There we were. I had come to this place from a different direction last time. The square looked smaller this time, less open. Less filled with still activity. We were more inside the depths of winter now and I suppose that the fishing had stopped with the river having been frozen over in various stages. There was a lot missing, there were no wooden tables littering the place. No benches or stands of stalls covered in flapping canvas.

It seemed to be a tableau frozen in time,a carving of a place rather than the actual place itself. In the same way that men have tables with constructed, miniaturised versions of the terrain of the various battlefields, it felt like that. A replica. I had an uncomfortable feeling that we were small, toy soldiers being moved around while others discussed the various ways that they would have done things differently if they had been in our place.

There were much fewer of us this time. Kerrass, myself and six guards. I could see other entrances and exits to the market, avenues that were being blocked off. Black armoured soldiers of the Imperial forces that were still garrisoned in Toussaint, The shining armour of the Knights reflecting the torchlight. I thought I could see Guillaume pacing at one of the entrances.

The rain was still falling gently in the kind of steady mist that made the stones seem slick and shining. Making the light that the torches give off a kind of fuzzy halo.

It still seemed so dreamlike to me. Unreal, remote and oddly peaceful.

I was glad that we were coming to that place by a different route. I do not know how I would have handled the matter if we had come at it from the same direction that I had with Sam the last time we were here.

At first I couldn’t see him. Even though I looked for him rather carefully. But at first I couldn’t see him. I have thought about it since and I do not entirely think that it was because of my fatigue or the fact that I could no longer entirely trust what I was seeing or doing. He was… less than Jack had been the last time we were here.

That Jack had dominated the space. There was no way that you could miss him, even as he was fairly small in stature, he drew your eye and it was almost impossible to look away from him. And it wasn’t just that he had been kicking decapitated heads into the river while singing a little song. The presence of the man had been like a… Like a Bull in a field.

I had once had to hide in a hayloft with a cattle farmer who told me all about how to deal with Bulls. His wife and children were quaking next to us and in his head, the way to calm them, and himself, down was to talk about farming. Specifically, he was talking about the keeping and the use of breeding bulls

He told his son, and therefore me, that one of the hardest things to deal with when you are dealing with cattle of any kind is the “Stud” part of the livestock. Sheep, goats, horses, deer, the male can be extremely territorial and protective of those that are in it’s care.

But none of them can compare to the amount of trouble that a bull can be when it comes to that. He told a warning story about how he was forced to work with a bull. A story from his childhood I think. He said that his father had a breeding bull and when he wasn’t needed for any of the breeding work that was required of such an animal, the beast was kept in a field a little distance away, behind a row of trees and well away from all of the other farm animals.

His father had tried all the tricks, tying him up from a young age so that he was used to being restrained… all of it had worked on every other animal that was in the farmer’s care. But this bull ignored all the attempts and laughed at attempts to tame him. He seemed to know that his worth was more than any two or three other animals as he was a prize Bull, his children were always strong, healthy and good producers of either meat or milk therefore, he could not be got rid of.

The Bull had to be kept away from the others because otherwise, whenever the farmer would approach any of the cows, the Bull would start getting aggressive, which the cows would run away from. One of the jobs of the young farmer’s son was to sit near to the Bull’s field in order to warn off people that might think of taking a shortcut through the field to the nearby river for fishing or any of the other reasons that you might need to go near a river.

The use of signs were pointless given how few people could read in that area and in that walk of life. I had learned not to ask that kind of question early in our travels together. It was much cheaper and easier to put a young child on a stool with a hunk of bread and cheese in order to warn off locals and to scream an alarm in case of poaching attempts.

Prize stud Bulls are rare apparently.

The Bull had been taken and slaughtered by one army or another during the various wars and, as a result, the damage to the farm had been almost irreplaceable. It still hadn’t reached the same levels that it had once been able to command and the family that had once been masters of a considerable amount of land were ekeing out a living from the ground that their grandparents had lived in.

They were trying to grow Barley when we were there. Including in those fields that had been cursed when a large number of a local population had been rounded up into the field and then massacred. Which had led to the Echinopse problem that Kerrass hired to deal with.

But I’ve talked about that in other publications.

But the way he described the Bull was really interesting to me. He said that there was no way that you were unaware of the presence of the Bull. You could not ignore it, it was this… he described it as a “presence” in the field. As a solid, weight that drew the eye. He hated it when it was his turn to watch the bull and his friends would come and tease him about the fact that he was plainly terrified of this Bull. They would come and play a game of chicken where they would get to the field and dare each other to go further and further into the field in an effort to antagonise the Animal.

He said that the Bull would watch them, that he knew that those children were there and stared at them with a fierce and horrifying intelligence as it snorted and pawed at the ground. It would fake the charge towards them if they touched the fence, or if they started to climb the fence. And sometimes, it would watch, and wait until the child had climbed the fence and gone into the field. It would pretend to not know that the child was there and then it would leap forward into a charge.

The locals thought it was a fun game until one time a child slipped in his haste to get away from the Beast.

The Farmer said that the Bull was a solid presence, it dominated the ground that it was in. You were always aware of it because you knew that in the face of such raw power, there was nothing that you could do to stop it or turn it aside. That if you tried to force it, or divert it, then it would have you. It would turn it’s dark eyes towards you and you would be able to see it plotting your destruction. It would destroy you and you would be powerless before it.

That was what that first Jack had been like. He had dominated the Fish market, there was no way that you could escape him. He drew the eye and to go up against him was to know that he was a greater… He was a force. A solid force that you could not avoid or look away from. He owned the space that he was in. It was his territory and we had the temerity to enter that space. He dominated the landscape and only left it on his own whim.

This Jack was different. This Jack… did not own the ground, he moved through it. He was more like a Cat moving through the grounds of a castle, slinking from one place to the next. He moved with the grace of a fighter, a lot like how Kerrass moves, or Ciri moved when she wasn’t being the Empress. He was loose and easy and relaxed. And he had absolute authority.

The last Jack was a cackling madman. This Jack was calm, upright and collected. He was dressed almost the same though. The darkness, the misting rain and the leaping torchlight obscuring details. He had a sword in his hand and an off hand fighting dagger, just shy of the length of a short sword. It was still some distance away but it looked to me as though it was a better made sword as well. More expensive.

He wore a long dark cloak or coat that was open at the front showing the doublet of a gentleman beneath the coat. I saw a white collar and cuffs and he wore riding trousers and boots. The boots did not have spurs on them which I found interesting as I always do when I notice that fact about people.

He wore a dark felt hat with a wide brim that shadowed his face quite deeply and underneath he was wearing a cloth mask with eye holes cut out. There was a larger hole for his mouth and nose though, holes from which we could see his breath steaming.

He was pacing, backwards and forwards, half a dozen steps one way before taking another half a dozen steps the other way. He was glaring at the walls of soldiers that were obscuring and blocking one of the routes into the square.

“How are you doing?” I asked Kerrass.

“I’m tired.” He answered. His eyes had narrowed as he studied Jack carefully, taking in the details. “I could do with a long sleep as it’s been a hell of a day all told. And if I’m tired then I hate to think how you’re feeling.”

He laughed suddenly, a short bark of laughter.

“I also hope that this isn’t too strenuous a confrontation. I have a distinct feeling that I need a shit. Except it won’t be a good, solid and reassuring bowel movement. It’s going to be a liquid, squirty thing that burns as it…”

“Thank you Kerrass.”

“The healing has stopped,” He said as the humour subsided. Jack had heard the laughter and turned towards us. “But I don’t feel well.” He shook his head. “The last time we fought Jack, you nearly died and we had the full force of the Imperial guard and half a dozen other Witchers to help us. I fought Jack that night and I could not have taken him by myself. We were lucky to get him at all. You say that you have nightmares about this? Well, so do I.”

He drew his sword and gestured with his of hand until a golden light started dancing around his body.

“But this is not Jack.” He said. “Is it.”

The question was rhetorical, but I answered it anyway.

“No.” I said. “It’s not.”

Jack had turned, his left hand was behind him now under his cloak so that when he turned during his pacing, we still couldn’t see it. He held his sword towards us as he moved, placing his sword between us and him, always ready. Out and down when his right hand side was towards us, across the body and up when his left profile faced us.

A fencer’s stance

“He’s waiting for us.” I sighed, trying to put some bravado into my voice. I failed. “What do you think he wants?”

“Yeah.” Kerrass said. “You’re right.” He took a deep breath, sounding just as tired as I felt. “Let's go and find out.”

We started walking towards Jack. Kerrass moved, a little ahead of me and I followed him, behind and slightly to the left. Our oldest formation. One that we have used against monsters, men and everything in between.

“Finally.” Jack’s voice was obscured by something. I have no idea what it was. It sounded echoey though. As though it was being spoken into a metal box. He didn’t speak loudly, there was no volume to what he was saying, but there was a power to it. We both heard it as though it was a conversation and Jack was standing nearby.

Jack flexed his sword arm and stretched before settling into a fencing stance. All of the standard things, it was like it was directly out of the manual. He stood side on, left hand in his coat but it could be easily supposed that it was on his hip. The hilt of the sword was low, near the hip, with the blade angled up to a point which would have been on the same level as our eyes and faces. It was pointed between Kerrass and I, slightly towards Kerrass given that he was in the lead. All of that to be expected.

“What do you want?” I asked, speaking clearly and with properly supported breath so that the other soldiers and Knights could hear me speak.

“I would have thought it would have been obvious.” Jack hissed. “I want you to die.”

“We don’t want to…” I began.

“But I do.” He snarled. His left hand came round and his hand came up, holding a small crossbow and fired it at Kerrass.

The Golden explosion that followed the explosion of Kerrass’ Quen shielding always has a bit of a kick and I skipped sideways to avoid the worst of it. Then Jack was on us.

He attacked Kerrass first, darting in with a series of lunges. Kerrass was trying to use another sign with his right hand, whether to try and cast another shield to protect himself or some other gambit in order to help us against our foe. Kerrass fell back, parrying the lunges relatively easily with his left hand.

I moved in with a sweeping cut. Kerrass and I were both tired and we were falling back on our oldest techniques. Fighting is about lines and trying to get round other people’s lines of defence. I knew that I would not challenge Jack in a straight fight, but if I could turn him around a little. Try and force him to leave one side of him open to Kerrass then that was what I was there for. The other two men were already working on a level that I could not comprehend anyway.

I had expected a parry which would have pushed my spear, and therefore me, out of the way. I had hoped for a block which would have meant that Jack was more closely engaged with me. Instead, Jack simply skipped out of the way.

I followed. Trying to keep the pressure on while giving Kerrass the space to come up with another gambit. Kerrass cast another Quen shield and moved in around me, trying to come in on Jack’s other side.

Jack fell back from me, parrying my attacks easily and with little effort. My arms ached and I had to grit my teeth to make sure that the attacks had the necessary snap to them.

Jack’s peripheral vision and his spatial awareness of the combat was incredible. He had seen what Kerrass was doing and dodged around me, putting me between Kerrass and himself.

Jack laughed and I wondered if I could hear a bitter edge to that laughter.

I should not have thought about that, the momentary distraction of that wondering opened up my defences and Jack was on me, forcing me back and into Kerrass’ way.

I was struggling to focus and I think that Jack could tell that as well.

He attacked me a few more times, they weren’t real attacks, they were closer to being… almost leisurely. I blocked and parried, but the point behind each blow was that it pushed me further and further backwards, therefore further and further into Kerrass’ path. So that when Kerrass would try and get round me to bring his own weapons to bear, he would find himself impeded by a foolish scholar who didn’t know what he was doing.

Jack started to laugh again. He ducked under one of my sweeping attacks and stabbed me in the chest. Not hard and not particularly quickly. And he stabbed me in one of the tougher panels of my leather coat. I threw myself backwards from the blow and very nearly collided with Kerrass.

The leather was scarred, but not seriously damaged. He had drawn no blood. I had a bruise there for several days however.

Kerrass finally stepped around me, straight into another object that Jack had produced from underneath his coat that was thrown into Kerrass chest. Again, the Golden shield of Quen fired. This time I was not as prepared for it, still recovering from the jab to the chest and I fell, desperately trying to turn it into a roll so that I could come back to my feet.

There was not quite enough inertia for that and I only managed to get to my knees.

Jack feinted towards me in my vulnerable state and Kerrass moved to block him. And that was when we found it was a feint as Jack fell back from us.

“I can kill you anytime I want to.” He told us, chuckling. “The great scholar Knight and his Witcher lackey.”

“Then why don’t you?” I wondered as I climbed to my feet.

“Because that wouldn’t be as much fun.” He said with a horrible relish before leaping into the attack, literally leaping forward with a lunge.

Kerrass gestured and a blast of air knocked Jack from his leap and sent him sprawling. He showed me how it was done though and rolled with the impact, coming to his feet with grace.

Kerrass gestured again, a white light glowed around his hand and I saw a similar glow appear around Jack’s head before Kerrass charged in. I followed only a fraction of a heartbeat afterwards.

Jack shook his head violently for a moment and leapt to meet Kerrass’ attack.

I hung back a little. Jack had shown that he was more than capable of using me to interfere with Kerrass and to throw the Witcher off his game. Kerrass was just as sick and tired as I was though and I could not afford to leave off forever. So I hung back and looked for an opportunity to get involved and also to see if I could see something that would help us.

There has been some criticism of why I did not shout, or try to get someone’s attention and try to bring things towards their conclusion here. The answer is a simple one. Fighting takes an immense amount of concentration. If I had called out, then even though Kerrass was not really trying to kill his opponent, there was a real risk that there would be some form of accident. Kerrass could be distracted in his weakened state, leaving an opening for Jack to exploit. Or Jack, who I was desperately trying to keep alive could make a mistake and jerk left when he should have gone right and ended up on the end of Kerrass’ sword.

So I spent some time analysing.

It was a strange fight. Kerrass and I have certainly fought more dangerous opponents. Whatever else could be said about the person that we were fighting, he was only a humanoid person. There was a chance that he was an elf, but I doubted that given the breadth of Jack’s shoulders. So one way or another, Jack was still human. Which meant that he was still ruled by the laws of human biology. His arms would only work in a certain way, he could only be so strong and so fast. His breath control, while obviously prodigious, would not last forever.

He was an exemplary fighter but, again, I was left with the feeling that Kerrass and I have faced better. Not many, but better. There was something lacking in his technique.

“I can kill you any time that I want to.” He had said. He had been right as well. I was no match for him alone. He had made none of the assumptions about my fighting techniques that Raoul Leblanc had made. Raoul had been better than me but he was used to dancing and duelling in tournaments, not real fighting and as such, his overconfidence had been his downfall. This man was used to fighting.

He had also been prepared for a Witcher’s signs. There are a number of counters for a Witcher’s signs that I have learnt over the years. Some are simple and some are more complex. This man had fallen on the most simple way to get around the shielding sign. I had no doubt that he had a number of easily throwable missiles in his cloak that could be used to dispel the shield of Kerrass’. He had ignored the sign of suggestion and if Kerrass found some time in the combat to draw a sign on the ground in order to impede Jack’s speed and mobility, I would not doubt that Jack would simply avoid it.

I made a small wager with myself that Jack’s cloak was an expensive, flame proof weave, if in no other way, I bet it was soaked in water. There are alchemical solutions that can do the same thing I understand.

He wasn’t fighting with us. I don’t know where the realisation came from. It was suddenly just there. He wasn’t trying to fight us. He was goading us.

Flame I was tired.

I acted on the thought as soon as it came, leaping back into the melee.

I fought carefully, methodically, focusing on my defence above all else, staying out of reach, blocking and parrying and only going for an attack when I knew that there would be nothing to come back at me. And most importantly, I only attacked when I was sure that I would not actually hurt him.

I was tired, and it took me a long time to see it. It might even be true to say that I only saw it because I was actually looking for it.

Jack was leaving openings. He was, deliberately, inviting me to kill him. And if I took any of those opportunities, I had no doubt that he would not survive them. He even made an effort to trap my blade and force it into his own body, but I was ready for it and pulled back.

“What are you doing?” He demanded in a hiss.

“It’s over.” I told him, falling back a little way and bending double as I gasped for air. “It’s all over,”

“You don’t need to do this.” Kerrass tried. “It’s…”

“Who are you to tell me what I need to do?” Jack demanded. This time without the strange, echoey sound that was added to his voice.

I opened my mouth to try and speak.

“Fine.” He whispered, the enchantment back. “Then how about I give you some encouragement.”

He turned away from us and ran for the water of the frozen river.

“Fuck.” Kerrass was as tired as I was, drinking a potion. It’s important to remember that the use of his signs tires him out faster than full contact fighting does.

“He’s not going to listen.” I said between gasps. Desperately trying to get my breathing under control.

“Then we must make him listen.” Kerrass growled. “Fucked if I’m letting this get any worse. Come on Freddie, we must chase him.”

“Oh good.” I groaned. “I like chasing people.”

We ran to the water’s edge. The fight and the thinking were tearing through my body now and I felt a burning pain in my limbs, especially around my calves and thighs. I desperately wanted to throw up but I wasn’t entirely sure that there was anything there to throw up.

Jack was running across the ice in such a way that it made the entire endeavour look trivially easy. The light rain had made puddles form on the ice so that he splashed as he ran.

I blinked.

The fire was all around me. I had seen Francesca’s head sailing into the water at the end of Jack’s boot. He was laughing at me and as I charged towards him, he laughed once more and turned before diving into the water. An anger so huge that it was overwhelming leaped up from around my ankles and took hold of my chest.

“Flame no.” I shouted. “Not again.”

I leapt forward. Something stopped me. Pain exploded in the side of my face, white light exploded behind my vision.

I blinked.

“Not this time Freddie.” Kerrass told me after slapping me.

“We have to catch him.” I said.

“And we will, there is a bridge over there, he’s not going the same way the last Jack went.”

We charged off, the guards were already moving and we were off and running between armed men.

They say that mad men feel as though they are getting saner. I wonder if that is true, although I might have seen evidence of that. But as we ran I could feel myself beginning to slip away. The herbs and the spells were gone now. They shouldn’t have gone, they should still have been in my system, but I could no longer feel them. I stumbled and blundered on. The only reason I kept going in the same direction at all was because we were on a bridge, there was a rail on either side and the other men were pushing me in the same direction.

The edges of my vision were going grey, I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as well as feeling it all over my body. So much so that I could feel it in my toes, which ached.

I could feel an old anger in my chest, it was a memory of an anger from long before hand. A memory of rage that I was fighting off with logic. But logic is a wall of paper before all of that flame and all I could to stop it was erect more and more walls of paper.

This wasn’t the same Jack. It wasn’t. I knew that. But it was the same Jack. I can describe it in no other way and it is the weakness of this medium that I cannot… Flame but this is so frustrating.

I knew that the two periods of time were separate. I knew that Francesca had disappeared just under a year ago. I knew that that particular Jack had been anonymous, augmented by magic that we did not know and could not have understood. I knew that this was a different place, a different time and a different outcome.

Not least because I all but knew who Jack was this time and what was at the source of his presence. I knew what had brought him here this time. I knew what was happening and why he was the way he was. And I absolutely knew how vital it was that we keep him alive.

But I was chasing him through the streets of Beauclair. I had seen him massacre a square full of Knights and a couple of Witchers. I had seen him kill and kill and kill and I could not escape the feeling that those people deserved better. Here was a Jack that I could catch and maybe, this time… maybe I could catch him and then when I caught him…

I could force him to tell me where he had taken Francesca.

If I was just a little bit faster, if I was just a little bit stronger then I could stop Sir Thomas from dying, another one of those good people whose deaths I could have prevented. The young Knight of the Imperial guard that had had a crush on Francesca without knowing that Sleeping Beauty herself was beginning to nurse a crush on him.

He had died in my arms, left to die in agony so that Laughing Jack could make a point.

But this wasn’t the same Jack. I knew it but I also knew that the other thing was also true. I knew it. I just had to be a bit quicker. Just a bit quicker.

But I was tired… No, that’s not the right word. I was exhausted. I was not far away from collapse. And I could not stop.

We made it to the other side of the bridge.

Kerrass turned to the guards around us and grabbed a Sergeant while pushing me towards a wall, turning me and sitting me on a box by force..

“You.” He shouted. I always find it insulting when superiors don’t know the names of their subordinates. I know why it happens but it’s insulting and I hate it. “Keep your squad here. Block the bridge and ensure he doesn’t double back. Watch the ice as well. Then I want a messenger to...”

I blacked out for a second, someone might call it falling asleep while I sat. All I know is that I missed the next part of Kerrass’ orders.

“... trying to get himself…”

I missed a bit.

“And if he dies then…”

I found myself in a nightmare landscape. I was on the hill in Northern Redania. Exhausted from fighting. Sick with malnutrition, blood loss and poison. The enemy was coming and there was nothing I could do. I was watching Dan, the long dead archer who had made the now fabled “Sun shot” to kill Lord Cavill. He stepped out from behind the tree to brace himself for the shot that would save us all. But this time he was met by a storm of crossbow bolts that almost cut him in half.

We were all going to die.

I slumped sideways and I started to laugh. Kerrass turned to look at me and for a moment, it wasn’t Kerrass, it was Rickard. I knew it was Kerrass because he was wearing Kerrass’ armour and carrying Kerrass’ swords. But I swear to the flame that it was Sir Rickard. That Knight that now serves my family and is, as I write this, planning his coming marriage to Dr Shani.

I had nearly fallen off my box in falling asleep. For reasons known only to my tortured mind, I found that incredibly funny and laughed.

I blinked and Kerrass became Svein, the big Warlord of Skellige. The guards and soldiers had turned into the other crew of the Wave-Serpent. I had enough time to wonder what they were all doing here. Especially the dead ones. Just enough time to realise that I was thinking that before I realised what was happening and binked, shaking my head.

That was a mistake.

I turned my head and finally managed to vomit up some of the bile and acid that had been churning my stomach.

Kerrass was at my side with some water. It was ice cold and I drank it greedily, using it to clean the horror from my throat and my mind. I splashed some water over my head and the back of my neck to help with that which wasn’t entirely successful.

“Dammit Freddie you need to…”

“Yeah I do.” I agreed. “But I’m not going to.”

“I know. But I would hate myself for the rest of my life if I didn’t at least suggest it. If only because Ariadne will yell at me for letting you get this bad and…”

Someone screamed. It was a woman’s voice and I was up, spear in hand and charging down the street. There was no conscious process in what I did. I was just up and running.

Kerrass yelled something. Probably cursing me for a fool or some other combination of words.

It was another one of those moments where I knew it had happened but there was no way of my being able to do anything other than what I had done. I knew he had yelled, but I hadn’t heard him. I know that that is a paradox. I know it sounds strange and impossible and all I can say is that. I know, but that’s what happened.

I was fighting myself now as well as Jack.

I could see Jack running along the rooftops above me. I could hear him scrabbling around and jumping and missing and all of the other things.

I also knew that there were sounds of combat ahead of me.

I knew that one thing would be my imagination, or my memory, or...well… something and the other was actually taking place. And because it was me, I was thinking about it logically.

Last time I had been chasing Jack through the streets of Beauclair, he was leading me somewhere. I rather thought that both Jacks were trying to make me lose my temper and get angry to the point where I would stop thinking and act irrationally. But last time, it was me and him in the streets with the guards, Kerrass and the rest trying to catch me while also coming up with the scheme to end Jack. This time, we were more prepared.

When we had reached this point last time, there had been little to no sounds of combat. This Jack was human, a pale imitation of what had come before. So the sounds of combat would be brief and to the point. And the screams of the dead and dying had been the screams of men that were on the end of Jack’s sword.

There were no female screams that night.

Well, there were, but not by the time that I had started my own chase.

So I decided, in the strange logic that exists in exhaustion, that the sounds of combat and the woman screaming were the current memory and I ran after that.

I came round a corner and all of the exhaustion that made the edges of my vision go all ripply and grey, that tied the weights to my arms and legs and caused my heart to pound. All of it went away.

There were three guardsmen, one had grabbed the woman and pushed her into a corner where he was trying to get her to be as small as possible so that he could protect her with his shield. The other two men were just trying to put themselves and their shields between Jack and the woman in question. One of those, exceptionally brave and commonplace pieces of bravery from the standard city guard where they place their bodies between foolish people and harm.

We know that this incident occurred. We found the survivors later and spoke to them. They had no idea who the woman was either as she ran off as soon as she was able to. One of them claimed that she was probably someone’s mistress or a courtesan trying to get home after an appointment. He said that she would have been beautiful if she hadn’t been so terrified.

I came round the corner and took in the situation.

“Finally.” Jack said again, twisted one of the guards weapons around and stabbed him in the shoulder. The injured guard’s shield started to fall as he bellowed in anger and pain in an effort to keep the shield up, but the muscle was ruined and there was no way that he was going to make it.

I screamed and ran in, levelling my spear like it was a lance at a joust.

Yes it was stupid, but not as stupid as it sounds. Why?

“I can kill you anytime I want to,” is what he had said. And he had been right. He could have killed me back in that first exchange back in the fish market. He hadn’t. I still didn’t know why. But if he hadn’t killed me then, then there was a good chance that he wouldn’t kill me now.

I charged in and to no-one’s surprise, he parried, pushing the spear aside. However, he did not expect me to stop bracing the spear. In pushing the spear aside, it meant that his sword was also out of the way and I kept the momentum going, ducking my shoulder and driving it into Jack as hard and as fast as I could.

He was reassuringly solid when I made contact with him as we both went tumbling from our feet and rolled away.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

It was at this point that one of the guards hauled the girl out of the way and she fled.

Jack made it to his feet first, to meet a ballistic and furious Kerrass who rained sword blows down on Jack. The guards moved to support him, leaving the wounded man to cut the heavy shield free of the injured arm and retreat in the direction that the girl had fled.

“GET BACK.” I told the two guards. Too late. They had joined Kerrass in pushing him back which meant that Jack was more under threat. With a gesture that looked almost like a reflex thing, an unintended gesture. The sort of thing that is trained into you over years and years and years of having masters and tutors screaming at you that after “A” happens then you must ALWAYS do “B”. Jack rolled his sword over the blade of one of the attacking guards and, aiming down and over the shield, sliced the guard’s throat open.

The guard fell, desperately trying to keep the blood that was visibly pumping through his fingers in his body.

He wasn’t going to make it.

I leapt to join Kerrass who was driving Jack back down the street now. There wasn’t really much room for me to reach past and bring the spear to bear. Kerrass was calming down now. Whether he was dealing with his own fatigue or what, he was calming and the cold, clinical fighting style of the Witcher was back as he forced Jack back and back and back.

Jack brought his left hand into play again, bringing out a parrying Knife, trying to trap Kerrass’ blade.

“Do you want to know what she looked like?” Jack asked him as they fought. He sounded out of breath. “As I slit Lady Moineau’s throat from ear to ear. Do you want to know how she screamed and whether or not she begged for her life?”

I followed closely, looking for a gap, praying that Kerrass would do what I could not.

Stay calm.

“Do you want to know what it was like when I ripped her open? How she begged and whimpered. The whimpers of the dying woman, so close to the whimpers that they make when they are in the throes of passion do you not think?”

Of all the things that I expected Kerrass to do next, I did not expect him to laugh.

He fell back from Jack, sword steady and levelled at Jack, not wavering.

“You weren’t there.” Kerrass giggled. “You weren’t there. You didn’t do that. I don’t know who did, not for sure anyway and when I find out who it was then I will end them. But I know it wasn’t you. Your attempts to goad me will not work.”

Jack snarled. I know that I use that word a lot to describe the way people say things. But this time it is accurate.

Then he turned and ran up the side of a building.

Well, not really, but to my exhausted brain, that was certainly what it looked like for the few seconds that it took for my mind to catch up with what had actually happened and to stop blinking at the place stupidly.

What he had actually done was jump onto a box before leaping onto a windowsill before jumping onto a beam that spanned the alley way that we were fighting in. From there, it was just a short hop onto the nearby roof. But what had caught me off guard was that he had done it so quickly. So quickly that it took me a moment to realise.

“Do you wanna go first?” Kerrass snapped after me between taking some breaths. He was glaring at the potion bottle that he had taken off his belt. “I ask because you seem incapable of taking things calmly when Jack is involved.”

“Should you be drinking those.” I snapped back. “With your newly regrown intestinal tract.”

We glared at each other for a moment longer before the foolishness of the entire moment overcame us both and we started to laugh. The truth was that neither of us should be out here doing this. Both of us should have been in bed a long time ago. I leant against the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the ground.

“He planned that.” Kerrass said, gesturing at the box, which now that I looked closely at it, was actually a couple of boxes piled together to almost form a staircase. “That was there before we got here. He knew what he was doing, he knew where he was going.”

“Was that girl a plant?” I wondered.

“Maybe.” Kerrass said. “But she looked properly terrified to me. She might have been suckered out here.”

“Does anyone know where she went?” I asked the only unwounded guard who had bent to check whether or not his colleague with the throat ripped out was alive. The man with the injured shoulder had already left under his own abilities to seek medical aid.

I don’t know why we do it, bend to check whether someone is still alive when they are so obviously dead. I have done it myself, rushing to check the pulses of men who were missing a significant chunk of their skulls. Or when I made it to a man who I had literally seen having his lungs torn out by a harpy. But I still went and checked.

Sometimes, if you are really lucky, you get to ensure that the man you are kneeling by is not alone when he passes from this world.

The guard straightened from his dead friend and looked at me with hollow eyes. “She fled.” He said. “That way.” He gestured back the way we had come.”

“The other guards will get her,” Kerrass said, climbing to her feet. “And it is a riddle that will wait for now I think.” He helped me to my feet and gestured for me to move so that I didn’t stiffen up.

“He knew his way around.” Kerrass said, looking up at where Jack had vanished over the edge of the guttering on the edge of the roof. “He knew the city and he knew how the guards would respond. He planned this engagement”

“He did.” I said. “And he is provoking us. You and me specifically.”

There were shouts from further into the maze of alleyways. It wasn’t until this point that I properly realised something that I had known for a while, which is that we were in the poorer part of Beauclair.

Kerrass gestured and the golden light started to dance around him again, he grabbed me as I made to move off, and pushed me behind him.

“Not this time Freddie,” He told me. “If I have to tie you up and leave you behind me in the street for some guard to sit on so that you don’t do something stupid.”

He led us down the streets and towards the melee.

“Has that ever worked before?” I wondered as we, both of us, struggled to start running.

Kerrass saved his breath for the coming combat.

We came out into another, much smaller market square, courtyard kind of place. I don’t think it was a formal area where people gathered. I struggled to imagine much more than roadside peddlers and tinkerers plying their trade here. Fixing pans and small pieces of pottery for the people that lived locally. Maybe a shoe shiner and a cobbler working next to each other in further efforts to attempt to get a bit more money out of the local populace and the nobility that might think that they could get cheaper services here as they travelled between their business dealings down at the docks and their places of residence in the upper city.

I could imagine the ladies of the night moving through and picking up some street food here on their way to and from work. A cup of clean water to wash the scuz out of a person's mouth, or a smaller cup of wine to fortify you against whatever comes next.

Or to drown whatever had come before.

I like this kind of place. Back during my student days in Oxenfurt, my friends and I would find places like this and sit there for the day, eating and drinking from the stalls and watching the world go by. Making up stories about the people that were passing, discussing this project or that essay that we were working on. Advising someone as to their potential romantic partners and commiserating them when it doesn’t work out. There would always be someone working, weighing down papers and things with our used tankards and the like, inevitably being forced to set aside the books in order to have a mug of ale and a sausage bun of dubious quality.

If I was really waxing poetic then I would say that the world can be found in such places. Not in the salons and the courts, but down there, where life really is for the living. But the only reason I can know that sort of thing is because I had enough money to enjoy that kind of… well… decadence. I remember moaning about lack of money amongst my equally rich and privileged friends. I have since seen the real poverty in the cities of the north, and the south for that matter. And I remember those times with a certain amount of happy embarrassment. And more than one of those times flashed before my eyes as I surveyed the scene.

This courtyard was ruined now.

Jack was in the middle of the fighting and he was picking off the guards and the, now, soldiers that were running in. I could see six men down already. Two of which were definitely dead and one of which would not make it unless we could get them to a proper surgeon soon.

By proper surgeon I mean someone who knows more and has access to more and better equipment than me and my little battlefield medic kit.

Kerrass kept me behind him for a moment as he waited for his moment to dart in.

I blinked.

There was a reason as to why I talked about that courtyard earlier and my now, increasingly, romantic and nostalgia filtered past. I blinked and I was no longer in Beauclair.

I was in Oxenfurt and I was looking at one of the favourite places there that I used to know. The walls were splashed with the same blood. There was the same wreckage of tables and crates everywhere and instead of them being dead soldiers and guards. I could recognise the bodies of my friends. Men and women… boys and girls really, that I had loved and been loved in return by. Friends that I would die for and protect. People that I would do anything for. And I could literally see their corpses on the ground.

I knew that this one was false. I knew that this vision was a conjuration of my exhausted and sick mind. But I could not look away. I furiously scrubbed at my eyes in an effort to try and banish the harsh vision from view but it was tenacious. The first time I managed to change the place back to the architecture and sense of place into being Beauclair. But they were still my friends on the floor.

I tried again and Beauclair seemed to bleed into Oxenfurt.

On the third time I bit my lip to try and get my mind to focus and managed to succeed in banishing the vision back.

And Kerrass and I watched as Jack fought. He saw us and beckoned us in as he fought. Another guard fell but there was no room and if we rushed in, we would just get in the way. Kerrass tried to yell for the guards to fall back. To get away, to defend and to let him, Kerrass, do his job. They were angry, but they listened. But the space was narrow and they struggled to get away. Struggled to escape the precise and clinical strikes of Jack’s sword.

That was another difference between this Jack and Laughing Jack.

No, I do not yet have a name for this Jack. He was not a real Jack. Not really. I might have called him “False” Jack, or “Puppet” Jack. But given that he wasn’t a real Jack I maintain that he doesn’t get a nickname. He was a copy-cat Jack and there have been many Copy-Cat Jack’s over the centuries that I have been able to track his appearances.

Laughing Jack had been like a force of nature when he fought. He was like a storm, spinning and leaping and dancing around. The injuries that he caused were not clean. They were brutal and jagged. Bones and limbs and muscles were mangled under his weapons, his club and his blade. He was a… a force rather than a fighter.

This Jack was like a surgeon. Precise, calm and seemingly still. Now that I could watch him fight some others I could see it that little bit easier. It was clear that he really could have killed Kerrass and I any time that he wanted to.

If Kerrass had been on form, properly rested and the rest, then Kerrass would have the edge, but for the right here and now, both of us were stumbling around with fatigue and sickness. There was little to no pretense about it.

I watched as he side stepped someone’s lunge and turned another parry into a lunge down into someone’s groin. How he did that and missed the main artery I do not know. Either there was some rather extreme luck going on or he had aimed precisely and directly.

Kerrass saw his chance, there was a lull in the fighting. Guillaume had arrived and took command of the guards at the entrance to the courtyard, ordering them back, ordering them to stand still…

He said more but I didn’t hear it.

Kerras leapt in, sword whistling out as he moved forward.

Jack grabbed one of the guards that was still in the square. One of the lightly injured ones I think. Jack twisted him round, tripping him and sending him tumbling into Kerrass.

It all happened so fast.

Kerrass caught the flailing guard and Jack sent in a small strike to Kerrass’ arm. Not very much. I doubt that it even marked the armour. The magic that was protecting Kerrass didn’t know that however and the explosion was still just as violent, sending the guard, who was between Kerrass and Jack, flying backwards.

To steady himself, in the initial sprawl, the guard had grabbed hold of Kerrass, so when the magic sent Kerrass flying backwards, the guard’s grip tightened automatically and he took Kerrass with him, sending the pair of them sprawling to the ground.

I saw it all as I looked on in horror. Kerrass and the guard were tangled together and as both of them tried to climb to their feet, all that they managed to achieve was to tangle each other up even further.

Jack looked at me, looked at them, looked at me and strode over to the tangle of men and raised his sword for what would surely have been a killing blow.

I had frozen in place. Nothing I could do. And it was the look, I think, that jerked me into movement. He knew what was coming. He knew it. He had escalated the engagement. He was telling me that I had to kill him, or he would kill Kerrass. It was an either/or situation.

I was finally able to move and I leapt forward and for just a brief moment, I was able to think clearly and openly.

I was able to think strategically.

Jack was controlling this engagement. We were tired. He wanted either Kerrass or myself to kill him. He was full of energy, while we were tired, on the edge of exhaustion and illness. I needed to tire him out.

I needed to injure him. Not seriously enough to be nearly fatal. Something to mean that he would have difficulty drawing breath.

I lunged forwards, butt of the spear furst and drove it into his side knocking him off balance. I thought I heard a rib snap as he fell, hissing in pain.

He fell back from me, keeping his feet until he crashed into a wall. He brought his sword down, pommel first on my arm where I was gripping the spear. It hurt. Not badly but enough to make that arm let go of the spear shaft.

He pushed the spear out of the way and kicked me in the chest. I tripped over something. I think he was acting under an automatic response now, not really thinking, but more acting with the long term, trained reflexes of a fighting man.

I fell backwards and he stepped forward, sword raised. A much less flashy version of the killing stroke than he had been going to use on Kerrass. Probably far more effective too.

I closed my eyes. I know you’re not supposed to but I couldn’t help myself.

I saw a flash of gold and opened my eyes again immediately. Guillaume had decided that he’d had enough and entered the fray.

I blinked.

Sir Thomas was one of the best swordsmen that the Imperial war academy had ever produced. The youngest Knight in the Imperial Guard in this generation. Called back to service because they did not trust anyone else to guard that which needed guarding. I liked the young man. He was the kind of young man that I would have liked my sister to be courted by. He had fought Laughing Jack one on one in that period of the night when Jack had fled the fish market and I had, recklessly, chased after him.

I had come across Sir Thomas who had crossed paths with Jack while he had been looking for me in order to bring me back to safety. Thomas had fought well, he had been calm, remembering his orders and the warnings that people had been giving him. Focusing on defence. Not allowing himself to be drawn out of his stance and into danger.

And then he died.

It was a gut wound. One of those injuries that ends in horror and agony. He had not felt it at first, Jack had left the two of us alone so that I could watch the young Knight die and become even more enraged.

I remember the look of realisation as the awful agony and horror had crossed Thomas’ face. And he had died.

He was sixteen.

And now he was fighting Jack again in the streets of Beauclair.

This time there was no mask of sanity. No hint of normalcy or suggestion that I might be losing my mind. There was nothing there that would suggest that I was seeing things or otherwise losing my mind. The fact that we were in the wrong part of the city didn’t even remotely cross my mind.

I screamed. It was an animal scream, something primal from the depths of my soul. There was pain in that scream and fury and upset.

I leapt to my feet and hurled myself forwards, my spear reaching forwards to try and get between Jack and his prey.

A blast of air struck me as I moved forward and I hurtled from my feet as though I had been pushed by a giant. I collided with a wall a fraction of a heartbeat after and what little breath that was in my lungs exploded out of my mouth.

I could still see Jack fighting Thomas. I tried to lever myself to my feet, pushing down with the but of my spear as I tried to get up. Tried to save the poor boy that I had not managed to before. I tried to give it everything I had. I couldn’t breathe. The edges of my vision were going black.

I could hear voices.

I swear. I swear on my own life, on the sacred flame of the Eternal Fire that guides us all home to our enduring rest. I swear on the grave of my father and by the love that I have for Ariadne. I swear I saw Jack kill Thomas that night.

“Come on Freddie,” The voice materialised and I realised that I was being shaken. “Come on Freddie snap out of it.”

Hands were placed on the side of my head and my gaze was wrenched from staring at the bleeding corpse of the young Knight of the Imperial Guard and I was staring into the eyes of a Cat.

I saw fangs.

“The next thing I can try is to slap you across the face again.” Kerrass said, “I don’t have any water and that is the only thing that I can use to shock you. Come back Freddie, it’s ok.”

I blinked.

Kerrass was holding my head and staring into my eyes.

“Fuck Freddie.” He said.

I howled. There is no other word for what was happening. Saying that I wept would be cheapening what I actually did. People say “He wept” and that infers that some gentle tears and maybe some placing of the head in the hands. Maybe some gentle sobbing and rocking of the body back and forwards. That was not what was happening here. I howled in the same way that I had once howled as a four year old boy when I saw someone putting a horse out of their misery. The same way I howled when Edmund broke one of my favourite toys and I could not understand why he was not being punished for it.

Kerrass held onto me. Pushing my spear out of reach and making sure that I could not reach any of my weapons.

I was not in that state for long. Just as suddenly as the fit was on me, it stopped and was instead replaced by sweating and violent shaking.

“He can’t keep going like this.” Guillaume said.

“No,” Kerrass said. “He can’t. But Jack is not going to let anyone else end it. You saw what was happening.”

“I did.” Guillaume admitted.

“W..w… Where is...jjjj.” I grit my teeth as a violent spasm shook me. “Fuck.”

“He fled from me.” Guillaume told me. The big Knight wasn’t even breathing hard. “You hurt him Freddie, he was struggling to keep his breath.”

“What happened Freddie?” Kerrass asked.

“I don’t know.” I said. “I just… suddenly I was in the past, I saw Jack kill Thomas… And there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could do…”

Kerrass nodded.”It’s Ok Freddie. It’s alright.” He pulled a small green bottle from his pouch. “I want you to drink this.” He told me. “If you tell Ariadne that I gave it to you, I will deny it. But it will help.”

“What is it?” I wondered, taking the bottle automatically.

“Best not to ask.” Guillaume’s face twisted in resignation and disgust.

“It’s herbal.” Kerrass told me.

It actually tasted quite nice, little more than a mouthful. I calmed after a few moments. A few moments after that my breathing started to come normally. A few moments after that, I stopped shaking.

After that, someone handed me a small piece of cloth and I wiped my face from the sweat that had been pouring off me.

“What happened?” I asked, I was really proud that my voice only trembled a little bit.

“Guillaume was fighting Jack and driving him back.” Kerrass said. “You went mad and screamed, You were going to get in Guillaume’s way so I hurled a blast of Aard at you and knocked you from your feet. Jack fought Guillaume for a moment until he had an open avenue of retreat before he took something from his cloak and threw it at the floor.”

“What was it?”

“Just a smoke bomb of some kind.” Guillaume said. “It stung the eyes a bit and made my nose run. No worse than some of the excretions that some of the monsters have used that I have fought. Or the latrine area of a bandit camp. I would have fought through it but I wanted to make sure that we were taking him alive and there was no way that I could be precise enough in that poison, so I fell back.”

“You did the right thing.” Kerrass said, still watching me as though I was a toddler who was struggling to keep his balance on a carpet of knives.

“You did.” I agreed. “I’m sorry Guillaume. For a moment there I thought that he really was Jack and that you were Thomas.”

“It’s quite alright my friend.” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “But let's finish this before you fall over and hurt yourself.”

“There have been worse ideas.” Kerrass agreed.

“Where is he?” Guillaume demanded of one of the nearby guards. “He wants to be chased, even I can see that so where is he?”

“We’re just getting reports sir.” The guard said.

“I know where he’s going.” I told them all.

“Where?” Guillaume said.

“Where do you think?”

It took us longer than I thought it would, to get to the Graveyard. I had long since lost track of where the horses were and there was no other real way to get there. So we walked, picking up more and more guards as we went.

Kerrass walked next to me, he kept reminding me to breathe deeply and to work through everything that was going on. I felt… obviously I felt tired and obviously, I felt sick and nauseous and everything. I had a headache and my eyes were burning. I just wanted this to be over now. The fight had not been… as intense as the last time we had faced Jack. Something that I was grateful for as far too many people had lost their lives that night.

That’s not to say that there weren’t casualties, but the night of Laughing Jack dwarfed what had happened here.

And very soon it was all going to be over.

I was almost surprised when we actually got to the gates of the graveyard. The second time that I was here today. It felt strange, smaller somehow. There was a lot more activity somehow. We were met at the entrance by one of the other Knights that I did not know.

“Is he in there?” Guillaume wondered.

“Yes.” The Knight replied. “He’s down at the bottom, pacing.”

Guillaume nodded.

“We’ve deployed crossbowmen around the edges of the place and we also have guardeposts on all the entrances and exits to the square. Unless he knows something we don’t, he won’t get out of this place. It’s like he’s walked into a trap.”

“He knew exactly what he was doing.” I said. “He came here knowing what was going to happen.”

Kerrass grunted his agreement.

“I don’t suppose you will let anyone come with you.” Guillaume wondered plaintively.

“No.” Kerrass said.

“He will only try to use anyone that comes with us in an effort to goad us into killing him.”

“I kind of want to kill him,” said a nearby guard.

Guillaume spun and scanned the line of armoured men, a stony expression on his face.

Kerrass took a deep breath.

“Ok Freddie. One last effort.”

I found something in the sentence really funny. “You know what.” I said, sniggering. “If I had a crown for all the times that I had been told that there was only one more effort, one last fight or one more… whatever, then I would be…”

“You would have about seventy two crowns.” Kerrass told me with a smirk before his face stilled. “But you were assuming that I was talking to you. I was not looking forward to coming back to this place.”

“The last Jack was beaten here.” I said. “It’s only fitting that this Jack is beaten here too.”

“That older Jack let us take him.” Kerrass said.

“And so is this one.” I said.

“The coincidences keep piling up don’t they.” Kerrass sighed.

“It was you that taught me not to believe in coincidences.” I admonished him.

“I did, didn’t I. '' He smirked. “Well, let's be fair with each other. This is not a coincidence is it.”

“It is not.” I replied.

“You ready?”

“If I don’t do this now, I’m not sure I can do it later.”

We moved down into the graveyard. It was still well lit, the normal people that were here had been rousted out by the guard in preparation for what might be happening tonight. There were no homeless people looking for shelter, nor late night mourners or revellers that were looking for a warm, cheap place to spend the night after spending their rent on another bottle of delicious Toussaint wine. There was just Kerrass, myself and Jack.

We found him at the bottom, he had sat on one of the stone crypts and was moving his arm experimentally to see how hurt he was. His sword was propped up next to him.

His leg was jittering up and down.

At some point, he had lost his hat, his coat was torn, he held his arm awkwardly and he seemed to be breathing in short, relatively sharp breaths.

“Finally.” He said when he saw us coming. “I have been waiting for you.” His voice was warm, a little tired I thought although I might have been projecting my own feelings onto that. It was a friendly voice, a calm voice, the kind of voice that you could imagine tucking you in at night. It surrounded us like a warm blanket as though it was being spoken into our ears.

We said nothing, just moving down into the bowl where, only this morning, Kerrass had fought Alain and nearly died doing it.

“Well,” Jack said, leaping off the crypt and taking up his sword which he slashed from side to side, making the air whistle. “It has been a good chase, a fine chase. Something to tell the grandchildren. But it is time for this to end now.”

Kerrass and I exchanged one last look.

“You are right.” I said as clearly as I could manage. “It is over. It was over earlier today. In fact, I think it was over some time ago.”

I took hold of my spear and twisted until the two halves unlocked and separated. I leant them up against a nearby crypt.

“Bold of you.” Jack commented.

Kerrass moved slightly off to one side a bit. He did not throw his sword down. It was held in a low stance but I knew from previous experience that he could bring it up and have it ready at a moment's notice.

“Not really.” I said. “You’re not going to kill me. You want me to kill you. Me or Kerrass, I don’t think it really matters which. That way, the critics of the Knights and the guard can argue that it was outside visitors that stopped Jack, not the Knights. They can argue that dependence on outsiders has weakened the state and blah blah blah bleaurgh.”

I sighed again and rubbed at my forehead.

“Fuck I’m tired.” I said. “It’s over Colonel, we’re not going to kill you. You don’t need to do this.”

Jack stared at us both for a long moment before he tore the mask from his head with a cry of anguish. I had always thought that saying that a person cried out in anguish was a bit melodramatic, but there are only a few words that can properly encompass what was happening there.

Colonel Duberton of the 4th Alba division. The Peacekeepers and Bridge Builders are what that particular division is called. Lightly armoured cavalry for patrolling, heavily armed foot soldiers for the guarding and escorting. They are the regiments that the Empress and the Emperor before her, send in when they want the countryside to be policed and occupied, while also wanting to bring the people onto the side of the Empire. They are sent in when there is going to be a long term investment in the land rather than a more aggressive occupation force that takes everything of value.

They are good men, honourable men, encouraged to follow the laws of chivalry in order to make friends amongst the nobility and the populace of the lands that they police. They are famous for it. And here was the Colonel of one of those regiments wearing the clothing of a killer.

We had seen him only that morning, a man who had been ambushed in the house of someone that he had thought of as his friend. His wife had been killed there and her body mangled beyond all recognition.

And that was the point that we had missed.

He looked tired. He was pale and drawn. Large black shadows under his eyes with small points of colour in his cheeks, typical signs of hysteria.

I rather think I had similar colouring about myself at that point in time.

His hair was plastered to his head with sweat and from this distance, his skin appeared shiny and clammy in the torchlight. His eyes were bloodshot and danced this way and that way. They were the eyes of a madman. A desperate man.

A rush of relief swept through me to the point that I felt like I was staggering in the breeze. I literally wobbled on my feet and closed my eyes as a wave of dizziness went through me and I could feel tears at the back of my throat. I had known I was right. But it is always a relief to have that… rightness proven.

I opened my eyes and started to look around. I could feel my knees wanting to buckle and I wanted to sit down while it was still my choice.

“So you know.” The Colonel’s voice came to us. Now that the mask was off and tossed aside, his voice came to us clearly and from the proper distance. Lacking in magical volume and modulation. I would later find out that it is a common enchantment that is placed in armour and clothing of those in command in order to pass orders on the battlefield. It’s only short range and has so many limitations to it. Just one of those innovations that helped mean that the North had absolutely no chance against the Invading Nilfgaardians when they came.

“Yes.” I told him. “We know.” I had spotted a likely looking grave, shaped like a large stone coffin with a stylised statue of the person it contained lying on top of it. There was a decent flat bit next to the statue’s head that looked as though I could perch on it quite comfortably.

“Although in all fairness.” I went on. “I only figured it out a little while ago. And only then because there were relatively few people left who it could actually be.”

The Colonel chuckled bitterly. “Raoul always said there was a danger that you would figure it out in advance.”

“He would say something like that.” I replied.

Kerrass was fading into the background, keeping himself ready. His sword was held in his left hand, ready to be brought into play, his right hand was poised for the casting of a sign, he moved so that he could intercept the Colonel if he attacked me, but otherwise he stood in the shadows, letting them wrap around him and keep him from view.

I did my best to ignore him. The thought did, briefly, occur that I would actually be quite happy to die here and that I could hope that Kerrass missed the interception.

I squashed the thought as brutally as I could. I told myself that if I died here then Ariadne would never forgive me. In truth though, I didn’t think that it was going to come up.

I waited for as long as I could. You could see the thoughts crossing the Colonel’s face and mind with the rapidity of the fencing sword strokes that we had seen earlier. If he had not been under as much stress as he was, I imagine that he would have come to terms a lot quicker.

In the end though, I could feel the weakness coming across me and I moved to the statue to sit down. The movement startled the Colonel and his sword came up. “This changes nothing.” He told us. “And don’t think I will miss you there, Witcher, as you crawl into the shadows. You will not sneak up on me.” he brandished his sword. “It is time to end this.”

“I quite agree,” I told him. “But we’re not going to kill you.”

“You are quite correct. When this is done, your blood will be staining my blade, not the other way round.” He lied. It was actually quite blatant. There was determination in his voice, but also despair and fear.

He took a slow and deliberate step forward. “You will fight me, or I will kill you where you sit.”

“I do not believe you.” I said as clearly as I could manage. My teeth were beginning to chatter. I was cold.

“Are you calling me a liar?” He demanded with a shrill edge to his voice as he tried to find a way to provoke something.

“Yes.” I told him, tugging my coat around myself a bit tighter. “I have laid down my arms. I will not fight you. You are a Knight. I think that if we get the reports back from the night’s actions, it is going to turn out that the only people that you have killed were men with weapons. Those men that are wounded will only have been wounded enough to take them out of the fight. And that they will be back to work relatively quickly. Are you really going to kill an unarmed man as he sits down for fear that he could not stand?”

For a moment, the real Colonel Duberton peered out of the face of a madman. “A… Are you well?”

I laughed at him.

The Colonel turned to look at Kerrass.

“Freddie was already exhausted and sick in mind and in body when we brought him to Toussaint.” Kerrass told him. “This was supposed to be a relaxing holiday for him where people would wait on him hand and foot so that he could recover towards being the Freddie that we all need him to be. Instead, a killer out of his nightmares came to stalk the streets of Beauclair. The killer that took his sister from him. And the authorities that should have been able to handle the matter, came to him for help as they had been unable to catch the killer. Not least because the man that had trained them was involved in the killing. No Colonel, he is not well.”

The Colonel looked back at me for a long moment before he shook his head and his face hardened.

“It doesn’t matter.” He shouted. “It doesn’t matter. You must fight, you must fight and you must…”

“Must what?” I demanded. I wanted it to come out defiant but I rather suspect that it came out more as a whimper rather than anything else. “We must kill you? Why I wonder? It’s alright, you don’t need to answer that. I know the answer.”

“Please…” He begged, interrupting my monologue. “Please. I’m begging you. You have to.” he seemed to fold in on himself. “You must…”

“Colonel.” I told him as carefully as I could. I was about to rip out this man’s soul and when you have to do that sort of thing, you owe it to them, and to yourself, to pay the moment the respect that it deserves. “We have come here from the Manor house of Raoul Leblanc. In the basement of his house, we found your wife’s body. Easily recognisable…”

“Then you had…” He protested, getting angry.

“Easily recognisable.” I overrode him. “And it was clear that she had been dead for several days.”

There is a process of grief. I have seen it over and over again on the road. There are occasionally small variations in it, but sooner or later it all comes back to the same thing. There are whole books on the subject, so many that I’m not going to recommend one. Kerrass has to give this kind of news regularly and over and over again he is forced to say the same things. That the dead person’s pain is already over. That they cannot suffer any more. And because he is a Witcher, the thing responsible for the loved one’s death will never hurt anyone else ever again.

I tried to go from that angle.

“They took her from you.” I told him. “I don’t know when. It’s even possible that I never met the real Madame Duberton. She was a Lady of the Nildgaardian court of the old school. Eyes down, demure, deferring to her husband in every way and so no-one noticed the fact that she wasn’t the same woman any more. Anywhere else and I might not believe that, but in Toussaint? Where women are expected to be loud, beautiful and colourful. Your wife, or the woman who was there in place of your wife, just faded into the background.”

At first, Colonel Duberton fell back from me as though I had hit him, the back of his legs hit the crypt that he had been sitting on and he fell, sliding down until he was sat on the floor, his sword slipped from his fingers.

“At first, all that Raoul and his friends wanted from you were patrol routes, methods, ways that they could get around the training and the expertise that you had passed on to the Knights of Saint Francesca. And given that they had a literal blade at the throat of the woman that you love, because you do love your wife don’t you, you agreed. You passed on the information.

“Later, they told you that you would be the one to bring everything to a close. That in order for your wife to go free, you would have to die. Again, you are a Knight and a husband who loves your wife. You were quite happy making that trade. You didn’t care about the damage it would do to the reputation of the Empire, the Empress or the Knights and guards that you trained when your reputation got destroyed. If it meant that your wife went free then so be it.

“Then someone, probably Alain as his vendetta would have been personal, argued that the Witcher would have made a far better scapegoat. That way, the estate of Corvo Bianco could have been reclaimed as well on the pretext that Witchers cannot be trusted. You were given false and fake arguments about what would happen then. They probably lied and said that you would be given your freedom in return for some evidence that they would be able to hold over you. Which is how they kept you quiet.

“The truth was that although Alain might have believed that Kerrass was going to be a scapegoat and the person held responsible for the killings, Raoul and the other leaders never acknowledged that. It was always going to be you. Kerrass’ framing was never going to hold up and they probably knew it too.

“But they had given you hope, so you started to needle them and needle them, so they decided to remind you of their power while also making sure that the rest of us didn’t suspect you. So we would be looking elsewhere when the final “Jack” attacks would take place. They staged that scene for us in the early hours of this morning, or was it yesterday morning. I’ve lost track.”

“It was yesterday morning.” Kerrass told me.

I nodded. There was a small part of me that was actually surprised that it had only been two days. It felt like months, years even, since we had all thought that the Colonel was a victim of the plot. I mean he was, just not the way that we had been thinking.

“So they staged that attack,” I tried desperately to get my mind back on track. “We were filled with concern for you and looked elsewhere. You were given your disguise and told to cause havoc and to allow Kerrass and, or, I to kill you and your wife would be released. You die, so people will turn on Nilfgaard, the Empress and her decrees. Your teachings helped shape the Knights of Saint Francesca which, along with all of the other things that are wrong with them in the eyes of the court and the Nobility of Toussaint, will mean that the Knights of Francesca will be disbanded and the old order will rise again.

“I flatter you that you knew that this was nonsense. That the Duchess is not going to be stupid enough to disobey and Imperial edict and that Damien and Syanna are clever enough to rearrange everything when they hear that you betrayed them. But you didn’t care, your wife would be safe.”

At some point I had stopped looking at him and was staring at the floor, I was sliding off now. I was so tired. I forced myself to look at the Colonel.

“They were never going to let her go.” I told him. “They preyed on your desperate hope. She was already dead.”

“No.” He shook his head finally saying something. “No, you’re lying. They promised me.” He climbed to his feet and picked up his sword

Ah yes, anger. Right on time.

“Come on Colonel.” I don’t know whether Kerrass was being angry and scornful because he lacked sympathy for the Colonel, or because he was playing the roll of “Bad Watchman”.

“Think it through.” Kerrass told him. “On the one hand, you have men who are willing to rape, murder and kill to get their own ends and satisfy their own lusts. Men who kidnapped your own wife and have forced you to commit evil acts in their name. Men who are breaking their own oaths of fealty. On the other hand is Freddie who has never willingly broken a promise in his life. Who is the most trustworthy?”

He stared at Kerrass open mouthed. “You…” He began, opening and closing his mouth. “You attacked the manor, she was killed as part of a hostage ploy, YOU FORCED THEIR HANDS TO…”

“She was hidden behind a bunch of boxes and barrels.” I said calmly. “And in another lifetime, I was training as a Doctor and have spent the last two years following a Witcher around. I know enough about corpses to know that she was killed several days ago at least.”

I saw the tears in his eyes, even from this distance and decided it was my time to strike.

“Help us.” I said. “We think we have them all in custody but we cannot be sure. Help us, tell us names and testify to the Duchess and we can put these bastards…”

The Colonel screamed in horror and despair. He took up his sword and placed the point at his own chest.

“Fuck,” said Kerrass.

I dove forward.

Kerrass was quicker.

A blast of air shot towards the Colonel, not a lot at that distance, but enough to make him stagger.

I got to the Colonel next, grabbing his arms and trying to force his blade away from his body. He punched me in an effort to get me to let go, twice in the face and once in the gut.

I let go under that onslaught and fell.

Kerrass was there, I felt another blast of air knock me flat and I heard the Colonel fall.

Kerrass shouted and I heard running feet.

Skittering of metal and the sound of someone moaning in horror and pain.

“We’ve got him, Freddie.” Kerrass told me. He took hold of my head and pinched my ear, the sharp pain keeping me awake. “We’ve got him and he’s alive. It’s over.”

The nausea and the dizziness from the punches overcame me then and I passed out.

It was oddly restful.