(Warning: Signs of accidental animal torture (the perpetrator is incompetent rather than doing it intentionally). I apologise for any innaccuracies when it comes to my descriptions of farming practices and the keeping of pigs. Also, one of the characters says something homophobic in an effort to rile someone else up. I hope people will accept that I do not share his views and would never use that language.
Enjoy)
Unfortunately, the journey did not go well.
I suppose, looking back, that I was grieving but at the same time that does not colour the first days of that journey any differently. For whatever reason I really struggled to readjust to life on the road. I resented those occasions when Kerrass demanded that we set a watch. I grew angry at the weapons drills and the fact that Kerrass was pushing me to be better and better than I had been. I no longer....enjoyed the training although saying “enjoyed” is the wrong word for it really. I never “enjoyed” the training but I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I no longer saw the point in it. I resented the time away from the road, the hours that we spent training and honing our skills would have been better spent being on the road and chasing after our enemies.
I chafed at the slow pace that Kerrass set. I longed to move faster and grew angry whenever Kerrass would take his time getting going in the morning, or when he would vanish into the woods looking for herbs and ingredients for his potions. Or those days when we would stop early to train or because Kerrass wanted an early night.
Or because we had already reached the proper resting point for the particular pass which we were using to leave Toussaint.
When we had first left Toussaint I had been all for taking the road rather than travelling by magical gate, but then the sheer time-scales of what was involved started to weigh on me. It was spring now which meant that it was going to take us a good few months to get up to Northern Redania to meet Sam and work to track down and uproot the remains of my cousins cult. The artificiality of my self-imposed deadline for marriage began to weigh on me. I felt trapped by it and I wanted to get things done. I wanted to find my enemies and pound them into dirt.
And I suppose that Kerrass bore the brunt of that.
We were four days out of the Toussaint pass and making our way north when things began to boil over, which meant that we had been on the road for about three weeks. There was a large tree at a crossroads. You see them all over the continent, both in the Northern Kingdoms and in the Empire as a whole. It's a meeting place, a resting place and a gathering place. Not quite big enough to warrant a tavern or an inn being built in the place but it was a nice big way-post. A landmark in miles of otherwise unremarkable, lightly forested farm-land. There were a series of notices nailed to the tree. Again this is not unusual.
“Half a moment,” Kerrass called to me as he dismounted to peer at the notices.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“What do you think I'm doing?” He snapped back, just as testily. “I'm looking for work. A Witcher's got to eat.”
“Come on Kerrass we don't have time for this.”
“Don't have time for what.” He had pulled a notice off the board and was reading it through. It seemed a little longer than the vast majority of notices that you find nailed to signposts by the side of the road. He folded up the piece of paper and tucked it inside his pouch.
“Kerrass. The kidnappers are getting further and further away.”
“So?”
“So we have to catch them.”
“You go off and catch them then. I need the money.
“No you don't Kerrass, I have plenty of....Kerrass.”
Kerrass had climbed back onto his horse and was riding down one of the tracks away from the tree. It wasn't quite back the way we had come but it certainly wasn't following the road north.
I chased after him but when he noticed that I was following he increased his speed to a gentle trot and pretended not to hear me calling his name.
For my part, I decided that he was being stubborn and obstinate. Both things that he was more than capable of being, and went after him. Not that I had much choice. He was the one who would know what to look for when we went north up to Kalayn lands. He was the one who had other sources that we could check and knew about the various people and places that might know something.
So I followed him. What would you do?”
It didn't take us long to get to the village in question.
Now that we were climbing down from the mountains we were heading into some of the river deltas. The streams were coming off the mountains full of snow melt and the fish were heading up to their spawning pools. It was a nice-ish fishing village that made it's living by stringing nets across the fairly fast flowing river and catching the fish, which were then smoked and sold on to the merchants. I have since learned that the local area was known for producing a particular type of fish known for it's delicate taste.
Goes well with Pears apparently. Not that I was paying attention.
We had to go downhill to get to the village and as we came out there we could see down the valleys to one of the inlets that fed the sea. If I had been in a better mood I would have seen the beautiful view for what it was.
Another place that I intend to go back to and visit when I'm in a better mood.
In the far distance we could see a huge castle which was flying the standards for Nilfgaard and a couple of other badges that I knew from the coronation. I guessed that it would still be several days ride in the distance but I guessed that this would be the residence of the, heh, local lord.
The village itself was nice enough. Not rich as they were using thatch in their roofs rather than the more expensive tiles. As well as the extensive fishing nets there was also a lumber mill and flour mill working the river. I could see a couple of dozen houses and huts of various sizes and supposed that this was the kind of place that also traded off the local farms, of which I could see several through various clumps of trees.
As we rode down into the village itself, Kerrass strapping his silver sword to his back as we went, I also saw that there was a ruined watchtower up on the hill as well as an old, deserted, decayed looking manor house that looked overgrown and ruined to the point of neglect. Not yet to the point where the locals were cannibalising it for the tiles or stone but I guessed that it would only be a few years before that happened.
The watchtower was made from the kind of grey stone that suggests that it had been there forever. But it was clearly not in use.
We rode down the path and over the single-arched stone bridge. As we got closer we could also see a Blacksmiths, an inn, a tannery and a butchers yard. I thought I could also identify which building housed the local herb-woman and I thought I could see a local building that had the sign of the Nilfgaardian eternal sun carved above the door and guessed that this would be what passed for schooling in the local area.
For the life of me I couldn't guess what we were doing here.
Kerrass led us to the inn and we tied our horses up to a post just outside.
“Kerrass what are we doing here?”
He ignored me.
“Kerrass. Wait, what the fuck are we doing here?”
He stopped and turned to face me. There was a strange, unreadable expression in his eyes as he gazed at me steadily for a moment.
“I told you, I need to work. I'm running out of funds.”
“Kerrass. I have plenty of money, I have a line of credit with my family money lenders and I'm sure that the Empress gave us enough authority that we can sleep in the way-stations and eat out of their cooking pots. We don't have time for this.”
He sighed and turned on his heel and began to walk away.
But I'd had enough and I stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm, attempting to spin him around to face me.
I don't know, I suppose that I wanted him to take notice of me, to take me seriously or to listen to me in some way. I don't know why I did it. It might just have been one of those irrational things that you do when you're angry and in pain.
I do know that I shouldn't have done it. If only because of the black eye that I received.
I stared up at Kerrass in shock. Fortunately it hadn't been raining on this side of the mountains and I hadn't landed in any mud or dung or anything. He looked down at me, coldly.
“You seem to have forgotten the rules of the road Freddie.” He told me. His voice was flat and unemotional.
“They are not the only things that you seem to have forgotten but these are the most important ones so I shall remind you of them before your... attitude costs one of us our lives. I am a Witcher. You are a scholar. You have been lucky in your dealings with me and I have come to view you as a friend. That has not changed.”
“Then....” I started to get to my feet and he pushed me back to the ground with his foot.
“I wasn't finished,” He snarled. His anger was suddenly oppressive and snapped forward like a whip.
I subsided and his voice returned to it's flat grating sound.
“The deal goes like this. You do what I tell you, when I tell you to do it. You may ask questions but if I decide not to answer them then you will not complain and you will do as you are told. The fact that you are now my friend only means that instead of killing you for failing to obey these rules, I will instead render you unconscious by virtue of a blow to the back of the head, tie you up and deliver you to the nearest Imperial patrol with orders to deliver you to Ariadne, Emma or the Empress. Whichever is closer. Then they can deal with you. Or you can come with me. It's your choice but you will make it now, if you please?”
“But...”
“I know you think that we are chasing your sister's kidnappers. We are not. We are hunting them. There is a difference. Your decision please.”
I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I considered myself a grown man and was ashamed of the tears that sprang into my eyes. I looked away and nodded.
“Good.” He grasped me by the arm and hauled me to my feet before walking off. I had to scramble to keep up as he led me to the butchers yard.
“Also, just to be clear. I don't want your money. If you offer it to me again I shall take what money you have on your person and jam it down your throat. That is not a joke, or a threat. It is a promise. Now wait here.”
He told me before going inside.
I took the opportunity to clean myself up a bit. I had my pack and my spear as we hadn't taken our belongings into the inn yet. I was aware the several people were looking at me and I felt small, lost, angry and more than a little shame. I went over to the water-trough and did my best to clean my face.
“Freddie,” Kerrass had come back out. There was another man with him. Tall, heavy on his feet. He was stripped to his waist but wore a huge leather apron over his front.
He was grinning hugely.
I went to pick up my bags.
“Leave them, yes, leave your spear too.”
I firmly told myself that I had just promised that I would do as I was told and went over to where Kerrass was standing.
“This is Gustav.” Kerrass introduced us. I offered to shake his hand but he just stood there grinning at me. He was, maybe in his early forties, strong and heavy. He was missing his left hand, presumably in one of the wars and had strapped some kind of fake appendage to it. Despite his age and obvious life experience, he was almost bouncing from one foot to the other with glee and excitement. “Go with him and do what he tells you. Everything that he tells you.”
“What?”
“I'm going to take a look around and see if I can talk to whoever it is that I need to talk to. I'll be back by evening to see how you're getting on.” Kerrass left then, I saw him pick up my pack and gear as he went, marching off back towards the Inn.
I felt lost and bewildered.
“Follow me Princeling?” The huge man said to me. “Come on, chop chop.” He sniggered at some kind of joke that I hadn't registered or didn't understand.
Once again I was left scrambling in order to catch up to someone.
“Where are we going?”
“Yes, he said you'd have questions. He also said that I should ignore them.”
“Yes, well. He would wouldn't he.”
“He's the one paying the money Princeling.” He laughed at his own joke.
“I don't suppose you'd let me in on the joke would you?”
“Nah, not worth it.”
“I could pay you.”
“Yes. He said you might say that too.”
He showed me through the butchers that was adjoined to the tannery yard and into a small open area that looked as though it had been cleared abruptly. There were a few more men who were standing around. The giddy excitement of my immediate companion appeared to be contagious and they were giggling to each other. The fact that they were all, fairly large men, heavily muscled and seemed to be wearing nothing but huge leather aprons was not encouraging.
“I feel like I'm the butt of some joke.” I told Gustav.
“Maybe, maybe.” He said. “But if you are, it's none of my doing. I just takes the money and do as I'm paid to do so....here we go. I have a selection of knives for you.”
He led me over to a wooden table that was just under the eaves of one of the out buildings. There were a series of hooks that had been set into the roof. On one of those hooks there hung a dark leather satchel. It looked like an oversized version of what a surgeon might carry around with them, containing their hooks and tools. On the table there was a large pair of scissors as well as several lengths of thin but strong looking rope.
“Ok.” I said, undoing the satchel so that it hung down and I saw that I was right. I removed a wicked, curved blade with a hook on the end. “So what am I supposed to be doing with all of this?”
“Lukas?” Gustav called.
One of the men that was perched on the fence climbed over the back and bodily picked up a pig. It was a large beast, not one of the full grown hogs that you see in some pens but at the same time, this was no piglet. He hauled it over the fence and dumped it over into my little enclosure, where it squealed and ran around for a bit before squatting as far away from the humans as it could. It just sat there and trembled.
“So.” Gustav said with a huge grin. “Off you go then.”
“Off I go, what?”
More laughter drifted over from where the other men were lounging. One of them was passing a hip flask
around.
“Butcher the Pig.” I was told as though it was obvious.
“Butcher the pig?”
“Butcher the Pig.” He said again.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?” He looked as though he was enjoying himself a little bit too much for my comfort.
“I mean, why am I doing this?”
“Why do we butcher the pigs or why are you butchering the pigs?” He asked me. “He told me that you would ask this question as well. Witcher's got you down pat if I might say so.” He grinned. “He your butt-boy or something?”
I said nothing. He was trying to offend me and I decided not to rise to it.
“We butcher the pigs because we need the meat and the skin.” He told me after a while. “Why are you butchering the pig? You'll have to ask the Witcher. He told me to say that if you asked me why I was making you do it, I was to say that “you said you'd follow my instructions,”” He paused for a moment and I could see the words that he'd just said replaying themselves across his mind. “He probably meant that you said you'd follow his instructions.”
“Ah,” I said. “Ok then. Any pointers, tips or suggestions?”
“Quicker is better.” Gustav said. “First you've got to catch it. Then you have to kill it. Then you have to take out the poisonous bits.”
“Will you tell me which bits are which?”
“Don't you know?” he seemed scornful but unsurprised.
I sighed. “I can probably guess.” I started rolling up my sleeves.
“That's good because I was told not to help you.”
“Fantastic.”
What followed was one of the more humiliating, not to mention difficult, few hours in my life.
I started off with a knife in my hand as I thought it would be easier to kill the thing while it was on the ground. Then maybe it would weaken enough so that I could capture it properly.
I ask the reader now. Have you ever tried to catch a pig with one hand?
I hadn't until that day and I had not even begun to imagine how difficult it was.
For a start, pigs are STRONG. I mean really fucking strong. And they move like lightening when they're scared, or angry, or anything really. It occurs to me now that I sit down to write this that that just about covers everything that can be said about a Pigs mood.
Other than when it's eating I suppose.
The other thing to say about Pigs, which astonished me. Is that they're relatively clean animals. It's not that they don't get dirty but it's not a thing that they do by choice. If you clean the pigs out regularly then they will stay clean.
They're also hairy. Like many people I had been brought up on stories about pigs. I had seen cartoons of the animals that made them look like fat, jolly, clothed caricatures of people. They would have shiny skin, rosy cheeks and go “Oink”.
Real pigs are nothing like that.
They have small black eyes, look absolutely furious and make a screeching noise.
There were several times when it got angry enough to charge me where I was honestly concerned for my life.
I don't know how long I spent chasing it down, rather ineffectually with one hand reaching out to catch the beast while the other hand was clutching a knife in what I hoped was a businesslike grip.
My audience was growing as other villagers were being called over by the other butcher and tanner workers.
I heard bets and wagers being taken. It seemed that the story of my being a Witcher apprentice was doing the rounds again only this time, the story had developed to the point that I was now cast as a minor nobleman's son (accurate) who had run away from home in an effort to avoid marrying the ugly old spinster who would bring my family a massive dowry. A story that was a lot closer to the truth than I was entirely comfortable with.
I don't know how long I tried that strategy. At first I was coming to believe that I had missed something and just assumed that this was an acquired skill. The laughter that I was absorbing was beginning to get through to me though and I began to believe that maybe there was something more to this whole thing than I had first thought.
Eventually I stopped and returned to the table. I was bruised, dirty and sweating. Gustav approached and handed me a water skin. Laughter tears were running down his face but he clapped me on the shoulder good naturedly.
“Still no pointers?” I asked.
“I would son,” I realised that I'd been promoted from princeling. I was absurdly grateful for this. “I would but I've specifically been told that I'm not to and I'm being paid a not small amount of money to follow his instructions.”
“Oh yes. How much money?”
He just grinned.
“Right,” I took another drink and stared at the table and tried to look at the big picture. I have knives, I have string and I have a table.
I was missing something.
Why were the knives near the table?
Ah, I see.
I put the knife that I had been waving around ineffectually back in it's assigned spot. I checked where the pig was. It had run off into a corner and was watching me suspiciously.
Right then.
I looked at the lengths of rope and took a deep breath.
One of the interesting things that I had learned in my time following Kerrass around was exactly how you go about tying a person up and how to tie a noose. Ideally you have the noose ready in advance so that all you have to do is to have the noose slip round the things that you're tying together and then just tighten the noose.
Ooh, and when you're tying up a person you want to tie someone together at the elbows and the knees as well. Not just ankles and wrists.
I looked at the pig again and decided that similar techniques would work here as well.
I selected a few pieces of ropes and tied them into nooses and hung two around my neck and one round each arm. Normally I wouldn't have one round my neck. I'm not that stupid but I was also aware that I might need spares and I wasn't going to take chances with just depending on the ones that I would have on my arms.
Right then. Both hands to work with.
“Right you little bastard,” I snarled at the pig who was watching me suspiciously. “I'm coming for you.”
The butchers cheered ironically as I went forth into battle.
It was much easier with both hands as it meant that I was much more likely to get hold of one leg and hold onto it long enough to get my feet back under me and be able to drag it over so that I could bind the legs.
It still took me a couple of tries though before I had the thing trussed up to my satisfaction and by the end I was sitting on it to keep it still.
To add to my indignity, the pig pissed itself in terror and drenched me in it. Not just a little bit either, properly hosing me down.
That earned another cheer but I managed to get the thing over to the table and by dint of much effort got it onto the table. People began to lose interest then and I heard some money changing hands.
Gustav approached while I was having another drink and considering the next stage of the problem.
“Not bad.” He told me with a grin. “I've seen worse.”
“Really?” I asked. “Have you really seen worse?”
“Everyone has to start somewhere.” He told me. “And you haven't seen stupid until you've seen brand new apprentice stupid. You realised about the rope fairly quickly considering.”
“Considering?”
“You know, considering that you're a princeling.”
“So what happens now?”
“Now you kill it.”
“What's the best way?”
“That's not for me to tell you.” He said. “You have the tools though.”
“Look.” I told him. “I get that this is supposed to be some kind of learning experience and I'm supposed to take something away from this. For the life of me though I can't think what it is.”
He had turned to go but now he turned back. “Have you ever killed anything before?”
“With my own hands?”
He nodded. “Not with a bow or anything stupid like that. With your own two hands.”
“Yes.” I sighed. “Rabbits and other small game mostly. A few chickens.”
He nodded.
“And twelve men.”
He stopped nodding. “I'm surprised.” He said after a while. “You don't look like a soldier. What did you use?”
“Spear mostly. Well it's more a pole with a two foot blade on the end rather than a spear. Also a couple of them with a dagger and one guy with a rock.”
He nodded. I couldn't tell whether I had gone up or down in his estimation. “In the war?”
I shook my head. “Self defence mostly, or what the Witcher would call Proactive self-defence.”
“Where you kill them before they kill you?”
“That's the stuff.”
Gustav nodded.
“Did you serve?” I asked.
“I did. Served in the brigade. The Cockatrices they called us but we called ourselves The Cocks for a variety of reasons.”
I smiled. “I can guess.”
“Got my hand cut off at Brenna so I didn't see the third war. Did you serve?”
“Yes and no.” I said taking on some more water. “My father was powerful enough to make sure that none of his sons saw combat. I was a bit to young anyway and so I served with the Logistics division. I counted boots. At the time I was really angry at him even though I had less physical coordination then than I do now and I am well aware that I am not very graceful.”
“I would have said something else.”
“Yes well. Now I find that I'm quite glad that I didn't fight. Not only would I have had to be very lucky to survive but I've met many Nilfgaardians now and some of them are quite good men. Some of them I would even call friend.”
He grunted at that before he shook himself out of his thoughts. “Anyway, best get on with it.” He said walking away.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Hey,” I shouted after him. “I thought we were sharing something here.”
He made an eloquent gesture with one finger and returned to his fellows.
“Ok,” I said to myself. “How do I kill a pig?”
I selected a knife, looking for one with a point.
“Same way as you kill a human I suppose.” I aimed for the neck.
I missed.
I missed the second time as well.
The pig hadn't given up it's desperate fight to survive. Humans tend to realise the fight is lost and give up.
Pigs though. Pigs fight.
I missed the first time because it jerked away from the blade and instead I stabbed it in the chest.
It screamed at me and relieved itself again in pain and terror. I tried again but it was so busy thrashing around in terror that my blow glanced of it into a deep gash. But it wasn't deep enough. Now it was bleeding, but not enough.
I tried for the throat again but this time the blow went up, gouging under the chin.
The poor thing was really thrashing around in terror and I began to feel sick.
But it wasn't dead yet.
The throat wasn't working for me so I thought about trying for the heart.
Where the fuck is a pigs heart in it's body?
I took a guess and drove the knife in.
Another thing I learned about Pigs that day is that they're made almost completely of muscle. The knife was razor sharp so I knew it wasn't that. So it was either the pig or my technique. I felt as though I couldn't push the knife in any further and I wondered if it had come to rest on bone.
But then I couldn't get the knife out for another go. In my panic at the pigs screaming I had forgotten to twist the blade so now it was stuck. I got another knife and tried again.
Pigs can also cry. I didn't see that it had tear ducts but it sobbed in pain and terror.
I was really sweating now. Drenched in piss and gore. I was almost grateful when Gustav put his hand on my shoulder.
He was no longer smiling and I noticed that my audience had dwindled and what remained looked uncomfortable.
“Use the hooks” He said. “Rear leg tie on the hook so it hangs down and then cut it's throat.”
“Helping me again?” I asked bitterly. My mouth was bitter with self-loathing.
“No,” he said. “Helping the pig.”
We got the pig onto the hook with some little effort.
“Now,” He said kicking over a bucket to catch the blood. “Slit it's throat. Use the knife third from the bottom.”
I did as I was told and the poor animal finally died.
I managed to duck away to vomit. Not that much though. Breakfast had been some time ago.
Gustav was back and it was just him and me now although I noticed that Kerrass was sitting on the fence, watching us. His eyes gleamed, reflecting the setting sun but otherwise his expression was still.
Killing the pig had taken me the better part of the afternoon.
“Now,” said Gustav. “Cut it from chest to crotch, the hooked blade to help you tear through the hide. That will let you get at the offal to cut it out.”
I nodded. Taking the indicated blade.
This, also, was much harder than I thought it would be.
The rest of the offal was cut out under Gustav's patient instruction. He wasn't a bad teacher all things considered but it was getting dark by the time we were done and I was exhausted.
He took me aside, well away from the remains of the pig. It was plain, even to me, that not much of the corpse could be salvaged for leather or food as the animals distress would have rendered the meat impossibly tough.
“If you had been sent to me as an apprentice.” Gustav said. “I would have told you that you didn't do badly. I would have advised you to ask for an apron next time.”
I managed to find a smile somewhere as I looked down at my ruined clothes. “You mean that I could have had an apron all this time?” I had to force the words past a lump in my throat.
“Yes, why else do you think the lads and I are all but naked?”
I grinned at him but it was weak and we both knew it.
“What else?” I croaked
“I would have told you that the worst is over with now. You've killed and butchered your first animal and that anything that comes later cannot possibly be as bad as that one was.”
“Ok.”
“And I would have told you to go home. That if you don't come back in the morning, that I will understand and I will tell your parents or previous master that I didn't think you had what it takes to be a good butcher, no questions asked. Then I would have told you that I hoped that you did come back before walking off.”
“But I'm not an apprentice.” I had to swallow a few times to speak. I felt exhausted and wanted somewhere quiet and dark to go and hide in, “What would you really have been thinking?”
“I would have thought that you are a good guy, that I like you, but your heart is too gentle for this kind of work. I would have been hoping not to see you in the morning.”
I nodded.
“Thank you Gustav.”
We shook hands and I walked over to the Witcher who looked at me a long time.
I could tell that he was still angry.
“Now what did we learn?” he hissed.
“I don't know Kerrass,” I wailed. I could still hear the echoes of the animal sobbing. “What was I supposed to learn?”
He sighed and shook his head before jumping back over the fence. “Come on. Dump those clothes in the cess pit. You stink and I've ordered you a bath run. You're meeting with the town mayor tonight.”
“Why?” I moaned. Disgusted with the tears that I could still hear at the back of my throat.
“No more questions.” He told me and beckoned me on.
He took me to the inn where I was instructed to strip naked before I was allowed in through a back door and into the bath house. At the time I was resentful and embarrassed but in all fairness I was dripping in pig offal, excrement, piss and blood and I would have been cross if some noble fuck-wit had walked through my house trailing all that stuff behind me.
I bathed as quick as I could but it was some time before I could begin to feel properly clean and presentable again. When I looked around for my clothes or my pack to get some more out I found a set of sensible Leather trousers, shirt and trousers as well as my own boots that looked as though they had been scraped clean. The shirt and trousers were new to me although they fit perfectly well but I found them itchy. No matter how much I called though, I couldn't find Kerrass or anyone else that would explain to me where my own clothes had gone, or my pack and weapons for that matter.
I was feeling lost and isolated as well as being a very long way away from home.
I took hold of my pendant and tried to contact Ariadne but although she was there, she seemed to be very far off as well as being busy. I tried to speak to her about small things and even to make some plans for the future but after a while, I realised that I was just making myself more unhappy as well as getting the feeling that I was distracting her from whatever was going on in her life.
I felt wretched but I was dressed and climbed up the stairs into the inn properly where I was greeted with a wave by one of the bar workers. She told me that Kerrass was in the back room and pointed out where to go.” I thanked her and moved over to the indicated door.
I knocked, feeling really foolish for doing so.
Kerrass opened the door. He looked me up and down before nodding approval and beckoning me into the
room.
“Kerrass, what...?” I began but he held his finger to his lips to indicate silence.
“Lord Mayor,” he said indicating the other man in the room. It was a smallish room that looked to have been set aside for private family functions. There was artwork on the walls, an old pair of swords crossed above the hearth, a few sets of antlers and a boars head although the head could probably have done with being re-stuffed.
There was also a suit of armour in the corner of the room that looked far too small to actually be able to contain anyone.
The Mayor of the town was a the retired blacksmith. His sons now ran the forge although the mayor was still a big man and he moved with the exaggerated care that I had seen in other, well meaning but massively muscled men and women. He was careful that he didn't catch people out or accidentally hurt someone or damage something. He wore a plain cotton shirt despite the cooling air outside and a pair of leather trousers. What I guessed to be his hooded cloak was hung up on the cloak stand in the corner. He was unshaven although he looked as though he was a little uncomfortable with his beard growth. He had a habit of tugging on the hair, occasionally pulling a hair out and flicking it away towards the fire.
He rose to greet me as I was introduced.
“Lord Mayor this is my apprentice, Frederick of Redania. Freddie this is Mayor Lukas.”
We shook hands and the mayor sat down. There was a table with a couple of mugs on it and a jug which the mayor poured himself a drink from.
“Now, Mister Mayor. As we have discussed previously, but for the benefit of my apprentice here I would like to just go over it again.”
The mayor took a long drink from his mug and nodded.
“So,” Kerrass said sitting back down and gesturing me towards a seat. “I have heard your problem, I'm pretty sure I know what's happening and I think I have a solution.”
The mayor nodded, obviously looking grateful.
“So what I would like to do here.” Kerrass went on, “is to use this opportunity to test my apprentice on what he's learnt so far and to deal with this problem himself. I emphasise that I'm already pretty sure I know what's happening and I just need a few details to make sure that I have everything right which I shall look into while my apprentice is getting some rest.”
Kerrass looked at me directly. “He's had a busy day.”
“So I've heard,” The mayor managed to keep his face straight but I could tell that he was trying not to laugh.
“I would like to emphasise that, now that I am here, I will ensure that no more members of your village will come to harm and that if that situation comes up before my apprentice has dealt with the issue then I will step in accordingly.”
The mayor nodded.
“Just to check that that is still ok with you.”
“And you say that you will charge me less for your normal services if I allow this to happen?” The mayor asked.
“I will. It's been a while since I've had an apprentice but it's generally accepted that an apprentices work is worth less than the masters. I don't think that this will be too much of a challenge here for him unless I am drastically wrong, but I doubt it. If I am wrong then I will come back to you to discuss it.”
The mayor nodded.
“But,” Kerrass went on. “I will only discuss price with you separately. My apprentice is quite aware of my costing process and may be able to guess what the problem is from how much I intend to charge you. It is vital to the work that he be able to figure out what's going wrong for himself.”
“I see.”
“So. What I would like for you to do is to arrange matters so that everything is left the way it was when you showed me the things that I asked to see until my apprentice tells you that he is done. Is that possible?”
“I don't see why not. I've had apprentices myself over the years so I know how this works.”
“Excellent, so you can understand my concerns?”
“I can.”
“Good. Then if you could lay out the situation to my apprentice so that he can sleep on the problem. He doesn't yet have the capability to be able to work through the night as I can. That isn't a lack on his part, it's just that we haven't yet proceeded to that part of his training.”
The mayor nodded. “I understand. You don't want me to blame him for something that he cannot do, in the same way that I would not get angry at an apprentice for not knowing how to make a door hinge if I hadn't shown him how to do it.”
“I see that you understand. Very Well.”
Kerrass looked at me and then back to the mayor again. “Any last questions before we start?”
“No Master Witcher. I think I have a handle on things.”
Kerrass nodded. “In which case I shall head over to the corner of the room and watch my apprentice at work.”
The mayor nodded.
I took a deep breath as Kerrass matched action to word and tried to order my thoughts. I was tired, hungry, massively heart sick and I wanted to go to bed.
“Right,” I began before taking another deep breath. “Right. First let me tell you that I know absolutely nothing about this situation. I didn't see the sign that was left on the tree before Master Kerrass saw it.” I did my best to put a little sarcasm into Kerrass' title. If the mayor noticed then he didn't react to it. “So I would like you to start by telling me a quick overview of the problem the way you would do a healer or a herb-woman before going into more detail and telling me the story from the beginning.”
“Right, well....”
“Sorry, sorry to interrupt. Do you mind if I take notes?” I raised my eyebrows towards Kerrass who nodded and indicated the corner of the room where my pack was.
“Not at all,” the mayor said. “I must admit that you being able to read sets you a little higher than most apprentices that I have seen. You are lucky in your apprentice Witcher.”
“You will, I hope, forgive me if I decide that for myself Mister Mayor.” Kerrass let some amusement into his voice to take the sting out of the words.
The mayor chuckled so the effort must have been successful.
“So,” I said arranging a couple of bits of note-paper, trimmed a quill and opened an ink-pot. It had been a while since I had done any kind of serious writing and I was dismayed to feel my hand wanting to cramp up.
“How can I help.”
“Well, it's like this.” he began. “We've had a spate of deaths recently. Suicides mostly. Young kids killing themselves in a variety of ways. Mostly by throwing themselves off a nearby cliff but one lad tied himself to a rock and threw himself in the river and a couple have taken blades to themselves or eaten some berries in the local area that are known to be poisonous. Sometimes we manage to save the child from their attempt or find them crippled when they didn't jump off a high enough cliff to get the job done. The lad that tied himself to a rock forgot that the river he threw himself into wasn't very deep and we were able to rescue him from drowning fairly easily. But in all of those cases, the child was soon able to get hold of the tools or substances that he needed to end themselves.”
I nodded as I made a couple of notes. I used shorthand in the same way that I do when I'm noting down what various interviewees are saying.
“You know my first comment already don't you.” I said.
“I do,”
“Say it anyway,” Kerrass said from the corner of the room.
I sighed. I desperately wanted a drink.
“Why do you think this is a case for a Witcher?” I asked. “Best will in the world, it's tragic and everything, I sympathise with your pain but... children go mad and get sad just as much as the rest of us do. Child suicide happens. Why do you think that there's anything different about this case.”
The mayor nodded and I guessed that this was what he had been expecting to hear.
“Because of the number of children concerned for a start. This all started, maybe six months ago, during the autumn rains. Since then we have lost an average of one child to suicide per week.”
I whistled. “Ok,” I nodded. “That's a lot, anything else that makes you think that this is a job for a Witcher rather than a priest or a herb-woman?”
“There have been another couple of child deaths that have nothing to do with suicide. They just became ill and faded away until one day they just wouldn't wake up.”
“I see.” I made a few more notes. “Anything else?”
“Yes. All of the children try to die around the old watchtower.”
“I see.” I took a deep breath. Holy flame but I wanted to go to sleep. Part of me was yelling at me that I should be showing more sympathy towards the man in front of me that was telling me about these horrific events but I just felt so tired and so...
ambivalent.
Is that horrible? It feels pretty horrible.
It feels pretty horrible to admit that you felt ambivalent about the deaths of any number of children but right then I just felt resentful that this was happening. I wanted to be hunting Francesca's kidnappers. I didn't want to be stuck in some village in the middle of nowhere and listening to this old man talking about dead children.
I had to take a deep breath and force my brain back to what I was dealing with
“So, why don't you take it from the beginning.” I said. “When was the first case and what happened?”
The talk was a long, meandering one so I won't duplicate it here word for word. I was unused to asking these types of questions, just as much as he was unused to answering them. I got the impression that he thought I was interrogating him as though he had done something wrong. The whole thing seemed strange and I felt as though I was swimming uphill and into a storm.
In the end I gave up. Told the poor, much put upon man who deserved better from me, that I was really really tired and that I was struggling to concentrate properly. I asked if it would be convenient for me to call on him in the morning after I had eaten and had a good nights sleep to go over a few details to make sure that I had the salient points.
I had to explain what “salient” meant. The fact that I had to do so made us both angry. Him because he thought I was calling him stupid and me for the fact that he thought I was calling him stupid.
I'll let you be the judge of who was right and who was wrong as part of that argument.
Kerrass said nothing and told me to get some rest before picking up his things and leaving. I got something to eat which turned to ask in my mouth before utterly failing to get the early night that I had intended.
I really struggle now, to look back at that time and place and try to figure out what was going on with me and in my head and there have been several theories suggested by a number of people to try and explain what was going on.
The first was that I was grieving. Everyone, including me, was talking about Francesca as though she had been kidnapped and that was what my heart hoped for. That she would turn out to be ok, just taken somewhere and held against her will and that we would find her. Either the Empress or the Lodge of Sorceresses would find her and that she would be able to resume her old life. I would admit that I preferred the idea that Kerrass and I would find her and be able to affect some kind of rescue but I was also self aware enough to admit that that was a fantasy.
But increasingly, the logical part of my brain, the part of me that operates on facts and knowledge rather than on the basis of theories and hopes, was telling me that Francesca was dead. By the time that this stories events were taking place it had been, roughly speaking, over six weeks since she had disappeared. In that time, no demand had been made of any of the people that would care for her return. Neither the Empress or my family had been approached for a ransom of any kind. Nor were there any kinds of threats made.
Francesca had been lured out of the palace, kidnapped and had then vanished from the clutches of the kidnapper, much to his distress. And we still hadn't heard from anyone that might know about anything.
Increasingly, that was telling me that it was an attack on Francesca herself, which meant that she was probably, by now, dead.
The thought had even occurred that someone had kidnapped her with an intention to make some kind of ransom demand before realising exactly how important my sister had become to various powerful people, realised what the penalty would be if they were caught and had decided to cut their losses.
Right then I hated that part of my brain. I loathed it and would have cut it out of me if it was plausible.
I was also tired. Physically and mentally. Mentally, I had been turning the problem of my sisters disappearance over in my head. Over and over and over again, trying to look for some kind of clue that I hadn't seen before. Some kind of lead that had not been pursued. Even though I knew perfectly well that this was not the case. That it had been discussed by people trained to investigate crime from all the angles.
Physically, I had been riding for several days. Getting used to life on the road again after an extended break from it. Kerrass and I had split up after the awakening of Sleeping Beauty in Early Autumn and now I was back on the road again in Early to mid Spring. I had gotten used to the life of luxury again and I had forgotten how much an extended ride can make you ache.
I was also, a little lonely. I had been surrounded by friends and family for months. Not least of which was my newly made Fiancee. That I loved her despite my fear of her was no longer in any doubt. The very thought of losing her cost me almost physical pain.
Now it was just Kerrass and I. Kerrass who, to my eyes, had been acting strangely since we had left Toussaint.
I was done. I came to that realisation after forcing myself to eat a meal which was objectively very tasty because I was, again, objectively very hungry. I was also, objectively, very tired and staying in a room that was comfortable, private, quiet, clean and there was no reason that I shouldn't just fall asleep.
I felt out of control and as though events were moving far too fast and I didn't know where they were going and I didn't know what to do about any of it.
I almost laughed before having a little weep to myself as I realised what was going on and what I reminded myself of.
My nanny....
Yes, I had a nanny. Get over it.
My nanny had a term that she used to describe my behaviour when I was a toddler. Later I had asked her about it when she had stopped being my nanny and had become Francesca's nanny.
The term is “Naggy” or sometimes “Aggy” for short. What it describes is a toddler who has had enough. They've just had enough. They're too hot or too cold. They are tired, hungry, upset about something and NOBODY seems to be paying ANY attention to the cruelty of the world against their little being. They are upset and they don't know why and they don't know what to do about any of the problems that are assailing their own tiny little brains and bodies because they don't have the language or the tools to describe to the grown-ups or even to themselves what the problem was.
What they want to do is to go home, build some kind of fort out of pillows and blankets and not emerge. Preferably in the company of some adult who will hold them tight and tell them that everything is going to be ok while also making all the problems vanish.
That was what was wrong with me and I thought back to my old Nanny and her way with words and had a little laugh and a little cry before I relit the oil lamps in the room and sat up with the notes that I had made about the deaths of the children. It occurred to me that I was in my own version of one of Kerrass' depressive moods and what he was doing was trying to jolt me out of that mood by giving me something to distract me from where my head was.
After having a little bit of a cry I took a deep breath and took out my notes from the conversation with the mayor. I managed to read the first sentence before falling asleep.
I woke up with the notes stuck to my face.
Climbing to consciousness was difficult that morning. I ached in places that I could not remember ever having ached before, despite training with the spear and riding for miles but I managed to get there with the aid of a mug of hot coffee and a huge bacon sandwich which the barmaid gave me with a huge, knowing grin. I sat in the common room, eating my food and reading through my notes.
All things told I felt pretty good.
As I understood it from my notes the facts were these.
In the Autumn there had been a bit of a mudslide brought on by extreme weather higher up in the mountains. The water had run down hill hard washing away a good chunk of the bank and causing a bit of a land-slip towards the edge of the village. Before that there were no significant events in the village beyond normal village business. Market days, marriages, festivals that kind of thing. The first death happened about a week after the mudslide.
It hadn't been that big a mudslide by the way. If you're thinking about a huge, avalanche like disaster then you are over-estimating what we're talking about. There was a bit of land-slippage. They only reason that it was noticed as anything unusual really was the fact that the watchtower had begun to tilt a little bit more and one of the stones had toppled off the parapet. (Apparently it had promptly been commandeered by someone in the village to provide a hearthstone for their new house. I had made a note to look at that but as the relevant family had not been affected by the problems.) The other reason that it had been spotted was because, as the village made most of it's money from the fishing nets and the smoking houses. The collapsed banks had meant that one of the fishing traps had been damaged.
The first death was a young lad. You can find a dozen of him in any village and town. He was a large lad, the “leader of the pack” kind of child In the imagined games where the children fought off hordes of monsters, bandits or Redanians, he would be the one that led the charge. Not always the general in charge but was quite obviously the leader of the pack. Not the dreamer up of the mischief but he would be the lad that volunteered to take responsibility. Still a couple of years away from the village matrons eyeing him up for potential wives but he would be well hunted when it came to it.
One night he had complained about being tired after a day where his energy had been.... less than was normally expected. His parents had suspected some illness of some kind before doing what parents did. They made him a milky porridge and sent him to bed early with the promise that if he still felt ill the following day, then they would call the Herb-woman.
In the morning he had gone from his bed. Fearing a fever and therefore a delirium a search was quickly mounted but the child was found almost immediately. He lay at the bottom of the light cliff that the Watchtower sat at the top of. His head was caved in. There were several other injuries including a broken leg, collar bone and several broken ribs. It was the head injury that killed him but his broken ribs had also punctured a lung.
It was decided that the poor lad, either in a delirium or for some other reason or sickness of the brain had climbed tot he top of the Watchtower and thrown himself off the top. While he might have survived the leap (the “cliff” was really a steep rise with a loose rock scree and several larger rocks that were embedded in the earth. During the fall it was assumed that he broke his leg on impact before tumbling down the slope and dashing his brains out against one of the larger rocks.
The family and village mourned in the way that villages do when it's lost a child. The child's parents left to live with the mother's sister in another town to join in with the local bakery. The village had been understanding at the departure but were understanding at the families need to distance themselves from the tragedy.
The next child to tragically lose her life was a young girl. In the same way with the previous child she had spent a day being lethargic and lacking in energy. The parents, being careful and caring parents, remembered the previous tragedy and instantly called for the herb-woman. The herb-woman examined the girl but was unable to identify any kind of illness other than fatigue and lack of sleep although the child told her parents that she had slept normally the previous night.
Again, not being stupid or neglectful, the parents stayed in the same room as the girl-child and caught her climbing out of the window just before midnight. The girl panicked, was described as being “mad,” and “didn't recognise her parents.” She begged to be let go, to be released and left alone. Eventually they let her go but followed her in an effort to keep her safe and to see what was happening.
The girl walked up the hill towards the Watchtower, clutching the sides of her head as though she was in pain. All the way she was pleading with an unseen figure to “let her go,” and “just let me sleep.” When she got to the Watchtower she became more agitated before attempting to climb to the top in her dazed state. The father of the girl had had enough by this point, bodily picked the girl up and carried her away.
The following morning the Herb-woman came again. In the manner of all Herb-women she had a small, very sharp knife on her belt for cutting herbs. She didn't think anything of it, the parents didn't think anything of it but the little girl did. While the herb-woman was examining the child the girl stole the knife and without warning, plunged the knife into her own throat. Witnesses, for there were several, said that it happened so fast that the first thing that they knew where something was happening was when the blood was running freely down the poor girls hands.
These two were the first two cases and both situations were repeated several times since then. Either the child would attempt to throw themselves off the watchtower resulting in death or injury. If it was injury or if the child was prevented from harming themselves, then the child would find a way to finish the job at a later date. Poisonous berries or sharp knifes were the chosen method of choice if the fall from the Watchtower was unsuccessful.
I checked and found something interesting. There was one child that drowned themselves. I seemed to have spotted the discrepency the previous evening with the mayor. The child was deathly afraid of heights. That was interesting. I didn't know why but I knew that it was interesting.
Then there were the two children who had just, to quote the mayor, “faded away,” They had become tired, increasingly tired and more and more lacking in energy. The parents had worried at first but when the child showed no signs of any kind of self-harming tendencies or a desire to harm themselves then the watch was relaxed and the village treated them as sick children.
But the child had just faded away, eating less and less, drinking less and less liquids until they got to the point that their body just gave up and the poor child died. I had asked if an autopsy had been performed before the mayor had calmly informed me that “we're decent folk round here and don't hold with that kind of thing.” I thought that the mayor had expected my question and as a result, hadn't been quite as angry as he might have been otherwise. I guessed that Kerrass had asked the same question.
I finished my sandwich and my hot drink before going in search of Kerrass.
I didn't have to go very far. He was down by the waters edge, sat on a rock, eating an apple while reading from a book. He didn't look up as I approached.
“I wanted to thank you.” I began.
“Oh?” He still didn't look up from his book.
“Yes.” I took a deep breath. “I know what you're trying to do.”
He looked up at me in confusion. “You do?”
“Yes. You're trying to distract me. Give me something to occupy my mind with other than Francesca's disappearance. You're trying to take my mind of things and I'm grateful.”
He rose to his feet.
“Really?” He carefully put the book away to one side.
“Yes. I got the first good nights sleep since we set out from Toussaint.”
He nodded. “So...?” He waved his hands as though encouraging me to get to the end of the point.
“So thank you I guess.”
He said nothing, his face went still.
“So can we just finish up here so we can....?”
My voice petered out as I watched his eyes fill with anger and disgust before his eyes narrowed into slits.
“Oh, this is so not about you.” He hissed. His eyes searched my face, flitting around, scanning my features.
“So. We. Can. What?” He ground out. His voice was like ice rubbing over granite. I tried to step backwards from him but he grabbed me by the lapels. “Finish your sentence.” He snarled.
“I...”
“So can we just finish up here so we can....what? Go and jerk off? Find some whores to plough? What were you going to say?”
“I....”
“SAY IT,” He bellowed into my face, spittle flying.
“So we can get on with what's important.”
Lights exploded behind my eyes and I found I was looking up at him from where he had knocked me on my ass. It took him a moment to, visibly, bring his emotions back under control.
“Who am I?” He demanded of me after a long while.
“Wha...” I was dazed and my brain was no longer working. Too tired and too emotional to think clearly.
“Who am I?” Kerrass went on, his eyes blazing with anger and disgust. “What am I?”
“Kerrass, you're...”
“I'm a Witcher. SAY IT.” He demanded.
“You're a Witcher.” I just wanted this to stop now. I wanted my friend back. I wanted to be told it was ok and that things would get back to normal again.
But I couldn't have told you, right then, what kind of “normal” I wanted.
“That's right,” He sneered. “I'm a Witcher. It's what I am, it's who I am and it's what I do. This,” he gestured at the village. “This is who I am. I am not a Bounty Hunter. I am not some hired killer to do your bidding. I am not a hunter of men. I am a Witcher. I hunt monsters.
“The reason I am coming with you. The reason that I agreed to help you on your quest for answers and vengeance, is because I consider you my friend. I care about you a great deal and it saddens me to see how much you are hurting so I agree to help you. But I did not agree to stop being who I am.
“You are not the only person who has offered to pay for my food, my bed or my comfort while we do this. Your sister and the Empress both offered to foot the bill. But they don't know me and they wouldn't know why I might think of that as an insult.
“But you? I expected better from you.
“The instant I take your money, or their money to do this. Then I am no longer a Witcher, I am a Mercenary, a bounty hunter and a paid killer. Even worse than that, I lose my neutrality in this entire situation. I lose my ability to look at the thing from the outside of the situation to make my decisions.
“Why?
“Because I would now work for you. For them it doesn't matter as much but for you? I would no longer be your travelling companion and comrade in arms. I would be your servant. Depending on you for my food and comfort.
“I won't be that. I won't.
“Neutrality is vital to being a Witcher. It's almost literally our life's reason. Do you think that we do it just to avoid politics and wars? To avoid getting into situations which might be a little bit awkward with whichever Lord we're getting involved with or to avoid assassination missions or that kind of thing? We do it for two reasons.
“The first reason is, yes, self-preservation. I can't save villagers and townsfolk if I'm too busy being trapped into performing missions for uppity noble-folk who think I will be doing what they say in return for some kind of gratitude because they offered to pay for me to sleep in a clean bed that night.
“But the second reason is, by far, the more important reason. Neutrality gives us objectivity. I can sit, outside the entire situation and decide what's going on without silly things like feudal, race or situational loyalty. It's another reason that we travel alone. So that we can make our own minds up without letting other people influence us.
“I would not compromise my neutrality for the Empress when she offered to pay me to help guard her over her coronation because that struck me as dangerously close to being a political action.
“I didn't accept your money when we went to wake The Princess either.
“I didn't take your money when you asked for my help when it came to asking who was responsible for your fathers death. If you remember I did my very best to try and talk me out of using me for that purpose.
“I only ever accepted your money when you were paying me in return for something that was in my remit. You notice that I haven't asked you for any money, beyond the odd desire to not pay for the odd pint or meal in the pub, since I stopped being your subject and started being your friend?
“So why would you think I would accept your money now?”
He stared at me coldly for a moment. “Oh, and in case you're wondering. The reason I helped protect the Empress is because Eskel asked me to, so I did it as a favour to a friend.”
He shook his head and walked off for a couple of steps before coming back.
“Eight months.” He said. “Eight months since we stopped being on the road. You go home and you live in your castle for six months and a bit, followed by a month at Toussaint where you rub shoulders with, and enjoy the friendship of the most powerful people in the land. Eight months and you turn back into being a spoilt little rich boy who aims your money catapult at problems until they go away. Then you wonder why people are so terrified of your family.
“Eight months that's all it took.”
He crouched down next to me but he was looking into the distance.
“You wanna know why I stopped to check the noticeboard. No, I don't need the money. Yes I know that friendship tells me that I could borrow a bit from you for a meal or a place to rest on the road. I know that. So I didn't need the money.. You wanna know why I turned aside to pick up the notice?”
I didn't answer.
“I did it because I'm a Witcher. It's my job.
“I did it because I can. Because I have the skills, the tools and the training to help these people do the things that they can't. Yes I charge them but I still need to eat. That's how society works here. I need something from them, they charge me. They need something from me, I charge them. We all wish we could do it for free but we can't.
“I did it because they needed help. This is another thing that society depends on. We help others because when we're in trouble, we need to know that they will help us. Who else are they going to ask for help. The nobles? Who will probably tax them for the privilege and only get round to it when they remember or don't have anything better to do. A wandering knight? I think Toussaint has ably demonstrated what happens when you trust a wandering knight to do the job. At best, they fail, at worst, they make it worse. A priest? What's a priest going to do. Pray the problem away? I would go for it if you could point to one example where that has actually worked.
“I did it because, in doing so, I can make the world a little bit better. I am a Witcher. I try to make the world a better place by killing monsters. A task for which I am uniquely suited. You are a scholar and a nobleman. Tell me, what was the last thing you did to improve the lot of your fellow man?”
I waited.
“That wasn't a rhetorical question.” He told me. “What was the last thing you did?”
“I...” I struggled for a moment.
“What's the matter? Struggling for an answer? When we were travelling together before you were writing accounts of our travels. You did so, yes to earn money but you were passionate about learning. You did it in several different ways. You published, popular, easy to read accounts of what we got up to in Oxenfurt journals so that uptight students and nobles can read them and get a glimpse into what life is really like out here.
“You wrote detailed, academic papers on what we found and what we fought to combat the ignorance and misinformation. You attended and gave lectures on the subject. You would dash off to help wounded people and would stand over a terrified family with your spear in hand and kept them safe while I dealt with the monster terrorising them. I would have to be the one that held you back from getting in over your head and getting yourself killed.
“What happened to that guy? I liked that guy.
“We do these things because we can. We do these things to make the world a better place for the people who come next, when and where we can without getting ourselves killed of course.
“You wanna know where I learned that?
Then he looked at me again.
“I learned that from you Freddie.”
He stood again.
“Just so we're clear, Lord Frederick, and it seems that I am having to speak slowly and simply to you at the moment on a number of topics. Grief is an explanation, but not an excuse for shitty behaviour.” I felt my mouth open. “I am not saying you don't have a right to your grief and anger. Nor am I saying that you shouldn't be feeling those things. But you are turning into someone and something that I no longer like. Now sort your shit out. Children are dying. Fix it.”
“How?” I managed from somewhere.
“You know everything you need to know to be able to fix this already but, just so we can give you an incentive. Sort it out. Or I will. If I have to? I shall follow through on my threat. You will be delivered to the nearest patrol and I will depart on my self-appointed mission to find your sisters kidnappers alone. I am only going to step in if another child's life is threatened before you come to grips with this. Do you understand?”
I just stared at him.
“I see that you do. When you have figured it out, come and tell me which oil you need to coat your weapon with before you confront the thing.”
He spun on his heel and left.
I spent a long time waiting to see if he would come back.