I could just about see the shadowed bulk of the watchtower up on the hill, standing against the darkening sky.

I had been here earlier in the day to get a good lie of the land and to test out a couple of theories, but now it was getting properly dark. All things being equal though, I was in luck. It was going to be a clear night with relatively little cloud cover, which gave the air a sharp, cutting chill to it. It was the kind of cold that you took into your lungs and seemed to freeze your breath.

Not cold enough to make you shiver but cold to make you feel as though you were artificially out of breath. It made your chest ache, is what I'm trying to say.

I had come here early, it wasn't dark yet and I wasn't expecting things to start to happen until it was properly dark but I wanted to get here early in an effort to make sure I know where to go. I had selected a small flat area most of the way up the slope. It was screened from the rest of the village by a thick hedge, all brambles and thorns but it was getting thicker by the day as new buds were forming on it.

Before too much longer the hedge would be blossoming completely and would be covered in flowers. The hedge provided me with some cover from the wind and the cold though as well as giving me a cover so that the village wouldn't be able to see what I'm doing.

Since my story was that I was Kerrass' apprentice, I had discovered that everything I had told them that I was going to be doing had generated a lot of questions. People asking me why I was asking the questions that I was asking and why I was doing the things that I was doing. I had begun to get a new view on things as to why Witchers do their best to be enigmatic and mysterious in an effort to prevent people from asking them a whole bunch of silly questions. I had had visions of getting up towards the watch-tower and queues of villagers lining up to ask me what I was doing, why and what for.

The same as if I'd done my preparation in the village before I had set off. The mayor asking me why I was leaving off rubbing the oil on my spear until later. Why did I need quite so many torches? Why did I need to light a fire? What was it that was killing our children in the first place?

The uncomfortable truth about that last question was that I still didn't know. I was pretty sure that I was right but I didn't know for certain and I wouldn't know until I had gone to the watchtower in the depths of night.

Tonight's expedition would go one of two ways. The first way was that I would be able to get a good look at what we were dealing with here and then be able to make a more concrete plan about what to do next. The second possibility was that I would get up there and be forced to defend myself. At which time it would be a test of my knowledge gleaned from time spent with Kerrass and reading books on the subject as well as my gathering of evidence to narrow down what would be going on.

But there was no certainty.

So I was going to go and have a look.

Ideally, it would turn out that I was right and I would be able to deal with the problem here and now. But if not then....

Well.....

I'll worry about that as and when it comes up.

I had already set up a small ring of stones. I set my burdens down next to the fire place and started to arrange a fire. I had brought wood with me as well as some tinder and a firebox so it didn't take me long. Then, when there was a lot more light I could take in my surroundings a little better.

Fire isn't a friend to the imagination though. The firelight flickering through the trees made the shadows jump and the surroundings seem much more frightening than they were as I imagined Wraiths, spectres, Nekkers, Fetches and all kinds of things dancing in the shadows beyond the fire.

I thought of Jack and just for a moment I thought I could hear him laughing. He would certainly find this situation and my current fear amusing.

Concentrate now. You're pretty sure you know what's out there. You know what you're doing. Just need to get the job done. The important thing tonight is information, no need to be a hero. Take your time.

I set about checking my equipment.

Seven torches, heads of the torches soaked in oil. A tinderbox in case the torches went out and I needed to relight torches quickly if there was no other source of flame. A length of rope. A climbing spike and a sledge-hammer. My weapons, my spear and dagger. I laid them out next to the fire so that I would be able to see what I was doing.

I was wearing my boots, trousers and some leather armour. Just soft stuff, kind of light. If it was what I thought it was then thicker armour wasn't going to be much good anyway.

There was a worry there though. I was concerned about space and room to move. I am a spear-fighter. To use that properly I would need room to move and to avoid. If I was confined and channelled by a lack of space then the attacker would find it much easier to get past my point and tear my throat out. True, that's what the dagger was for but I didn't find that reassuring.

There is always the possibility that I might miss with the dagger. I had improved with it since first being gifted with it but still, I was no soldier, no Witcher or trained killer. My entire style was based around mobility and being able to keep the bad guy further away from me.

But there is no use borrowing trouble. If it came up then it would come up and I would worry about it then.

Lastly, carefully, I took out a large potion bottle from my pouch and placed it carefully on the ground in front of me. After ordering and checking the rest of my equipment I sat on the ground facing that small bottle hugging my knees.

It wasn't that big of a bottle. Maybe three inches tall. In fact, calling it a bottle was a bit of stretch, more of a jar really. A dark, black liquid sat in the bottom of it, I knew from experience that this was a little deceptive as the liquid was a deep blue, green which you could tell from the residue it leaves when you smear it on your weapon. It also glowed. Don't ask my why or how it does that but it dies. I did once suggest a theory to Kerrass that it takes the light from external sources and absorbs it, before letting it emerge at a later time when in darker surroundings. He had looked at me as though I might be crazy for a long time before just telling me that it was magical and I was trying to read too much into it.

But it was looking at me.

I had a couple of hours to burn.

In these kinds of situations, I know that Kerrass likes to meditate. Clear his mind for the coming conflict and activity but I never got the knack of that. I asked him how he did it once and he told me that it was down to practice. Long hours of waiting for things to happen with nothing to do other than to wait. He argued that panic takes a certain amount of time to go through the system. The same with anger or fear or any or the other exciting things that can happen to a body so if you just sit quietly and endeavour to empty your brain then you get to a point where those things just fall away.

I remember wondering why that was important. He had then asked me what good panic, fear, anxiety and stress were to a body when you knew you were going into a stressful situation. He argued that excesses of those things just made a bad problem worse so it was better to just ignore them.

I did some stretching exercises to make sure that my limbs wouldn't seize up in the cold. I will admit to pacing for a little while as well. Just for the variety of the thing.

But I was avoiding the things that I really wanted to think about.

What I wanted to do was to puzzle out a further solution to the problem of what had happened to Francesca.

But that was old and tired ground. Over and over again, for weeks now it seemed, I had been playing the scene of the last time I had seen her in my head. I was saying good night as were all heading off to get an early night before the coronation happened. I could see her smile and cheery wave as she went, but it was no longer a good memory. I found myself wanting to catch hold of her, to call out to her and tell her not to go.

To stay and to remain safe.

I had tried some better memories of her to see if I could force my brain over onto new patterns of behaviour. Instead of thinking of the last time I saw her I tried thinking about the time she came pelting out of the crowd and wrestled me to the crowd. Her happy squeal as she saw me for the first time and her smiling happiness at her congratulations on my engagement.

The fact that I thought she was congratulating me on my receiving my doctorate is a detail I tried to leave out of my rememberings.

I thought about her face as the Empress and I were discussing the crossbow and how I had got information about The Empress' preferences and grip.

I remembered the happy amazement as she had admired Ariadne's engagement ring and the joy with which she had embraced the elder vampire as a new elder sister without thought or care to the fact that she was embracing an elder vampire.

That was the young woman that I wanted to remember. That was my sister.

It is a long time, now, from those events at the watchtower and that night. But I think that that was the night where I finally allowed myself to start thinking of Francesca as being dead. Don't get me wrong. In an ideal world, one day, she will read this and be horrified that I gave her up for dead. I didn't. But it was at this point that I started to prepare myself for that moment. It was then that I thought. “I am never going to see my sister again” and started to come to terms with that.

Prior to that night I was aware that this was a possibility, even a probability given the circumstances but there was a small part of me that was still holding onto the hope of seeing her alive. That refused to accept that she might be dead. A deep and primal voice in the back of my mind that just, steadfastly, refused to let go.

I wasn't quite there yet. But that was the night that I started to loosen my grip. That was the night I felt my brain begin to relax.

To be sure, it was still a slow thing. My mind was still racing and working far too hard to justify and figure things out, but now it was beginning to run out of steam. Like a horse after a long protracted and quick ride. At first it gets up, ready for the extended exercise of the day but then it begins to get used to the fact that it would be staying in the same stable for a while and starts to relax. It starts to let itself be tired and let itself....slow down.

That was my what it felt like my brain was doing.

I wanted to cry with it as I became aware of how utterly exhausted I was. Not the weariness of a man who has been working hard physically all day and every day for a long time. Rather this was the brain weariness of someone who doesn't want to make any decisions any more. My brain wanted to go off somewhere and get drunk and not have to think about things and run around after every stray rumour and stray thought.

I would tell the reader that none of these thoughts were new to my brain. It was just the endless cycle of thinking that I had been going through since Francesca's disappearance.

So, I sat there, not remembering at which point I had taken my seat, and looked into the flames. I had thought about Francesca. Then I had thought about her disappearance. Then I had thought about myself for a while and how I was reacting. What I wanted and what I needed.

All of these were well travelled thought processes that I had gone down many times before. They were pointless and wouldn't get me anywhere. I knew where those things led and I knew what would happen at the end of them. I knew that they were cyclical in nature and that those thoughts would present no solutions.

There was still quite a bit of time before I wanted to go up to the Watchtower to see what could be seen. I hadn't brought a book with me, nor had I brought any notes with me to work on anything or to begin the promised chapters regarding Jack.

I hadn't even thought about the book that I was supposed to be writing with Madame Yennefer since I had promised to start writing it.

That alone was evidence enough that I wasn't in my right mind. Normally I would leap at an opportunity to throw myself into some academia but I had let it slide. Neglected it and let it rot.

Was that what Kerrass was talking about next to the river? Was that what he meant by the fact that I was letting myself go.

I took a deep breath and tried to force myself into thinking about my Kerrass problem and what I sensed to be the growing gulf between us.

I had sat on the bank of the river for a long time staring at the currents and swirls and the currents in the water. For a while I had hoped that Kerrass would come back but at the same time, I knew that he wasn't going to.

I was hurt, beyond the bruise on my jaw I was angry and disappointed. I felt guilt and grief and a whole other host of emotions that I didn't entirely understand and couldn't entirely identify. I was torn between wanting to chase after Kerrass and confront him with what felt like his unfair treatment of me. But I also wanted to chase after him and beg forgiveness for whatever I had done to piss him off. Real or imagined in his own little brain.

Several times I tried to examine my own behaviour to see if I had done something wrong but I couldn't get my brain to settle on anything. I felt the same as I had the previous night when I'd been trying to sleep. There seemed to be a thought on the edge of my brain that was trying to jump up and down so that it could be heard but I couldn't quite pin it down in order to identify it.

Most of all I felt a self-disgust and loathing. I kept replaying the conversation with Kerrass over and over in my head until I thought I could recite it by heart. I thought of the things that I had said and about how they had come out wrong. I thought about the arguments and jokes that I could have made to make Kerrass laugh or to distract him from his anger.

Or at the very least to prove to him that I hadn't done anything wrong.

It's easy to look back, from here to there and realise that the thought that was trying to catch my attention was that my brain wasn't working properly. I needed to think clearly and logically and it just wasn't happening.

“Here.” said a voice. A wineskin hovered in my sight-line. “You look like you could use a drink.” It was a young voice and I looked up at the man standing over me. He was heavily muscled but lacked the grotesque over muscling of the black-smiths trade. That and the leather apron that he had on over his shirt told me that he was one of the butchers.

“Mine says hello.” He said as I took the skin off him.

“Yours?” I asked.

“Gustav.” He told me. “The Butcher that you worked with yesterday?”

I recognised him then as one of the youngish men that had sat on the fence, enjoying my humiliation.

“What is it?” I asked, shaking the bottle.

“Me ma's Elderflower wine. It's good stuff. Watered a bit because I was bringing it to work and you don't wanna be pissed when you're wielding a giant cleaver. Mine once told me that that that was how he lost his hand. Wielding a chopper while drunk. It wasn't until much later that I guessed that he was having a little joke on us apprentices.”

I took a drink. It was excellent. It had that quality that good drinks have where it seemed to scour my throat clean as it just burned through the fug that seemed to have covered my brain in wool.

“Thanks.” I said handing the skin back.

“Hey, you know.” He sat next to me, clapping me on the shoulder with a big meaty palm. “Us apprentices,

we got to stick together. Any chance to take it easy, gotta be taken right?”

“That's right.” I grinned at him.

“Anyway. Yours treatin' you hard?”

“Mine?”

“You know, your master?”

“My master?”

“Wow,” He took a heroic swallow from the wineskin. “Is it that easy being a Witcher? No offence, friend, but you seem a little dumb to be a Witcher.”

“Oh you mean Kerrass.”

The lad's eyes boggled for a moment before checking up and down the area we were sat. “You call yours by his name?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

He stared at me as though I was some kind of demon come from hell to tempt his soul into eternal damnation.

“You must do things differently up in the North,” he decided after a while, passing me the skin back.

“Probably.” I said, taking another couple of swallows.

“So anyway, treating you hard at the moment is he?”

“A little hard. I'm sat here trying to think about whether or not I deserve it.”

“You do,” He took the skin back.

“I do?”

“Yeah, we always deserve it. A good walloping now and again.” He grinned. “Admittedly he doesn't wallop me as much any more. He claims it's because I'm not as stupid as I used to be.” He sniffed to display what he thought of that. “But we always deserve it.”

“I don't follow.”

“Well how does he stop you from doing something stupid if he doesn't clip you round the ear. Yelling doesn't work over all the din of the pigs and stuff so, nice sharp shock upside the ear. Does wonders.”

“If you say so.”

“But anyway. Master only ever hits me when I deserve it.”

I opened my mouth to make a joke. Something inconsequential but decided not to. He seemed like a nice lad. Now that I could see him up close he looked to be about fourteen. Huge guy and looked as though he would be bigger yet. He was enjoying himself, sat, enjoying the spring air, sharing a drink and a moments laziness with another apprentice.

“So did I provide much entertainment then?” I asked him.

“Mmm?”

“Trying and failing to kill a pig.”

He laughed.

“Nah, not during the killing. The catching though? That was comedy gold. But no-one's funny during the killing. Although I will admit to enjoying myself a little as you got the muck all over your fancy clothes.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you know. Your frilly shirt with the La-de-da embroidery on the front.” He waved his hand in an imagined effeminate gesture. “Your tailored jerkin and your fancy, leather belt with the silver tooling.”

He snorted. “Wish I could afford a belt like that. Gotta admit. I hated you for that a bit at the beginning of things.”

“Why?”

“Well there you are in your fancy clothes and things coming into our place. At first I thought that your master had given up on you. Deciding that Witchering isn't the right trade for you or something and decided to palm you off to mine. I was looking forward to giving you a good hiding to be honest.”

“Were you afraid that I was going to replace you or something?”

“Yes.”

He said it simply enough that I believed him even though it astonished me.

“Does it not work like that in the North?” He asked me.

“Does what not work like that?”

“The masters. They pass us round like goods at trade. This apprentice for that apprentice. Sometimes they do it so that they get cheap workers or to get rid of an inept apprentice. But there isn't enough work at the tannery or at the butchers yard to support another apprentice so I thought they might be getting rid of one of us. I wouldn't mind trying my hand at a bit of blacksmithing, girls like the muscles you know?”

He winked at me conspiratorially.

“Do they?”

He gaped at me in astonishment for a moment.

“Wow. It really must be different in the north.”

“Not so different.” I realised that I was holding onto the wineskin. “My father wanted me to be a scribe. Not many pretty girls like scribes though. There's a bit of money in it but...”

He shuddered in sympathy, taking the wineskin back.

“But yeah, as I say, I quite fancied a bit of work as a blacksmith but the idea of being a Witcher's apprentice didn't really fill me with joy.” He admitted, before taking a swig.

I nodded.

“So I was glad,” the lad went on, “that you were just learning a lesson of some kind. You look better dressed for the work now anyway.”

I looked down at myself, woollen clothing replacing the cotton and silks that I had been wearing for the last eight months. I hadn't realised what I had been wearing, or what it must have looked like.

We sat and drank in silence for a bit. It's a little odd to feel yourself relaxing.

“So,” I turned back to him. Bless him, his emotions were painted all over his face. He was a little scared, a little angry about something and desperately embarrassed. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“I wanted to ask you last night but couldn't find you. Apparently you were locked in with the mayor.”

I nodded and gestured for him to continue.

His face twisted around as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say.

“So, are you,” he blew out his breath. Stopped and took another deep breath in. “Are you and your master here to deal with what's killing the kids?”

He turned away from me, staring down the stream.

“That's the idea.” I said.

“Good.” He probably meant it to be a strong, vehement response but it came out a bit more like a sob.

“Did you lose someone?” I asked as gently as I could manage.

He chuckled bitterly. “There have been twenty seven kids die here. Twenty seven in six months. We're not that big a place. There isn't anyone here who hasn't lost someone to this. I heard my master talking to the smith the other day about when they would need to start thinking about abandoning this place all together.”

“Seems a bit extreme.” I commented.

He looked at me with a certain amount of horror and a little of the old loathing in his face.

“Twenty seven children. Is there anything you wouldn't do to save the children? I thought that was the Witcher's job.”

“I'm sorry, I spoke without thinking.”

“It's alright.” Just as quickly as he had started to get angry, he subsided again. “I keep forgetting that you're from the north. Also that you're an apprentice Witcher and they say that Witchers don't have any emotions.”

I told myself, rather firmly, that I needed to keep a grip on my mouth and learn to think before speaking.

“I more meant that it was a big decision to take.” I tried after turning the phrase over a few times in my mouth to see if it could be taken as offensive.

“It is.” He said staring out over the water. “I would miss this place. I'm glad you and your master are here though. I hope you can fix it.”

“So do I.”

We sat in silence for a while.

“Listen,” I said after a while. “You don't have to, and I understand if you don't want to, but can you tell me about it?”

“What?” He wiped his hand across his face. “My sister?”

I felt a shard of ice go through my heart and a lump form in my throat.

“I understand if you don't want to.” I said. “I know it's hard but...”

“No no, I will. It's just....” He looked up and down the bank again to see if we were being watched. “I've never talked about it before.”

“I'm a Witcher.” I said before twisting my mouth in a smile in an effort to put him at ease. A trick that I had seen Kerrass used. “Well, almost. I won't judge you.”

He looked at me sceptically.

“I lost my sister too.” I said, without meaning to. “That's why I'm on the road with my master. I can't kill the thing that killed her but...” I stopped speaking. Letting him fill the silence on his own.

He nodded. “Does it get easier?” He was a big lad. He worked hard, at a physical job, outside so his bulk was all trained. But suddenly he looked very young.

“No,” I answered as honestly as I could. “Or at least, it hasn't yet.”

He smiled bitterly. “Do you know that you're the first person who has been honest about that kind of thing.” He told me. “Everyone keeps telling me that it gets easier over time. “When?” I ask them, “When does it get easier?” but they can't give me an answer.” He laughed bitterly. “It's silly but I want them to give me a time you know? Something I can work towards. I think I could live with it easier if that was the case. Even if I knew that it was years away.”

“I lost my brother to the war as well.” I said, passing over the wine-skin again after it had found it's way to me. “My big brother I mean.”

He nodded his acceptance of the lie.

“It's not that it gets easier.” I told him, lying through my teeth. “It doesn't. You're going to miss her for the rest of your life. But one day you will realise that you haven't thought of your sister in a while. Don't get me wrong. That day hurt me more than I could imagine. But that's how it works.”

He nodded.

“Thanks.”

“Tell me about her.”

He took a long drink.

“I hated her.” He said. “Little bitch that she was. She used to make my life hell.”

I stared at him in amazement. Then I felt a giggle bubble up from inside me and couldn't stop it escaping.

He grinned at me although I could see the tears running down his face.

“I'm the fourth of five children.” He told me. “An older sister, long married and working down at the Duke's castle now. I see her at festivals and things. Two older brothers. One ran off to join the army and we don't hear from him for ages before he comes back with some gifts and some tall stories and another brother who's a hunter like my dad. Then there was me. Too big and clumsy to be a hunter.

“My brother once told me that Mum and Dad had wanted another baby shortly after I was born but mum got sick and lost it. She was heart-broken and she blamed my dad for a long time.

“Those were dark days in my parents house.”

His large and honest face clouded at the memory.

“But eventually she got over it and six years after I was born, my little sister came screaming into the world. We hated each other on sight.”

He laughed at a stray thought and I decided to just let him speak.

“Have you ever seen that thing where a new mother takes the baby round the village to show them off in the same way that I used to show off my newest toy soldier that my brother had brought home for me? It's exactly the same.

“My brother brought me this wooden soldier carved to look like the knights of the Morpeth brigade. You could move it's arms and legs and I was well pleased. I went down to my friends in the village to show him off and he got passed around with everyone looking at the paintwork and things and moving the arms in exactly the same way as everyone else had while expressing jealousy.

“It was exactly the same when my mother took this new baby round all of her friends to show her off in exactly the same way. They even made the same noises.”

He sniggered at the memory.

“But then I was asked if I wanted to hold her. I didn't, but I could tell that Mum wanted me to hold her for some reason that passes my understanding. Probably so she could go and have a good hard shit in peace.”

I couldn't help but laugh. The lad was a gifted story-teller although it occurs to me now that this is how people occupy themselves when they're doing unpleasant, hard, manual work and if you're not entertaining then you shut up and let others speak.

“But Mum handed me this tiny little thing. She took one look at me before opening her mouth and started to scream. Not cry, no, not crying. This is the kind of thing when you hear a little kid really going for it. Taking a good deep breath in before really giving voice to their misery with a full throated scream of disapproval. Then, she pissed, shat and puked all over me. A Sorcerous trick for which my mother refused to allow me to burn her at the stake.”

I laughed, what else could I do. It was a funny story.

“We hated each other.” He said. “Absolutely hated each other. Everything she wanted to do, I hated and everything I wanted to do, she refused and would kick up a tantrum. To make matters worse, I was often expected to look after her even though she so obviously hated me that she would lash out with every weapon that she had at her disposal.”

He stopped so suddenly that I was caught off guard.

“She cried when I left home. We hated each other, I'm convinced of it, but when I left to go and live with Master Gustav and learn my trade, my mother tells me that she was inconsolable for weeks afterwards.”

He sniffed again and I looked away from his pain.

“I only found out about it afterwards.” He said after a long time. “I didn't even know that she was sick before someone thought to come and tell me that she had died. I have hated master Gustav for years but that day he put his hand on my shoulder and said “off you go son.” He said. “Come back when you're ready.”

“My family lived out of town, up closer to the trees where Dad could find more game and mother could get at some of the wilder herbs that grew out there, away from town and those parts that were picked clean. It took me ages to run up there. Ages.

“When I got there Mum had had to be put into the other room and a couple of other women were there keeping her asleep. Dad was sat in my sister's room, still cradling her. He wouldn't let her go, can you believe that? He wouldn't let them take her away.

“I found out later that she had taken one of Dad's skinning knifes to her own wrists.

“I can still see him sat there, cradling her in his arms, her head lolling off his biceps, and her fore-arms escaping from his embrace. I can still see him rocking backwards and forwards keening in a voice that I still hear late at night. He was talking to her but no-one could hear what he said.

“All I could think about was a joke I had made when I was younger. She had only been born maybe three months earlier and our mutual loathing was really beginning to dig in now. I asked Dad how it was possible that something so small and tiny could produce quite that quantity of shit. He had laughed at the time I remember.

“But as I stood there, in the entrance to my sisters room which had once been my room, I looked at the huge puddle of drying blood on the floor....

“I'm a butcher. I slaughter and cut up meat for my living so I know how much blood you can expect yo get from a pig, the same from a cow or a sheep.

“But I looked at that puddle. My first thought, presumably from my work, was that that was a huge waste of blood. My second thought was amazement that so much blood could come from so small a person. Then I remembered my comment from years earlier.

“There I was, my mother having to be drugged, my father UN-approachable and I was fighting not to giggle.”

“You were in shock.” I tried. Trying to get through the layers of self...self-loathing that the lad had seemed to take onto himself.

“Yeah. That's what Master Gustav said. Mother Trexford as well. But I don't understand it. All I can understand is that I looked at my sisters body and had to concentrate not to laugh.”

I nodded.

I took a deep breath.

“I have to ask.” I said carefully. “Did your sister go and play near the old Watchtower?”

He looked at me.

“Of course she did. What else is there to do round here for young kids other than to climb up the watchtower and pretend you're a noble knight from ancient times saving the nation from Redanian attack.”

He realised what he said.

“Errr. Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it. My brothers and I used to pretend that we would save our family from the evil Nilfgaardians.”

We had too.

“Fair enough. Does that tell you what you need to know?”

“I think so. I want to check a few things though and I'd better get going.”

I felt like I was running away from him. His pain was so raw and primal. Witnessing it I found that I felt guilty although I couldn't have told you why.

“Yeah right. I'd better get back to work too.”

“Tell your master that I am grateful for your help.

“I will, maybe that will save me from a beating.”

I stared after him for a bit.

“He doesn't really beat you does he?” I called out to him.

“Nah,” he said over his shoulder. His grief put aside for a moment. “Not really, only when I'm about to do something really stupid so....most days I suppose.”

He grinned at me and ran off.

I spent a bit more time staring after him before turning back to the river and staring at the water swirling by for a minute.

“Ok,” I said to myself. “That's enough.”

I went off to see the herb-woman first. To say that the poor woman was suffering some kind of crisis of confidence would have been an understatement. She was a nice lady, edging into her thirtieth year but now wondering if she had done the right thing. If she was the right person to deal with the problems that had come up since the children had started dying.

She wept when I told her that I was an apprentice to a Witcher. She wept. I don't know whether it was relief or anger at herself for not seeing what was needed or what was going on there. All I can say is that she seemed to fold in on herself to the point that I had to go and make her some tea. The poor woman was exhausted and at the edge of her endurance.

We sat and talked for a while. She told me more about the children that had died. The children that she had lost and the anguish of the families and the village over what had been lost. I nodded and made the correct noises in an effort to keep her talking before I managed to steer the conversation over to what I wanted to talk about.

“So what I really wanted to ask was this.” I leant forward to spoon another dollop of honey into my tea. The lady favoured a particularly bitter blend of tea that wasn't entirely to my taste. “I've been told that the children were getting sick before they managed to commit an act of self-slaughter. What was actually wrong with them?”

“You see that's the thing.” She stuttered out. I got the feeling that she had spent a good portion of the last six months alternating between self-loathing and self-recrimination. “In every other case, I would have said that the child was just exhausted.”

“I see.” I said putting the cup aside having decided that it was undrinkable. “I'm not questioning you or your competence,” I said carefully, if this woman was going to continue on as the village herb-woman then someone would have to do some serious positive reinforcement for her to get her confidence back. “I'm just saying that I don't know what exhaustion looks like. I'm an apprentice Witcher, I know a bit about wounds and stuff but not exhaustion.”

She nodded, sipping her own tea with a relish that I didn't understand.

“They had that peculiar kind of restlessness that happens in children when they're tired. They were angry, sullen and resentful but when you asked them what the problem was they couldn't explain it. They didn't have a temperature but they complained of being cold which is their body telling them that they want to be wrapped up in a blanket. They struggled to look at bright lights and their eyes were bloodshot. A couple of them complained about headaches.”

I nodded. I had brought my notebook with me and made a couple of notes.

“Anything else?” I asked

“Yes, a couple of them had bloodshot eyes which is often a sign of eye-strain. Even for children, their attention would wander and they had lost their appetites.”

“Is that unusual?”

“It is in healthy children. You have to understand that all of these individual symptoms could lead you into thinking of colds or something but there were no symptoms in association with colds. There was no coughing or running noses, sore throats, fevers. A few head-aches but nothing that made me concerned.”

She shook her head, again showing a few signs of her own agitated exhaustion.

“In every other case. Every time you're dealing with this kind of thing, you put the child to bed and wait to see if that cures it. It did every time up until this whole thing started and I've been through my teachers notes and she said the same. I even managed to get her down here once and she was just as mystified as I was.”

I nodded again. “So here's my next question. Those children that died without an act of self-slaughter. What did they actually die of.”

“Ummm, how technical can you understand.?”

“Try me.”

“Do you know what an aneurysm is?”

“I've heard of it.”

“Basically, part of their brains started to bleed and it caused the body to shut down. That was the actual final cause of death but.... to those of us watching it looked like they slept themselves to death.”

“What?”

“Don't look at me like that.” It was half sob, half snap of anger.

“Sorry, I don't mean to question you, I just need to know what you meant.”

“No, sorry. I'm sorry. It's not been a good few months.”

I poured her some more tea and passed over my handkerchief. It was not the first time I had to do so.

“They went to bed. The same as we had told them to do and got them to rest. They did so. Then they just slept and slept. At first we could wake them up to get some food and water into them but after a while we couldn't even do that. They just...slept until we would realise that they were no longer breathing. The only reason I know about the aneurysm is because of the nose-bleeds and the blood spots on their eyes.”

I nodded and made some more notes.

“Ok.” I said. “Thank you very much.”

“Do you know what's happening here?”

“I don't know.” I told her. “But I've got a good idea.” I took a deep breath. “I need to ask. What is that old Watchtower?”

“Oh that old thing? It's always been there.”

“Yes, but what is it?”

“Just a tower.”

“Is there anything about it that could be making these kids sick? People tell me that all the kids concerned go up there regularly to play.”

“Kids round here have always gone up to play. If it was something to do with the Watchtower, I would be sick. We send them there because it's relatively safe, it keeps the kids entertained and away from the village so that they're not underfoot.”

I nodded before taking another deep breath. I didn't want her to think that she could have done something.

“I heard about the mudslide?”

She looked confused.

“Oh yes. Which one?”

“The one about seven months ago. I'm told it caused the Watchtower to tilt a little bit.”

“The tower has been tilting for years. The mayor says that it would take a lot more erosion before the tower would fall and I believe him. You should go and have a look.”

“I will. Is there anything else that you can think of that might help me?” Not that I thought that there might be but you never know and locals come out with the strangest things when you're not paying attention.

“Remember,” I told her. “I'm not from round here so I might not know what's important and what's not.”

“I don't think there's anything.” She told me. “I'll let you know if I think of anything though.” She noticed my abandoned cup. “You not going to finish your tea?”

“No thanks. I want to go and have a look at this Watchtower.”

She nodded. She proved she could move fast though as she caught my arm as I got to the door.

“Thank you.” She said. “Thank you for coming.” Then she kissed me on the cheek.

I would like to say that I didn't flee in the face of the poor woman's gratitude but I would be lying.

I went back to the inn to collect my spear and a couple of torches before heading up to the Watchtower. It was a little chilling. As I went up there there was a small group of children dancing around in a circle, holding hands and singing some kind of old nursery rhyme. One of the old rhymes that are actually meant as a warning or as a teaching device but over time their meaning has been lost. I didn't recognise this one but I did hear one of the children complain that there weren't enough of them to play the game properly any more.

I considered going over there to see if I could warn them off the Watchtower but I decided that it would be futile. From what the herb-woman had said, village children had been playing here since the village had first been built. Some stranger telling them that it might be dangerous wasn't going to change years worth of habits.

Instead I went over to the tower itself.

Calling it a tower is probably a bit ambitious. It's summit was maybe twelve feet off the ground. It was maybe nine foot square as a base and the stairs, such as they were, to reach the summit were carved into the outside walls of the tower. I climbed to the summit first to have a look at the view. It was cold up there and the spring winds blew straight through me.

I shivered but I was also procrastinating.

My working theory was that there was something living under the Watchtower. Just be looking at the thing you could tell that it predated human settlement to the area. The stone was the wrong colour for any kind of local stone. It was dark, almost granite like. As always when I find these odd structures that seem so out of place, I'm left wondering what they were built for. What were the original builders guarding against. It was the same feeling that had assailed me when I first saw Kaer Morhen. What was that place? And why was it there? But most chillingly. What was it guarding against?

In this case, what were the ancient builders of this tower watching for?

I looked around but humanity had changed the landscape so utterly that there was no way I could tell what might have happened.

But, as I say, my working theory was that something was under the tower. I reasoned that the erosion of the water coming down from the mountains had worn away at the hill that the tower had stood on but that the landslide had done some serious damage. Not to the stone work as that seemed as solid as it ever had been.

The stone was well put together enough that the original builders had had no need for mortar. A thing that would have been thought of as being impossible to modern human builders.

Reluctantly I climbed down from the tower. I was looking for cracks in the earth, something that could let light in to a newly opened up cellar or something. My plan was to search out from the tower in a spiral pattern. Starting from inside the tower itself.

The insides of the tower were relatively sheltered. As is the case with a lot of these kinds of ruins I found a pile of hay as well as some dry and sheltered firewood. A small circle of stones set out an area for a fire with black soot marks on the floor. I scratched at the floor with my eating knife, I know better than to use my fighting weapons for such investigations and found that the floor of the tower was packed dirt and mud over some kind of stone floor. I spent a little bit of time trying to find if it was made up of flagstones but eventually it became clear that I would need to dig up, just about, the entire floor of the tower to find anything out. Plus, I reasoned, if the gap was recently opened then it should, be at least partially visible. And it was obvious that some of this dirt had been impacted into place over years.

I did pull the hay apart though, and rearrange the woodpile to see if it was hiding anything.

It wasn't.

So I moved outside.

It's strangely off-putting to find what you're looking for almost immediately. When I started going around the edges of the tower, especially down between the edge of the tower and the bank that was being eroded, I found several cracks in the ground.

One of which, in particular, was quite large. I had a look at the edges and found scuff marks at the edges of the crack as well as some grooves that pointed to rope being on the edge.

Somebody had already been down here, recently too if I had to be any judge. I guessed at Kerrass and felt absurdly pleased with myself.

It's always reassuring to know that you're on the right track.

I peered in carefully. It was going to be a squeeze but I thought I could make it down there. I would prefer to have a rope but I didn't want to have to go back into town as I was pretty sure by that stage that if I had to go back then my courage would fail me.

I kept the spear beside me and slid down. It was not easy. On a couple of occasions I went sharply down and then had to climb back up again. I resolved that I would bring a rope next time to make sure it would be easier to find my way. As it was I mislaid my spear twice and had to backtrack to find it again. I was dimly aware that I was moving in the rough direction of the tower itself. I was also aware that I had probably moved a depressingly small distance.

In the end though I made I through to what felt like a small cave. I don't know how it got there. It was incredibly dark with just enough light coming in from the hole that I had crawled down for me to be able to light a torch. I didn't want to leave it lit for too long as I was unsure of the air supply down here as it did smell pretty stale.

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Off to one side I found some stairs that led up to a flat stone ceiling which I guessed to be the floor of the watchtower. There was a flat stone there but to get to it I would need to trust the wooden stairs that didn't look to be too stable or healthy but even if I got there I guessed that it would be too heavy. The floor of the tower was so impacted with dirt that I doubted I would be able to lift the heavy looking stone up.

Beyond that it was a fairly standard looking cave. Not too large. Again, I had no difficulty imagining that it might once have been used to house a supply cache for whoever had built the tower. I wouldn't want to sleep down here as it would be too stuffy but I could see that it could be done.

However the floor was muddy and tacky under foot. Water was seeping in from somewhere and had washed the earth into the cave where it had settled into the ground as mud. I wondered if it was also seeping out somewhere.

I also thought about how far down I was. The mud had raised the ground level of the cave by not a small amount so I was moving at a stoop as I looked around the edges. I also found animal holes and guessed at rats, rabbits or other small scavengers.

I was examining one of the wholes when I stood up suddenly and banged my head on the ceiling. The hairs down my arm had stood on end and I shivered.

The room was too small for proper spear work unless I fought from my knees which was not a prospect that I found particularly exciting. I still had my spear in hand and I span, I planted the torch into the mud so that it stood upright, removed the bottom half of my spear and tossed it towards the stairs where I would be able to collect it later without having to scrabble around in the mud to look for it.

I edged back to the wall and put my back against it as I scanned the small cave for the tell-tale green light of a spectre.

It's the strangest feeling being in the presence of a ghost when it doesn't want to be seen, or the conditions aren't right for it to be seen. I shivered, I felt the hairs stand up on my neck and down my fore-arm and I had the strangest sense that something was stood next to me, only a meter or so away.

I turned towards it but the feeling seemed to move to the right.

I know that that seems to be odd or strange but I really can't think of any other way to put it. I took a deep breath.

“Hello,” I called out although it might be more accurate to say that I squeaked it out.

Then the thought occurred that I wasn't properly prepared for a confrontation with a ghost. I took another deep breath, scooped up the torch and moved to pick up the bottom half of my spear. I jammed both parts of my spear into my belt and went to climb up and out of the little cave.

I felt eyes on the back of my head.

I was being watched.

Climbing out turned out to be much more difficult than climbing down.

I sat on the hillside for a little while thinking things through although it seemed to be obvious as to what needed to happen next. The kids tried to come up here at night when they were delirious.

So night time it was.

I yawned before climbing to my feet and heading into town.

I found Kerrass sat at a corner table, reading the same book that he had been looking through before. He had a mug of something that was steaming next to him and he was reading carefully, his lips moving as he read. I didn't get to really look at the book but I saw that it was covered in handwriting.

He didn't look up as I approached.

“I need some Spectre oil.” I told him.

Without speaking he reached out his other hand, the one that he wasn't using to mark his place in the book with and held out the small bottle of liquid. He must have already had it in his hand waiting for me.

Another sign that I was on the right lines.

I wanted to say something but for the life of me I couldn't think of what needed to be said. To say that I was sorry would be wrong as I wasn't entirely sure what I was sorry about yet so an apology would sound wrong in my head. Also, I wasn't entirely sure what I had to be sorry about, other than a vague kind of feeling that I had fucked up somewhere. Demanding an apology from him also seemed wrong.

It was almost the definition of our association that he knew more than I did about these kinds of situations. In any other situation to do with travelling on the road or hunting monsters I would have deferred to his judgement in every situation. In the same way that he would defer to mine when it came to some kind of social engagement but I.....

Oh....

Something to think about there.

I decided that I was still feeling fairly muddled and that talking to Kerrass wouldn't do either of us any good.

Yet.

So instead I went to bed in an effort to get some rest before what was sure to be an interesting evening.

-

So I stared into the flames. Trying to figure things out. It wasn't going well for me.

What I should be doing was trying to figure out what I was dealing with and how to deal with it. It was almost certain that I was dealing with some kind of ghost. A spirit or spectre of some kind. My working theory was that the ground had been disturbed during the earlier mudslide and that had allowed the spirit of something to escape and start tormenting the village.

If the truth be told, I wasn't that concerned for my own safety. It was the children that had been affected most by the supernatural effects, the adults had seen the results but had not been affected. So I was pretty sure that I would, at worst, need to defend myself from a wraith or some other kind of effect.

I was more worried about what to do about Kerrass. Our relationship, both professional and personal had been damaged somewhere and somehow. I had some ideas as to why but at the same time, Kerrass' actions didn't completely add up for me and I was concerned about what was happening.

I valued him as a friend more than I could say. He was responsible for my ascension in the public eye which meant that he was responsible for my rise in academic rank. Without him I would not have survived to meet Ariadne, I would never have met Ariadne in the first place and although it had only really been, by this point, a little over a year since I had met her, I shivered to think about what my life would be like if I hadn't met her or where I would be by now. It would be almost certain that my marriage would have been arranged by now but that was a rabbit hole that I found my brain fleeing from.

I would never have found out about my fathers killer and what had led to it which would mean that my entire familial situation would be so very different.

Would that mean that Francesca would still be alive?

That didn't bear thinking about.

But one of the important things that Kerrass had taught me about was that he had taught me about the world.

I sat facing the fire for a long time, thinking back tot he person that had left Oxenfurt with a Quarterstaff, some travelling clothes and a bedroll, convinced that my status as a scholar would see me through. Kerrass had taught me about the beauty of a simple life. He'd shown me my prejudices against those people that I just used to label under the overall term of “Commonners”.

I shuddered at that thought.

Now of course I knew that the term was too broad. Villagers, towns-folk, farm-folk, city-folk, merchants, craftspeople, travelling entertainers of every stripe, military folk otherwise defined by their use of their weapons to make their living. The underworld that I used to think of as just being evil predators that just made their living by taking from their betters whereas now I had an understanding of the fact that some, if not most people were driven to that lifestyle rather than choosing it for it's own sake.

I owed Kerrass for that.

I also owed Kerrass for the shifting definition of “monster”. When I had first set out from Oxenfurt I had thought of a monster as being anything that was not human. If you had pushed me I would have added the other collection of races that are commonly referred to as the “non-humans” to the definition of not being monsters which was another prejudice that I had been forced to get over. But since knowing and travelling with Kerrass I had met and interacted with, and been offered the kindness of other races that I would have thought of as Monsters. Trolls and vampires being the ones that I have written about but also Changelings, Succubi, Godling, numerous spirits and ghosts, Incubi, Dragons and an Isolated Werewolf who had deliberately isolated himself from society but had come to the defence of a local village when it had been attacked by bandits.

No, the monsters were the villagers that then tried to hire a Witcher to hunt down and destroy the Werewolf for existing.

In case you're wondering, Kerrass managed to warn the poor thing that the lynch-mob was on it's way and he was able to get away. Along with his wife and child.

I had also learned that a lot of the “monsters” that Kerrass was hired to hunt were often creatures that had had their habitat disturbed by the activity of humanity. Not conscious, angry beasts but just animals. Large and terrifying though they might be.

Kerrass had taught me that.

But it was time for action, no more time for thinking.

I took the bottle that he had given me, opened it before taking a cloth and, in the same way that you would applying polish to armour, I started to apply the oil to my spear and dagger, taking my time to make sure both were nice and covered in it. That I could see that darkish, green and blue tint on every scrap of business metal.

Right then.

I stood, wrapped up all but one of the torches and slung them in a bundle across my back so that they would be out of my way. The coil of rope went the same way and I spent a bit of time doing some twists and turns to make sure that they were properly settled on my body and wouldn't come loose if I needed to defend myself. I hung the mallet off a hoop in my belt and the climbing spike went on the other side to balance me out. Again I danced a couple of steps to make sure I was settled and comfortable.

Then I stared into the flame and offered a little prayer for my preservation.

It was time though.

I picked up my spear in one hand and let the last torch to see me up the hill.

Strange how even relatively small distances can be amplified in the dark to huge, mile-long treks to which there is no end.

I slowly made my way up the hill. Far too slowly if we're having to be honest with each other. I don't know what was worse, my own fear of what I might find or my hard-taught and hard learnt caution.

Then I saw the green flash.

I've talked about the green flash before, the sign of an angry spirit. I had enough time to throw myself flat, tuck and roll. True to form, the spectre had appeared just behind where I had been standing a moment before and it's blade had passed through where my back had been a moment before. I stumbled to my feet and plunged the torch that I was carrying into the ground at my feet. I had enough time to drop the hammer and spike next to it.

This is why it's always good to have spare torches. Although I hoped that the torch would carry on burning and remain upright there was no guarantee. I could still see my little preparation fire so if it did go out, I could still make it back and light another torch.

I managed those things, I was prepared for this but the thing that I always forget is the deceptive way that spectre's move.

In case you haven't read any of the descriptions about spectres before. They are angry spirits that seem to glow with a green light. Sometimes that glow is a bright green fire but other times it's just a glow. Sometimes they carry what look like lanterns, other times the glow seems to come from some kind of internal source. They often have what look like headstones attached to their backs. I've seen several which trail chains and still more that wear armour.

Fortunately for me, they nearly always use swords which can be parried by anything that you might be able to lay your hands on. Don't ask me why they have material swords that manifest so suddenly like that, I couldn't tell you. You'd be better off talking to a magic user about that.

But they move deceptively. As they move over the ground they seem to move fairly slowly. At no more than the walking speed of humans and they move in the same kind of way, turning and twisting like humans. But then they vanish and teleport significant distances in the blink of an eye.

So, in theory, you fight one like you would a human. But when one vanishes, the best thing to do is to throw yourself into a long roll as there's no way of telling where that blade is going to pass. Don't ask me why but they can't seem to skip and then skip again immediately. As though there is some part of them that is alive and the small teleport leaps renders them confused.

I was pretty sure that I could handle one spectre.

But on the other hand I was still carrying a lot of extra weight and didn't think I had time to get rid of the rope and spare torches.

It lunged forwards and I managed to knock it's blow aside by a sweep of the spear that owed more to my Quarterstaff training than it did to my training with a spear.

Heh.

Back-sliding in more than one way.

Using the technique I followed the movement round to engage the bladed end of the spear. I didn't expect it to strike home but I thought it might give me some room to move and so that I could bring the rest of the pole back into play so that I was wielding a spear again instead of a staff. I lunged and it fell back before vanishing again.

Following the learned rhythm, I threw myself into another roll which carried me a bit further down the hill than I wanted to go. But it did give me room to study my opponent. It was armoured and I could see the top part of leg greaves which suggested that it had some kind of military training. Probably a soldier of some kind in life for it to hold on to the shape of it's armour even after death.

It advanced on me slowly from where it reappeared and I stood ready for it, shifting round so that we were on equal footing. It struck at me twice and I blocked twice before rolling my spear over it's weapon and managed a strike.

It screamed and I felt confidence flow through me.

But then there was another green flash from over to my left.

I swore a little bit as I didn't have time for more than that.

Teach me for being overconfident.

I tried to close with the first spectre to do a bit more damage before the second arrived but there was definitely some military training at work here. It parried my blows carefully and I judged that it was tying me up until it's friend could arrive.

Panic started to flare up and the urge to over-extend myself in an effort to end the first one was strong in me. I was pretty sure I could defeat one spectre by myself but two felt a little bit of a stretch.

The second one was getting closer and I had to move so that I could see both of them. It would do no good to be too focused on one opponent and then forget about the other one as it teleported behind me and cut my head from my neck

Ok, this was getting serious. They knew each other and were working together. While not unusual it was certainly cause for concern. I would need to start getting creative.

The tactic here was to try and isolate the one from the other. Ideally I would be able to destroy the one that had already been injured first before being able to take on the fresh one. But they were working together as a unit, not letting themselves be drawn out or separated.

“Hello,” I tried communication. Unlikely to work, indeed I had never seen it work, or heard of an occasion where it did work but you never know. Maybe this time.

The problem with trying to communicate with Spectres is that by the time a spirit gets to the point of being a wight it has lost the spark of intelligence and....well....humanity that would let you communicate with it.

But, if you don't try then nothing ever happens.

“Hello,” I tried again. “Can we talk about this?”

No answer. Well what did I expect really.

Instead one of them lunged at me and I had to spin away, not being sure enough of my footing to mount a counter.

Fuck,

Ok, what else is there to try.

Where the fuck am I anyway?

I had a look round. I realised that I was being herded towards the embankment. They would be able to move easily but I would struggle over the steep, rock-strewn ground. I thought about using the tower as shelter.

The problem was that they would almost certainly be able to teleport through the walls and if I ended up in the tower itself then I would be confined when the best way to combat spectres is to stay mobile.

But then an idea struck me.

Cautiously I backed up towards the tower. I was careful, feeling for my feet placement to be sure of my footing. I soon found the tower and started to back round it.

Both spectres had their swords in their right hands. So I backed round, keeping the wall on my left, their right. Nice and slow, calm.

They were getting closer. one followed the line of the fort, the other came round to my right, trying to box me in against the wall. The one closest to the wall was my target. I went to step backwards but I had let them get close. As they should... the spectre took that opportunity to draw back and swing.

As I hoped it would.

It fouled it's sword on the wall of the fort and I lunged forwards to skewer it nice and hard while it's sword was out of position. There was an odd resistance to the blow as I saw my blade enter it. A chill and shock went up the haft of my spear but the thing was dying. I kept going forward. Managing to tuck and roll. The second spectre had attacked while I was skewering it's companion and I needed to get out of the way and make up some ground.

I was getting tired now. Fighting, especially the slow and tactical kind of fighting is deceptively wearying. If he had been human I would have thought the remaining spectre was angry. He came after me quickly and I was forced to focus on just parrying with no mind for any kind of attempt at attacking.

I continued to back off. I needed room. Room to think and plan.

Also a bit of a rest would be lovely.

But the spectre just kept coming on.

It's a fine balancing act, backing away. Just far enough to keep it from trying a teleport but also far enough away so that it didn't get to attack me while I was moving.

But I couldn't back away forever.

I found a patch of ground that seemed relatively flat and stable and decided to make my stand. I planted my feet and as it came closer to me I jabbed at it, the oldest attack pattern that Kerrass had ever taught me.

Throat, groin, throat. Three quick stabs.

It drifted aside and went for a cut to my head. I blocked and was forced sideways. It cut the other way, again I blocked and stepped back the way I came. It's blows were strong and although I didn't know for sure, I thought that this was the uninjured Wight.

It vanished and I dived into a roll and came to my feet.

I was beginning to slow down now. That dive and roll was happening slower and slower.

It closed with me, possibly sensing my weariness.

Oh, that was a bad idea.

If Kerrass saw this he would be so cross.

It was supposed to be a defensive movement but I was running out of other ideas.

It came in for a swing.

I let go of the spear with my right hand so that I was holding it upright with just my left hand. I blocked the blow with the spear as I stepped close and drew my dagger.

It tried to pull back, sensing the danger but not before I managed to stab it twice with the dagger.

The oil on the blade hissed as it made contact with the spectral....whatever it is that makes up the substance of a spirit. It seemed to scream as it collapsed in on itself.

I waited.

The moment of greatest danger is in that moment when you think that you're out of danger but don't yet know that you're out of danger.

Slowly. I started to relax and bent over to lean on my spear as I sucked air into my lungs.

For one glorious moment, I thought that that might be it. That I could go from here, clear away my little fire, find the spike and the mallet and head back to the village. For a wonderful moment I thought that that might be the case. That I might be off the hook.

But of course I wasn't.

Why?

Because the bodies of the children had no other obvious signs of injury. And they hadn't died on the hill itself. The spirits that I had fought had all wielded weapons. These spirits were protecting something else.

But what?

My night wasn't over it would seem.

I found my torch and the hammer and climbing spike and headed up to the watch tower again.

Something caught my eye I was climbing up towards the tower. Off to one side I saw something glittering in the way that sand sometimes catches the light and reflects it back. I checked where I was and went over to investigate.

What I found was a small pile of greenish white dust, scattered over a scorch mark on the floor. I knew better than to sniff it or taste it but I did roll some between my fingers to check that I did indeed know what it was.

Spectre Dust. Another Spectre had died here. Far away from the wall of the tower where I'd killed one and some distance from where the other had died. There had been more spectres here and someone had destroyed them. I straightened.

Kerrass.

For a while I wondered if he was watching me. I didn't bother looking though. If he wanted me to know that he was there he would call out to me. Also, he could see in the dark much better than I could and I was light blinded by the torches.

I set off towards the tower and the cave again.

It took me a little while of hunting to find the cave entrance. I had to re-orient myself to the tower several times and I was also worried about tripping down it and hurting myself. The other problem being that it looked much smaller in the dark. I think there were a couple of occasions when I found the hole and discounted it on the grounds that it looked too small for the hole that I had remembered seeing.

But I found it and set down my gear.

I tied my rope into the climbing spike before hammering it deep into the ground. I tried my full weight on it outside the hole first to make sure that it could take me as I had visions of the spike coming out when I was half way down there. Made sure there was another torch as well, next to the spike and lit that one as well so that I would have a light source that would tell me when I had climbed out.

I really, really didn't want to go down the hole.

I took the spear apart and just slung the bladed end to my back, leaving the pole with the torch. There was no way that I would be able to properly use the spear down there so there was no point in even tempting myself into doing that.

I realised that I was procrastinating. My breath was coming in short gasps and that I was sweating and shaking.

Turns out that it's one thing to climb down a dark hole in the middle of the day while also being quite another to climb there at night.

Let alone, doing so after a fight.

“Tear the plaster off.” I told myself and probably went down far too fast. “Fastest done, fastest over.”

I guessed that I was about half way down the hole when I began to see a faint, bluish white light.

“No,” I said to myself. “This isn't too terrifying.” I had to take another couple of deep breaths before I ventured further into the cave. I rolled over the embankment and came to my feet. From here I would be able to walk, just a little bit further before I would be able to straighten up. I lit another torch and left it on the ground, carefully making sure that it was a good foot away from where I had let the rope lie so that the rope didn't catch fire.

Three torches down. Plus the one that I was holding which wouldn't last forever leaving me three left. I wanted one for the entrance to the larger cavern and had thought that I could use one to illuminate the other end of the cavern with an extra torch spare.

I suddenly bitterly regretted not bringing more torches. Like, a dozen more torches.

The glow seemed to come from just round the bend into the larger cavern.

I took a deep breath and held the shortened spear out in front of me.

I advanced slowly, spear and torch before me, which was an awkward way to go caving. But I crept forwards as best as I could.

I came to the entrance to the larger cavern and had to take another deep breath. Calling the strange light “bright” would be an exaggeration. It was only bright because of the darkness, the thrown shadows of my own flame and the depths of my imagination.

As I say. Firelight is not a good way of dismissing fear.

I took another deep breath and lit a second torch. I stepped through the entranceway and into the cavern leaving the new torch on the right of the entrance so I knew that I would need to have it on my left as I left, it's important to keep these things oriented in your mind, and then looked up into the cavern.

The light went out before I could see the source of the light.

Fuck.

A shiver went down my spine and once again I was left feeling as though I was being watched. The hairs on my forearm and the back of my neck started to stand up.

I took a deep breath and saw, in my torchlight, that my breath was fogging in the air.

I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, that strange feeling of the blood pumping through my veins. It was deathly quiet. I remember distinctly thinking that it was “as quiet as a tomb,”

I don't know why I thought that.

It took me another few moments to master myself.

I remembered the wooden framework of the stairs at the other end of the room. I raised my torch in an effort to get some more light into the room and could just see the dime shapes of the skeletal framework at the other end of the room. But I was also aware of the possible distortions of reality that the dark, the fear and the presence of something ghostly. I carefully felt my way round the wall until I reached the stairs before lighting another torch and leaving it there, nice and elevated so it would give me more light.

Ok then, so....what now?

I thought about the presence that I had felt earlier in the day when I had been down there.

“Fuck it....” I said quietly.

I heard a young voice tittering.

I jumped a mile, narrowly avoiding banging my head on the low ceiling.

“Uh, hello.” I called into the cavern when I had got myself back under control. “Is there anyone there?” I asked, proving that no cliché is ever too much for this scholar.

I got the feeling of being watched.

Then I made a foolish error.

I closed my eyes in an effort to sharpen my hearing or whatever sense it was that was using to try and sense whatever it was that I was in the presence of. I had felt a sense of it's location before but now I couldn't tell what was happening. I took several deep breaths before giving up and opening my eyes again.

“Boo,” said the quiet voice.

“FUCK,” I yelled and fell backwards hitting my head on some of the wooden framework of the stairs.

There was again, a sound of quiet laughter.

“You said a naughty word.” Came the voice.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Are you here to play with me?”

I shuddered. I realised that the voice sounded like that of a young child.

“Uhhhh, maybe?” I tried.

“No-one will play with me.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Why will no-one play with me?”

Seeing it written down on the paper doesn't properly convey just how terrifying this was. But now the light was coming back.

I began to get the sense of a small figure stood at the edge of the cavern. Just a shape, a small human shape. It oddly made me feel better but the blue tinged light was not helping. I was used to green light coming from angry spirits and I couldn't tell what this blue light meant. But having a shape, if not a face, to address my words towards was helpful.

“Who are you?” I asked it.

“I'm bored.” Came the voice. It echoed strangely off the walls. As though it wasn't being generated by a pair of lungs or a mouth. “So bored and tired and hungry.”

“Why don't you tell me your name?” I asked it again but it seemed to be ignoring me.

“I'm so bored.” He complained.”

I took another deep breath. “What would you like to play?” I asked him. His features had kind of been fading into vision. As though they were becoming more and more pronounced. I could see his nose forming and the outline of eyebrows and clothes. He was dressed in an old-fashioned style. Much more ornate style a mixture of the modern, austerity of Nilfgaard mixed with the ornate and flimsy garb of Toussaint. A simple hat sat on his head. He wore stockings underneath his tunic and worse simple shoes. He looked like a page that you would see in any nobleman's house, or a fostered son learning the ways of someone else's court traditions.

His body language was unspeakably sad. Dejected and despairing.

“I'm not supposed to play with adults.” He said, turning towards me. His features fading into view quicker now.

I groaned.

It's odd how the eye slides of things that it doesn't want to see. The eye slides off and the mind refuses to register it.

The boy was emaciated, skeletally thin to the point of death. As I looked at him it seemed as though the skin was peeling off his face and I could see him clearly for the dying young boy that he was. I suddenly had a vision of blonde hair, cut above the collar, clear blue eyes in the way that must have delighted his parents. I would put his age at being about six or seven. He was dying before my eyes.

The thing that sent me fleeing for the sake of my mind and sanity was when his eyeball rolled out of his socket and hung by a thread.

My brain went away for a while. I count myself lucky that I still had my spear because if I had put it down then I think it would still be under the ground there. I ran before that awful sight.

And I've seen some unpleasant stuff in my time of following Kerrass around but there was something so....simple in the awfulness, in the horror of that thing's expression as it's eye simply rolled out. There was something in the innocence of the boys face that cut me down to the soul.

I found my way out more by chance than by any kind of skill and hauled my way along the rope as hard as I could. The lack of care in my ascent meant that I was scuffed against the sides of the tunnel sending loose dirt and earth further down the tunnel.

It felt so much further than I remembered to get to the surface but eventually I saw the torchlight and scrambled to see it.

Strong hands took mine and hauled at me. I looked up and saw Kerrass' face. He had planted his feet and pulled me bodily from the hole.

I was shaking with the sudden effort and the fear and the sheer horror of the thing. When I was out of the hole I still needed to move a little, Kerrass' presence not withstanding I was shaking and my legs still wanted to move.

He waited for a while with the attitude of someone who was waiting for a friend to fall over after drinking too much. As though he was waiting to catch me. I realised that he was saying my name.

“Freddie?” I looked up at him. He searched my eyes for a minute, seemed satisfied with what he saw and nodded.

“I'm on top of the tower when you're ready.”

It still took me some time to calm down. I wasn't ready for a conversation yet but it seemed like I was getting one.

He was sat on the top of the tower in the shelter of one of the crenellations. I saw a bedroll in one corner as well as cooking pot that was bubbling over some hot stones. A trick that he used occasionally when he didn't want to build a fire. He would heat a couple of stones with his “Igni sign,” and cook over that. He had a hooded lantern next to him, from the light of which he was reading from that book again.

When I arrived he reached over and took some more liquid out of the pot and poured it into a spare mug before offering it to me.

“Here,” he said, “It'll help.”

I recognised one of the herbal teas that he liked. Sweetened with a little too much honey for my normal tastes but I also knew from past experience that it would help.

I sat down opposite him and stretched out. It was surprisingly warm and well sheltered on the tower top, helped by the hot stones and the drink. I felt my legs crack as the muscles started to relax from their adrenaline fuelled tensions. I stretched out and sighed before staring over at Kerrass who was taking the cover off the lantern so that there was more light to go around.

I stared at him for a long time. I almost felt the distance between us growing like a chasm. He had hurt me and I suspected the I had hurt him. I was still angry but hadn't had enough time to sort out my own feelings about that.

“You alright?” He asked me after a long while of trying to peer at the book again.

“St Lebioda's testicles Kerrass.” I told him with some asperity. “What the fuck was that?”

“It was a ghost Freddie.” I could see the corners of his mouth turn up in one of his old smiles and decided that he was laughing at me.

“I know it was a ghost Dammit.” I snarled. “I'm not that stupid.”

“But you are stupid then.” He was grinning. He was teasing me and I didn't know what to make of that.

We started laughing at the same time. It felt good.

“It's a type of ghost called “porzucone dziecko” or “wedi eu gadael yn ddieuog” according to the elves.”

I thought for a moment. “I've never heard of it,” I decided.

“And I would be surprised if you had if I'm honest. Fortunately you deal with them in exactly the same way that you would in any other case of a haunting.”

“Spectre oil.” I said nodding.

“Plenty of stabbing,” he agreed.

“Then the question has to be asked Kerrass. Why haven't you done that yet. Was all of this some kind of elaborate test to tell me how useless I am? I'm not saying that this wasn't important. I've gotten over that particular brand of my own.....nonsense but, at the same time...”

“Your influence again I'm afraid.” He sighed and put the book aside.

“My influence?”

“Yes.”

“I don't understand.”

“This is going to embarrass you.”

“Maybe but I'll take the embarrassment over confusion.”

He smiled a little sadly.

“I meant what I said.” He told me after some time. “You have made me a better man and a better Witcher than I ever was before. There are a number of points in my life where I have been influenced for the better, or at least I hope it's for the better. The earliest one in my life was the adventure that brought Sleeping Beauty into my life. It was awful having to see what I did there and if I could give her that innocence back or if I could, I would still go back and change it. But seeing what those men did to her had a profound effect on me. An effect that I still become surprised by.

“Then there was the time that I was rescued and cared for by men that I had been taught to despise. Men who I had hated since I was seven or eight.”

“Eskel, Vesemir and the others from the Wolf school?”

“The very same. They taught me more about being a Witcher and about being a man. They gave me a code to live by. The fact that I came up with the majority of that code by myself is immaterial but at the same time, they taught me that a code is important.”

He grinned suddenly.

“But I wasn't having fun until I met you.”

“Uh, thanks? I think.”

He nodded at that.

“Don't get me wrong. There were times there when I was so angry with you that I could pull out your eyeballs with my teeth...”

I remembered the ghost in the cavern below us and shivered at the image.

“...but you taught me about trying to help people. Even if it turned out that you couldn't. I said I wasn't having fun as a Witcher before you. But you have shown me that I can also take a kind of pride in being a Witcher. In helping others with the gifts that I have been given, even if I do ask for money in return for the services. I was never ashamed of who, or what I am but at the same time, I was never proud of being a Witcher.”

He looked into his cup and poured himself some more from the cauldron. He beckoned to me and I handed my own cup over to be refilled.

“Which brings us to this ghost.” He said before grimacing at the drink and adding another spoonful of honey to his own cup. “It's name roughly translates to Abandoned child. You won't have heard of it because it's rare and getting rarer in the modern day. Indeed, this is the first one I've ever seen. You just don't come across them anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because they are generated by specific circumstances that just don't come up. When this part of the world was first colonised by humanity, any burk that had a number of armed men could put a crown on his head and declare himself King.”

“Or Queen.”

“Yes indeed and we mustn't think that women can't be as bloodthirsty and unpleasant as men. As you know these little Kingdoms started to encroach on each other. Wars happened and then they started to merge into bigger Kingdoms. Then the Kingdoms would often war with themselves as one noble would think, “Why do I have to follow that guy because his Granddaddy was more of a blood thirsty bastard than mine?” So Kings started to look around for “Inconvenient children.” Bastard children or other figure heads that ambitious men....”

“And women,” I interrupted.

“Yes, or women would pin their hopes on to be the next King or Queen. So the smart thing to do was to exterminate all the children who had, or nearly had, a claim to the throne. The parents of the children tended to be upset at this prospect would hide their children away in an effort to keep them safe. Sometimes though they would lock the child away where they were “safe” and secret before they would go off to be beheaded for crimes, many and varied. Then for whatever reason, no-one came to look for the child and they starve to death or suffocate or otherwise die in their imprisonment.”

“That's awful.” I said. And it was.

“I agree. It doesn't happen as much now because the Kingdoms are so large that having a spare bastard lying around is occasionally useful for the preservation of the royal line. Out of the way castles can be found to lock away the inconvenient children so it just doesn't come up as often as it used to.

“Which brings me to my point.

“The old Kerrass would have just walked into town, realised what was going on, found the ghost and commenced with the stabbing. But I couldn't.

“We don't know what happens to the spirits that we slay. Do they just dissipate for a while, are they sent on to whatever place we all go to next or are we killing them? No-one knows because of course they don't. That would take away half the fun of the situation. But, recognising the ghost's behaviour I found that I couldn't do that to an innocent life. It's a monster but it's also a child that was dealt that cruellest of blows.

“These ghosts follow a pattern. They kill in a cycle, in this case, the child took a long time to die. Just under a week. I would tell you to think of it like a vampire but that's a little impolite nowadays.” He smiled at me.

“A little,” I admitted.

“But anyway. It's hurt, it's angry and it's very frightened and incredibly lonely. It, and I use the term loosely, “lives” with it's existence for a period of time that is often arbitrary. In this case, a little over six days. Then, when it can't tolerate the loneliness any further, it selects a playmate.”

“A child.”

“Yes. Then, if the child refuses to play through, understandable, terror then the ghost becomes angry and invades the childs nightmares and drives them mad and so to suicide. After a playmate dies the ghost actually feels unbearable guilt at what it does and withdraws until it can't take it any more and comes for another playmate. If the playmate agrees then the ghost and the playmate “play,” until the playmate simply drops dead from exhaustion.”

“So that was why the children looked so tired before death.”

“Yes, the herb-woman's diagnosis of fatigue was correct but she wasn't to know that she was treating a symptom of the disease rather than the disease itself.”

“She will be glad to hear that.” I said.

Kerrass just looked at me for a moment as I heard the words that I had just said.

“Who am I kidding?” I said after a while. “She's going to berate herself for not catching it. The same as most of the people here are going to.”

Kerrass nodded.

“So anyway,” he said, changing the topic with admirable restraint. “The last child was killed about four days ago now. So, I thought that as there was no danger for the next few nights, I would have a look around to see if I could find something out about who this child was in an effort to lay them to rest rather than to destroy them.”

I nodded. I approved

“Any luck?”

Kerrass sighed before shaking his head. “I spent last night up here in case I was wrong and a young kid did come up here to be chosen as a playmate. After you went to bed I went down to the cavern and had a look round for the kids remains so that they could be blessed by a priest. But they're either buried under sediment, carried off by animals or have fallen down the cracks somewhere during one of the earth movements.”

“Ooh, while I think about it. Is that what started this whole thing going. The landslide opened the crack which meant the spirit could get out.”

“That's my guess, yes.”

I was absurdly pleased that I had got that right.

“So in the early hours I went off investigating which was when I found this.” He hauled the book into view.

“What is it?”

“Your influence made manifest?”

“Mmm?”

“Remember Castle Dorn? You told me that you often find out more from the servants records than you do from the noble occupants.”

“I did.”

“Well, it's the same here. Turns out that the maidservant was a diarist.”

“They're always the best.”

“Mmm well, it wasn't any help. I know the child's name. I know why he was abandoned and why he was important but nothing that's going to help me put that poor kid to rest rather than to simply destroy him.”

“Who was he?”

Kerrass was right. It was a very sad story. Giving you the short version here rather than the minutiae of it.

His name was Jiakob and even before he was born he was already a victim of the local dynastic squabbles of the area.

Kerrass and I had seen the larger castle further down in to the river basin. Turns out that that belongs to the local Duke but at the time of the book's writing he was referred to as King, this was, maybe a hundred years ago. The then owners of the local ruined manor house were blessed with a lovely daughter. The Lord of the manor decided that he was ambitious and wanted to try his hand at national politics. The King, at the time, was a notable womaniser (I notice that there seems to be a lot of those older kings with this habit. I wonder if it was some kind of disease that you caught when someone handed you a crown.) and the father sent his daughter down to court in an effort to catch the King's eye.

The King was having trouble conceiving a son. He had no trouble at all conceiving daughters but his wife, the queen, just couldn't give him a son. So when this provincial girl went down to court full of innocent seduction, large eyes and long eyelashes the King was helpless before her.

Having read the book at length before sending it off to the university as an example of history and household life in this part of the world, there was one quote that caught my eye. The maid was trying to play her own game of seduction only on the head of the household guard. Said guard had once told the maidservant of something that the Lord had said which was “There is something in her eyes that hooks onto a man's soul.”

I'll never forget that.

The King never stood a chance. Three months later the girl was the King's official mistress, much to the Queen's displeasure. The Queen's family was similarly disposed towards the King and resented the arrival of this new faction in politics and they sent assassins after the Kings new favourite who promptly, and sensibly, fled.

Because she was pregnant.

The Queen's mistake was not chasing after the girl straight away. Instead she allowed the girl to escape and gave her enough time to give birth to a son.

The King was overjoyed at his newly arrived proven ability to produce a male heir.

The Queen was furious as now she was the one taking the blame for everything that was wrong with the world. Her faction went to work to discredit the Girl and her family going to all kinds of lengths to prove that the girl was a slattern, that the baby wasn't the King's child and did their best to discredit her. But the King was a softy and eventually the Queen received word that he was planning to set her aside and marry a younger girl of proven ability to produce sons.

But then another faction rose to the fore and the “Kingdom” was engulfed in something of a civil war.

Looking up the dates this would be around when Nilfgaard was beginning to expand into this area. The King was left to concentrate on these bigger concerns and set the matter aside to be dealt with later.

But that still left the bastard son out there.

The boys mother was ridiculously paranoid about her sons life. I would like to think that she loved her son and was concerned for his safety but the maid was of the opinion that her mistress was well aware of the importance of the child and wanted to keep him safe.

But the threat of assassins from any side of the dynastic struggles.

So she hid him. In her fathers hunting lodge.

He was forbidden from speaking to anyone other than the well known members of her fathers household and when men came, searching for him or to interrogate the household, the boy would be taken into the watch-tower and locked in the basement. He was guarded at all times by a group of his grandfathers guards.

One day, the guards just didn't come back. The boys mother had been summoned back to the court, a visit that she would not return from. The boys grandfather decided to grow a sense of right and wrong at the time and threw in with Nilfgaard. But the boy was still alive and inconvenient to everyone. Inconvenient to the Nilfgaardians who didn't want an extra heir to the castle lying around. The warring families wanted the line of succession to be clear and easy and the boy just became....

Inconvenient.

No-one seemed to know what had gone on. The household staff didn't even know where the guards used to take the boy to look after him on the grounds that the location couldn't be tortured out of them by enemies. They searched but couldn't find him.

It was unknown whether the guards deserted, were bought off, attacked and killed or even tortured to death for the location of the boy. But the boy was never found.

The silence fell around us quite gently after Kerrass had finished telling me the story.

“Wow,” I managed after a while. “So who were the other Spectres?”

“I don't know,” Kerrass said. “I can guess though, military training and armour. I think they were the knights who were assigned to protect him. Caught up in death, guilt, grief or some left over sense of duty. You did well by the way.”

“Two spectres, How many others were there?”

“Another five. I thought I was leaving you one but one must have got away from me.”

“Or there was another guard on rotation that was called off for some reason.”

“Maybe.”

I sucked my teeth.

“I'm sat here trying to think, if there is any way, that I could make that story even more tragic.”

Kerrass sighed and set the book aside.

“No,” he said. “It couldn't be worse. And now, his existence ends in the flash of a Witcher's sword. I can't think of any other way to deal with this.”

I grunted and rested my head on the cool stone of the watchtower crenellations.

“So what was this all about Kerrass?” I asked, more to fill the silence than for any other reason.

“Mmm?”

“All of this. Making me hunt this thing by myself rather than at your side. No, no, don't get me wrong.” I held up my hand to forestall him. “I was wrong. This is just as important as my missing sister. Everyone has tragedy, everyone does and I did see the anguish of another man who lost his sister. I saw the woman who couldn't help and thought it was her fault and I am aware that if.... if we had ridden by in my haste to carry on then another child would die and there would be more upset. More trauma. It might even have led to the loss of this village in the long run.

“So I was wrong in saying this wasn't important.”

Kerrass grunted.

“I do think, knocking me down was a bit harsh though.” I commented.

“Heh, No. You totally deserved knocking on your stupid noble ass then.”

“The first or the second time?”

Kerrass considered.

“The second time you definitely deserved it. Saying or even thinking that these peoples lives are “less important” deserves a smack in the mouth. The first one was just me.”

“What did I do to deserve that?”

Kerrass sighed and thought for a while.

“There were two reasons.” He said after a while. “I possibly couldn't have argued this before but I've been doing a lot of thinking since then.”

“What about?”

“Many, many things. Including whether or not I even wanted to carry on travelling with you.”

I stared at him in shock.

“Okay.” I said carefully.

“Don't get me wrong,” he went on. “I promised you that I would look for your sister and the people responsible but I no longer thought that I wanted to do that with you. I....I was beginning to think that with you being the way that you were, or possibly still are, that one or both of us wouldn't survive the experience.

That was the other reason I decided to take a contract. To help these people but also to test you. To see what I was dealing with now. I wanted to see if.... to see if you could still do this.” He sighed. “I'm not explaining myself very well.”

“So you decided to test me.”

“I did.”

“Did you not think I could do this?”

He sat forward suddenly. “That's it.” He said animatedly. “That's the point. The old you could have done it easily.

“The old you. The man who took the lessons that Letho gave him and still managed to shake the man's hand afterwards. I was so angry with him for what he put you through at the time but I've read your works on the matter since then and you took his lessons and made them.....have weight and substance. In ways that even he probably struggled with.”

“I thought you liked Letho.”

“Letho is a difficult man to like. I don't like his politics, his way of working or his morals or his ethics. But I can think of fewer people I would rather go drinking with, play cards with and once he has decided that he likes you then he will walk through fire for you.

“But anyway.

“The old you. The man that stood up to an ancient vampire. A woman so powerful that I struggle to think of who, in the Lodge of Sorceresses, could take her in a fight. And that's not a knock on the Lodge, they have some formidable women there. But you stood up to her, changed her mind, challenged her and made her think. You educated her about the world as it exists now rather than the world as it existed as she knew it and you did it in a few days ride. I've read your account of that adventure too and you give her a lot of the credit for getting us all out of that situation alive. You are correct but she wouldn't have made that decision without your help.

“The man that helped me wake the Princess up. A problem that heroes, wizards, warriors, nobles and scholars couldn't figure it out. Including this Witcher and you managed to look at it in a different light. You looked down on her sleeping form and you didn't feel lust but instead you felt pity.

“That guy. That guy could find this ghost. I've thought about this problem for a while and I can't find a way that we can dismiss the ghost without destroying it. If we had more time and you were definitely that man then I would say that you should give it a go, to try and find an alternative method. Just for the record though. The reason that we can't is that the ghost will choose another victim within the next couple of days.

“That man could have found the ghost. That man would have asked what was on the Witcher notice and when he saw that it was children that were dying without dismissing it, then he would have left his own mission to go and help. He would have insisted on it and would have been angry with me if I had been the one that tried to push us on down the road.

“That guy would have found the ghost.

“But the man you've been?”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“That man would have left. He would have continued on his self-imposed mission. He would have ignored these people's plights and done his own thing, rushing headlong into the problem.”

“I am the same man I was.” I tried.

“No Freddie, no you are not. It's hard because you still show some signs of that man. The comfort that you offered Princess Dorn, your realisation of the neglect that you had been showing Ariadne. These are things that the old Freddie would have done.

“But no.

“You have been through a tragedy and you're under an enormous amount of, largely self-imposed, pressure. An old teacher of mine once told me that when we are under stress we revert to behaving in the way that we first learned to behave. In your case, the spoiled, arrogant and self-righteous noble student.”

“I wasn't spoiled.”

“Come on Freddie, you honestly telling me that if your Father had put his foot down that you would have been able to avoid your familial obligations. He didn't agree with your decision to be a scholar but he accepted it because he loved you. If he had really wanted you to live up to your duties then you would have been carried home in a sack to marry whoever you were damn well told to marry. Probably some woman who was prohibitively far from the university. A Skelligan woman in return for a guarantee that Coulthard ships wouldn't be raided for example.”

“I hadn't thought of it like that.”

“Of course you haven't. But since your sister's disappearance, that is who you have again become. The headstrong bull in a glass shop that expects to get his own way, believing in your own invulnerability and that the world will just bend to your will because of who you are.”

It's hard to listen to your best friend list your faults. Even if you might not agree with them.

“Lets look at the evidence,” Kerrass said. “You insisted on being part of the investigation into your sisters disappearance. Do you know why I volunteered to lead the investigation that day?”

“You said it was because you knew the family.”

“That's right. I do know you. If it had been Geralt he would have told you to go back to your rooms and await word. What would you have done then?”

“I....I don't know.”

“Come on Freddie, you can lie to me if you like but don't lie to yourself. You would have carried out your own investigation wouldn't you. Even though the smartest thing would be to stay in the room and wait for the experts to do their job, you would have followed him around asking questions and getting in the way. So I insisted that I perform the tasks so that I could keep an eye on you.

“Then again when Laughing Jack is discovered as a presence. You demand to take part in the hunt. You expect it as though you're entitled to it. If we had been anywhere other than Toussaint where they appreciate the romance of the gesture, the guards would have locked you up to prevent you from interfering.

“Then, what do you decide to do. After Jack has badly injured a Witcher, killed many highly trained knights and dozens of expert guardsmen. You, YOU.” He jabbed his fingers at me for emphasis. “You dive into the water to chase after him alone. I was so angry with you I nearly killed you myself. What kind of foolish idiot were you becoming? I thought to myself. It's astonishing to me that you are still alive from that incident alone.

“Then when that doesn't work out we get onto the boring part of the investigation. The legwork, the searching of the houses and the ships. The magical surveys of the land and things. You identify that we could ask Jack what was happening.

“This was by far the most useless and stupid idea that you had come up with yet.”

“More stupid than talking to the dragon?”

“Yes, more stupid than that. A dragon can be killed. Jack can not. Also, I would remind you that we tried everything else before we tried talking to the dragon. Including the things that we knew weren't going to work but we tried them so that when we did talk to the dragon it was because we had no other choice. But you go charging off and doing it anyway.”

“And then, when that doesn't work. Instead of doing the sensible thing and waiting until all the alternatives to happen. All of the boring things which involve legwork. You go off and try to talk to him. You don't step aside and let someone more qualified to do it. You jump and insist that you do the talking.”

“You didn't try to stop me.” I pointed out. I thought I had been acting fairly rationally and I found Kerrass' point of view shocking.

“No I didn't. Because again, if I had tried to prevent you you would have done it by yourself and in a way that I wouldn't have been able to find you, or without the proper precautions.

“But I save the most stupid decision of all till last.

“Despite what happened to you in Ambers crossing. Despite knowing that Jack, if anything, is more powerful than that thing.

“You made a deal with him.

“For just a moment there. I hated your fucking guts Freddie. You didn't have to sit there with Emma and Mark and Ariadne and watch the fear that they were losing their little brother and the man that they loved to strange, unidentified powers. How could you have been so selfish when there are any number of more qualified people available to do what you just assumed that you would do.”

He stared into space for a moment, struggling with some kind of emotion.

“Oh and by the way, when we next meet Emma or Mark, you are going to buy your sister flowers as an apology and do....whatever it is that Mark wants you to do to apologise. I don't know, let him hear your confession or something.”

“You're consigning me to a fate worse than death Kerrass?”

“After what you put your family through, you deserve it.”

Kerrass didn't say anything for a while.

“I thought you might snap out of it when we left Toussaint but you carried on with it. Suddenly I was no longer your friend or companion or even.... or even your business partner or your study topic. I had become your servant.”

“Oh come on, that's unfair.”

“Is it?” He raised his eyebrows at me. ““Come on Kerrass We can ride another couple of hours before it gets dark. Why are we bothering with training Kerrass? You can fight and I know what I'm doing.””

His impersonation of me was not complimentary.

“Do you remember riding the commoners off the road?” He asked me.

“What?”

“You did. “Make way,” you yelled before carrying on riding. I honestly believe that if they hadn't moved then you would have ridden them down.”

I struggled to remember. It might have happened I supposed. I struggled to remember.

“It was two days ago.” He said, “Just as we left the last border watch-post.”

I remembered.

“We were in a hurry to get down the mountain.” I protested.

“Were we? Or were we just anxious to keep moving to the expense of everything else. Like, caution for example?”

I had no answer.

What could I say.

“You know my methods Freddie. We rest earlyish in an effort to find a camp-site so that we can properly protect ourselves. We train to make sure that our skills are sharp and to better ourselves. We maintain our weapons so that we can depend on them. I heard about how long you worked at your spear earlier. Wasn't very sharp was it.”

I didn't say anything. He was quite correct.

“You're a scholar Frederick. You know more about monsters, history, Witchers and philosophy than most people in the world. Including many people who would call themselves “educated.” So why do you keep studying? Not that you've done a great deal recently I notice.”

“To better ourselves.” I said. “Because there is always more to learn. More to teach, more to understand.”

“Precisely. I liked that part of you. I admired that part of you. I miss that part of you and I worry that you are “less” because of it's lack. I worry about you Freddie.”

“So you punch me in the face?” I tried for levity.

“I was trying to shock you. To give you a kick of some kind to try and wake you up. Rather ham-fistedly I will admit. But right then and there I was so pissed at you for everything that had built up over the last few weeks.”

“So what you're saying is that, it seemed like a good idea at the time?”

He laughed. “It did at that, and it felt sooooo good.”

I laughed as well. It felt good and I felt the distance that was growing between us begin to shrink.

“Am I wrong?” He asked, leaning forward and pouring himself another drink. “Is anything that I've said unfair? Say so now.”

I thought about it. “Could we not have talked about it?”

“I tried but you weren't receptive if you remember. Just determined to find your vengeance.”

He was probably right. I had been locked in my own head for a while.

“So, let's say that I admit to the problems that you're talking about and I will admit you're probably right. I think you might be a little harsh but you're probably right.”

He nodded.

“So what's next?” I asked him.

“Well. You need to make a choice. You can either continue with me or you can go on by yourself. But if you come with me then we need to return to our old forms of travel. When we're in courtly situations then I will follow your lead but while we're out on the road or dealing with supernatural creatures then you will follow my lead.”

“I understand.”

“If you come with me then you need to understand that I am not yours to order around or buy. Money will not enter into it. I want....I need to pay my own way. You taught me that. I am going to stop to help people and carry out contracts. There is another reason for that which I will get to in a moment. I would like your help on those hunts, same as you used to.”

I nodded.

“I would also suggest that you need to start your studies again. Write to people, let them know what happened in Toussaint. Let them know what happened here. There is still so much out there that is not known to the world and the only person that is telling them that, as far as I can see, is you. So write your book on Jack, write your journals. Remember why you're out here. It might also mean that other people will contact you with leads that we can follow if they read about your adventures and then think.... “Hey, that might be useful for him to know.””

I nodded. “You're right. I still have duties to the university, even if I'm not there at the moment.”

“Precisely.”

He watched me for a while.

“You had a second reason though.” I told him. “Another reason as to why you made me hunt this thing.”

“Yes I do, and this is the uncomfortable part.”

He shifted his weight until he was sat cross legged in front of me. No longer relaxed he peered at me intently.

“Here's the thing. A couple of days ago, when you were complaining about why we weren't going after the bad guys as quickly as you wanted, I told you that we weren't chasing them, that we were hunting them. You remember?”

I nodded.

“Well that is true. One of the things that we know about these people is that they can gate, teleport or however you want to say it. They can do that. They did it to Francesca right?”

I nodded.

“So how fast we travel is immaterial. When we're hunting whether it's an animal or a spirit, flying creature or otherwise they are invariably stronger, faster, quicker and more vicious than they are. What we do when we're hunting them is that we put ourselves in their position and we learn to think like them the better to track them down. With something like deer we find out where their water is coming from and wait. For rabbits, we identify where their warrens are and set traps. The same with monsters. We don't just chase around the countryside, waiting for the griffin to attack. We identify it's food source and track it back to it's lair.”

“So you're saying that we need to think like them.” I felt my lip curl in disgust.

“Partially. Which means that we need to toughen up. That's the other thing I wanted you to do for this. You were being emotional.

“Don't get me wrong. You have every reason to be upset, angry and otherwise emotional but if you let that drive you....”

I held my hand up. “I take the point Kerrass.”

“So you need to learn to set it aside and focus on what we're doing. That's what I was trying to force you to do but the other thing is still correct.

“Goddess but I hope I'm explaining this right,” he said.

“We are hunting them. We need to get into their heads but we also need to make them think that we have given up. That they are safe from us.”

“But you've just said that I should keep writing my journals.”

“Yes I have. We need to return to “normal”. We need to do what we were doing before so that they think that they have us beaten besides. You would only write about what we were doing after we had done it. So if they read what you were writing then they would be reacting to things that had already happened right?”

“True.”

“But we need to start thinking like them and we need to toughen up.”

“Okay?”

Kerrass was working himself up to a point and he didn't think I would like it. He had stopped meeting my eyes and was shifting nervously.

“What is it Kerrass?”

“Ok, here we go.” He cleared his throat. “I need you to start preparing yourself for the possibility that this is your fault. Your families fault.”

“What?”

“Don't get me wrong. Them taking your sister is a step too far.”

“Right?”

“Here's my thinking. There was hate behind this taking of your sister. Real, honest to Goddess Hatred. This wasn't an attack on the Empress, or Nilfgaard as a whole because if it was there would have been follow up gestures or attacks. This was an attack against her or an attack against your family. It took effort, planning and money. Now I'm not going to go down the rabbit hole of asking who would have access to those kinds of resources but.... I'm more asking who would have the motivations to do that.”

“But....We've done nothing wrong. We haven't invaded any countries, we haven't had anyone assassinated, we haven't....”

“Have you, for example, written a story about nobleman's death where he came across as the true villain of the piece?”

I felt my mouth open.

“Have you subverted the course of justice by insulting and ridiculing those properly appointed officers of the law? You understand I'm just talking about you now, not your brothers or sisters, right?

“Have you personally managed to jump ranks so that you have more power and influence than you would have any right to? Power and influence that others might have pegged for themselves?

“Have you gone from being a younger son of a fairly insignificant family to a man who is an informally adopted brother to the Empress, future Count of Angral who has the ear of certain members of the Lodge of Sorceresses, member of the faculty of the university of Oxenfurt who is also on friendly terms with many important people while serving to advise the Empress on matters of state.

“This is just you by the way.

“But lets look at your family as a whole for a minute.

“Your family was a fairly minor Barony before Nilfgaard invaded the North. Your Father was, essentially, a merchant who made a few good deals and became rich. Bought himself lands and a title. He would not have got any further, he would not have been allowed to go any further because of King Radovid's disdain for your father. Despite your father's loyalty to the state, and he was loyal, Radovid's death and Redania's defeat opened doors for your family that would have remained closed for decades otherwise. Suddenly they are subjects of a larger Empire. Your Father always had an eye for a deal and sent your sister south.

“Your family as a whole has a talent for spotting holes in the market and plugging them. Your sister filled the hole of giving the Empress a friend and a younger sister figure that she hadn't attained because of her history for instance.

“You saw the lack of up to date knowledge about Monsters and Witchers which has led to your rise in academic circles as another example.

“But your family has done everything it should do for people in your position and it has done so very well. There is no way, no way, that you won't have made enemies while doing so.

“How many other people were angry with Francesca for giving the Empress the confidence and friendship that she needed meaning that they were less able to take advantage of the Empress. Not that they could have done but they might blame your sister.

“It is well known that Emma is the head of a merchant powerhouse. Built by your father and Grandfather to be sure but now Emma is the figurehead. Emma, a woman, in an open, loving relationship with another woman who, for some reason, has managed to gather the loyalty of her people. How many people has she stood on to get where she is. Even if all she did was take advantage of other people underestimating her.

“Mark is a powerful man in the church. I even understand that for a given value of being a churchman, he's relatively progressive.

“You, because of your demanding that we interfere in Sir Robart's investigation into your Father's death, ended up getting so many young men executed for heresy.

“To our eyes, these people deserve what happened to them. To us, we did the right thing. But to the man who watched his son get burned at the stake for heresy which, to him, was just a bit of harmless fun at the expense of people who don't really matter.

“They would hate you.

“The merchant who lost his fortune because Emma could undercut his bid for a trading contract. How dare she, a woman, do that to him? She's a woman. She should know her place.”

He leant back against the stone.

“It goes on and on and on. So many examples of what your family has done that would upset, anger and incite hatred against it. To you and from your point of view. You did nothing wrong.

“But to them....?”

I sat and considered this for a while, staring into space.

“My family has risen quickly to be sure.” I said. “But doing this....this seems a bit much.”

“Is it? Sir William the Ram, Lord Fuck-face of Angral, Sir Robart de Radford. Only one of which is still alive to be fair but every one of them had friends, family and patrons who might have depended on them for their own advancement. Any one of those people could hate you enough to do this.

“What I'm trying to say is that you need to start thinking along these lines. You need to start thinking along the lines that this is not some super, grim dark conspiracy. It's going to be someone that hates you. And they might have a good reason.”

“So What are you trying to tell me Kerrass?”

“What I'm saying is that you need to start thinking about what you're going to do when you find out what happened. You need to start thinking about how bloody you want to get.

“There are plenty of people that have every reason to want your family destroyed. And when you find them, they might have powerful friends.

“So how far are you willing to go Freddie?

“Think about that please?”

I nodded. “What now?”

Kerrass sighed. “What's happening in the village is your situation in microcosm. I might be stretching the metaphor a bit but here's how I see it.

“The ghost is angry and lashing out because of the horrible things that was done to it in life. It kills indiscriminately and the lives it takes are innocent. The people in the village who have lost their children hire a Witcher to come and help them.”

I shut my eyes and thought for a moment.

“So you are the Witcher?”

“Yes.”

“I am the villagers, parents and siblings of the dead, wanting help and vengeance?”

“Yes.”

“Francesca is the dead children.”

Kerrass was nodding.

“The Ghost is the people that took Francesca.”

Kerrass said nothing.

“The Ghost is just angry and lashing out. What was done to it was horrible.”

“Does that excuse what it did?” Kerrass asked me.

I shook my head.

Kerrass reached into a pouch at his side and produced another vial of spectre oil.

“So what are you going to do Freddie?”

He held up the vial of oil.

I stared at it for a long time before making my decision.