courts away from my sister and those progressives, as well as more than a few conservatives to be fair, that have been arguing for this since… fuck since all of this began. Then we will have gone against the Empress’ decree. Then, even though she won’t want to, the Empress will have to order the Imperial second army into Toussaint with orders to destroy us. And Toussaint will be the first rebellion against the Empress’ reign.

“Still,” She said, brightening, “The answer still seems obvious to me. Damien and his people have been prepared for this for a while. Jack will be met by a storm of crossbow bolts. This will still all be over by morning.”

This startled me out of the gentle doze that I had been sinking into since I had stopped speaking. Odd that sometimes, the slow and gentle movement of riding a horse can become quite soporific.

“No.” I snapped. “No, that would be the worst thing that we can do. This Jack must be taken alive. It is absolutely vital that Jack not be killed. He needs to…”

“Why?” Guillaume wondered.

“Because if he is killed, then he is a lone man, a mad man. Committing his crimes for his own reasons. Doing what he wants for whatever reason that he wants. Remember this is about what people can paint this as. He needs to be taken alive so that he can tell us, so that he can tell the world what is happening, what has happened and so that he can nail these fuckers to the wall for us. He must be taken alive so that all of this will not be for nothing.”

“That will depend on who he is though surely.” Gregoire argued. “Why would the world believe that ‘some nobody’ would do all of this?”

“It won’t be ‘some nobody’.” Kerrass said. “It needs to be someone who can believably be Jack.” he spoke calmly.

“So who is it?” Gregoire demanded.

“RIDER.” One of the forward scouts called back.

We clattered to a halt.

I saw the flames first. The rider was carrying two. The first was a large torch that lit the immediate area and also pointed out where the rider was to anyone that might be watching. The second light was in the form of a mirrored spotlight lantern. A dwarven invention, prohibitively expensive and was only really used for this kind of thing until the manufacturing cost could come down.

As well as the beam of light that would be generated by a normal bullseye lantern (a lantern with shutters so that one side can be opened casting a beam of light forwards), the mirrors focused that beam so that the light can be projected further. It is a relatively new invention, as in the last couple of years. It is being used by Watchmen who guard important gates and waystations at night. It blinds approaching riders as well as making matters so that people can see further. It is also used, occasionally and only under extreme circumstances, for night time riders. It does not make travelling by night safe, but it does mean that a messenger can see further ahead.

There is talk about weaponizing the new devices for Night fighting, using larger versions to blind enemies but there seems to be a problem of expense versus usefulness. I was told about an argument, that is probably apocryphal, between a dwarf and a merchant. Where the Dwarf said something like:

“Yes, I absolutely can build a huge one of these. The lenses to focus that amount of light would need to be even larger and more carefully crafted however, as we are no longer talking about a candle flame or a torchlight. Any light that would be useful on that scale would need to be a large, roaring flame which would come with so much more heat that it would potentially cause real problems to the frame of the device. And also, that amount of glass of that level of purity comes with a much higher price cost. And the process of using the focus would make the device prohibitively heavy. And while we’re on the subject…”

And on and on it went.

Someone had thought the message important enough that this man was carrying one though. He was an older man, as the really good messengers tend to be, and he was riding quickly. He had seen the group and was heading towards us where he was intercepted by a scout. Not that we were afraid of one rider, but there are always risks.

“Report,” Syanna snapped when the man was brought forward.

“Jack,” the man was breathing easily. I am always surprised by the fact that he had no arms or armament other than a sharp dagger that he had on his waist. I know why of course, in that if a messenger is intercepted by something that is going to be negated by a fast horse, then a sword and shield is not going to provide that much help. Better to be lighter in order to be able to move quicker.

The dagger was for himself in case he was about to be taken. Messengers of this level get really well paid and there is a guarantee that should anything happen in the pursuit of their duty, then their families will continue to be looked after by the state that they serve.

“Jack is attacking. He has been sighted in the lower city and killed a sailor that was disobeying curfew.”

Guillaume swore.

“Is he still attacking?” Syanna asked.

“Yes Commander.” The messenger responded. “He is leaping over rooftops and attacking guardsmen and anyone that he comes across. He seems to be working his way up towards the upper city.”

“Anything else?”

“He is calling for Lord Frederick.” The messenger told her. How he managed to keep from looking at me is beyond me. Some kind of superhuman trick that they must teach in Messenger school. “He is inviting Lord Frederick to ‘Come out and play’.”

I nodded as that point went home.

“He will be heading to the fishmarket.” I said.

“Or the graveyard.” Kerrass added.

I nodded, I should have seen that possibility as well.

“He is trying to commit suicide by Guardsman,” I added. “He must not be permitted to do so.”

Syanna looked at the pair of us, at me, for a long moment. I got the feeling that she was weighing me in her mind. Then she nodded.

“Return with the best speed. I want the messengers to be gathered by the gate when I get there as I will have a lot of messages to be sent when I arrive at Beauclair. Things that cannot easily be carried by flags.”

“Yes Commander.”

“And pass word that Jack is to be taken alive. No-one is to attack, or engage Jack unless to directly defend themselves or a member of the public. The man that kills Jack before I get there will answer to the Duchess.”

“Yes Commander.” The messenger turned and galloped off into the night.

Syanna turned on Ariadne. “As I recall, the night of Jack’s last attack, the Sorceresses had a thing where they were talking to the people hunting Jack. Can you speak to Fringilla and get her to pass the same word.”

“I can. But you should know that the matter will not be perfect.” Ariadne said. “Telepathy of that level is a spell and speaks to minds of people that we know. Unless a ritual has been performed in advance of course, but there still needs to be someone on the other end that we know or are acquainted with.”

“So if Lady Vigo only knows the guard commanders around the market square, that does not help the people in the slums.” Gregoire mused.

“Send the message anyway.” Syanna said. “I will take any edge we can have. In the meantime, we are wasting time gentlemen. Let’s pick up the pace.”

A blue light danced around Ariadne for a moment as we pushed our own, now tired, steeds to a gallop. I know how they felt.

The drugs, the spells and the buzz that I had received from defeating Raoul at his own game had faded down to the echoes. Yes, it is entirely possible that this was all in my head. That they had only just begun to wear off and that this was what I was feeling. That is entirely possible. I admit that.

But it is also true, from those times that I have had to resort to using these kinds of crutches before, that when you have spent so much time under the influence of such chemicals. When you come down, you come down hard. Really hard. And that is one of many reasons as to why such things can become addictive. The urge to think and act and move on that kind of level is an intoxicating one.

Yes, I had been lifted up. But now I was beginning to fall back down again and I felt awful. But as well as that, there was the sinking feeling that if I felt awful now, then I still had a long way to fall. All I could do to get through it was to grit my teeth, keep my eyes open and really feel everything that happened.

What was that like?

My father loved hunting. To love hunting, requires you to have good horses and to have a certain fondness for horses. To love horses you have to have a skill at that, experience at that. And when you love something, you want to share it with other people. Especially with your family.

Whether they might be interested in such things or not.

But I had been learning to ride from a very young age. It was one of those processes where I was cleaning out stables and taking care of horse gear before I could do any of the fun stuff, so that by the time it came to actually riding the horses, it was more like the extension of an existing chore rather than it being even remotely fun.

But if there was any way that I could make my Father proud of me, then I was still at an age that I would take that path. So I learnt to ride. It became something that I was good at. Never quite good enough to race or do tricks. But good enough and experienced enough that I could easily ride for long times and long distances without really thinking about it. And experienced enough that riding at the gallop could be fun.

That last ride as we came over the bridge of the Cockatrice inn. Charging up the causeway towards the city. It was the longest, most agonising time that I had spent in the saddle.

Ever.

I am confident of saying that. This is not some Hyperbole made to sell the most recent issue. That was the worst ride of my life.

And I started to lose my mind a little bit.

Long term readers will remember the ride out of Northern Redania when Sir Rickard rode to inform me of my father’s illness and pending demise. Where we rode south as though the very hounds of the wild hunt were chasing us.

So it should come as something of a shock when I tell you this.

We rode, not as fast as the messenger but still pretty quickly. Quick enough that I can call it a gallop, but not so fast that we couldn’t keep our formation as we travelled the wide, older roads as we approached Beauclair. We clattered over the bridge, our hooves sent the thawing ground flying in small clods of earth. The rain water made our cloaks heave as we clattered through the gate and thundered to a stop.

I went to dismount but Kerrass held me in the saddle while Syanna shouted down at the gate.

I didn’t listen and looked around, frowning.

“How are you doing Freddie?” Kerrass asked.

“Where is Rickard?” I asked him blearily.

“Where is…?” His face hardened. “Freddie. I know that this is the worst possible… I need you to come back now.”

I blinked and stared at him as the horror of what I had just said and how I had reacted came back at me for a moment.

“Flame Kerrass,” I whispered so that the others couldn’t hear me. “I don’t think I can do this.” I said again

“Yes you can Freddie.” He looked up so that he could see what was going on around us and probably gestured Ariadne over as she rode up and bracketed me on the other side.

“You can do this Freddie.” Kerred muttered quietly and darkly into my ear. “You can do this for the same reason that I do this. The same reason that you made me do the same thing in Northern Redania. The same reason that you carried on going when we fled from Cavill and his ilk. You will do this because there is no other choice. You will do this because I will carry you if I have to and you will do this for the same reason as you did then. Because there is no-one else.”

“Just a little more Freddie.” Ariadne had retreated behind a mask again. I was looking at an illusion and I couldn’t figure out why. She had cleaned herself up and had no reason to wear one since the Leblanc estate, but now she was here and wearing her illusion again as she looked at me. “Just a little more.”

She turned to Kerrass. “I have to go.” She told him. “I will be watching.”

He nodded, only glancing at her briefly.

“Come on Freddie. One last bad guy. We can do it. You and me, just as we have done so many other times.” He smirked. “Come on my friend. Don’t make me do this on my own. That’s no fun.”

I nodded. I didn’t believe it but I nodded. Mostly to shut him up more than anything.

I could smell woodsmoke and could hear hoofbeats.

I blinked again, those weren’t hoofbeats.

In the time since the first time that Jack had attacked Beauclair, the people of Beauclair had developed a real phobia of large scale supernatural attacks. They had visions of single monsters attacking and massacring the citizenry en masse.

The innovation that Colonel Duberton and the members of the 4th Alba regiment of peace keepers had brought to combat this was a system of communication by flags. Men standing on prominent areas would wave their flags in specific patterns that could pass simple messages between towers and groups of people. My understanding of this was that it was not a complex system as complex messages would take more than the amount of time that it would take for a single man to simply wander over to the intended recipient of the message and tell them what was going on. But what it could do was pass simple orders around the nearby area.

The system was not without its critics, most notably was a problem that it actually did nothing to protect anyone who did not live in Beauclair. Nor would it be difficult to disrupt the system as all that Jack, a single monster, a horde of Vampires or an attacking army had to do would be to infiltrate the system and either kill the flag wielders or force them, at knife point, to send false messages.

All of which were perfectly reasonable comments and not a small amount of brain power was being devoted to considering how to fix this. Another argument that I have heard is that this measure does one thing that no other measure does, which is that it can be seen and therefore, it means that the populace feel more secure in their homes. It acts in the same way as seeing a patrolling pair of guardsmen act. If the guards are walking around on patrol, then there is nothing to worry about.

And it was that that I could hear. Flags clacking against each other, snapping in the forced wind of the moving flags. How I could have mistaken these things for the sounds of hoofbeats, I do not know.

I stayed in my saddle. One of the soldiers that was waiting at the gatehouse brought Kerrass and I a small tin cup each of the strongest, most pungent, sourest, bitter teas that I have ever had the misfortune to drink. But it scoured the scummy, wooly feeling off the back of my throat and I nodded at the man gratefully.

Kerrass poured his out onto the roadside.

Syanna was issuing orders in the rapid kind of delivery that comes with much practise. Messengers ran off in all directions. I didn’t listen, paying attention seemed like spending so much effort and energy on something that I didn’t need. Jack would be waiting for me at the Fishmarket and all I needed to do now was to catch him and end all of this. I was bored although that doesn’t really sound like the right word. Nor can I really say that I was chafing at the inactivity.

Impatience might be the right thing I suppose. I was impatient to have it all over and done with. One last ordeal to go through. One last mountain to climb.

I watched, dully and with burning eyes as the messengers mounted their fast horses and rode off into the night.

I could smell the burning oil and woodsmoke in the air from all the fires that were being kept burning to help us all to see.

“Is it always like this?” Sam asked me.

“What?” I was startled from my own thoughts.

“Is it always like this? The waiting.”

“Come on Sam, you’re a soldier and you’ve waited for battle before.” I told him.

“Freddie,” Kerrass shook me.

“I’m awake.” I told him, rubbing my hands across my eyes. “I’m awake.”

“That’s good because it looked as though you were about to fall off your horse.” He was trying to lighten things with the joke.

“I couldn’t.” I told him. “You tied me to the horse, remember? Speaking of which, untie me would you?” I asked him. I was eyeing a nearby water trough and rather fancied some ice cold water being splashed over the back of my neck.

Kerrass did as I had asked and I headed over. Cupping my hand and splashing some water suddenly seemed like too much effort so I ducked my head and plunged it into the icy water.

As ways of waking yourself up go, it was not the best, but it was far from inefficient. I giggled at the thought that it would probably have made Ariadne cross with me.

“Freddie.” It was Guillaume who clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s time for us to part this night.” He spoke formally. I would ask that you stay safe so that we might celebrate the capture of the people responsible in the morning. If for no other reason than I want to cheer your victory over the blaggard Leblanc. No matter what else might happen tonight, you should hold that high in your memory as the victory it was.”

“I will.” I said. “Where are you going?”

“I’m off to command one of the guard squads.” He told me, dropping the more formal tone. “We are to block off areas to ensure that Jack cannot escape.”

I nodded. “Be careful Guillaume,” I told him. “He will be very good.”

“I have a large shield.” He told me with a grin. Guillaume has grins that you can hear.

“The last Jack laughed as he made mincemeat of overconfident Knights.” I warned him. “I don’t want to lose a new friend quite so quickly.”

He sobered. “I am honoured that you would consider me a friend.” He told me. “Honoured and moved sir. I hope to be worthy of your estimation. I will be careful, I would not wish to make Vivienne a Widow just yet.” He smiled and the formality left his voice again. “She will never forgive me apart from anything else.” He straightened and the formality was back. “The Knight Commander has ordered that we focus on defence and that Jack be taken alive. I will defend myself and my fellow and not move forward to the attack. It seems the least that I could do. Farewell my friend, and Good Fortune.”

“Guillaume you too. I would shake your hand but that huge gauntlet of yours would…”

He laughed as he left. The loud booming laughter that was his trademark. Sir Guillaume, the laughing lion of Toussaint. Another man that takes guises and masks on himself in order to do those jobs that he needs to do. I watched him go with some nervousness. It sometimes strikes me that the graveyards of the world are filled with overconfident men.

And women too.

And I turned to face Gregoire who was waiting politely.

“He’ll be fine,” he said. “That one leads a charmed life.”

My previous thought crossed my mind again. That the Graveyards of the world are filled with men of whom others once said ‘They lead a charmed life.’

“It is now my turn to depart.” He said.

“But before I go I am forced to ask a question or two. Will you answer?”

“If I am able.” I told him.

“I am feeling very stupid.” He rumbled, “I know that I am new to this investigative thing. New to the interrogation of suspects and the gathering of evidence. But everyone seems to be aware of something that I am not. You all seem to know who Jack is. Who is he?”

“Many different people.” I said.

“Freddie is being smug.” Kerrass said. “The truth is that a lot of people think that they know, they pretend that they know and then when the mask is removed at the end, everyone will say ‘I knew it,’ and pretend to genius.”

“Do you know who it is?” Gregoire asked him.

“I think so.” Kerrass mused. “I think it is the final folly of men who think that they can win.”

Gregoire scowled before smiling at himself. “I feel as though I am being mocked.”

“Kerrass is pretending to be smart.” I told him.

“So who is it?” Gregoire asked me.

“I don’t know.” I admitted. “But I am as confident as I can be that I am right.”

“See what I mean.” Kerrass teased.

“Speak plainly.” Gregoire managed the feat of smiling and scowling at the same time. “Who is beneath the mask this time?”

“Who would be the worst possible person for it to be?” I told him. “Who would cripple international relations between Toussaint and the rest of the Continent? Who would give our enemies the excuse to throw everything out that has happened since the Empress was here?”

“Guillaume.” Gregoire said. “You maybe, or another Witcher…” He trailed off. “Prophets,” He said before swearing for a while.

“You have it.” I said. “That is what it is like to do this.”

“I’m not sure I care for it.” He said. “Thinking like that.”

“The truth is,” Kerrass put in, “That when you investigate this kind of thing, the killer is solved by asking yourself the questions of ‘Who haven’t I accused yet?’ I am always surprised by how many times I have solved something with that question.”

Gregoire smiled. “I suspect that there is some truth to that.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“On a similar errand to Guillaume.” He answered. “Although not as near to danger as him. I am to guard the bridge in case Jack makes a break for it and has loftier targets in the palace in mind. I would not have said no to something closer to danger, but it would seem that my authority amongst the guard is not yet as strong as it could be. Therefore, it is best if I lead a defensive position rather than one where men who have been trained to fear me, by me, must now follow my orders without question.”

He scratched his chin.

“I can see the logic, and truth be told I am much more confident issuing simple orders like “Hold the line,” rather than something complex as to where to march and how quickly. That strikes me as a headache waiting to happen.”

I laughed at him and he smiled.

“We do not have time and I wanted to say some things before I go to where I have to go and you have to go where you have to go.” He told me. “I wanted to tell you that I do not have many friends and what friends I thought I had would not have done for me, half of what you have done. I thank you for that and you will have my undying gratitude.”

“Gregoire I…”

“I know that what you did you did for Anne as much as you did for me, but that still stands. I would be honoured, sir, if you would stand next to me when we stand before the priest. I mean to ask Guillaume as well. I will understand if you say no. I can appreciate that the matter is delicate and…”

I put my hand on his arm.

“It might be the fatigue speaking,” I told him. “But I would be honoured.”

“Good… Good.” He grinned and as was his way, the years seemed to fall off him when he smiled. “And watching you kick the shite out of Raoul was glorious. I don’t mind telling you.”

We laughed like children. “It was pretty fun.” I told him.

“I cannot tell you how often I’ve wanted to do that to someone.” He laughed. “But still. Farewell Lord Frederick. And Good luck.”

“Gregoire, you too.”

He marched off without another word, mounted up and rode towards the palace.

Kerrass was behind me.

“They’re nearly ready for us Freddie.” He told me.

“Oh good.” I replied. “Who is ‘they’ and what are they nearly ready for?”

He sniggered as he led me over to a Syanna who had her map out.

“We are just waiting for everyone to be in position.” She told me. “According to my reports, Jack is currently in the fish market, pacing up and down in frustration, swinging his sword about. Occasionally, he is striding up to a group of guardsmen or a group of Knights and trying to start a fight with them. He has also tried to break into a couple of houses and things although those houses are locked and the people inside have been evacuated.”

I nodded, only partly taking the information in.

“He’s asking for you by name Freddie.” She told me.

“Poetry.” I snarled. “What has he actually done so far?”

“He’s killed three guardsmen and a sailor who was roughing up a homeless beggar. I say guardsmen but one of them was a woman.”

I nodded, that worked with what I was thinking. I nearly tilted my head back and closed my eyes in order to think but that might have been disastrous. The possibility that I would fall asleep, or tip back into memory was something that could not be avoided.

“Are there any supernatural effects?” Kerrass asked.

“Witnesses say that he is extraordinarily fast with his sword.”

Kerrass grunted at that. I finally noticed that the magical light had gone out around him, healing finished then. Not that this meant that the discomfort was over.

As I knew from bitter experience.

“Also, he has a booming voice that is much louder than it should be given the volume and force of his voice.”

Kerrass nodded at that. “No teleporting or anything out of the normal realms of a very fit human or Elf?” He asked. “I’m assuming that he’s not a dwarf in stature.”

“He is no dwarf.”

Kerrass nodded again.

A man ran up and whispered something in Syanna’s ear and she nodded.

“Well, that’s it then.” She said, “These men will escort you both to the fish market. No big speeches from me, no flowery farewells. I will see you both when this is over. Good hunting.”

And that was it. Kerrass and I moved to our horses and mounted up as Syanna herself mounted her own horse and rode off under escort to another part of the city.

Six horsemen rode up. They were guards rather than Knights. You can tell the difference after a while. Closer to soldiers rather than Knights. Their weapons looked more used, their armour looked that little bit lighter and more battered. They were dirty, one or two of them were badly shaven and faintly bored looking.

All of them looked as though they could do with more sleep.

I could relate.

Sam once told me about the difference between a guard, a soldier and a Knight. He told me that it doesn’t matter about titles or where they serve in the order of battle, or even if they serve in the order of battle at all. In this fashion, he argued, a man can be the highest born nobleman in the land and still be a soldier or a guard. Whereas the lowest born muck shovelling beggar can become a Knight when things come down to it.

He then added this quote that I will never forget. “Happy is the land that allows people to be what they were meant to be.”

He also told me that a man can start off at one point on the scale and then move to another depending on what was happening, how old the person was and so on and so on.

He said that men become soldiers when they find that they have no other choice. Often dictated by the country that they are part of, they simply must become soldiers because they are drafted into the army in one of the many ways that that can happen, or they are forced there by a magistrate, or the fact that it is the only place that will take them, or they are simply starving and that the clothes are falling off their backs. The army will generally give someone food, clothes and all kinds of other amenities that they wouldn’t get otherwise.

Men stay soldiers for the same reason. They are still at war, or find that they cannot imagine life any other way. But they are still soldiers because they are forced to do what they are doing.

For guardsmen, it is a job. A task. A way to pay the bills. Often professional because they can be trained to do the thing that they are being paid to do and if a person is being unprofessional, they can be replaced fairly easily. The person needing the guards will pay for better equipment and on the grounds that a well fed, well trained and well equipped guard will perform their duties better. So guards can often do quite well for themselves. The fact that in most environments, corruption is rampant, means that guards are often very well paid as well.

Apparently, the worst thing that can happen is when you force soldiers to do the duties of a guard, or a guard to perform the duties of a soldier.

Knights are people that have been called to it. In the same way that some men and women are called to religious service, so too can people be called to service of the more military kind. These are the people that go out of their way to keep their equipment spotlessly clean, that work hard to learn how to use their weapons, they look out for the less experienced people under their command.

The problem is that they always, always seem to volunteer and as a result, they tend to be hated by the people around them. When they are leading other men into danger and they have volunteered their people for that duty, or they volunteer making the other soldiers look bad in comparison.

I remember asking him which one of these options he was. He laughed at me.

“Why Freddie,” he said. “All of them.”

I didn’t know what to make of that at the time.

In this case though, the man in charge of the small patrol that had been put in charge of escorting us to the Fish-market looked about twelve to my eyes. In all truth, he was probably older than I am, but he seemed… keen. I suppose that is the right word. ‘Eager’ might be another word.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “Shall we go?”

“One moment.” Kerrass waved him off before turning to me. “Are you ready for this Freddie?”

“I don’t know.” I told him as honestly as I could manage.

He nodded. “Best to get it done then eh?”

“One way or the other.”

We mounted back up. I couldn’t remember having dismounted. Nor could I remember having been untied from my horse. It only struck me then as being strange that this might be the case.

We rode slowly, again, there was that feeling that the guards wanted to chase us along a bit, the men in front kept pulling away from us a bit further than I was entirely comfortable with while those behind seemed a bit closer than they needed to be. I didn’t know what to make of it. It felt uncomfortably like being taken to the place of my execution.

The streets of Beauclair were deathly silent, all but deserted. I could see lookouts on the rooftops and occasionally shutters or windows would open so that people could peek out at us and watch us pass by. There was plenty of light though, despite the light rain that was still falling which hissed as it struck the hot metal of the fire baskets and sent the torches fluttering. All the time, the slow rhythm of Kerrass’ and My horses along with the variable speeds of the Guards horses seemed to echo off the nearby buildings. Echoes bouncing, reverberating and echoing until they became like cushions that pillowed me on either side, begging me to fall asleep and allow myself to drift off into the soft arms of slumber.

I felt like I was in a dream. One that I was desperately trying to wake up from.

The streets were becoming familiar to me now. I knew which way we were going and which roads would be coming next. The fish-market would be just down the way, surprising me the first time, with the fact that it’s not actually on the edge of town, but rather on one of those waterways that runs through it.

From there, the fish that are caught, gutted and prepared, are taken all the way through Beauclair. To the chefs that eagerly wait in their taverns to turn the fish into the latest delicacy that they have dreamed up. To the salters and smokers so that the tasty, delicate meat can be utterly ruined as it becomes preserved for long journeys.

Beauclair was, like a lot of the major cities of the continent, Elven first. And there is a not small amount of discussion as to what the different parts of the city were for when they were under Elven rule. Whatever else might be said of the Fishmarket, it was always a meeting place. What other purpose could it serve?

“What are you going to say to him?” Kerrass asked me as we rode.

“What?” He had startled me out of a thought process. Or possibly kept me from falling asleep. “Who?”

“Who else?”

I considered the question.

“I have no idea.” I said. “I thought I would start with, ‘Please don’t stab me in the face.’”

Kerrass considered this.

“Eloquent.” He decided. “Lacking a certain punch though.”

“What else am I going to say? In those first few moments, what can I possibly say?”

Kerrass considered that a bit longer.

“Nope,” He agreed. “You were right the first time, best to keep it simple. How are you doing Freddie?”

“You keep asking me that?”

He laughed. He was doing that a lot more often since he had fought Alain. “Oh how the tables have turned.” He said. “As I recall, I remember getting so angry with you when you steadfastly refused to ask me anything else when we were fleeing from Cavill and his gang of… drug crazed lunatics. Over and over again you would ask me how I was doing and more and more often I found that I was getting angrier and angrier at the question. Tell me Freddie, have you yet reached the point where you want to drive my face into the ground?”

“I am close.” I admitted. “I did it at the time to remind you of where you were and what we were doing. Trying to keep your head in the present rather than sinking into the madness that I knew was clawing at your soul.”

He nodded. “And that is precisely why I ask you the same thing now Freddie. So how are you doing?”

We rode down the road a little way further. There was an archway coming up. One of those places that probably had gates attached to it at one point or another. The kind of place that you could imagine had once been part of the city walls before the city itself had expanded into the nearby countryside. There was a house on top of the wall now and it formed, almost a tunnel through which we had to ride. The fish market was on the other side of that tunnel.

“I have nightmares that start like this.” I told him.

Kerrass grunted.