(NB: Some of the “facts” that are presented in this piece by Kerrass and Frederick were found and inferred from things that I found quite far down the black hole of Wiki-hopping including some of the unpublished polish comics about the subjects. I would love to be able to quote sources on some of this stuff but I can't find those pieces any more. Nor can I find a reliable timeline of events (Damn Mr Sapkowski and CD Projekt Red for leaving things excitingly and inspirationally vague). Because of this, in many cases I've gone with what “feels” right in my head regarding the histories of the northern Kingdoms, rather than what might be accurate according to book/game timelines.

Also a warning for some extreme language.

Thank you for reading.)

It feels strange to me now, that here I am about to set off for a second year of adventures with Kerrass, the Witcher from the Cat school of Witchers to be thinking about the ending of the previous year.

Not that it was a full year of adventuring. I didn't set off until well into that year but there we go.

Details details.

I'm still sat in my lodgings as I write this introduction and as I look around this place, the boxes of books and scrolls that are to go off to storage for when I return, if I return, make me feel somewhat melancholy. I look at my spear leaning against the door where I have purposefully left it. This to block the door in case another professor turns up with urgent questions about how a griffins claws act, whether they live in sheaths in their paws in the same way that a cat's claws are sheathed or whether they are out all of the time.

They live in sheaths Obviously. I thought some of these people had done autopsies on those magnificent, if terrifying beasts.

My saddlebags are packed, a few spare changes of clothing, my winter cloak that will also serve as a spare blanket should we still be going into summer and depending on where we end up. A LOT more writing implements with explicit instructions that I should be both writing and drawing a lot more as I travel around the northern Kingdoms this time.

Kerrass is going to love that.

I've also bought myself a much larger drinking canteen, several packets of herbs for purifying water and a lot of food seasoning for having flavourful meals while out on the road.

There are only so many times you can boil up food rations with barley and whatever vegetables that you've found lying around into what you optimistically call “stew” before it gets boring. Next time you read some fantastical book where the travellers sit down to a nice camp-site meal of stew, imagine a thin, watery, brownish grey looking substance with suspect lumps in it that almost always turn out to be turnip rather than meat. Then imagine that it tastes mostly of the salt used to preserve the meat and precious little else.

You're welcome.

Always remember the cooking herbs when you go travelling. You'll thank me for it.

I had a Yule gift for Kerrass which was the largest, strongest and most expensive bottle of Apple brandy I could find. I had sampled some in the shop and I swear by the holy flame that I want those two minutes of my life back. It was sat somewhere in the bag along with my own medicinal alcohol which I had chosen as a particularly fine brand of Vodka that was coming out of Kaedwen at the moment. It had that nasal quality that can clean out your tubes although you have to be careful as it is a bit of a mood amplifier. If you feel even slightly tired you'll fall asleep but if you're feeling active and energetic then you'll be buzzing around like a lunatic. The same goes for feelings. Drink while depressed and well..... You get the idea.

So I'm all set up for my journey when I get a letter through from the magazine editor saying that they've had someone drop out from publishing an article in their latest issue and they're hoping that I could possibly fill up the gap with a slightly more amusing tale than the last one.

I can't answer for amusing. I'm a historian not a bard.

But as the letter came with a note from the professor that is over-seeing my doctorate to say that they could do with the funding I don't see that I have much of a choice.

“I'm about to leave,” I protested

“You'll have time to do something,” said the professor I noticed, not for the first time that they have absolutely no idea how long it takes to produce this stuff. It will help them, I have to help them and as a result they want it doing yesterday.

“No,” I said stubbornly, already feeling that I was losing the argument before it had really started.

“No I don't. I'm meeting Kerrass soon and he doesn't like being kept waiting.” It was only a little lie. He won't mind being kept waiting providing he will be staying on someone else's expense. It's me. I want to be underway again.

“Well just annotate one of those pieces that you've done for us. Someone's bound to be interested in some of those.”

I jumped on it. Adding some notes to an already written down transcript sounded easy enough. “I can do that,” I thought and jumped at the opportunity.

Turns out though that I was lying.

Or wrong.

You see, it turns out that as well as being an academic...

The thought occurs that the reason all those academics give me so much grief is because they were given so much grief by their professors who were given grief by their professors and so on down the chain. I wonder if there's something to that.

Anyway.

As well as being an academic, it turns out that I am a bit of storyteller and I find that I have to pick subjects that interests my readers. Then I have to add some context and things so that readers can better understand what's going on.

As a result it's not just adding an introduction and an outroduction to an existing transcript but it's actually expanding the thing far beyond what was originally intended.

Not that it matters. Kerrass turned up, I introduced him to my Professor and some of his colleagues and he now entertains himself by turning all their theories about monsters and the evolution of monsters on their heads. I'm actually a little worried in case he annoys them so much that they start to disapprove of him as a source and press upon me the need for “facts” that contradict him to suit their own theories.

But still.

The interview I've chosen for your perusal is hopefully one that you will find interesting as it concerns the history of the Witcher schools. Primarily dealing with the history between the Cat school and the Wolf school and some details about why Cat Witchers are often looked down on as well as Kerrass' potted history.

Coincidentally it was also the last, really deep conversation that Kerrass and I would have before we parted ways for the winter.

It was on the ship home I remember. We had gone down to the harbour the day before to book passage up to Novigrad for the two of us plus our horses and it had gotten really really cold by this point. Apparently we could expect some snow during the voyage and some light, choppy waves but the captain assured us both that the chances of outright storms during this particular window of the season was relatively small and that if a storm did creep in then we would be able to see it coming to be able to take refuge accordingly.

We got the berths fairly cheap as apparently a Witcher aboard is always a crowd draw and the Captain can always charge extra as “There's a Witcher aboard to protect us from sirens, Vodyanoi and other exciting Sea based monstrosities'. All he required in return for the discount was that the Witcher spend some time on deck scowling (the Captains direct words) at the other passengers and warning them in dire tones that they really should stay below.

Kerrass had smiled his little smile and said that he was certain that he could oblige and promised to be there early the following day to be present during the loading of cargo and passengers.

The theory behind this late voyage was that there was a Window before inlets started to freeze, ice forming beneath the water became a problem and when the storms ended for a willing Captain to stop off at some of the Fisher towns to pick up some last cargoes for sale in the markets in Novigrad. That would mean that Novigrad merchants could put their prices up because “supplies were scarce in winter” but they were still getting large supplies from Captains like him. In theory it wasn't dangerous but the timing was tight. Set off to late or start to run behind and you could be trapped amongst developing ice. Start to early and you might get caught in one of the last storms of the season. The man was confident though and his crew seemed experienced.

Dutifully we spent our last night on dry land in a quiet inn where we could get some decent food as well as a good nights rest without being pestered by tired eyed and freezing cold prostitutes. The kind of woman where what you really want to do is to wrap them in a blanket and feed them a hot drink rather than actually sleeping with them. Kerrass advised me to fill my stomach in the evening and try to get as large a breakfast as I could in the morning. All of this because I was not entirely sure whether or not I suffered from seasickness and we were unlikely to get much to eat the following day.

Luckily though it turns out that I do not suffer from that particular brand of illness. I won't deny that there were a few warning rumblings early on but they soon vanished and I had a fairly lazy day watching the cargo being loaded and the other passengers being brought aboard. Kerrass was fraternising with the Captain, looking suitably grizzled and annoyed at the world. For myself, we had fallen back on the old explanation that I was the Witcher's apprentice which the crew loved as they saw me as some kind of good luck charm. It really is true that Sailors are a superstitious lot, even more superstitious than soldiers are. I found myself the job of looking after the horses aboard and had managed to erect a canvas covering to keep all the horses together, I found a shovel for the necessaries, a manger for hay and several buckets for food and water. All in all I made myself a little tent just in front of the mast for my own sleeping arrangements, as I was still preferring to sleep out of doors, as well as to take care of the horses that were being kept on deck.

However I suspect that the real reason that the crew liked me was because of an incident involving the merchant that would cause a problem for Kerrass later.

I like horses and had worked with the crew to choose the best place for my little stable. I had various tricks to coax the horses up the ramp and onto the deck. Apples and sugar lumps are marvellous incentives. As are blinds over the horses eyes and a gentle, firm and confident grip. But I came to one horse.... There were going to be about 6 all told on the voyage including mine and Kerrass' gelding. Ours and two others were already aboard. Another horse had been brought and I was getting to know the horse before the difficult task of getting it up the, not overly large, ramp. But then another horseman turned up.

I will not deny that he was a good looking man. Nor will I deny that he wore his clothes well. Nor can I deny that I took an instant dislike to the man.

I can't define why. It might be that looking back on my first sight of him with the benefit of hindsight has coloured my memory but all I can think of is this. I would like to think that I am not a violent man. Nowadays violence is one of the tools that I have at my disposal thanks to the Witchers teachings but I would really rather talk my way out of a situation instead of fighting my way out. So I'm not a violent man but something about this guy just made my hair stand on end. All I could think about at the time was that he had a really punchable face.

He savagely reigned in his horse at the dock, and threw himself out of the saddle and started screaming at one of the dock hands about why his cargo had yet to be loaded onto the ship. The dock worker just ignored him, as did the customs officials.

But regardless the man acted as though he had won the arguments despite, as far as I could see, nothing actually changing. But then his eyes fixed on me.

“You there, boy.”

I was and am twenty. That means I'm young but definitely not a boy to the average greeting. So I ignored him and assumed he was speaking to someone else.

“I'm talking to you boy.” he yelled.

I'm not joking either, there really are people in the world like this.

I turned to see what the fuss was about and found that this prize idiot was looking at me.

Satisfied he flicked a coin in my direction which landed at my feet in a small pile of gooey manure.

I had made no move to catch it. Instead I had watched the coin ark through the air to land with a little splash before I looked back up at him to catch him smirking as though he had just made a fine jest.

See what I mean about how punchable the man is?

“See that my horse is taken aboard immediately and you will oblige me by making sure that he is given the foremost treatment.” He then raised his nose and made to walk off.

“Your horse is the last to arrive,” I said, coldly, “as such he will be the last to embark. That is presuming that the Captain is not ready to depart before then. My understanding is that the ship was due to depart half a glass ago and as such you are late and therefore at the bottom of my list of priorities.”

The man's mouth opened in shock.

“D-Don't you know who I am?” he demanded, his voice rising in outrage. Again I swear that this is true and that it actually happened.

“Not, only do I not know,” I said forestalling him. “But I don't care.”

A couple of the nearby sailors who were working hard getting the late cargo aboard cheered ironically.

I suppose that it should be mentioned that I was not the young man that had left Oxenfurt all that time ago. I was older, both in months but also in mileage. Since my departure from Oxenfurt I had been tortured by otherworldly creatures. I had been drunk and known the intimate company of women, both activities number far more in the journey than I ever had in the years prior to my departure. I had killed monsters. I had saved lives and faced down mobs. I had bled and cried and fought and sweated and shat and pissed myself with fear. I had smelt the rotting breath of a Wyvern bearing down on me as I was carrying a child to safety when Kerrass was on it's back killing it and I had heard the screech of a cockatrice as it dived for it's prey.

I had blown up monster dens, descended into pitch black caves and sat with a terrified family while Kerrass confronted the angry spirits that were haunting them. I had seen a trolls tears as well as the best and worst of the human spirit. I had seen the light go out of a man's eyes with my own dagger in his throat, an act that still keeps me awake at night despite the utter surety that I had no choice.

At the time my hair was unkempt and there was several days worth of beard-growth on my face. I was dirty, sweaty and having experience with horses, I was wearing my most raggedy clothing. I have filled out since leaving Oxenfurt. I have muscles now, where I didn't know it was possible to have muscles. I'll never be built, nor will I ever be as chiselled as some men achieve as I have far too much of a fondness for good food and alcohol, but there are obvious muscles and my posture has changed. I stand upright now and stare into people's eyes.

But despite my appearance, my voice remains relatively unchanged. I still sound like an educated Redanian nobleman, no matter how hard the Witcher and I had tried to train it out of me and I suspect that it was this that made the man step back as much as anything.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw that the guards who were escorting the customs officials had turned to watch the confrontation.

The man's face flushed. “My name is Lord Antoine de Cair. Lord of Westerly manor and ruler of the High Reaches and you will do as I order you.”

There is a game that nobles play that is to do with rank. During my upbringing I was taken to court many times and providing it's a relatively informal court then it goes like this. Ambitious men and women like to make a big deal of their titles, bragging about them and making a fuss over them. My Father and Grandfather belong in this category. These people wear their chains of office proudly along with the large ridiculously over-priced jewellery and slap cosmetics and perfumes all over themselves in an effort to appear more than they are. Whereas the higher ranks are dressed much more casually. They have generally realised that they aren't going to climb any higher in this lifetime because the crown is the one that orders their marriages, so they have reached the glass ceiling of rank. They have nothing to prove. Therefore their pageantry is often subdued and, I would argue, more classy. They wear hunting clothes and the dresses they wore when they were re-arranging their libraries or arguing with the wine-merchants. The other odd thing that I've noticed is that the REAL high born. The people with the REAL wealth that have been around for centuries often get on better with the common men and women that work for them.

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It's the ambitious men that tend to be the problems.

Like this Pox-driven bastard.

Also the title of Lord could mean anything. Technically I am a Lord due to my father being a baron, so are my brothers are all Lords all the way up to the Lord Duke of the Pontar delta who was second only to King Radovid before the King was killed. The fact that this man had no follow up title meant that he could be anything.

Also, I was a noble too and I found that I wanted a fight.

“Never heard of the place. Or of you.” I said as I felt the cold, ready feeling of pending violence wash over me. “For all I know you're just some jumped up little merchant who has been sold a made up title by some corrupt crown official in return for a back-handed bribe before the new Empress takes the throne and tells you where to shove it.”

“I have paid my ticket, my cargo is now being loaded and I demand that...”

I shrugged. “I don't care about your cargo as I don't work for you. You're interrupting the flow of things and keeping me from my job so piss off and keep your opinions, orders and demands to yourself in future. Oh and take your shitty, insulting little bit of tin with you.” I kicked the dung covered coin at him, making sure that his trousers got splattered by it before turning back to the chestnut mare who was getting agitated.

“How dare you, I'll...” There was a scraping sound and I moved.

The other difference between the me that had left Oxenfurt and who I am now is that I had been taught how to fight by a professional killer.

Before his sword had cleared it's scabbard I had fastened my left hand around his wrist keeping the sword where it was and my dagger was at the side of the man's neck.

“If that sword clears it's sheathe, I'll make you eat it,” I hissed.

“What's going on here?” a guardsman was suddenly close by truncheon in hand.

I recovered my poise first.

“Nothing officer,” I said backing off and re-sheathing my dagger. “I was just demonstrating something to the gentleman here,” I turned and went back to the chestnut and started coaxing it up the ramp.

“Officer I demand that you arrest that man,” came a shaky and high pitched voice from behind me.

“For what?” asked the officer innocently. For demonstrating a dagger technique?”

“He assaulted me,”

“Really? What I saw was you drawing steel and him defending himself. If that was an assault rather

than a demonstration then it's you that I would be arresting.”

I lost track of the conversation after that. But I saw that Kerrass and the Captain were watching me and one of the sailors clapped me on the shoulder without comment.

Having got the Chestnut aboard and settled I decided to be the better man, which obviously I was, and returned to the dock for the black. It was a tricky bastard and I had to show it who's boss a few times but again, the power of the apple was on my side and I was able to coax the unruly beast up to my makeshift stable.

I managed to busy myself for a while after that, laying straw down. Putting sawdust down, making sure there was plenty of food and water around and that all the horses got along in the small confines which involved me shuttling a couple of them round so that none were next to another

horse that they didn't get on with.

Wouldn't you just know it but it turned out that black horse was the trouble-maker. As a result it went on the end with Kerrass' gelding next to it. The gelding was a large, fairly well trained beast and had a kind of placidity to it that put me in mind of a large and experienced warrior who is having a young soldier pick a fight with him.

The Captain and Kerrass approached me while I was doing that. The Captain was gesticulating wildly as he moved but his face seemed amused rather than upset.

“You've been making friends Freddie,” Kerrass said, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

“Hmm? Oh the guy was a prick.” I responded.

“Yes, but a prick who has considerable amounts of money invested in this journey.” The Captain said calmly, still gesticulating as though he was angry.

I looked at the stacks of crates already aboard. “But they're aboard now and as I understand it you're the last ship out. If you don't take them who will?”

“I know, I know,” said the Captain. “The man's a cunt, no scratch that, a cunt has warmth, depth and purpose. The man's a piss-stain on the trouser leg of life. But he complained and we've got to spend a few weeks with the man. He complained to me, so I've spoken with your “master” and we've come over to yell at you.”

“Hence the gesturing,” said Kerrass, still smirking.

“What's to stop us tipping him over the edge when we're out to sea?” I asked innocently.

“Don't say that in front of the crew,” the captain suggested, “Just in case they take that as a serious suggestion. It is an option though if he becomes an issue but I'd rather not take it.”

“So just look contrite and do your best not to piss him off too much,” Kerrass added.

I grunted, did my best to look put upon as the two men left. I must have been good at it as another sailor came up and offered me a swig from a flask that threatened to burn my throat out.

We set sail shortly after that and I was much entertained as Lord Antoine turned out to suffer from violent sea-sickness.

It was three days later that the crisis point came up.

Kerrass was there in his professional capacity. He would stalk the decks, silver sword on his back and with a small cross-bow that he'd spent the first night constructing from the various parts that he had collected in the bottom of his pack. He would walk up and down, looking stern and foreboding, exchanging brief words with the night watch and the Watch officer. Then he would make a patrol below decks before returning to the upper deck where he had found a place near the mast where he could stay out of the way while still being able to keep his eyes on things.

For myself I had rigged up a small cot in amongst the horses. I won't deny that the horses smelled quite pungent but at the same time I was warm enough and since my adventures in Amber's crossing I find that I have developed a small amount of claustrophobia and as such I preferred sleeping outdoors. Not that I couldn't or can't sleep indoors. I just prefer being out doors.

I also very rarely feel cold. I get cold but it's the sort of thing where people have to point out to me that I'm actually shivering.

But anyway Kerrass was patrolling during the night. He had admitted to me that both he and the captain felt that the possibility of any requirement for a Witcher on a sea voyage at this time of the year was remote and as such what he was doing was just for the show of the thing so that the Captain could justify the rise in ticket prices. Kerrass would get some sleep in the early hours of the morning when the sun came up. This served two purposes, the first was to ensure that Kerrass was well rested but it also meant that he was out of the way. The morning change of watch was the hardest and the busiest, getting the crew and passengers fed, getting the anchor up (The captain didn't want to risk sailing at night. The skies were fairly overcast and he didn't want to blunder into a storm so he always found us an anchorage. He had obviously sailed this route many times before) and checking the sails for ice or tears in the light of the morning.

I would just stay where I was. The sailors looked after me regarding food and I had made a few companions amongst their number who liked to share the warmth of my little cave for a round of dice (which they won) or cards (which I won).

I didn't see the incident in question start but apparently Lord Antoine had come up on deck after breakfast and wanted to pick a fight with someone.

At some point in the future I intend to look up Lord Antoine, presuming he hasn't yet been murdered by someone, and do my best to make his life hell. I am not hiding my bias here. The man is a wretch.

Lord Antoine came on deck and wanted to throw his weight around. He had recovered from his bout of seasickness. I don't know what prompted his bout of rampant stupidity but it seems that his target was Kerrass. I don't know but my guess is that as he had found that he couldn't bully me he decided to go after my “master” thus confirming the man's death wish.

So he came on deck after Kerrass had gone below to wrap himself up in half a dozen blankets near the cargo. I had offered to make room for him in the stable to which he had said that the warmth would be welcome but if he was visible then people would mither him.

I don't know what mither means either. From the context it would suggest that people would annoy him.

But Lord Antoine came up on deck and stood at the rail for a while as we floated past some islands before spinning around in obviously false horror and demanded the presence of the Witcher. The boatswain came over to see what the fuss was and Lord Antoine insisted that he had seen a siren flying around on one of the islands.

Kerrass had told me that Sirens are essentially flying lizards and as such are not overly fond of cold. They might come out of their caves if we crashed on their islands but that didn't look like it was happening.

The boatswain peered at the island. Declared that he could see nothing and went to wander off.

Lord Antoine kicked up a stink about demanding the Witcher's presence. Hadn't an extra fee been paid for a Witcher's presence. Why wasn't he here?

The boatswain came back and told the man in no uncertain terms to shut the fuck up.

Lord Antoine refused and began to start churning up a panic. Mostly in the other passengers but I had begun to see that the sailors were beginning to become agitated as well.

Kerrass blearily came to the deck clearly wondering what all the fuss was about.

I came out as well from where I had been shovelling horse-shit over the side and saw Kerrass go over to the Lord High piss-drinker and tell him in no uncertain terms that there was definitely not a dragon over on that island. Nor were there Sirens, Wyvern or anything else that possessed Leathery wings that could, or would fly over to the ship and eat him specifically.

Lord Dick-stain (I'm going to run out of insults soon so I apologise if it's getting cruder but words cannot express how much I dislike this excuse for a human being. It honestly makes me angry that whatever force governs the creation of all things made a human being out of that skin instead of a couple of thousand earth-worms.) started calling Kerrass' expertise into question, decrying him as a murderer and a scoundrel, shouting at the other passengers that the Witcher would see them all dead and would steal from their rotting bodies. He said that the Captain and the Witcher were in on the plan together and that it was all a con.

As he said all of this I was walking towards them getting ready to throw some water on the situation. I wasn't worried for Kerrass but if Kerrass killed the man then there would be a trial at which Kerrass would surely be found guilty. I needn't have worried though because as I watched Kerrass got calmer and calmer. It is actually possible to see the precise moment when a man stops caring about whether someone that they're talking to survives the next 30 seconds.

I couldn't hear Kerrass' words and I never asked him. I suspect that they were things along the lines of the fact that the man should calm down, take it easy and stop agitating the other passengers and crew.

Lord Shit-dick then continued to gesticulate about the questionable sanity of a cat Witcher, calling him some names that I won't repeat here, at which point Kerrass shrugged, said something that I guessed was along the lines of “Well, it's a good job that I don't work for you then isn't it?” and walked away. The only other option was to throw the first punch.

Unfortunately Lord Ass-hat proved that he had the intelligence of the grease that you find under your toe-nails as he followed Kerrass towards the back of the ship and started screaming at his back.

“People like you are a scourge,” he screamed. “You're con-men, psychopaths and murderers. You probably fuck all those children to death that you kidnap from their rightful parents don't you you genetic mutant freak. I'm glad that you and all your people are doomed. I hope that you all get your asses put on a stake so that you can feel it going up you the same way you like to....”

Suddenly the whole situation was not as amusing, or ridiculous.

All I can say on the matter is that it was a good job that Kerrass was more clear headed than I would have been. Even so I'm pretty sure that it was a good job that the Boatswain got there first.

Grabbing the errant Lord in what was no doubt a well meaning attempt to stop him from grabbing Kerrass from behind.

Kerrass had turned and his face was dreadful. His lips had peeled back from his teeth, his skin pale and his eyes were blazing. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who noticed that a dagger had appeared almost magically in his hand.

“You don't know of what you speak little man,” he hissed. “I have killed and killed and killed. I have wiped the blood of children from my sword and I did it all for money. I am a monster slayer and I kill monsters for money but guess what...” there was literally blood and spittle dripping from Kerrass' jaws from where he had bitten his lip, “The person who gets to decide what is a monster and what is not is me. Right now? You're looking pretty monstrous,”

I had managed to put myself between the two men but I couldn't bring myself to look at Kerrass' face. There was pain there. Rage as well as guilt and horror. Somehow this offal of a human had managed to strip away the humanity from the Witcher and we were watching it fall away.

The man couldn't let it go though.

“See, he's worse than the monster he fights,” he crowed in triumph, “Keep him away from me,” he said it almost gleefully.

Kerrass surged forwards then and I found I was holding back an enraged Witcher and I was going to lose.

“Get that bastard out of here.” I yelled as I held an increasingly frantic Witcher back from committing murder.

“What?” The ass-hole screamed. “How dare....” He was interrupted by a thunk as the boatswain decided that enough was enough and used his club to render the man unconscious which made hustling him bellow decks much easier.

But Kerrass did not stop.

We held him, digging feet and whatever we could find into the ground. The boatswain tried to work his way round the frenzied Witcher but I managed to scream out a warning that restraint is one thing but a physical attack might draw blood that wasn't his.

We strained at the mutated muscles before Kerrass roared. Literally roared and threw us off.

But then he just stopped.

He was stood in the middle of the deck, head down, arms loose at his side and he was shaking.

“Get me a bucket of water,” he murmured. I was creeping closer trying to check on him as I heard it and looked around. Everyone was watching me, including the captain. It seemed that I was in charge at the moment and I gestured.

A bucket of sea water was rapidly produced and without waiting Kerrass picked it up and poured it over his head. He was outright shivering now.

Slowly I reached out. I felt like I was trying to reach out to a fractious and angry animal. I managed to get my hand to his shoulder before Kerrass snarled and threw the hand off before stalking off to the front of the boat where he climbed out and sat with his head in his hands.

We watched him for a while before the Captain shook himself and ordered everyone back to work and disappeared below decks.

I returned to my own job. Horses are naturally social animals and the attitude aboard ship had gotten them all agitated. Kerrass had a trick that he used to calm animals that I suddenly wished he'd teach me but it kept me occupied.

Time passed as it is wont to do. The captain came over to me and told me that Lord Fuck-wad had been locked in his room on the grounds that he was making the voyage dangerous for everyone involved. That he had agreed not to interfere with the running of the ship and that his verbal and physical assault on both myself, at the docks, and the Witcher on the voyage had violated this. As a result the man was considered a criminal on ship and as such would be dealt with by the authorities at dock. I nodded my gratitude and made a joke about the fact that I was one of the crew now and did that mean that my ticket was going to get refunded?

The Captain laughed and pointed out that he would lose out on the long run due to losing a client. Especially the sort of client who was likely to hold a grudge.

“Have you heard of my father?” I asked with a smirk. Family contacts should be used for something at the end of the day.

“Who's that?”

“Baron Von Coulthard?”

The man stood agape.

“The trader baron?”

“If you say so,” I said. I suppose that a trader of my fathers stature would be known in those circles. I was too used to people responding to his name with a kind of “Who?” kind of expression.

“You're the son of Baron Coulthard?”

“Yep.”

“Holy fire, working for him would be amazing. Hey doesn't that mean that you're like, filthy rich?”

“Not the way he tells it. Listen, I'll write you a letter of introduction to the agent in Novigrad. That should make up for any losses you might make in the long term.”

The Captain seized my hand and shook it furiously for maybe five minutes. I told him that I would like to keep that quiet and he agreed before walking off chuckling to himself.

I stayed up late working that night. I swiped a lantern from stores and stayed up with a barrel as my desk and another slightly smaller crate as my chair.

I also had a bottle out and a pair of small cups.

I was not disappointed.

Kerrass came out of the darkness shortly after the midnight watch had been sounded. He was dressed simply in a shirt and trousers with his sword strapped to his back. My first thought was that he must be freezing. My second thought was to notice that he wasn't even vaguely shaking.

I poured from the bottle and passed a cup over without looking up. I heard another barrel scraping as it was shuffled across the deck and the cup was taken from my hand. I took a small cup for myself. I was still a little reluctant to drink heavily since my relatively recent adventures but I figured that this night was a special one.

Kerrass sat quietly for a long time, staring at his drink.

“I came here to apologise.” He finally said.

“What for?” I asked.

He seemed taken aback by that.

“Didn't I strike you?”

“Nope,” I said taking a sip and finishing a thought on the paper. “You pushed me away a bit.”

“It all seems a little hazy now. I have to struggle to remember what happened.” He finished his drink in a swallow and I poured again.

“I also wanted to thank you.” He said. “That's the second time you've stopped me from committing murder.”

“Second? Oh, Lady Josephine.”

Kerrass smiled a little. “I wanted to kill that man Fred. I wanted to kill him so much that I could taste his blood in my mouth. I could feel myself tearing at his flesh.”

I leant back a bit. I tried not to but I couldn't help it. I came back quickly but I was sure that the reflex had been noticed.

He nodded. “I'll ask the Captain to drop me off at the next anchorage point. It was...nice travelling with you Fred,” He rose from his seat.

“Hold on,” I said rising with him. “What the hell are you talking about? Leaving? You'd just been called a child abuser and a boy fucker. You showed considerably more restraint than I would have. The difference between the two of us is that you are 'capable' of more than I am. I'm not afraid. I'm just human.”

He sat back down slowly.

“I'm a Cat school Witcher.” He said “That means something. You don't know what it's like. We're murderers and thieves and psychopaths. I was not lying when I said that I had killed children. It's part of our mutations certainly, but the training makes it worse.”

He sighed and took another drink.

“I am not a good man Fred. I'm a killer and murderer. I can feel the madness at the back of my head scrabbling at me. I told you about it just before we met Annie the troll. I told you about how our mutations breed madness and I joked with you that the reason I hadn't killed you yet was because the little voices hadn't told me to yet.”

I nodded.

“I was lying Fred. They tell me to every day. I ignore them. I've been ignoring them for years. We all have it, Cat school Witchers to a greater or lesser degree. Sometimes we fight it, sometimes we let it slip and sometimes it takes us over.”

I nodded again feeling a little foolish

“Do other Witcher schools have this problem?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you want to talk about it? The differences between Cats and the other schools?”

“Yes, but...” At first he seemed surprised that he had spoken. But then I saw some of his humour twinkle in his eye, “Not to you. I want to talk about these things to Scholar Frederick. We wronged those people, the other Schools I mean and that should be recorded. Part of my way of paying something back.”

I got up, got a sheaf of quills and a pot of ink and several sheets of paper from my packs, trimmed the quills and set out the ink, blotting paper and sand shaker.

I dipped my quill in the ink, checked to make sure it had picked up the ink and held it over the paper.

“Whenever you're ready then.”