(A/N: Unfortunately, the power of the spell-checker is melting my crappy old laptop again. So this one is edited by my crappy amateur eye and without technological assistance. Please be gentle and thanks for reading.)

(Warning: Contains some extreme language. Also some anecdotal graphic imagery presented in the form of recalled memories.)

Hello again.

Dorthan, Professor Coulthard’s publisher, I’m still here and still afraid.

The first batch of translations of Professor Coulthard’s diary has headed off. Some have left on the barges that are heading north towards Novigrad and the rest of, well, anything that comes from the North. I spread it out amongst the barge owners with promises of payment if they present it and my note to the bank, that way I can be pretty sure that at least some of them will get through and won’t be just tossed overboard.

Other bundles have gone South and across the bridge into Velen. The Baroness of Crow’s Reach is known to be a good and dependable woman and the Empress was coming North from Vizima so we know that she is encamped somewhere along the road that leads through Velen. We hope that news will be able to reach us as to where exactly she is so that our messages can reach her in plenty of time to mount a response towards…

Well… Again, we don’t know much.

My wife and children are long gone, as are those family members of my other workers. So even though the threat, whatever it is, is still largely unknown to us, I feel more than a little bit reassured as to what the future holds. The same with my other workers. We lost a few, especially those newer workers that we don’t know very well. But otherwise, we are feeling pretty secure. The word is out there now. We have done our duty. The only thing left to do is to do as much of it as we can before our duty is no longer tenable.

One of my deputies did ask why I didn’t wait until the entire diary was translated and we could print the entire lot. The answer is that I thought it vital that we get the basic message out there. Even if the first chunk of things is not particularly relevant, something that we have no way of being able to assess, then that opening message from Professor Coulthard was the vital piece and I had visions of the escape routes for the messengers being cut off. It needed to be out there that Professor Coulthard had been betrayed and that Countess Ariadne is a threat.

I am deliberately not doing too much speculation as to what is happening because I am concerned that if I speculate then that might colour the translation and printing work that we are doing. Professor Coulthard has given me many lessons on how to be a historian, although there are times when an opinion needs to be expressed and there are times when a person’s perspective can affect things. When you are translating the words of the eyewitnesses and putting them in, a printed medium, it is the job of the publisher, the editor and all of those others involved to remove themselves from the process. We must be objective so that the events and words of the writer or the speaker can come through unfiltered.

I hope that I have been successful in, at least, that part.

But today, it would seem that I myself, am interacting in history.

So first I must add a disclaimer. My publishing house was one of those businesses that benefited from the Coulthard family increasing their influence within Oxenfurt. After the University formal that Professor Frederick spoke about, a formal that I attended, the Coulthards came into town and threw around a LOT of money. I don’t know all of it but the amounts that were spent in my house alone were breathtaking.

I was able to hire a significant amount of new workers and order the parts to build two new printing presses, one to replace the old one that has seen better days and the other so that we can have two printers running at the same time. We were also able to move from our small, dingy, slightly damp cellar and into a large warehouse that was being adapted for purpose, mostly so that we could maintain the weight of the press without the floor sinking and so we could keep the damp out from damaging the fragile machinery.

One of the effects of building a city on an island that is largely made out of silt.

The newer chapters of the adventure of The Schattenmann were printed on this new printing press while we are still waiting for the parts for the other press to arrive. But now I am left wondering if all that I am going to have done is waste the money that was spent on a printing press that now, may never arrive.

I was, and remain immensely grateful to the Coulthard family as they found a dwarven printer and invested in him. Before I was able to rise to prominence in Oxenfurt, the majority of the printing for the University had to go to Novigrad or south to the Viziman war college who had no interest in anything that wasn’t technical. So to have a printing press that was Oxenfurt’s ‘own’ press has been invaluable and, I daresay, has made me rich.

In return for this grant of money from the Coulthard wealth, I had to sign a contract on behalf of myself, my press and all of the people that might own and operate the press after me. Breach of contract would result in the building and the machines being repossessed. However, I was quite happy to sign it.

The contract allowed me to call myself the official Oxenfurt University press. A name that hasn’t been used before. I would be able to have the first refusal on the publishing rights of any academic book or paper that came out of the University, either written by the faculty, alumni or students. In short, if someone wants to publish something academic in the city of Oxenfurt, they have to come through me first. If I don’t want it, then they can go elsewhere. Or if they don’t want the good name of the Oxenfurt university attached, they can do that as well. The Chancellor of the university, who came with the Coulthards to meet me, was happy with this arrangement. It meant that my publishing house would become a guarantee of quality and that was what they wanted.

Existing publishing contracts would peter out and then I would take over.

I could not have been more excited. I had and still have so many plans about how to further this enterprise.

Further to this, I was forbidden from adding any kind of declaration that this was a Coulthard family press. If Professor Coulthard or any member of his family wanted to publish something then it would need to follow the same process as anyone else. They didn’t want any kind of illusion that I, and the university, might have any kind of bias towards the family.

They were very insistent regarding this. I wanted to put a plaque on the new presses out of gratitude. Something like “paid for by the generosity of… blah blah blah.” But this was forbidden by the terms of the contract. It was enough that I knew who had paid for it and the University knew who had paid for it.

It was suggested that the new press might be tainted if people knew that the Coulthards were involved. Which was fair enough.

And, as far as I know, this was the way that it went forwards for just about everyone that was a beneficiary of the Coulthard charm offensive on Oxenfurt. I know of several business leaders that have had their pockets lined by Coulthard gold. I know a landlord of a failing inn that now works directly for the university to provide relatively cheap housing for students that can’t afford rent. This is for the scholarship students who are often priced out of being able to attend university because although fees might be paid, that doesn’t pay for food, rent or laundry costs.

Speaking of which, I know several seamstresses that are being paid to provide clothing services. Inns that will be providing subsidised meals for students.

I saw the deans of the medical college openly laughing. Something that I just didn’t think was possible. There are merchants that are going to be even richer than they were before as new equipment is being sent for, new buildings are being planned, new…

New Everything.

None of that might matter now and even this old dwarf’s throat is thick with emotion at the thought of all of that waste.

So that is my perspective on what had happened. I don’t have much to say about the rest of it. The Anti-Coulthard sentiment was real but most prevalent among the uneducated and those people that were outright rivals of the Coulthard people. Those nobles that believe that they have a right to be awful to those people that have less money than they do, awful to those belonging to different races and a less worthy name. They were the people that hated the Coulthard family. People that refused to believe that their darling little treasure of a boy could have been involved in something as horrific as a gang that would ritually hunt, torture and abuse people.

And worse, those people that believed that it was their right to do so. Those were the people that hated the Coulthards in the first place.

And I might be able to offer a perspective on that too.

“How dare these people rise to the point where they have power over us? They should know their place.”

That is the song of these fuckwits.

Why have the Coulthard family become so powerful? The patronage of the Empress will only take them so far although I suspect that was part of it. I think that the former Lord Coulthard was more clever than people give him credit for. I think he planned this climb to prominence. I think he knew what he was doing when he sent his children into the places that he did.

So that is my perspective on what has been translated so far.

I share the reader's frustration that there are no concrete answers in Professor Coulthard’s diaries. We do not know what has happened, or why. The clerk is translating as fast as he can, and we are now held up more by the process of printing than we are about that. I have no idea how much there is to go. I have learned that the best thing a dwarf can do when he pays his subordinates to do a job is to get out of the way and let them all do their jobs. So I sit up here in my office, watching the eastern sky burn and writing my own thoughts down.

I have never done this before. I fell backwards into printing and publishing. I wanted to be a poet but I did not have the knack for making the words dance as the best poets do. After that, I tried to write fiction, specifically romantic fiction. But it turns out that what a dwarf like me thinks of as romantic fiction and what the average consumer of romantic fiction is are two different things.

Not as many readers are into women with beards. What can I say?

So I became a printer. I am excited about helping those people who do have this gift, pass it out into the world. And now one of them is running for his life, if not dead or already captured.

Poor Professor Coulthard.

Poor Freddie.

This was supposed to be the happiest day of his life.

Well… It’s now the early hours of the following morning but if all had gone correctly, then I imagine that there would still be revellers dancing the night away.

I mean to add my own words to the next lot of Freddie’s diary that is printed and translated. I hope that I can add some perspective or context that the following investigators might find useful.

Today… yesterday was the Autumnal Equinox. The day of Professor Coulthard’s wedding, as was originally planned.

However, as the reader will probably know, those plans fell through and the wedding was delayed by a week.

The delay was, as far as I can tell, perfectly innocent. A storm blew up out at sea which kept the Skelligan delegation in Port. The storm was so fierce that even Lord Helfdan, Jarl of the Black Boar, Admiral of the Imperial navy and Skelligan ambassador to the Imperial court, refused to sail in it. Saying that the Queen of Skellige would stay in port whether she liked it or not.

The same storm turned the roads around us to mud which delayed many guests including that most important guest in the body of the Empress herself. I met the lady myself as she was present at Professor Coulthard’s stag party and I learned that there are two women there. The one is Ciri, the friend, comrade and drinking partner of the Professor. The other is the Empress Cirilla, she of the more titles than anyone else on the continent put together.

Ciri would just steal a horse and come to see her friend and adopted little/big brother get married. The Empress has to bring her entire court with her wherever she goes. This was the root of the delay I think.

So it was agreed by all parties that the wedding would be delayed.

Professor Coulthard was heartbroken but spent a while telling his friends that he had waited several years to be married to the woman of his dreams and that he could wait a week longer.

There are still many guests up at the castle though and it was declared that there would be a dinner held for those guests tonight.

I am useless with books which is one of the reasons that I didn't take to writing. I can never resist knowing the ending and nearly always turn to the back of the book to see what happens. Well, I did it with Professor Coulthard’s diary too, insisting that the Clerk skips to the end.

The diary ends with the final entry being the morning of that dinner and the Professor Coulthard that wrote that entry appears to be relaxed and relatively happy. So by my calculations, the last entry was written this… now yesterday’s morning on the morning of the Autumnal Equinox. And the entry does not comment on the coming disaster.

So what happened? While the next load of Professor Coulthard’s writing is being translated, I will tell you what little bit I can

Here is what we know, what anyone in Oxenfurt, let alone the friends of the family might know.

We know that the full, surviving Coulthard family is up at the castle in preparation for the coming festivities. We know that this includes Lord Samuel Coulthard, Count of Kalayn. Cardinal Mark Coulthard, Ladies Rose and Emma von Coulthard.

Lady Rose has been allowed to set aside her religious duties while attending the wedding of her youngest son. She arrived incognito a little while ago as part of a pilgrimage to the Novigrad cathedral. She had gone to the cathedral and then had come back where it was agreed that she would stay at Castle Coulthard until the ceremony was over at which time she would return to Ellander to take up her holy duties again.

Lord Samuel arrived a couple of days before the Stag party, to take part in the party itself and as such, I met him. I have to say that although he was charming and friendly, there was an attitude about him that suggested that he was keeping everybody at a full arm’s distance. He seemed to be very tired and worn down to my eyes. It was certainly clear that Ciri didn’t like him. I didn’t know him and he agreed to continue with the work that his Elder Brother and sister had started in Oxenfurt, as such, I don’t have anything to comment on.

We know that the dinner was due to start at the seventh hour after midday. Only the closest friends and family were invited to that dinner which meant, essentially, the groom’s family and those guests of the Countess that couldn’t find other lodgings. Meaning the Duke and Duchess of Angraal. Those closest friends of the Countess are mostly Sorceresses and as such, could make their own arrangements.

We know that the Empress, after taking part in the respective Stag and Hen parties, returned to her encampment near Vizima where she could continue to come North in her more official guise of Empress. So we know that she is not in the castle.

Unfortunately, that’s about all that is known for certain. The refugees that are fleeing… whatever is happening in Coulthard lands, spin dark stories of large, powerfully built knights in black and red armour hunting down the Elves and the other non-humans that have taken up residence in Coulthard lands. There are stories of fire and smoke and laughter that echo inside the metal helmets. There are stories of blood and the screams of those that have been caught. These soldiers, Knights, monsters or whatever they are wearing a variety of liveries. Some come from the other nearby Lords who have holdings around Oxenfurt. Some are from further North. Some are wearing Coulthard colours, but all seem to be carrying Redanian flags.

It would seem that Redania, or some parts of Redania at least, have risen in Rebellion. The old guard, the non-human haters have crawled out of the woodwork like the rats that they are, in protest at the Imperial declarations of non-human tolerance and a polytheistic society and have taken up arms.

Which means… I’m not sure what it means.

The Empress is coming North and she has an army at her back. A battle-hardened army that is used to dealing with this kind of insurrection. Eyes are on the North and what the Queen Regent will do. Adda is known to be power-hungry and rumoured to be more than a little bit unhinged, but this seems to be a little bit… I don’t know… A little bit extreme, even for her.

A runner has just arrived to take my notes off to the printers. For the latest batches of Professor Coulthard’s notes to be translated.

Good luck everyone. I’m going to try and get some rest.

Over to the Professor

-

Entry 41

I really enjoyed the last couple of days. Being able to walk up to friends and enemies who I didn’t like and ask them what they need. And by enemies, I mean those people that I don’t like but at the same time, have a lot of sympathy for or know that they have their hearts in the right place.

It always went the same way. It didn’t matter if it was Dorthan, Maxwell (Dorthan: A prominent innkeeper), the Chancellor or any number of deans. They would always look at Emma and me with a glare of profound scepticism before we would look at them and nod encouragingly until we started to drag out what they were looking for. Then, in front of them, we would contact merchants and contracts that we could easily get hold of and then order all the things that they wanted. I literally watched as the thought broke through Dorthan’s bearded face that we really were buying him a new printing press, and then a second one and then the fear hit him that he would need different premises that he couldn’t afford. Then Emma offered him one of the warehouses to set up in and then…

And then that smile cracked his beard.

I’ve always enjoyed watching dwarfs smile. Something about the way that you can’t see their lips, only their teeth, but the way that all of that hair just seems to shift in place until the shape of the smile seems to come through. I never get tired of that.

So we did all of that over several days and then we waited for the inevitable backlash to everything that we were doing.

A backlash that never came.

What is happening? We own a significant portion of Oxenfurt now. And those people that are left, owe us their future. Our influence over the city is not small, people should be angry, and people should be scared.

But nothing is happening. There have been no emergency meetings called, no-one has accosted me in the street.

Nothing is happening.

There’s a famous play, famous because it’s commonly seen as being terrible. It was written as a serious drama about warfare. The playwright and the acting company in question were convinced that their work was going to be the next historical epic and couldn’t understand why everyone was laughing at them.

This play has entered the public consciousness now so that even if you have never read it, or seen it, you will know some of it. In this case, the scene is between two sentries standing on the sentry line. One turns to the other and says

“It’s quiet,”

And the other replies.

“Yeah, too quiet.”

I have seen the play multiple times now and that line, and the way that it is delivered has never failed to get a laugh out of me. It’s always delivered with this ultra-serious, dour, portentous nature to it.

But that’s how I feel now. It’s too quiet. Emma is telling me not to worry. She says that our enemies are regrouping and that there will soon be no shortage of people yelling at us and telling us that we are the root of all evil. I told her that I didn’t find that reassuring.

-

Entry 42

I’ve spent a few days now waiting for the hammer to drop. Waiting for the return volley of arrow-fire or whatever is happening. But it seems that our enemies have retreated. Some have been converted and more than one person has approached me and insisted upon shaking my hand. Even when I have refused that effort.

But the thought is there.

Someone has defaced the monument that has been set up where Cousin Kalayn and the rest of the cultists were burnt. They took a bunch of paint there and daubed it in crimson before painting ‘murderers’ in black. Then there were signs that quite a few people had dumped their own faeces in front of the stone. They caught some of the vandals and they turned out to be drunken students. The case is up before a magistrate soon and I have been asked to attend. I have written to Emma to see what she wants me to do and she is encouraging me to attend. I have the distinct feeling that the entire action of the Cousin Kalayn thing is about to be put on trial.

I am looking forward to it.

In the meantime, nothing to do but work on the Schattenmann chapters. We will soon be reaching the dryad village and the death of Henrik.

Poor Henrik. I had liked that old man.

-

Entry 43

It is increasingly clear that the trial against those student vandals is becoming an opportunity to relitigate the entire matter regarding Cousin Kalayn. The trial has been delayed so that the matter can be “properly prepared for which has made me kind of nervous. I don’t know which way this is going to go. The vandals are arguing that it was just a harmless student prank.

Which it is.

Some people are arguing that defacing the names of the fallen is disrespectful. Which it is as well, or would be if those self-same people were anything other than who they were.

I have reread all my old notes on the subject and am kind of looking forward to the trial while also being a little nervous.

-

Entry 44

The trial was everything I had feared it to be and wanted it to be. Those poor students were just an excuse for people to attack the entire process. Some people had been spoiling for a fight for so long that now that it had come to a point…

As I understand it, the issue was that the families of some of the cultists had been moving towards getting their relatives and sons and hangers-on exonerated on the day. But then the mob had descended and broken those cultists out so that they could all be burned as the heretics that they were.

The people that were responsible for that mob, vigilante action were never caught. This outraged the people that were working towards that exoneration. They have been wanting to question those people involved for many years and try to find the guilty to punish them. I was one of the people that they wanted to question and punish.

I like how they assumed that I was guilty.

But Rickard, the captain of the guard, the various priests that were involved in the questioning, some of Mark’s church guards that witnessed the horrors that the cult had inflicted on the populace… Even Mark himself was summoned to the stand.

He didn’t go. There are some benefits to being a cardinal of the church. He sent a deputy with his sworn deposition. We all recounted the facts as we remembered them. I had the benefit of being able to refer to my initial notes and as such, the matter was soon thrown out. I don’t know which way the magistrate wanted to go, but it became clear that the pro-cultist faction was just angry and making their case by depending on noble blood and influence. Whatever else might happen, heresy trumps influence and the church has to stand by that. And if the church stands by that then…

And whatever else might be the case, we are still a Nilfgaardian state and the legal system is now Nilfgaardian rather than Redanian.

I did get a laugh out of the watchers when I made a joke about wondering why we were going over this cult business again after the trial was supposed to be about a bunch of students getting drunk and damaging monuments.

They ended up paying a fine.

I understand that there are plans to have the monument removed.

-

Entry 45

I went and watched the monument being removed. A troll that was working on a local construction site was hired to turn up and take it away. A couple of people were there. A hysterical woman that was dressed in noble attire got all dramatic and threw herself on the stone. Someone tried to restrain her and keep her away so that the confused troll could do his work. Then someone else tried to prevent the restrainer and a fight nearly broke out.

The troll looked very confused.

Someone threw a stone at him and he protested loudly, the protest was loud enough that others realised that protesting at an angry troll was not the best idea for long-term health and the entire thing fell apart.

It was funny. Sad, but funny.

I wish Kerrass were here.

-

Entry 46

There is a saying in courtier circles. It is derived from the old saying about the only good defence is a good offence. Courtiers say that this is doubly true for politics and if there is no enemy immediately presenting itself, then a good politician or courtier should find one.

I find myself without an enemy to hit, or an enemy to chase or…

I am without monsters to slay.

I also have the sinking feeling that I am being played. I don’t like that feeling.

Writing regarding the Schattenmann is going well and the first Witcher lecture is the day after tomorrow.

-

Entry 47

It has been a long time since I last had stage fright, but today I have it. I used to get it quite badly during that phase of my childhood when my mother tried to get me to learn a musical instrument. Then she would expect that I would come and stand before the rest of the family and whatever societal friends that might have been passing through…

Back when my mother still had friends that she could communicate with of course.

But she would make me stand in front of all of them and play them all a tune. I would then ask them what she wanted me to play and she would wave her hand kind of dismissively and tell me whatever tune my teacher had been making me go through.

But at that stage of learning, I was just learning those pieces where the purpose of the music was to teach me proper fingering and things for the harp. Not music so much as exercises.

I would die of embarrassment as my mother would line up three of her severe female friends and then they would watch as I stutteringly plucked my way through the tune that I had played for my tutor perfectly only an hour or so before.

Then they would sniff and tell me to keep working at it.

Now I have stage fright.

The Dean booked the biggest lecture theatre in the University for my first lecture on Witchers. It’s normally a theatre that is reserved for those overly booked introductory courses. Things like Poetry and art appreciation. Overbooked because people think that it will be an easy course and a good way to meet members of the gender of choice. The lecturer rarely wastes time in weeding these people out though.

I had been in it twice and both times were to enjoy some visiting lecturers that I wanted to hear speak.

This time I entered it from the little side entrance at the back which led out and onto the stage. I went there yesterday so I would at least know where to stand. I thought it was like speaking into a barn and told myself that it would never be filled.

It is now standing room only.

I need to stop and check my notes again to make sure that they are all in the proper place and order.

I mean, I know that they are, I’ve checked a couple of dozen times already.

But…

-

Entry 48.

Fucking hell. I look through the curtains and EVERYONE is here. Fucking Lady Eilhart is sitting in the front row with a notebook, a piece of charcoal and a calculating expression.

Maleficent is sitting next to her. She still has horns but her human shape is much better. She looks amused by everything.

FUCKING FUCKY FUCKETY FUCK. CIRI’S HERE. She's sitting front row centre with a back of snacks.

-

Entry 49

Couldn’t have gone better. I’ve never been applauded after a lecture before. I’m going to get drunk.

-

Entry 50

Ciri didn’t stay for the reception afterwards. She intercepted me in advance to give me a hug, tell me that I had done really well and say that she was just showing her support as a proper family member.

I told her that if she wanted to support me, she didn’t need to sit there grinning at me all the time.

She laughed and left.

Maleficent is doing well. She’s enjoying her status and also enjoying the fact that no one knows or believes the fact that she’s a dragon. She finds it amusing that she could just eat everyone in the room and there wasn’t a lot that many people could do anything about.

Her physical shape is much better. Nothing she can do, nor wants to do, about her horns. She has pale, kind of greenish, purply skin but it could pass as a human tint unless you looked closely. She wears an almost permanent smile, just this side of cruelty.

She told me that her daughter was doing well, considering everything that had happened, asked after Kerrass and told me that she intended to lock Kerrass and her daughter into a room at my wedding, before throwing in a bunch of aphrodisiacs and not letting them out until screams of pleasure had emerged.

I told her that I didn’t need that image.

She laughed again.

She is working with Lady Eilhart on the proposed Witcher mutations as she is older than most and therefore can put her hands on some of the more esoteric herbal knowledge.

For her part. Lady Eilhart greeted me surprisingly warmly. For the first time, I saw her as a lonely woman. She has been so meticulous in presenting herself as a cold, aloof and terrifying woman that few would get near her. She did admit that she was there to lend some kind of official support and that the series was likely to be too light on actual content for her, given that it was clear that my series was a bit more introductory than she needed. She promised that she would be there for the lecture on the trials of the Witcher creation and again for the final lecture on the philosophy of the Witcher before leaving me with the stunning final statement that she looked forward to working with me again in the future.

Then she left, also spending time speaking with the movers and the shakers.

To be honest, I was so relieved that it had all gone well that I wasn’t paying attention. I was in a room full of people that were all but cheering my name. People that include some of my heroes and they were the ones congratulating ME.

It is the following morning now and I still can’t believe that it happened. I feel like I’ve lost a bunch of weight, that I am younger and fairly bouncing along. My cheeks are positively aching from all the smiling that I’ve been doing. I’m not sure that I can take this much longer. I’m enjoying the people that I work with and no student question is too boring or inane for me to stop and spend some time with.

I feel like the sun has come out from behind the clouds.

Something had better happen soon or this is going to be too much.

-

Entry 51

The required slap to the face happened this morning. A note from Dorthan reminding me that he was still waiting on the next chapter regarding The Schattenmann.

I am deep in the matter of the awful things that were going on in the dryad’s village now. The awful things that they made me do and the awful things that they made each other do. I had not wanted to go back to the horror of that. The horror and the joy, the found love and the friendship. The bitterness of knowing that I was kind of happy, living out the primal male fantasy but also knowing that the executioner’s axe was hanging over my neck and the axe of the future and societal condemnation was hanging over their heads.

I still think of them both often and I wonder how they are getting on. I miss them and in missing them, I feel as though I am betraying Ariadne.

She tells me not to be foolish, she says it lovingly and I know that she doesn’t resent me for what happened in the Black Forest, nor does she hate either Chestnut-Shell or Apple-Seed, the worst that can be said is that she is slightly jealous of the pair of them. She often expresses the desire to meet them.

This reluctance in the middle of a project is not unusual. It is always hard in the middle when any other project that might be on the go is more attractive than the one that I am working on. Right now I would much rather be going over the proofs of the book on the Unseen Elder or researching the Headless Horseman, the Rumplesteldt or the Knight of the Bridge. Literally anything other than talking about Chestnut-Shell’s pain at what we were all going through.

Which is the moment that I need to properly buckle down and get on with it.

Speaking of which…

-

Entry 52

The ending of this series of articles is beginning to loom over me now. It is there, standing over an ending like there hasn’t been anything before. The climax of several of these stories is often fun to write. The stuff about what happened immediately after the Skeleton Ship and the affirmation of Helfdan was, frankly, a joy. The climax of the Burning sword was a catharsis on top of the catharsis as it happened at the time. But this… the fact that I felt, and still feel as though I failed when we went to the Black Forest…

I am not satisfied with it. I’m not happy with it.

It’s as though it’s not over, there is no definitive ending to it. I know that this is true and is the problem with recording history, but it’s not just that. Or at least, I don’t think it’s just that. The fallout for what happened in Dorne with Sleeping Beauty went on and is still going on, long after my involvement ended. The cult in the North was wiped out after my part in it was over and was continuing while I sat talking with a unicorn. They were still performing the trials while I was sailing around in a Skelligan longship.

But this time, it’s not a satisfying ending. It still feels as though things are undone, that my involvement is still ongoing.

I’m doing a lot of self-examination at the moment and I'm finding it tiring. Am I just being paranoid? I don’t know.

-

Entry 53

I remain convinced that I was speaking to the Schattenmann at the ending of all things in the Black Forest. I am sure of it. I think Mark was right, that if the Schattenmann could reach through the veil of death or whatever other pieces of poetic nonsense that can be written about death and whatever comes after… If he can do that then all of the things that we know about life after death are wrong.

So I think that the Father that I spoke to was a conjuring, a ghost made up of my own memories.

Which is actually a bit reassuring. It means that, deep down, I know that he loved me and was proud of me, even while my heart and mind reject that but…

I think I was speaking to the Schattenmann. I think he was trying to communicate something to me and that was the only way that he could speak in a way that I could understand.

Jack and the beings like him have often commented that we humans, Elves and other mortal creatures are held captive by a linear perspective of time. If The Schattenmann is the same then he must have known what was going to happen. Therefore, everything that happened, both before we entered the Black Forest and up until we left, was by his design.

Therefore, he knew that Stefan, whoever or whatever he was and is, was going to steal Kerrass’ silver sword. He knew that Stefan would need to be driven to that extreme. So he also knew that he had to do everything to get us to that point.

So that means that those questions that Father asked me were deliberate. If that was his way of talking to me, then what was he trying to tell me?

I am now genuinely concerned that I am being paranoid about this. I have a second lecture to work on and other chapters to address before we get there. I am borrowing trouble against the future and that is meaningless.

I need to get back to work.

-

Entry 54

Ariadne visited today. The time went by too fast for both of us. Flame but I love that woman. When she is not with me, I am always concerned that whatever I feel for her might be some kind of illusion, that it is impossible for me to love someone that much. I think of Marion, Saffron, Helene, Charlotte, Chestnut-Shell, Anne, Apple-Seed and those others. Too few for my pride but more than enough for the education that they gave me. I try to put my feelings for Ariadne into context but then I see her.

I see her nervousness when she steps into view, wondering how I am going to react. She has never lost the nervousness that I might see her as a monster or be afraid of her. And there is always this moment where she searches my face for something and then she doesn’t find it. Then there is a moment of visible relief before she smiles. I love that moment. The moment of learned trust.

We walked in the sunshine along the docks, ate from Bill’s wagon on the green, had dinner at the university and then she left before I could be tempted to ask her to stay and she would be tempted to ask if she could.

I will be marrying that woman soon. And when I say it like that… I kind of want to…

I don’t know.

It sounds so mundane when I say it, or write it like that. As though it’s just some ordinary, mundane thing. I am going to marry that woman. I don’t need to hide the fact that I am looking at her and to know that I am actively going to be allowed to touch her,

No, that's not right.

That I’m actively going to be encouraged to touch her. That touching her is something that she will want me to do. That is mind-blowing to me.

The thought that the two of us might share a bed and other intimacies is too much for me to comprehend. She knows it too and has since expressed an opinion that she feels the same way.

That is mind-blowing too. That she, an ancient, wondrous, intelligent being would giggle at a filthy thought and then look at me slyly. That she would willingly, happily and without prompting, adjust her appearance to something that I would prefer, even though I have never told her that.

I kissed her good night. I have tried not, to try and contain myself without doing it but I find that I cannot. And she gave this little gasp of excitement. It was just on that cusp, that moment where we had to pull away from each other, breathing a little harder than we should be for an unmarried couple.

She pulled away and told me to go and visit a brothel to get it out of my system. She was smiling as she said it. I’m not entirely certain as to whether or not she was joking.

I saw her an hour ago and I miss her.

-

Entry 55

As expected, the fan mail has started to come in regarding the chapters on the Schattenmann, lots of early excitement and then later things taper off. A few people have envied having all of those willing dryads to choose from. Then wondering why I just didn’t dive in, dick first.

I have no answer for those people. I try to reply to a lot of these kinds of mail because it always feels rude not to. But I feel about this kind of thing, the same way that I feel about those, thankfully less nowadays, people that used to write to me and say that I should just plough the Vampire and have done with it.

I never kept those letters and am wondering if any of those people are the same people.

-

Entry 56

Gave the second of the Witcher series of lectures today. There were fewer people at the lecture and although I can tell myself that I did all the work, that I could not have delivered it better than how I did, that there is always a drop-off during a lecture series and fewer people are attending, I am losing my confidence.

I know it’s artificial, I know it’s all in my head. I know it. But I want to try and get hold of one of the people that didn’t attend and ask them why they didn’t come to the second lecture.

I even know a lot of the answers. They attended the first one to network with all of the important people that were there. They attended the first lecture because it was a trendy lecture and they needed to be seen to attend. They attended the first lecture and then decided that it wasn’t for them, that they weren’t as interested in the subject matter as they thought they were going to be.

They were sick, had other commitments, lecture clashes, and all kinds of things. And all of those reasons are genuine and understandable.

But I fret. I want to make sure that I am delivering the best possible…

The fact that I know that I know that I am being foolish is not as helpful as people think it is.

My tutor gave me the best advice. He told me that there is a danger of tying yourself in knots over this. That there is a danger in obsessing over the one that doesn’t turn up versus the ninety-nine that does.

And he is right.

I was still booked into the largest hall on campus. And I still filled it with people sitting on the steps in the aisles and standing at the back.

There were just fewer people there.

Dammit

-

Entry 57

I am beginning to feel really paranoid now. And I feel really stupid because of it.

I am working on the chapters regarding the descent into The Schattenmann’s hollow. I can feel myself procrastinating. Filling the word count so that I don’t have to write about what The Schattenmann told me and what The Schattenmann asked me.

What Father might have been asking me?

What did he mean, ‘where there is one, there is always more?’

I have spent far too many nights staring at the ceiling as I try to answer that question.

-

Entry 58

I am summoned back to the castle this weekend. I have no idea why. I am going to take the opportunity to get away from the various students and hangers-on that accost me occasionally. Carys enjoys it. She enjoys hissing at them and laughs as they scamper off in fear. I have had to tell her off about it and she turns to me and smiles, asking me if I wanted to talk to them about whatever inane nonsense that they wanted to ask me about and I respond, as honestly as I can, that I didn’t. No, I didn’t want to talk to them. That their questions are boring, inane, rote and straight out of the textbook. Or out of their parent’s mouths or out of their friend’s mouths. That I can tell an original question at a hundred paces.

But I can’t do that and I can’t be seen to do that.

“Why?” She asked. Not unfairly.

“Because to you and me, it is boring and rote and tedious and… But to them, it is the most important question in the world.”

She found that troubling.

-

Entry 59

I visited Father again on my way home as it’s not that far out of my way. I felt… I felt as though I, and he, had nothing much to say to each other. The last time I was here, he looked as though he was turning away from me in disgust. This time, he just carved lines in the stone. I have no idea what that meant. It left me feeling… I don’t know how it left me feeling.

I wonder if it’s beginning to become routine now. Dull. As though visiting Father is just something that I do now. A chore that must be ticked off like oiling and cleaning my spear.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

-

Entry 60

So that was the big deal.

Mother is coming home and Emma and Mark wanted to tell me that in person rather than to let me know in a letter. When they told me, I had nothing really to say on the matter. I think that I said “oh”.

They were worried about me, I could tell. They peered at me carefully and have taken steps so that I am surrounded by people who are watching me carefully to make sure that I don’t… I don’t know… go completely off the rails.

They told me. I nodded. I asked them when she was going to get here. They told me and that was that. I asked what time dinner was and went to my study to get back to work.

She’s coming back via a pilgrimage to the Cathedral at the top of Novigrad. She will travel there as a nun before she will return to the castle where she’s going to stay as, essentially our guest. I am…

I am troubled by how little I am troubled about this news.

-

Entry 61

Emma is worried about me again. I nodded and asked her why. She told me that she was expecting more of a response from me regarding the return of our mother. I nodded, sighed and expressed agreement. I am worried too and I don’t know why either.

I thought I would react more.

I remember the vote where our mother was sentenced for the crime of infanticide. Emma had said that she should be let go. Sam had voted for death. And I had voted for exile. Mark was the senior and Lord Coulthard presided. I remember having the idea. I remember having Kerrass make his speech about how our mother, at that moment, had been a Witcher.

I remembered kind of enjoying the absurdity of the four children having to sit in judgement over the mother that had tried to teach us morals.

I remember the horror that I felt as Emma and Sam agreed with my decision, my sentence and I remember the urgent need to vomit when Mother told us that was proud of us.

This should be bothering me more than it is. So why isn’t it?

She will be here soon, a couple of weeks.

She will be allowed to call herself the Dowager Baroness while she is here and she will have to return to Ellander as a nun when I leave for Skellige for my honeymoon. That is the deadline for her departure.

-

Entry 62

I took today off work. I had an overwhelming feeling that I haven’t looked up from my desk in several weeks. Filling my time with essays and writing and lecture plans. Reading old works and checking notes. Even keeping this diary, I am not entirely certain why I am still doing it.

I went with Rickard on a patrol with half a dozen guys. Some of which were the survivors of the Northern cult. Rickard has taken some of those Elves and other victims of the cult of the first-born and he has turned them into soldiers. We went out, rode some of the surrounding areas, and met with some of the local village leaders that made quick reports to Sir Rickard about things that they had seen out there, potential bandit groups and things. Rickard promised to pursue the matter and look into it before we all rode off. I wondered if he would need any help in dealing with any of the bandits.

He laughed at me.

“Even if I needed help, Lord Coulthard.” He told me, “I would not ask you.”

He always calls me Lord Coulthard when we are in front of the men or formal circumstances. I don’t like it.

“I could order it.” I told him.

“You could.” He countered. “But I don’t work for you.”

He grinned to take the sting of it away from me. He knows that I resent the formality that sometimes exists between us and I know that he has to keep the distance and why.

Neither of us likes it. But I can normally depend on a mug of ale next time we are passing a tavern together.

-

Entry 63

Back to Oxenfurt tomorrow.

I extended my day off to being a weekend off. I stole a bunch of food from the kitchens and kidnapped Emma so that we could go and get some fresh air and get away from things. I wanted to talk to her the way that we used to, away from prying ears. Where I wouldn’t have to talk about academics and she wouldn’t have to talk about business.

We talked about Mother, Father and Edmund. We talked about Francesca, Laurelen and Ariadne. She confessed that she still worries about the future with her eternally young and beautiful lover. I told her about my fears regarding the future as well. About how I would fit in with the noble crowd.

About the wedding.

I told her that I felt unworthy of Ariadne and wondered how was she still interested in me?

Quite rightly, we told each other off for our mutual fears. We should enjoy the moment while it lasts and stop worrying about it. That these two wonderful women have chosen us in the here and now of the situation and that we needed to stop doubting them both.

Back to Oxenfurt tomorrow. Dealing with students is far less dangerous.

-

Entry 64

I can no longer procrastinate. The last chapter about what happened around the Schattenmann is done. The death of the old and the choosing of the new. Stefan’s theft and strike. I feel a little bit as though I rushed the ending there. The headlong flight of a shocked Kerrass and a bewildered Freddie, the death of the dryad and so on. I feel as though I rushed it but I also feel as though… I am not entirely sure. I am not convinced that I was the one that wanted to get to the end of that particular piece of writing.

Nothing else for it. Off to the printer it goes and tomorrow, I start the conversation with my father.

My readers are going to hate it.

I hate it, so I don’t know how they are going to find it.

-

Entry 65

Writing on the talking with my Father is continuing and is going well. The words are flowing out of me as they always do when I feel that what I am talking about is important. This is not the blind recitation of facts that I do to provide context, nor is this the wandering mind of a man that is looking for the parts of the story that he feels passionate about.

This is the word flow of a man that is interested in what he is saying.

I can feel everyone’s “I told you so” in the air.

The third lecture on the trials of a Witcher turned out to be more popular than the second. The traitorous voice in the back of my skull that tries to point out everything wrong is trying to tell me that this lecture was more exciting and less dry. Others say that people saw how disappointed I was with previous attendance and have taken steps to address the matter. I don’t know which of the two things I want to believe. But there were more people there.

Lady Eilhart was there, dressed a little more demure than she normally is and was scribbling furiously in her notepad.

When the lecture was done, she thanked me for the lecture and left with the pace of a woman that had things to think about and check up on. She was ignoring the calls of her name and the questions that were shouted at her. She never does that, she is always trying to make friends and make contact with people. She is a woman that obsessively tries to make connections so that the fall of the Lodge will never happen again. But this time she all but ran out of the room.

I have no idea what to make of that.

-

Entry 66

I remember writing this conversation down in my journal.

I am in the depths of the conversation with my Father now. I have my travel notes next to me and I am all but transcribing it across.

I remember that this was the first set of notes that I made when we made it out of the Forest. The time with the two dryads had let me make notes on the journey up until that point and it would not be unfair if a later reader commented on the quality of the recollections after that moment.

But I had not had the chance to make many notes while I descended into the hollow to meet with the Schattenmann and my mind was too occupied in the immediate aftermath of that to do much else. So when we escaped, after exchanging notes with Kerrass and making my peace with Ariadne, we went to an inn where I stole a table with Kerrass’ help so that I could work outside to combat my occasional bouts of claustrophobia.

And the first thing I did was to write up the conversation that I had with my Father.

I didn’t understand why. Normally, I make notes and write things down in chronological order. There are exceptions to that. Normally the big conversations and the interviews are done with the notes next to me and then I write the words straight away, only to take those notes out later when I am putting everything in the correct order.

But for this? It was vital to me that I work on that conversation and get it all out and into the paper as fast as possible. It seemed important and I could not rest until the deed was done.

And now that I come to translate it all into the kinds of things which I would pass onto my clerk and my publisher? I am writing in a fever, a frenzy of words. I have to force myself to stop and eat, let alone sleep.

I think I am going to be done before the next lecture which is all to the good.

-

Entry 67

The conversation is done. I leave my article self in the field where I woke up. There’s more to write, I don’t feel that even my part in the story is done now. As we still spent the better part of a month down there walking around and investigating things. But I am exhausted.

The clerk has written the entire thing out for me so that it can be read and I mean to… I don’t know…

I am going back to the castle. Tonight if I can manage it. I have a satchel full of work that I need to grade and a book on the sightings of the headless horseman. I am going to go home, and grade a whole shit ton of papers before I find a nice sunny part of the castle where I can watch the workers putting together the temporary guest rooms and erect the huge open-air kitchen while I read my book.

I can’t wait.

-

Entry 68

The best-laid plans of scholars.

I took a book but it remains untouched and I have done half the grading. If I sit down with it, I can probably do it before I have to ride back to Oxenfurt.

But I haven’t done even a fraction of what I wanted to do.

So what have I been doing?

I’m glad you asked diary…

Oh flame, I’ve become one of those people that talks to his diary.

What I’ve been doing is reading the conversation with my Father, the Schattenmann over and over and over again.

What did he mean? Where there is one there is more.

I can’t think… This is getting bad.

-

Entry 69.

I’m not going back to Oxenfurt today. I finished the grading and I sent it, and a message off to the Dean of history. I have told them that I am sick, which is not that far from the truth anyway. And I am going to sit down with the words of The Schattenmann and I am going to try and think this out. Making myself not think about it is not working. So it is time to go in the other direction.

Let’s dive in. I’ve warned Ariadne about it and she has, in turn, warned Laurelen who will act if this is becoming a problem. So I have a study in the castle now, and it’s time to work.

-

Entry 70.

So the diary that was supposed to act as a way for me to get my emotions and my feelings out of my head and onto paper has now become a research journal regarding what The Schattenmann told me and asked me.

I am dissecting my own writings as if I was a historian trying to look at them and decide what was going on with them. So let's look at the evidence.

(Dorthan: The next chunk of things from the diary is very disjointed. If you have any experience in reading people’s field journals then you will know what I mean. It involves leaps of logic that don’t go anywhere and conclusions that are arrived at without intervening thought before the writer, Professor Coulthard, goes back to fill in the gaps of his own thinking.

The clerk, who has been working with Professor Coulthard for several years, did his best to put it in a linear form so that a reader can follow the reasoning. I think he did well and all credit should go to him. If we all get out of this alive, then I intend to have him commended or something for his work.)

I think, in fact, I am convinced that the man I spoke to in that dream realm was not my father, but was more of a projection of my Father, taken from my own memories. So why do I think that?

There is the obvious fact that he only tells me things that I would know for myself. I know that my father loved me and was proud of me. He wrote to me to tell me that. I also think that it wasn’t the sugar-coated version of my father that I would have wanted, this was my actual memory of the man. But it was still what I remembered. Father was more generous and friendlier to Emma and more remote from Mark and Sam. So this proves that the man, my father, was more complicated than just the man I interacted with.

“A soldier can be a good family man while also being the nightmarish figure that kills children at the end of a siege” as Rickard says.

People are more complicated and the man I spoke to was my father. There was no nuance to him that would suggest that he was more than that.

But that’s a gut feeling so let's go deeper.

When recounting my history since Father’s death, the man I spoke to wasn’t that interested in the things that I think Father would have been the most interested in. The dream man was not interested in Sleeping Beauty and the goings on in Dorne. Looking over my notes, that is one of the biggest clues. He didn’t care about Dorne or Sleeping Beauty.

But the awakening of the Princess has caused a seismic shift in the balance of power in Southern Nilfgaard and Father, no matter the fact that it was quite remote, would want to see if there was any advantage to be had there.

That was my Father, he would always be looking for a way up, a boost that he could have over the next guy, the next person. Always on the make, always looking for the next promotion, the next zero that he could add to his fortune, the next elevation that he could secure for himself or his family. He would certainly have asked more about the potential lumber business and the applications of the thorns. He would have wanted to know about that.

To hell with my engagement to Ariadne, my father would have been asking me if there was any way that I could have traded my awakening of the princess into a marriage to the Queen that she would become. After all, Queen trumps Countess.

Father would have been interested in the coronation and the fallout of what happened there, so that matched up. But he would also have been fascinated by what happened with the knights of the burning sword. He would have asked which nobleman’s sons had been killed, why, which villages needed support and which ways could that all be taken advantage of. He would have done his best to support the former stockpile of knowledge of Pula, Saffron and Sally. He would have wanted to preserve it, catalogue it and then charge admission. At the very least, it would have been housed in a big, fancy building with a small, tasteful, discrete plaque that would have read “Paid for by the Lords and Ladies Coulthard of Redania”.

There is more.

The man I spoke to wanted to know about the cult and the practices of the cult of the firstborn. Not once did he ask about who it was that had been killed and lost. Not once did he ask if any of those parents that had lost sons could be taken advantage of. Which of his former enemies could he now destroy and get a leg up on?

Father would have asked which road was the one that had led to the abandonment of Unicorn village. He would have been ecstatic to learn that Emma and myself had an in towards having the ear of Skelligan royalty. The benefits to Coulthard shipping alone would have paid for all my adventuring for years.

He would have been interested in the Skeleton Ship. He would probably have known more about it than I did given the impact that such an occurrence would naturally have on trade. But he would not have known to ask the questions that he did.

He would have been outraged about the interactions with the Goddess rather than having a thoughtful discussion on the politics of the thing. And he would have been fascinated with the goings on in Toussaint. He would have been as offended as the rest of us about the canonisation of Francesca, but then he would have sought to make a trade in that regard to get the Coulthards more into the wine business.

So on balance, I believe that the person or creature that I was speaking to was not my Father.

Even if it was Father, the questions that he asked, the points that he made, are worth considering.

But I don’t think it was Father.

If it wasn’t Father, then who was it?

I don’t think that’s important in this case. Not nearly so much as the conversation regarding the points that he made, or rather, the questions that he brought back to the fore.

Where there is one, there is always more. That’s what he said. In fact, he repeated it.

But he also didn’t tell me what that meant. So again, I think that it wasn’t Father saying it. I think that the entity that told me that had an agenda, something to do or say. That they felt something or are otherwise constrained by some kind of rule. I know that things like Jack have rules so maybe, The Schattenmann had rules as well. But now I’m getting off track.

Where there is one, there is always more.

So there are more questions to ask. Questions that we have never answered.

Who was it that gave Edmund and his fellow conspirators the idea of killing Father?

Did Uncle Kalayn really jump onto the pyre out of madness and grief or was he pushed, and if he was pushed, who pushed him? And if he was pushed, why didn’t he then climb off the fire?

Lots of questions about Uncle Kalayn I notice.

After that though?

There are a lot of questions about Phineas Tordril. A LOT of questions. Why did he talk at first and then bite his tongue off? Why was he found at all? He had avoided being caught for an awfully long time, why did he suddenly get caught now? He had been hunted since his name had come up in connection with the cult in the first place. He was the one that we are crediting with being the driving force behind the cult’s magical capabilities anyway. So he was certainly a figure of interest to everyone, including the Imperial Intelligence services. So how come we suddenly find him?

I mean, there is an answer for that. Not a nice one but there is an answer. That being that he was laying low and then was caught in the attempt to leave the continent. But I’m not entirely sure I believe it. It seems clumsy. If he had a way to hide for all of that time, then surely he could have hidden for a bit longer. Or he could have made his way more stealthily. There are other ports than Novigrad and a man clever enough to evade capture for so long would not have allowed himself to be captured so easily.

.

Also, Father/Schattenmann made some interesting comments about Francesca’s disappearance. She disappeared in the middle of everything and there is a good point to be made here. We have always assumed that what was done, the pretence of Jack and the abduction of Francesca was the act of some magic that we didn’t understand at the time.

Some kind of advanced nonsense that made no sense and then…

But what if it wasn’t?

Making that poor old tutor into Jack might have taken some doing. But the rest of it, the abduction? That didn’t necessarily mean that we could…

In our arrogance and the arrogance of the people looking for her, did we dismiss the really simple things because it was so simple? We were all being so very clever and as such, we missed something so painfully stupid. Might that have been it?

I feel like I’m on the edge of a chasm and on the verge of throwing myself off. That would not do me any good, nor would it do any of my friends and loved ones any good and it might destroy any chance of a happy marriage that I might have with Ariadne away.

Time to take a step back.

-

Entry 71

I went back to Oxenfurt and worked hard for a few days. But those questions that were prompted have not gone away.

I cannot do anything about the disappearance of Francesca. That ship has sailed and is far far away as well as being a quagmire of things that would leave me wounded and possibly injured.

I was astonished, and a little bit disturbed, as to how easily I was able to make that choice.

But there are some questions here that I think need answers. Questions that are relevant to the modern day and might be relevant to the safety of myself and the people that I care about. My family, my friends, Ariadne.

Question 1

Who gave the idea to Edmund about killing Father, the method and the impetus to do it in the first place?

Question 2

What happened to Uncle Kalayn?

Question 3

What was going on with Phineas?

All three questions are cold, even the things with Phineas are several months old at best whereas the other two are several years old.

And I don’t know if I’m talking myself back into madness and foolishness. I think that there are questions here that need answering. But I am also aware that I have made myself mad with this kind of questioning before. So where can I get an objective view of my own sanity?

I am going home again. The lecture regarding the attacks on the Witchers is in a few days and has, to be honest, been written for some time. All I need to do is to turn up and deliver it.

-

Entry 72

A poet once said that the hardest audience that a poet ever has to perform to is their friends and their family. Friends because they remember when you sucked and your family because they remember wiping your arse when you were little.

Today I stood in front of Emma, Mark, Ariadne and Laurelen. I gave them all my fully transcribed and annotated version of the conversation that I had with The Schattenmann. I talked them through my reasoning as to why I think it was The Schattenmann himself and not our Father that I spoke to.

Mark, Laurelen and Ariadne agreed with my reasoning and I think that Emma sees it too even while she wants it to go the other way.

I sympathise with her. I want it to be my Father as well but I think that the best that can be said about it all was that if my Father was there, then he was, at least in part, a puppet of The Schattenmann.

Then I pointed out the three questions that I had. The three questions that had never been answered and I explained why I was so nervous about them.

Where there is one, there is always more.

Emma asked what that meant.

“We have always assumed that with the destruction of Edmund’s and Cousin Kalayn’s cell of this cult or whatever version of it it was, we have always assumed that it was the only cell that there was. We have also assumed that we got everyone and that there weren’t any people that got away.”

Emma still flinches at Edmund’s name.

“The questioners were thorough,” Mark argued, more from an urge to act as the frosty advocate, I think.

“They weren’t though were they?” I argued. “The cultist’s families and friends were kicking up a stink. How long before one or two of them were going to be ordered to be released? It wouldn’t have been too much longer.”

Mark tugged at his bottom lip in thought. He was having a good day today for which I am grateful.

“The mob did what they did because they knew that those fuckers were going to get away with it if something wasn’t done straight away. So although we got a lot of questions asked and answered, we didn’t get everything. And we also don’t know what kind of pressure was put on the questioners themselves.”

Mark nodded.

“In my experience, the questioners would not have allowed themselves to be pressured,” Laurelen said a little bitterly.

“The comparison is unfair,” Mark said.

For a second, Laurelen looked outraged but Mark noticed before anything could go wrong.

“Sorry,” he said. “But the situations are different. The questioners and the Witch hunters were full of younger sons and people who were not clever enough to enter the priesthood. Men who didn’t want to give up things like sex and alcohol. They hated the mages and the non-humans but when we threw those cultists to the questioning, the questioners from the Witchhunters as they were, would have possibly had a lot of sympathy for the people having the questions asked.

“And yes. We still employ a lot of those Witch-hunters. It would be a mistake to throw away tools that are still useful.”

Laurelen frowned before nodding unhappily.

“The questioners were under a time constraint and possibly weren’t inclined to go through everything,” I said. “The cultists knew that and were arrogant. They knew that daddy was coming to save them so they had every reason to keep their mouths shut. So it is possible that we didn’t get them all. It is possible that there are still cultists out there.”

Mark looked unhappy, as did Laurelen.

“And it is possible,” I went on, “That privilege did protect some…”

Emma held up her hands. “We take the point. What else could it have meant? Where there is one, there is always more?”

“I don’t know. The first thought that I had was the more cells of the cult.” I told them all. “But there could be more to it.”

“Is that not enough?” Mark said.

“If you want me to exercise my paranoia,” I told them. “Then I would say this as well. Someone gave Edmund the idea to kill Father. Who? It was the stupidest idea in the world. All that Edmund had to do was to wait. The money, rank and land and power were coming to Edmund anyway. The reason why we found all of this out, the reason why Mother killed him was that Edmund put a plot into motion to kill Father. If he hadn’t bothered, then Edmund would still have been alive. There is a whole cascade of events that stem from that moment. That comes from that decision as to getting Edmund to try and kill Father.

“So who was being creatively stupid?”

“Or was someone being clever?” Emma saw my point.

“And if that’s the case,” I went on. “Are they still out there? And what are they trying to do?”

“Is it possible that that person was Phineas?” Emma wondered.

“It’s possible,” I said. “But why? And if he did then why didn’t he… Was he being clever or stupid with that? If he was being clever, then why was he so easy to catch? This leaves us with another possibility.

“If there is one mage like Phineas, then why not more? Was there a cabal of little mages that couldn’t get their power through proper means, getting it through… whatever contracts with those entities from outside our experience?”

Again, Emma held up a hand to forestall my onrush.

“How would we proceed?” She asked, and then she smiled. “You would not have come to us if you had not had some ideas. What is your plan?”

“The easiest thread to tug on is the second question,” I told them. ‘There are still people around that were involved in the mob that killed the cultists. I will go to them and ask some questions about what happened to Uncle Kalayn. Maybe then we can find out some more things about who was in the crowd, what else was going on and who was watching. Who was near Uncle Kalayn how did he look? What were his movements before and after?

“From that, I would hope that I can find some remaining cultists or their families. I might even be able to find some Phineas involvement.

“Failing all that, I shall go to Novigrad. Phineas was caught there and I shall ask the people involved there about the investigation leading up to his capture.”

Mark’s mouth twitched upwards. “Why come to us, Freddie?”

“What?”

“I love you my brother, but you have a habit of rushing off and…”

“I was tempted,” I admitted. “But that would have left me back where I started. I don’t know how I’m doing and I don’t know how rational I am being. I think that these questions need answering as I think that there might be a threat out there. We are vulnerable at the moment. A significant wedding is coming up with a lot of important guests. We should be… I think we are vulnerable.

“I think I’m being rational,” I went on, “but I also thought I was rational when I tried to break off my engagement to Ariadne after the Goddess was done with me.

“So I am bringing it to you. Check my thinking, and my reasons.”

Laurelen sighed and nodded. “You want us to peer review your paranoia.”

I laughed. Emma and Mark joined my laughter while Laurelen smiled.

“Pretty much,” I admitted.

Ariadne stood.

“It does not sound unreasonable.” She told me and the room. ‘But I am far from being entirely objective myself. I want my man to be happy and to be able to think freely in the times to come. This will bother him and I want his head clear when the time comes. I will abide by the decision of the family though.”

She came up to me and kissed me on the cheek. “However, the date is set and I intend to have my wedding night.”

She had purred that line and a smoky, hooded look was in her eyes. A shot of lust shot up my spine. She saw it and grinned before winking and walking off leaving the four of us sitting there to watch as she walked away..

There was an extended pause before Laurelen took a deep breath.

“Just so we’re clear.” She began, turning to Emma, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world and I love you very much. But sometimes,” she turned back to glance at the door that Ariadne had walked through. “Sometimes I envy your little brother. The things that I would do to that woman.”

Emma laughed before nodding ruefully.

“I don’t think that this is a matter for me.” Laurelen said “I love you all but I think that the meat of this answer boils down to Freddie’s welfare. From an outsider’s perspective, I think that that is a damned if you do and damned if you don’t kind of answer. If you tell him not to pursue this question then he will be frustrated and paranoid. But if you let him investigate the things that he wants to, he risks exposing himself to those things that have made him ill before. Frustration and paranoia are potential things in either instance.

“I also think that you have to consider the questions. What if Freddie doesn’t find anything? But also, what if he does find something? Both things are possibilities and you might want to have a think about what happens in either case.”

She then turned to me.

“And as for you. Remember that you have other responsibilities as well. Not just your lecture course on Witchers, but your other lectures, your other writing, your extensive correspondence and the fact that you are marrying a formidable woman. She might joke about it, but whatever happens now, that wedding cannot be delayed but by an act of the Empress. And the only things that would stop Ciri from coming here on that day at that time to watch the two of you getting married is the kind of cataclysmic circumstance that cannot be foreseen.”

“Zerrikania invading,” Mark suggested.

“Plague,” Emma added.

“I was thinking about the next coming of the Eternal Frost.” Laurelen retorted. “So if you suddenly decide that you want to just fuck off and leave everything. I would absolutely expect there to be a green flash of light and an angry Empress appearing in front of you before the entirety of the Lodge of Sorceresses turn up in order to teleport you back to your wedding chapel. Just saying.”

With that she nodded to Mark, blew a kiss to Emma and left the room.

I was still too busy thinking about the image that she had conjured to do much to stop her.

Emma and Mark looked at each other, Mark was tugging on his lower lip in thought and I could feel the walls beginning to close in around me.

Mark took a breath and began to feel the weight of things on my shoulders.

“I think we should let him investigate.” Mark declared.

“What?” It seemed that Emma was as surprised as I was. “I was kind of expecting you to go in the other direction with this.”

Mark laughed and not for the first time since I have returned home, I felt a stab of pain in my heart. I am going to miss my elder brother. When he is being ill, he looks old, like an old man before his time. But then he will laugh or declare something forcefully and all of the years fall off him. I see the moral, powerful, passionate and intelligent young man that I love as my older brother. He is only a little over thirty and I think of all the good that is still in this world for Mark to do. I mourn the loss that is coming. Not just my loss but the world’s loss.

The world will lose Cardinal Mark and gain Saint Mark whereas I will have lost my brother. I don’t know how to feel about that yet.

“I will admit,” he began, that I was tempted to go the other way with it. Indeed, I also kind of think that we should forbid it. But the last time that my instincts told me that we should forbid Freddie from investigating something to do with the family, I said no. I even tried to forbid it.

“There is a saying,” He frowned. “I can’t remember where I’m getting it from now. But you never give an order that you know is going to be disobeyed. Freddie was going to investigate our brother’s death back then and I knew it.

“I am older now and I recognise that the reason I don’t want Freddie to investigate is fear. It was fear then and it is fear now. Fear for Freddie, fear for the family but also fear for myself. Sometimes, ignorance is comforting. Not looking in the shadow, not examining my own health and it’s failing, pretending that there is nothing there when there really is something there… That is why I am now dying rather than… well… I don’t really know what I would be doing otherwise.”

He sighed and rubbed his head.

“It is that fear that holds me back. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to think that there might be other cults out there, that we might have missed something. I don’t want to think that all my nightmares might be true.”

He grinned.

“I also think that we need to trust Freddie’s instincts. He had an instinct that something was wrong last time and he was right.”

“I also thought that I was the right person to hunt for Francesca’s… assailants.” I argued, suddenly wanting to take the opposite view.

Mark smiled, a little sadly.

“But you were right Freddie, you were right. He stood up. I think you should look. You might find nothing. I hope you find nothing. But if you do find something. Promise me you won’t rush into it alone. You have friends and powerful allies. Remember that would you? Your Witcher is far away and cannot haul you out of danger at a moment’s notice, no matter how hard you want him to.”

I nodded my agreement.

He nodded to Emma who looked as though she had bitten a lemon.

“Then I will leave the two of you to your argument.” Mark said with a little relish. “Some of us have work to do.”

He grinned and left.

Emma and I stared at each other for a long moment.

“Dammit,” She grinned. “I kind of expected to be the one arguing for your side.”

I laughed with her in relief. I had been dreading a fight with her.

“You take Carys with you everywhere you go.” She told me, raising a finger in warning. “Everywhere Freddie. No private conversations in sinister darkened rooms and no dodging her. She is there for your protection, including protecting you from yourself.”

I nodded my agreement.

“You also keep us apprised of where you are going. Let us know where you are. I expect a messenger, every day, with where you are going and what your plans are for the day. If you go missing because some cultist mugs you, I want to know where Rickard is going to start looking, straight away Freddie.”

I nodded my agreement again.

“And finally, you do not shirk your other duties.” She told me. “You cancel no lectures, no wedding meetings, no student work for this. And…” I nodded along to confirm what she was saying. I had been intending all of that anyway. “And… you will be here when Mother arrives. Mother and all of our other guests. I will need your support, especially with Mother. I want to be able to message you for when other people arrive. Which is another reason why I want you to keep us apprised of where you are. Am I clear?”

I nodded.

“Oh Freddie.” She got up and hugged me. “You were so terrified of this meeting weren’t you?”

I could not deny it and sobbed in relief.

-

Entry 73

After all of the energy that comes with permission to set out and start investigating things. This morning, I woke up with a stinking headache and a rolling stomach. Castle Surgeon is of the opinion that I have “overdone it” and that I need to rest. What a useless prognosis! What is “Overdone it?” How much is that? How much is too much? At what point have I “Overdone” it? And when can I stop in advance?

I haven’t got time for this kind of bullshit. I have things to do.

Writing makes my head ache and my eyes hurt.

-

Entry 74

Apparently, I am the worst patient in the history of the world. I think that’s a bit extreme. I mean the world has several thousand years' worth of history. Surely in all that time, there must have been someone who was worse at staying in bed and resting than me. I mean, I only took a short walk in the sunshine before I vomited.

And yes, I was trying to read a book and…

Oh, dear.

-

Entry 75

Feeling a bit better today. At that point of being ill where I’m bored and just want it to be over. But keeping my journal isn’t helping.

The last chapter of the tales of The Black Forest is being published today.

-

Entry 76

Feeling better. Time to head back to Oxenfurt. I have a lecture to prepare for and some more letters to write. Enquiries to make and appointments to book.

Had a long talk with Carys today. And by a long talk, I mean that it was long for the pair of us. She is not happy with being permanently assigned to being my babysitter. But then I told her what we would be doing and she grinned that nasty feral grin that she gets when she’s contemplating murdering someone.

Sometimes I find myself envying Padraig, but other times, I find myself thinking that I am better off without knowing what he knows.

-

Entry 77

Got back yesterday and have spent most of my time answering mail and fending off angry students that want to know why I have graded their work the way that I have.

I was surprised though. I was expecting people to be really angry about that last chapter. The lack of closure regarding what had happened was frustrating for me let alone for other people. But I was surprised as to how many people like it.

I have more reports about what is going on down in the South. A worrying amount of people are trying to get into the Black Forest. People trying to find the settlements of dryads in the stereotypical image of the legion of willing women. I don’t like that. One of the few cases where I would be more than happy for those people following my footsteps to reap the results of their own stupidity.

Have to give a lecture tomorrow on the effects that monsters have had on history. Things where the unexpected appearance of this creature or that monster has changed the course of nations. There’s more of it than people would think. The arrival of the Hippogriff that diverted the invasion of Kaedwen. The beast attack that injured the king of Cintra. Which created the situation that led to formation of the first child surprise of Cintra that made Pavetta, which in turn led to the birth of Ciri.

There’s more of it than people think about.

I feel strange. Once again, I feel as though I have had an injection of energy. As though I have had a weight lifted off me and that I can now get back to work. It is a strange feeling, not at all unpleasant. I am enjoying myself again.

Entry 78

The lecture went well, lots of questions that people are asking and giving me things that I can follow up with. I can send people away to look things up in their own time, sparking debates amongst groups. I am… happy. The first answers to my first letters have started to come back.

Next lecture tomorrow and then it will be time to get to work I think

-

Entry 79

I am tempted to annotate those entries that are to do with my investigation. This is the first one of those.

I mean, not really, but also…

He no longer lives where I had expected him to live.

He lives in the country now. A few hours' gentle ride south of Oxenfurt by the road. I followed the directions that I had been given to where the road goes into some deep woodland. Huge trees, growing on either side of the road and I eventually found his house by following his neatly written, extremely precise instructions.

Close enough to Oxenfurt to make an effort, but far enough to make excuses.

Nor was it entirely lost on me that he was not living on Coulthard lands.

It was a nice house really, It reminded me of the house that the old knight had retired to in Toussaint. Words like ‘quaint’ and ‘picturesque’ start to come to mind.

I’ve never known what the difference is between a house and a cottage but this one seemed to be on the ‘cottage’ side of the line. It was surrounded by a large wooden fence, whitewashed walls and a thatched roof. There was also an old shed that was a cross between a stable for a couple of old riding horses as well as a storage shed for tools and seeds that were being used in a vegetable patch.

There were chickens in the yard and a large, buxom woman that I rather thought I recognised from one situation or another was sweeping out the yard.

There were flowerbeds on the windows.

The woman glared at me as Carys and I rode up but she waved us in and directed us to tie our horses up near the water trough and the hay rick. Carys smiled at me knowingly and offered to do some small chores around the cottage that the woman might need help with.

It was when I heard the voice of the woman that I recognised her. She had once been a brothel madam in Oxenfurt. How she had ended up meeting the older watch captain of Oxenfurt was probably not a mystery, but that the two of them would end up moving out to the countryside was a bit of a surprise.

Carys took charge of the horses, picked up a shovel and started gamely shovelling shit to the bemusement of the woman who glared at me.

“He’s round the back.” She told me. I nodded, saying nothing and went off in the direction that she gestured.

“Don’t take him back into the game.” She told my retreating back. I turned back to look at her and she had a horrible expression, part pleading, part longing… part hatred.

I hardened my heart.

“If he can save lives.” I told her, “or can prevent…”

She held her hands up. “I know, I know. But he’s… He’s been doing so well.”

I nodded, “I still have nightmares too.” I told her. “And I want to prevent other people from having the same nightmares.”

She took a deep breath before turning away to shout at Carys about her doing something wrong.

I walked around the side of the cottage to find an extensive vegetable garden and further back from the house, as well as a wooden privy, was a gardening shed. Wooden, with a window on one side. There was an iron bowl in front of it, the kind that they set out in towns to provide heat and light on the walls, in front of the little shed with a wood fire set in it. To my eyes, there were weeds, old flowers and other pieces of gardening debris burning in the fire. Over the fire was a large metal pot hanging from a tripod.

Sitting nearby was the old captain of the Watch that specialised in solving the mysteries that came with the job. Not the Commander of the Watch, he had refused that position because he had known that he would have been terrible at it. In his words, he would have been unable to keep his nose out of the normal business of the rest of the world.

I had lied about his name when I talked about him in the articles about my family to keep his identity secret. I had also lied about the fact that he was retired at the time. He was not retired. Men like this rarely get away clean but now it seemed that he had come some of the way towards that goal.

He looked good. He was thinner than he had been the last time that I had seen him but somehow, less gaunt. I supposed that the prospect of properly cooked meals with actual vegetables in them rather than a diet of street food and a quick beer to help him sleep.

He had left the watch a couple of months after the mob violence in the wake of the unearthing of the cult violence. He had tried to go back to work after that and had caught a man beating his wife on the street. According to the reports that Emma had given me, it had taken four of his fellow guardsmen to pull the captain off his victim. There had been a trial where numerous people had talked about the service that the Captain had given the city and….

I can’t help it. It’s like I’m still writing for the magazine. I’m not doing that anymore. I am writing to help my own memory should I need to look back on it.

His hair is now more grey than dark and his moustache is as bristly as ever.

“Morning Cap’n,” I said.

He looked as though he had been dozing as he opened one eye to look at me.

“Cheeky sod” he declared before gesturing to the seat next to him. I took my spear bag from my back and propped it next to the chair before I carefully lowered myself into the rickety-looking wooden chair. It was surprisingly comfortable.

“Could you do me a favour?” He asked me after a moment.

I grinned,

“It depends on the favour.”

He laughed. “Getting wiser in your old age.” He told me. “There would have been a time when I would have asked that and you would have told me that you would do anything.”

“Older,” I suggested. “Wiser. Seen more.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he told me. He pulled out his pipe from a pocket before he started tapping down his various pockets and pouches looking for his tobacco. I don’t know why he doesn’t keep it in the same place but he always seems to lose his tobacco pouch and then needs to look for it.

“What do you need?” I asked him.

“Could you carry my best wishes to your sister? She has done a lot to help.”

“We owe you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Then of course I will.”

“Good luck on your marriage as well.” He said. “I won’t be attending of course.”

“Of course.”

“I will be out of place. I will be offending people left right and centre.”

“A few people want to meet you. I know that Kerrass especially… And the head of Imperial Intelligence has expressed…”

“No, they haven’t.” He accused. “And you hate the head of Imperial intelligence.”

“Hate is a strong word,” I replied. “He is a difficult man to like, a man like Lord Voorhis. I don’t like the way he thinks and I don’t like what you would have to do to be like that. Looking at the entire world as though it’s a threat and having to think of every single thing that way. It’s not… It’s not something that I want to comprehend and he seems to relish it.”

“There is a price to thinking like that.” He agreed. “It wears on a man after a while. Always looking at the world as though it’s some kind of puzzle. Aha!” He had found his tobacco pouch. “He will have to pay it sooner or later.”

He started filling his pipe and the conversation died.

“The Empress wants to meet you.” I tried.

“No she doesn’t.” he told me without looking up. “The Empress doesn’t even know my name.”

“You might be surprised.”

There was a pause as he fished a long, burning twig from the fire and lit his pipe.

“How have you been?” I wondered.

“I like it out here.” He told me. “I like to sit out here and smell the smoke of the wood and the other plants that I burn. I like to just sit here and listen to the wind in the trees. Clea and I still ride back into town when we need a slice of culture or a meal that isn’t made by one of us.”

“She can’t cook?” I wondered.

“Actually, she’s a very good cook. But I can’t and occasionally she needs some time off. People in town still remember me though and it’s rare that I pay full price for everything,”

We sniggered at that last bit and we sat quietly. He was right, it was very peaceful.

“We get travellers occasionally.” He said. “There’s a group of Elves nearby that are struggling to understand that they’ve won. They still think that they’re fighting the good fight by slowly starving to death in the trees. I try to tell them to go to your sister and she will find them work, or go to any number of places and they will be looked after but they won’t hear of it.”

He shook his head sadly.

“We feed them when they let us or in the middle of winter. It’s been a while though.”

“Summer,” I said. “They can probably live quite well off the land.”

“Probably,” he said before sighing. “What is it you want Lord Coulthard? Your letter said it was important.”

“I’m not Lord Coulthard.” I protested.

“Fuck off.” He said. “You’re being young and foolish again. I guarantee you that when people think of “Lord and Lady Coulthard, they think of you and your sister.”

“Mark is…”

“A man of the church and hardly puts the name around. And as for the other one. He’s off in the north now, doesn’t care about the folk back home anymore does he?”

“Sam is a good man.”

“You would know that more than I. But he’s not here is he? He doesn’t even use the name. He’s Lord Kalayn now isn’t he.”

I nodded.

“So I’m afraid. People are going to be calling you Lord Coulthard, long after you’re Count Angral.”

“My fiance definitely wants to meet you.”

“It might be racist of me, in fact, it is definitely racist of me, but I struggle with the Vampire bit. Elves are all pointy-eared fuckers, dwarves are short, hairy and smelly and halflings are… pretty similar to dwarves. So I know them and get them and understand them. But there was this time where there was a vampire that was hunting drunk people in town and then… I don’t think I could…”

I remember the case. Apparently, the beast was hunted and destroyed by Lord Geralt towards the end of the war. It was an Echidna if I remember correctly.

“She’s not that type of Vampire.” I told him.

“I know that.” He said, pointing at his head. “But I don’t know that.” He patted his chest. I can be racist towards Elves, even while I know it’s wrong but a Vampire?”

He shuddered.

The conversation lapsed again.

“What’s going on Lord Coulthard? Your letter said it was urgent but you’ve been dancing around the subject like a fucking knife-ear.”

It would have been more offensive if it hadn’t been for the earlier comment about feeding the Elves in the woods. And if I hadn’t heard the same man insulting humans and defending those Elves from the race mobs and the Witchhunter pogroms.

“I think we might have missed something,” I told him. I didn’t need to tell him what we might have missed.

He glared at me.

“Of course we missed something. We always miss something. There are always loose ends, always things we miss, weak elements to every case and… We always miss something. That’s how it works. We do our best, we catch as much as we can and then we move on to the next thing.”

“I know,” I told him. He got up and went to his shed where he came out with a couple of wooden cups.

“I know that,” I said again. “I do. But…”

“But this one got under your skin.” He told me, taking a ladle and dipping it into the pot before he poured into the cup and handed it over.

I tasted it. There was alcohol there, herbs and fruit as well. It was strange and not at all bad.

“The ones involving family often do,” he told me. “This is about what that… Shittenman said isn’t it?”

“It’s pronounced Schattenmann.”

“Look at you with your fancy words. That’s what I said.”

“It wasn’t… Hold on, you read my articles?”

“Of course I do. When I worked for the city we had to keep a track of who read and published what. Nowadays I read it because I like to keep abreast of what is happening.”

“Huh. But yes. The Schattenmann has got me a bit worked up.”

“You should let it go,” he told me. “You’re about to be married to a beautiful woman and move away. Let it go.”

“I probably should.” I agreed.

“But…” We said together.

I laughed, he didn’t.

“What do you want to know?” He asked. “What’s the question that…”

“Where there is one, there is always more,” I told him. “I need to know if there is another cell of that damned cult in the local area. If Edm… If my brother and our cousin were operating one, then there were more. And more than that… Who was it that ordered the death of my father? Who gave the instructions, who decided it and who came up with the plan to do it?”

He sat listening, tugging at his moustache, the same way that he had back when he was a chief investigator of the Oxenfurt city Watch. The same man that had told us about those cases that had been lost or dismissed back when Kerrass and I were still investigating.

“And who pushed the former Lord Kalayn onto the same fire that killed his son?” I finished.

“You are so sure he didn’t jump?” He looked at me sideways.

‘No,” I declared, “he didn’t jump. He was a raging narcissist. Bred to be convinced that he was the most important thing in the world. There is no way that he would have killed himself with the death of his son. He would have served his wife again and got him another son. Or as is more likely having met the woman myself, he would have found himself something young, pretty and impressionable to get the job done and then he would have married the woman that produced him a son.”

The former investigator grunted at that, staring into space.

“It did seem strange to me, what we knew of the man.” he agreed after a while. “Especially as we knew that there was no real love lost between the two. I remember Count Kalayn as being an angry man. Angry at us for daring to lay a hand on his son and for daring to suggest that what they were doing was anything wrong. He told us things like ‘I will deal with the boy when we get him home and ‘this is none of your concern.’ He was that kind of asshat.”

“It was him then?” I wondered.

“What?” The old detective shook himself. “Oh yes, there was a family resemblance that it would be hard to get wrong. He was the Father. You have visions that the Father, Count Kalayn, is hiding somewhere?”

“The thought had occurred,” I admitted.

“No, he went on the flames. He didn’t even scream.”

I nodded.

“What do you remember of that night?”

He seemed to age before my eyes. “It was a night that one. You’ve done well to keep it all under your hat what we did that night. I know that that Witcher friend of yours told us all that we were killing monsters, but that doesn’t make it any easier. We murdered those men that night.”

“No,” I said. “I won’t even say that we butchered animals because that would be an insult to animals. Animals provide milk, wool, leather and all kinds of other useful things. I won’t even say that we executed criminals that night because I’ve also met some quite respectable criminals over the years. One of them, your own story, came forward with information about these fuckheads.

“I don’t know what the correct term is for what we did,” I told him. “But I know that you murder men, you murder people. They weren’t men. They weren’t people. They were…” I shook my head. “I have felt worse about killing bandits in self-defence. I have felt worse after destroying the spirits of departed assholes and magical monsters that I had nothing to do with and weren’t alive in the first place.

“My biggest concern for that night was that there would be repercussions that would fall on your head or the men under your command. I slept fine that night. I would have slept considerably worse if they had been allowed to go out into the world to continue their sick rites elsewhere. And failing all else, remember that although Mark was not there, having spat his dummy out a little bit beforehand and had left, there were still enough priests and the like around who were telling us that we were doing the work of the Holy Flame. I saw what was in that wagon that they had with them the night that we caught them. We were not in the wrong.”

I took a deep breath, surprised by my vehemence.

“Do you feel badly about what we did?” I wondered.

“No.” He admitted. “But I feel badly that we had to do it.”

“That we can agree on,” I said with some vehemence.

“And just because it was the right thing to do.” he went on, “does not change the fact that we murdered those men. I was a Watchman first and my duty is to uphold the law.”

“This is an old debate,” I told him. “Your first duty is to keep the peace and that is what you were doing that night.”

“I remember.” He replied, taking a deep breath. “Yes, I remember. I remember it was becoming clear that powerful men were coming to take our prisoners away. Men like your uncle had gone to court and were offering bribes to the Queen Regent. Making promises to her to support her in whatever nonsense that she wanted to be supported in and then…”

He shook his head.

“It didn’t matter how much proof we had.” I prompted. “It didn’t matter how many of them had confessed. It didn’t matter how many of them were actually proud of what they had done.”

He nodded.

“The mob was growing. The church, the local magistrates, the mob, and even the closest feudal representatives agreed. The warrant for their release was coming south from Ard Carraigh. We needed to act.”

He sighed and knocked the ash out of the bowl.

“We had already given them the trials. They were already guilty in the eyes of the Flame and of man. Lord Kalayn and his cronies and friends. They were all in the city, waiting smugly for us to bow before their authority. I remembered his stupid smug face.”

“So do I.” I said. “It was a very punchable face. For all that he was my mother’s brother. I saw no similarities between the two.”

“Did you not?” The old man said. “I saw them. But we left the cells open and the mob came for them. A mob interspersed with guardsmen, church soldiers, Sir Rickard’s bastards and others. And we took them out and burnt them.”