A mist seemed to settle over the village of Crayton. It was a slow, creeping thing, gently sending it's first tendrils out of the trees like the tentacles of some giant beast. Those tentacles fattened and grew until they seemed to collapse under their own weight, forming a blanket across the floor of the village which then deepened slowly and steadily. As though the mist was water, flowing into a basin so that the water levels gradually grew and grew to form a flood.

At first, the village didn't realise what was happening. It was the wrong time of year for mist or fog of any kind. The proximity to the sea made such things unlikely but it didn't seem as though it was too far out of the realms of probability so, after some grumbling, the villagers started to light torches and the odd lanterns here and there to hang in doorways and carried on about their business.

It was getting darker anyway and people reasoned that the morning, late summer sunshine would soon burn off any kind of mist that might have lingered. Instead they gathered in the inn and continued to drown their sorrows, partying against the death of their village to economic decay on the excellent beer and wine brewed by the innkeeper who was, in truth, the only man still making money.

So they didn't notice when the mist became deeper, thicker and more dangerous. The people in Northern Redania would have recognised this mist. They would be chasing their children indoors with panicked shouts and calling out to neighbours, warning them of the coming catastrophe. They would be hammering shutters closed and laying barriers of salt across the doorways. Men would be readying weapons and standing in the doorways of their homes, spears levels in case the salt was ignored or in case some other marauder took advantage of the fear that came with the mist.

Horseshoes would be hammered into place above doorways, children would be clutching holy symbols, rabbits feet and favourite toys in fear and readiness while the eldest woman of the house would be sharpening a knife to a razor's edge. An edge sharp enough that the children wouldn't feel it should the Hounds make it past brothers, husbands and fathers. The instructions fresh in their ears. “Don't let the children, or yourself, be taken alive.” The last possible act of kindness that mothers or Elder sisters can give to those younger than themselves.

But these people did not know this fear. Instead they just went on with their lives, moaning about the inconvenience of the weather and how it would make their walk home that much more dangerous. About how they would not be able to take advantage of their chosen target for physical affection in the cold night air. About the damp chill that would creep in through open windows and infect blankets and clothes so that a fire would need to be lit at this unseasonable time of year.

But then the church bell tolled for the first time.

The use of a bell in a town, city or village is one of the most ancient traditions that we have. It has any number of uses. One of the most common times that a bell is rung is the calling of workers in from the fields or from the construction site. When a meal would be served, or at the end of the day, or midday meals in order for people to keep their strength up.

Another time is the striking of a bell in the morning to get everyone out of bed in the morning. Most often used in winter when the natural alarm call of the sun is more subdued but there is still work to be done. When storms have damaged defences and houses, people need to get out of bed and get back to work, despite the freezing temperatures and the lack of light. More recently, another use of the bell has been the call to prayer. On days of Worship, the bell would be rung to signal the beginning to the religious service. Or more accurately, it would warn people that they should really be making their way up to the church, or temple, in order to have their souls properly cleansed in preparation for whatever was about to happen.

The historian in me wants to say that this last use, as a call to worship, is actually relatively recent. As the churches of The Eternal Fire, and the Church of Kreve the Sky-Father before it, expanded to having chapels and churches in smaller towns and villages rather than the small shrines that had been used up to this point. The priests wanted their church to be the most important building in the settlement which meant that, as well as being used for worship, it needed to have a utilitarian value to the civil authorities. This mean that the churches, shrines and temples or whatever you wanted to call them could form shelters from damage or attack. But being a church didn't prevent you from being attacked and it certainly didn't protect you from the wrath of a storm unless the church could afford to be made out of stone rather than wood. They could be used as schools when parents could be convinced of the value of educating their child in more than knowing how to plant the local crops. Meeting halls, courts, crypts and many many more. Some even rather unsavoury depending on the priest in charge.

But another way that the church could have importance was if the church housed the village bell. As the priest would also take over responsibility of being the bell-ringer. Some priests will claim that they only ring the bell in order to shout their praises to the Holy Fire, and they might mean it, but it is also a way for the church to exercise their control over the populace.

The last reason that a bell might be ring in a village is for a warning. Possibly even the most important use for a town bell. There are many things that might require a bell to be rung. Contrary to popular belief, it is almost never about the sight of invading armies. The most common use of warning is the sight of a storm approaching. Again, it's needed to call the workers in from the fields, or to warn them so that they can get livestock under cover and properly make sure that the crops are as protected and prepared as they can be. But also so that they can rush home and shore up the defences of the town or village.

They also warn against some form of other disaster such as ground tremors, tidal waves, floods or forest fires. And yes, they can also warn against coming attacks from armies or bandits. Not just for the local villagers but also for the next town over. You would be surprise as to how far the noise of a bell can be heard. Especially if it is tuned and manufactured for that purpose.

Most bells are made in order to be melodious. Especially those bells that are housed in the bigger cathedrals. There are harmonies and echoes to those bells and this contrasts with all of the other bells in the local area. But those bells have forgotten the original purpose. It is often a mistake to think that, just because a bell is melodious and clear sounding, then that means that it is a better quality bell. That is not necessarily the case. It just means that it was designed for something else.

A warning bell is designed to do something entirely different other than to sound nice and remind people as to the presence of God.

A proper warning bell crashes. It's a sound that sets your teeth on edge and then reverberates through your chest. It is discordant but the sound just keeps going on and on and on. Travelling across fields and woods and lakes. It makes you feel uncomfortable in the deepest pits of your soul and sends your feet to running. It needs to drag you out of the deepest of slumbers. It should interrupt everything else, whether you are having sex with the love of your life, hunting a piece of game or in the middle of a fight with your spouse. It needs to interrupt and disrupt, to the point that there is nothing that you can do but to stop what you are doing and turn to listen.

Whoever had ordered this bell originally had paid a lot of money for it. Not just in the construction of the bell itself but it had needed to be brought over land and very possibly by sea. It needed to be kept dry and carried over these vast distances from the forges of Novigrad where it was made by Dwarven artisans. Because all things made from metal by cunning hands are made by dwarves if we're honest with each other. To those who would wonder why I don't think it would be a Gnomish project then I would suggest that the construction of a bell would not be.... would not be interesting enough to a gnome.

I can tell you that it was brought into the village by cart. The beam that it was hung from in the church was constructed from a local Elm tree, the construction of which would be it's own story in the annals of the village but we're not talking about that. Then the bell needed to be hauled into place. It took twenty strong men and a pulley system to lift the huge weight into place. The Dwarven overseer that had been sent with the bell had also had to direct the villagers on how to construct that pulley system and why it was needed in order to make the task easier. Otherwise, it was more than possible that the bell would have remained on the ground.

The bell was one of the symbols of the villages former affluence and influence. Such an undertaking would have cost a fortune and no small number of man hours and the people needed to be able to afford to do that.

As I say, I can't answer to any of that. I got most of that information second hand. I can imagine what it sounded like though when they gave it that first test ring after it was mounted in the church tower.

It did not toll in the darkness. It was not resonant in the night. It shattered the silence and “shatter” is exactly the right word. It was a baby screaming in hunger and distress at the cruelty of the word. It was the scream of a betrayed woman and the bellow of a man stabbed in the stomach. It was the howl of a faithful dog and the screech of a cat in heat. This was not a solemn sound or a reflective sound. This was a sound that came crashing through the door and kicked you in the face.

And it rang that night.

I have no idea how often that bell rang or had been rung since it was installed but the way the village reacted to it was profound and told me more than I really wanted to know about the village.

They reacted slowly, almost tentatively. Emerging from the tavern like rabbits blinking in the light as they poked their noses tentatively outside of their burrow.

The bell rang again and the villagers just stood there and looked at each other in confusion. It would have been funny if it wasn't so utterly tragic.

Then it rang again, and again. Whoever doing the ringing was becoming more frantic. It rang and rang and rang and people winced in the pain of the noise. People turned away and covered their ears. A child started crying.

Then it began to dawn on people that this was no calling of the time, nor was it a herald of the dawn or a call to prayer. This was the warning bell. Maybe even the first warning bell that anyone had ever heard. They certainly didn't know how to react.

It was another sign of the indolence and laziness of the village. They literally didn't know what to do in the event of an alarm bell. Villagers that lived near the front of the war would have been furious and rightly so. Men and women who live on the edge of civilisation would have laughed.

In such places they have stockpiles of weapons. There would already have been people running for home to check on children. Bucket chains would be forming and others would be climbing onto rooftops to try and find the thing that they were being alerted to.

These people just milled around doing nothing, staring at each other in confusion, eyes wide, mouths agape. I saw the Thatcher who looked as though he was trying to calm everyone down. Only the Smith, the member of the council that I had thought was the leader of them, seemed to have any sense about him. He had brought his largest and heaviest hammer from the forge. People emerged from houses and looked around themselves before spotting those of their fellows gathered around the inn. Such ways are crowds gathered.

Then the ringing stopped. Like all good bells though, the sound went on for a while and silence sank over the village. In many ways the silence was worse. The smith ordered a couple of men to fetch bows and weapons, the innkeeper emerged with his cudgel and the two council members stood together staring off into the darkness.

Then there was a scream in the night.

Although quieter, subdued by distance and the obstacles that the village buildings provided. Even though it was deadened and subdued by the mist. It was worse than the bell had been.

It was a man's voice, somehow worse than a woman screaming. It was a scream of terror, or pain and utter grief. The crowd rippled in the wind of it as though the sound was a gust of wind and the people were a bunch of branches on trees.

Then there was silence. The flickering of torchlight echoing strangely in the darkness. A child was crying somewhere, confused and frightened.

A horse whickered. A dog barked but otherwise the silence dragged on.

A new sound was heard. At first it was just a scratching on the edge of hearing. An impact and then a dragging sound. Thud, drag, thud drag. But the villagers couldn't see what was making the sound. At first it was just a shape, a blob in the night taking on a darker shade than the surrounding mist and shadow, weaving from side to side as it moved, slowly, towards the crows.

Step, drag, step, drag.

As it came into view, it coalesced suddenly into the shape and form of a man. A man walking, stumbling towards the crowd. Dragging himself along.

It was the priest, his cassock in tatters around his frame, a trail of dark wetness behind him as he stumbled and weaved towards the villagers. Damp stains covered him and blood dripped from his mouth. Leaving a smear down the corner of his mouth and dripping off his chin. There was a gash on his head too. He had one hand pushed against his side as though he was holding his stomach together and he was dragging his injured leg behind him. As he got closer, the villagers, frozen to the spot, could see the firelight reflecting off the tears that still streamed down his face.

He was getting closer to the village now and they could see more of his injuries. The shine of skull underneath the dripping blood from his head wound. The matted hair. The blood leaking from his nose and mouth mixed with saliva and mucus. His robes were torn and more blood leaked from those gashes. But no-one went to help him.

He staggered on though, his face a mask of pain and grim determination. At first they had thought he was silent but he was not, he whimpered and moaned as he came on. On and on relentlessly with the dogged step of a man who was determined to keep trudging on until his end finally claimed him.

And that wouldn't be long now. He was slowing now, having to take rests between steps. He was swaying where he stood, his course less certain as he weaved from left to right. Then, finally, like a tree finally giving in against the pull of gravity after all the blows of the axe. He toppled, his knees went first as the last of his strength left him before his other muscles just collapsed.

The Cartwright stepped forward, rushing to the priest's side. Others, the spell broken, rushed to help but the Cartwright gestured for them to stay back. “Back,” he called, “Give him some air.”

The priest visibly coughed up a fountain of black blood and a number of the villagers moaned. They no longer needed to be told to stay back from the priest who was trying to say something.

“I can't hear you my friend.” The Cartwright shouted at the injured man. “Tell me what...”

The priest spat the blood out.

“Run,” he muttered at first. Then he moaned in agony and fear. “Run. It is coming, coming for us all.”

“What's coming?” The Cartwright shook the priest. “What's coming Father?”

“The demon with the yellow eyes.” The Priest groaned. “It's coming for our souls.” His voice was sinking now. “It's coming,” he whispered before his body stilled.

The Cartwright looked up at the Smith and the assembled villagers. “He's dead.” He said, his face a mask of horror and fear.

“Too much?” I asked Kerrass from where we were crouched behind the wagon at the end of the street having watched the priest make his tortured progress towards the inn and the rest of the people.

“Nah. He won't make it on stage at Novigrad, but they're eating it up.”

“I thought it was too much.” I told him.

“Everyone's a critic.” Kerrass told me before waving to Schrodinger who waved back. Schrodinger bent and gestured at the cloth bag that was tied to Tulip, the Priest's wife that began to smoke and gently lift off the ground. Then he did the same with his own bag. The two of them waited a moment for the bags to lift off the ground a little further before nodding to each other and running off at a sprint. Wearing dark clothing, Tulip had covered her face in mud from the stream to hide the startling whiteness of her skin. I hope it's not too offensive for me to say that Schrodinger didn't need such additions. As they ran, the black smoke billowed out from the cloth bags that had turned into floating balloons that followed behind them. Tulip was off like a deer, bounding offer fences and stone walls of the village with a speed that was surprising.

I had lost sight of Schrodinger almost immediately as he went behind a building.

The smoke followed them though. Because I was looking for it, I could see it spewing forth from the balloons, but the villagers didn't know that.

As the smoke met the mist, yellow flashes started to roll off from inside the smoke, as though the smoke was filled with a yellow lightening that rolled through the smoke which, in turn, began to crackle and pop. The sounds standing out into the night air.

No-one saw it until the Cartwright straightened up from the corpse of the priest. “Look,” he said, lifting a trembling hand to point.

A woman screamed. Another fainted.

The plan seemed to be working so far.

-

The hardest part of the entire thing, and I mean this absolutely truthfully. The hardest part was convincing Schrodinger and the Unicorn that we would need more people.

“No,” he said, “Absolutely not.”

“it's a good plan.” Kerrass commented. “A very good plan. A little too complicated for my taste, far too many things that might go wrong or happen in the wrong order. But it is a good plan. It will work.”

“It won't,” Schrodinger insisted. Anyone who had been possessed would need to kill someone. Who's going to be killed. You? We will need you to be up and around. They are going to regard you with suspicion. And we need someone to make the smoke, and the mist and Goddess knows what else.”

“Look,” I began. “You wanted our help because you didn't want to just murder your way out of town. But Kerrass and I by ourselves are not enough. We can't lead the rest of the village away by pretending that you have gone the other way. They won't trust us because we've vanished into the woodland so they will leave people behind. And then, when they realise that we've tricked them, they will come for us as well, which results in Kerrass and I having to fight our way out. We need to drive them away and then the four of us need to escape together.”

“Yes, I understand all of that but I absolutely refuse to have anyone else involved,”

“Why?” Kerrass asked mildly. “You're already involving us.”

“Yes, but I trust you.” Schrodinger told him.

“And Freddie?”

Schrodinger darted a glanced sideways at me. “You vouch for him so I trust him. Besides he has something to lose.” He decided eventually before turning back to me. “Sorry,”

“You're forgiven.” I told him.

“Fine then, I will vouch for the people that we need.” Kerrass spoke as though that would be the end of the matter.”

“You've known them all for five minutes.” Schrodinger protested. “If that, and they lied to you. You're honestly going to trust them with your lives?”

“Yes.” Kerrass insisted.

“Well I don't.”

“Then you can stay here and rot.” Kerrass snapped. “Or, you can kill your way out of the hole that you've dug for yourself and prove yourself to be the monstrous Witcher that the populace always knows us to be. We have no choice.”

Things had not gone well as we argued my case before Schrodinger. It seemed that the Unicorn was less of a strategic mind, she was aware of this weakness in herself and handed such things over to Schrodinger. She would trust him to make the planning decisions for her. It also seemed that Schrodinger had already had a plan which was for Kerrass and I to lead the villagers off to the South in hopes of catching him and/or the Unicorn while the two of them escaped to the North and back into wilder countryside. But as Kerrass said, that means that it would be Kerrass and I that would be in the soup rather than them, as by now, the villagers wouldn't trust us either.

The argument that Kerrass and I would only have to kill a couple of villagers to get away was not met with much pleasure or agreement from either of us.

“I'm not going to plan to kill a bunch of people in cold blood.” Kerrass said. “Nor will I condemn them for being human. I have done far worse than their crime in my time and we both know it. You have done far worse and we both know that too.”

“I will not permit them to take her.”

“And we won't have to. I want to hear Freddie's plan.”

My plan got more and more complicated as time went on. My original plan was that I run into the village screaming blue murder, pretending to be badly wounded. Kerrass offered to do things so that I didn't have to pretend to be wounded but I turned him down. I only think he was joking. Then I would run up to the villagers, screaming and shouting that the demon had broken through Kerrass' defences and that he had been possessed. That the village should flee while I try to hold the demon off. Then Kerrass would enter the village, potioned up to the eyeballs which makes his skin white as paper, his eyes glow, and his veins stand out, stark and black against his skin. Kerrass would then roar, bellow and generally carry on. Maybe kill some livestock or something to encourage the villagers on their way before I went in and “sacrificed myself heroically” for the safety of the village.

But even I could see that this wouldn't work, agreeing with the Witcher's assessment but also ready with my own objections to Schrodinger's scheme about the distractions and the differences between leading the hunters away versues driving them off.

I went off to think.

The problem was one of sympathy. No villager is going to care about me being horribly wounded. They have no sympathy for me, or for Kerrass. No Empathy or feeling, they wouldn't care about Kerrass being possessed or my being killed. They would possibly even attack Kerrass in an effort to drive the demon off, and that wasn't including those people that genuinely knew about the Unicorn's existence. Those men who had seen her were the problem, and they were the ones that we didn't mind killing as much although we would prefer to not have to. But those men would quickly realise that this was just theatrics and they would attack.

What we needed was panic, panic and fear. A feeling of, “it could be me lying there,” to assail the villagers. Which meant that the person who “died” or succumbed to their wounds would have to be a villager. After that, things began to fall into place in my head.

“We need one person to fall at the feet of the villagers in order to be “injured, maimed and killed” at the hands of the “demon”,”. I told Kerrass. I had called him over so that I could bounce ideas off him and I didn't want to be completely talking off my head. “Then we want one or two people to be in amongst the crowd to be the first people to shout “RUN,” or “FUCKING DEMON,” or something when the person who is acting as the demon emerges before our “plants” among the crowd, actually start running themselves and sparking the panic. We need those people to be important people in the community. People that will be respected and listened to. Powerful people. The person who “dies” should be someone that they like and look up to.”

I blew out my breath. It was a tricky problem.

“Mmm,” Kerrass muttered. “The comment about the lack of Empathy is a good one. Sparking fear is the important thing. How about if one of the villagers was the Demon. Then both of us come out and fight it and we look as though we're losing. That means that they villagers will be thinking “Holy Fuck, even the Witcher and his apprentice can't cope with that, we'd better run”.”

“So we would need someone else to play the demon then?”

“I think so.”

But Schrodinger wasn't convinced.

“You want to put all our lives in the hands of three villagers. All our lives? Who will you trust? Who won't just turn around and walk up to the village council and say. “Those sneaky Witchers are getting one over on us. We should do something about it?”

“I have a couple of thoughts on that that might....”

“Fuck your thoughts.” Schrodinger snarled. “Out of the question. I won't stand for it and I won't put our lives in the hands of your thoughts and feelings.”

“In which case you can stay here and stick your thumb up your arse for all I care until you come up with a better plan.”

Kerrass calmly steered me away. It was beginning to be obvious that we probably shouldn't have drunk so much earlier in the day. We calmed down later as the roast deer really was quite excellent, even if I do say so myself, and the meat, as well as the bread, gravy and hard cheese, did a good job of soaking up the excess alcohol so that we were all able to think and talk about things again.

But that meant that we could see another problem with the plan.

“What if?” Kerrass began. “What if the Thatcher, The Innkeeper and the Smith all turn around and simply say. “Don't listen. It's all a lie.” Even if the majority of the village believe our little piece of street theatre, the plan only works if all of the village go, leaving one or two people behind. At the moment we've constructed this vast thing which can be torn apart by one clever man saying “I don't believe what I'm seeing.” One clever man in authority.”

“So it's useless then.” Schrodinger commented.

“You know what Schrodinger. I've never met a man so set against being saved.” Kerrass laughed. “Instead of saying “It won't work,” why not come up with a way to over come the problem.”

“Fair point.” Schrodinger was laughing as well. “I've been thinking about this stuff for so long and shooting down so many plans that I can't think straight about it any more.”

He stopped and ate a bit more, offering me a bottle as I went.

“We're hanging this off making people believe the lie that they've told us right?” Schrodinger began. “If the entire village knows that there's a Unicorn out here and they're all coming for us to get at her then we're pretty much fucked right? This plan definitely won't work. That's not just my pessimism talking.”

“No, but I think that unlikely.” Kerrass said with a supporting nod from me. I was trying to stay out of the conversation at the moment. I was getting the impression that I was harming more than helping when it came to Schrodinger's opinion of me and the plan.

“I think it's the council and a few others.” “Kerrass went on. Maybe the more intelligent members of the community have figured stuff out but most will not know for certain. At most, people will have been told that there is a Unicorn but not that many will have seen it, or seen any proof. You were hunting a Bog Hag right?”

“Yes.”

“But you never returned to town?”

“No. I saw what was coming.”

“Right. So all the villagers know for certain is that there is something out there. You told them Bog Hag, the village council told them Unicorn, I told them Demon. So it's not the entire village. It's a few ringleaders and some more people that can be trusted to shoot straight and murder a Witcher in cold blood. It's even entirely possible that some people think that the Unicorn thing is a complete con on the part of the council in an effort to make people feel better about themselves.”

“But we're still fucked if one of those ringleaders stands up to deny everything?”

“Pretty much.”

Schrodinger nodded sucking the meat from one of the ribs of the deer. “What we need is a goad. Something to prod the villagers towards fear and terror. To make them open to suggestion. So that their feet are already running before anyone can think to try and control them. So that they see what we show them and believe that more than they believe the orders coming from their council.”

A light went on in my skull.

“We need a mist.” I said aloud.

“What?” Schrodinger looked confused. But I wasn't listening or looking at him.

“Kerrass,” I slapped his shoulder. “We need a mist.”

Kerrass' eyes brightened when he realised what I was suggesting but then he darkened. “I don't know how to make it.” He said. “I can guess some stuff but the mixing would be beyond me.”

“Fortunately though, there is a very skilled alchemist and Herbalist in town.” I told him.

Kerrass' grin was feral. “There is isn't there.”

There was a pause. “Ok, you two need to tell me what the fuck is going on.” Schrodinger declared indignantly.

He didn't like our explanations. He was just about coming to terms with the idea that we would need one or two people, obviously already thinking about the Priests' wife and he could probably be persuaded to bring the Priest into our plan as well, but the thought of any more, especially an Alchemist that would have every reason to want to steal the Unicorn's horn was a bit beyond the pale.

What it seemed to come down to was whether or not we could guarantee that she wouldn't just go and tell the rest of the village what was going on or what we were planning.

I told him that I had some ideas on that subject. He remained unconvinced though and we argued about it a lot.

In the end though, despite my earlier conversation with the Unicorn, Kerrass and I made an ultimatum. We declared that Schrodinger's plan about Kerrass and I providing a distraction would mean that we were just trading places with him. That villagers would die and that was not going to be Ok. If Schrodinger just cut his way out that he (Schrodinger) would not be able to cope with the scrutiny from Watch or road patrols tracking the men that committed the slaughter, even if they had forgotten that it was a Witcher and a Unicorn.

On the other hand, Kerrass and I needed our good standing. For me because the authorities could find me very easily and I know of at least one Redanian official that would hang me from the nearest tree with even the slightest excuse. So it needed another plan. And our plan was as good as it was going to get. So our Ultimatum was that Kerrass and I would lose absolutely nothing by stealing our horses back and riding off into the sunset for Schrodinger to get out of the pit that he had dug for himself. So he could follow our plan or we could leave.

As for the plan. It was the best one we had but even the worst iteration of the plan needed more people. The fact remained that Scrodinger needed to be kept hidden. Deliberately so. He could probably help with logistics and things. Setting off potions or whatnot but if he was seen then it would become obvious what was happening, and any potential obfuscation that the big bad thing that was coming for us had already killed the previous Witcher, would be thrown into jeopardy.

The entire thing hinged on Fear and Doubt. Making the villagers afraid and then making them doubt their own council. Not many will have seen the Unicorn so if we could suggest to people that it wasn't a Unicorn that was in the woods and that it was instead a demon. That the council were just trying to prevent panic with stories of Unicorns that can provide some kind of magical cure for everything that they were afraid of. Seeing Schrodinger in the flesh would counter some of that.

So we needed more people.

We needed one person to be “killed”. Another person to be possessed and another person who would be stood in the crowd to catch the person who had been “killed” and who could tell them all that this person had been “killed” and could then tell the folks to run.

“That person is the tricky one.” Kerrass commented. “Even if the Herbalist agrees to make what we want her to make, the village strikes me as the kind of village that wouldn't listen to the local herbalist because she is both the local herbalist and a woman.”

“As well as being pretty.” I commented. “I don't know why but certain kinds of people look down on others for being pretty.”

“They do at that,” Kerrass went on. “So the women might listen to her but the men and boys won't putting it down to female hysteria. Nor will they be moved by her being the one who is killed. That is more likely to attract urges towards vengeance and bring out the White knight in a lot of people.”

“Mmm. She could be the possessed person.” I suggested.

“She might do well at that.” Kerrass commented.

“What about the Priest's wife as the Demon.”

“I like her,” I said. “But I doubt that the priest would let her out of his sight. He will help but he will want her kept safe. Also, she can't hiss curses or offer any other kinds of warnings as well as a risk that she might be a little too innocent to be properly terrifying.”

“So we need another.” Kerrass commented.

“Leave it to me,” I told the pair of them. “I have an idea that will hopefully arrange us to have both the Herbalist on side and get us our extra man.” I rubbed my hands in glee.

“I don't know for certain.” Kerrass began with a grin. “But I'm pretty sure that that woman hates you Freddie.”

“She might at that. But if I'm right? And I'm pretty sure that I am. Then by the time we're through, she will be my ever devoted friend.”

“I'll believe it when I see it,”

Kerrass shrugged but Schrodinger was less amused. But eventually he agreed that we could put the plan to the priest and his wife, as well as to the Herb-woman and whoever my other person is. But he would reserve judgement until after that.

So that night, Kerrass and I snuck back into town and found ourselves next to the herbalist's cottage again.

As Kerrass predicted, she was not happy to see me.

“No,” she snapped, and slammed the door in my face when she saw me.

“But you don't know what I want yet.” I called to the door, as quietly as I could.

“Whatever it is, the answer is still no.”

“But....”

“I don't care.”

“Look, will you just listen.”

“Just so you know, since your last visit, where you must have figured something out because the town council is furious with everyone either of you have ever talked to, I have invested in a large crossbow.”

“I...”

“A crossbow that could easily be mistaken for some kind of siege engine.”

Kerrass took a large step back from the door. I stared at him in surprise and me made a kind of shooing motion towards the cottage door. “You're doing fine,” he mouthed.

“It doesn't feel like I'm doing fine.” I mouthed back.

“A crossbow that I'm aiming at the door as we speak. A crossbow that, I'm told, will easily penetrate my door with enough force to turn your torso into a fine pink mist afterwards.”

“I just want to talk to you.” I tried. I was trying really hard to stop my words from carrying. She had all but confirmed that various people in the town were not too happy with us and I didn't want a situation where we were getting people coming out of the woodwork and trying to kill us.

“Well I don't want to talk to you.” She said it in tones that suggested that this was the end of the argument as far as she was concerned.

I stumbled over things. My mouth opening and closing for a moment or two, utterly uncertain as to what I was going to do next.

“I can help you with the Cartwright.” I tried. It was a desperate gamble and even though I was pretty sure that I could do what I said I could, indeed it was the basis for my entire strategy with getting both her, and him, onto our side. I had just kind of hoped for her to be calm and sat down when I was forced to make that particular play. It was too early for that.

I shut my eyes. Half expecting for her to scream for help, or to use the threatened crossbow while also wondering what being turned into a fine pink mist would feel like.

I was waiting for a long time. Maybe twelve seconds and although that doesn't sound like a long time written down or said aloud, it certainly felt like it when I didn't know whether or not the only sound that I might here is the clicking sound of a crossbow bolt being released. They say that you don't hear the bolt that kills you but I've always wondered how they figured that out. It's hard to ask a man afterwards about that kind of thing.

Instead, I heard a creaking noise and the sound of a latch opening.

I opened one eye to see that she had opened the door by a thin crack through which she was glaring. The old joke about “If looks could kill” has never been more valid. Made even more threatening by the fact that I could only really see one eye.

“Why should I believe you?” She demanded after glaring at me for a while.

“Why should you not?”

“Because you're a deceitful, manipulative, lying, dirty, rotten, smelly, lying, deceitful, rotten sack of shit. No,” she went on, changing her mind abruptly. “Shit can be used to manure things. You're worse than that. You're a liar and a manipulator and you're ugly as well. You're a noble, a thief and a....”

“Hang on, I've not stolen anything.” I protested.

“You stole my time whenever you come near me as well as the air that you breathe from better men. Also, you being a noble means that you're automatically a thief, stealing the time that your servants give you.”

Kerrass was not helping matters by chuckling along with her commentary.

“I would spit on you but I don't want to waste the saliva.” She told me.

“Are you finished?” I asked.

She considered this for a moment.

“Nope, not even remotely but your presence disgusts me so I want you to get this over with so that I can go and vomit. I have to be up early.”

She still hadn't opened the door any wider.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Can we come in?” I asked. “I don't really want to...”

“No.” She told me. “I don't trust you.”

“Fair enough.”

She sighed. The energy leaving her. Then she sighed again and I got the feeling of a shaking head. The door opened a little wider. There was no sign of a crossbow.

There was however, signs of a cut lip and a black eye on the Herbalist's face.

I took a deep breath. She also had her left hand pressed against her side. Like you do when you have bruised ribs.

My face must have darkened. “Who did that to you?” I demanded. Not quietly.

“It doesn't matter.” She tried, looking tired. Not in pain, just tired.

“It fucking matters.” I insisted.

“You did,” she snapped. “You and that Witcher that I notice has stopped giggling behind you. Hey Witcher, is anyone watching?”

“No.”

“Then you really had better come in.” She said, holding the door open.

“I notice that there's no crossbow.” I commented, trying to make the tone light again.

“Yes well, I have ordered one to be made. But then I realised that if I used it to defend myself then this council would probably have me hung for murder.”

“People are hanged.” I said automatically. “Animals and pictures are hung.”

She reached down like lightening and pulled off her night slippers. “I'm gonna kill you with my shoe.”

“What happened?” Kerrass asked softly.

She subsided “The Smith came round. You're clever enough to realise that he's the one that's really in charge around here aren't you?”

We both nodded.

“Old man Thatcher likes to think that he's a big high mucky-muck given that he's the oldest council member but the truth is that it's the Smith that makes the real decisions. The innkeeper is kept in line.”

“What happened?” Kerrass asked again.

“You gave them the slip.” She chuckled. “I didn't know what you did until they came round to ask me about it. They accused me of helping you, using some kind of scent to throw them off which was when they told me that they were tracking you to get to their prey. The thing that was going to make everything ok again. Obviously I hadn't done anything of the kind so it just seemed clear to me that you simply gave them the slip. I told them that and laughed in their faces.” She snorted. “Not my wisest moment. The Smith didn't like that. Most of the others had the good grace to look ashamed after he was done though so I suppose there's that.”

“I'm going to slap the shit out of him for that.” I muttered darkly, without even really meaning to I suppose.

“Please don't?” She asked me. “He was a good man once. Or as good a man as you can be when you're brought up round here. He's kind to his wife, kids and apprentice which is more than some people are. He's just desperate. The same as anyone.”

“Desperation is a polarising force.” Kerrass told her. “It can either turn us into our very best selves, or into our very worst selves.”

“I know. And part of me really wants to see him get the crap kicked out of him but what would that achieve? Really, what would that achieve? The answer is, not a great deal. So leave it. Rise above it.”

“Help us.” I said. “Help us and we will be sticking it to him.”

“No.” She said. “No, just because it wasn't you that cracked my ribs and punched me in the face, it doesn't mean that I like you.”

“I really can help you with the Cartwright.” I insisted.

She stared into space for a while. Then she burst into tears Kerrass and I looked at each other for a moment. I was not convinced that if I tried to comfort her that she wouldn't, justifiably some would say, claw my eyes out.

We didn't have to be confused long. She got angry first.

“Stupid tears and their stupid feelings and stupid fucking men with their stupid fucking....” She muttered as she found a cloth and scrubbed furiously at her tears, wincing as the tears ran into her black eye and the cut lip.

Then her mood shifted again, like lightening and she was suddenly small and helpless. I still couldn't tell how old she was with a distinct possibility that she was younger than me. She certainly looked it in that moment as it became clear that the sheer force of her personality made her seem bigger than she actually was.

She looked up at me with an awful hope in her eyes. “You can help me?” She said in a quiet voice.

“Pretty sure I can ye...”

“Fuck your “pretty sure”,” She snapped, her mood changing again. “Can you help me or not?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes I can help you.”

She nodded. “If you're lying to me, I know recipes for potions that can make you shit out your own lungs.”

“I've never seen that.” Kerrass commented. “Something to look forward to.”

“Shut up Kerrass.” I told him as he grinned at me.

She changed out of her night dress and robe into a normal dress before tying her immense mass of dreadlocks back with something that, as far as I could tell, was a piece of twine used to tie plants to canes and gestured for us to precede her out the door. She waved off my pointing out that she was going barefoot with an offhanded “pfft” comment as we moved through her back door, picking our way across her herb-patch and jumping over the stream to take the back way to the Cart-wright's house.

The man himself was still up despite the, by now, late hour. We could see lamp-light coming from inside the house and there was a clattering from coming inside. The sounds of heavy things being moved around.

“Nononononono, I can't do this.” Our companion said suddenly, wringing her hands together. Brightness gathering in the corners of her eyes again. “I can't do this he hates me and....”

She turned to retreat back the way we had come. Fortunately Kerrass was standing in her way and he caught her by the shoulder.

“Regardless of whether you help us or not.” He told her solemnly. “We are doing this.”

“Let me go,” She demanded pummeling his chests with her fists although I noticed that she didn't do so particularly hard or effectively. I heard her tears again in the protest. “I can't do this, I can't.”

“Freddie?” Kerrass caught her wrists.

I knocked on the Cartwright's back door.

“WHAT?” He bellowed. I was surprised at the rage that I heard in his voice. When I had met him before he had seemed like a quiet, reserved kind of man. A man led by logic and careful thought rather than passion.

I looked at Kerrass, who shrugged again unhelpfully.

I tried knocking again and nearly fell into the house when the door was yanked open. “I swear I told you to...”

He stood in the doorway like an avenging God. I had forgotten how big he was but you need muscles to be able to replace wheels on carts. He had a large wood axe in his hand. Not made for combat, nothing like Father Gardan's axe but no less deadly in the hands of a strong man who has the inclination to wield it.

“...fuck off.” His words petered out as he saw her. I was watching for his reaction and I saw what he wanted to see. His eyes widened in shock, then they darted around her, taking in details. Then they narrowed and his face clouded over before he looked away. He purposely kept his gaze down and away from her.

He stood there like that in silence for a long moment, his eyes darting from side to side, clearly thinking furiously. Then he gave a noise, halfway between a sigh and a groan.

“You'd better come in.” He said softly before turning and moving back inside. From the open doorway there was more clattering as we followed him in. The Herbalist needing a bit of gentle coaxing and mumbling some resistance.

The place was a mess but there was also a sense of organisation about it as he bustled around the place.

There was a general sense of things being stacked and moved closer to the door. We all stood around feeling a bit awkward. Since first seeing her, the Cartwright hadn't looked at the woman stood in the corner who was gently trembling, once.

Yes, there is a reason that I am referring to them by their professions rather than their names. It's because I don't want them to get into any trouble for any of this later.

The Cartwright was bustling. There were lots of oil lamps around the place generating plenty of light. He went through some of the piles and emerged with a few camp stools that he unfolded and placed on the floor in front of us. He still didn't look at her.

“I don't....errrr.....I don't have anything to offer you to drink other than well water.” He told us.

“What happened to it all? I asked. “Last time I was in your shop I could smell stew cooking and saw several bottles.” He looked at me sharply. “I meant no offence, I'm just curious.”

“Yeah well. All of that stuff came from....It doesn't matter.”

“You're leaving aren't you.” Kerrass told him. It was not a question. The herbalist gasped in horror.

“Yes....err....yeah I am.” He sighed. “I don't care what else is happening or what's going on in the woods....There's no excuse for....”

He did look at her then. If she had seen it it might have gone quite far to allay her fears, but she was sobbing into her hands. His gaze lowered again.

“Why the axe?” Kerrass asked.

“This place is fucked.” He snarled. “Absolutely fucked. If it comes to the point where we have to.... you know..... and no-one else is willing to....well fuck it. I'm not adding my money to the village any more and no mistake made either. I just..... I can't be part of it. I can't and that's that.”

“So why the axe?” Kerrass insisted.

“The Smith and the innkeeper came round. There were a few of them, men thinking they were tough with bows 'eld in shakin' 'ands.” As he was getting more emotional, his words started to drop letters. Increasing his accent. “I told them that I was leaving and that they were villains and crooks. They threatened me and told me not to say nothin'. So I told them that if I saw any of them again that I'd split their skulls open. Smith left in a huff, Innkeeper told me to calm down and I'd see it differently in the morning. I told 'im to go fuck 'imself an all.”

“Weren't you even going to say goodbye?” The Herbalist wailed. “Do you despise me that much?”

“I....errrr....”

“See,” she tearfully raged at me. “He hates me.”

I had the privilege of seeing the Cartwright's expression as she said that. His mouth fell open. “Hate you?” He murmered aghast. “Why would you think that?” He asked in a voice tinged with horror. “HATE YOU?” He bellowed. He had a pair of lungs on him when he put his mind to it. Kerrass stepped in his way in case the rage and horror ended up being directed in a way that we didn't like. But it was as though we had suddenly tapped into something. “Why would you think that?” He pleaded with her, utterly aghast that she might think that.

“You would never look at me. You would never talk to me. You always...”

“He doesn't look at you,” I told her with a slight smile, “because he knows that it's rude to stare and he doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. He doesn't talk to you because he has no idea what to say and thinks that this will make him look stupid in your eyes.”

“What?”

The Cartwright pushed Kerrass aside and strode towards the woman who was clutching the side of her head as though her brain was trying to push it's way out of her skull, her eyes boggling. Then he stopped short.

Gently, he reached forwards and took hold of her arms and pulled them away from her head. She suddenly didn't seem to be able to support her own weight and collapsed to her knees and he followed so that they faced each other.

There were tears now on both their faces.

“I was going to....When I was packed.....I was going to come and ask you to come with me. You deserve better to live in a place where that,” he pointed at her face, “is acceptable. You deserve to be treated with respect and... and...”

“But why?” She wailed. “I killed your wife.”

After a look of shock and surprise he seemed to relax and smiled so tenderly as to nearly bring a tear to my own eye, he brushed her tears away with his thumb.

“I remember you fighting to save her life. Hers, and my sons.” His voice cracked at the end of that. “I remember how you worked. How you fought and how you wept until you had to be pulled away from my wife's body. Yes I loved her and I will forever and I miss her too. I miss her every single day. But all the way through my grief you were there making sure that I was ok. Later, you became the only thing that made living in this place still bearable.

“You can always make me smile. It always brightens my day to see you walk down across the street. I laugh whenever I hear about you putting down some self-important ass and then one day I realised I was looking forward to seeing you in your sun hat working in the fields. I were fascinated by your mass of hair and found it impossibly adorable when you chew the end of one of the smaller ones near your face. I know, more than most I know, that life is short. Too short to not move on. I love my wife and I would be lying if I said that she doesn't haunt me still sometimes.

“I still miss her and I still love her but she would want me to be happy and move on. And of all the people that I've ever met or known then you are the one that I thought I could do that with. You are in no way second to her, or a replacement but I could love you too I think,” He shook his head.

“I know that I could. But I never thought.....You're twice as clever as I am and I know that that's not an 'igh bar to clear. I'm stupid and heavy and slow and ugly and....”

“Not ugly.” She smiled. Her mood shifting. It never ceased to surprise me how fast her mood could shift. “Beautiful.”

Then she laughed, a beautiful sound that was quickly spoiled by the hugely wet sniffle that she followed it up with.

“I always thought you hated me.” She told him. “If I'd known....”

“'ated you?” He shouted in outrage. He had a real problem with dropping his “h”'s “I could never 'ate you. I...”

Then she kissed him. On the nose.

“I think that just about covers it.” She said patting him on the cheek.

“I'm not as smart as you.” he told her.

“You're a good man which is what counts. Don't do yourself a disservice though and don't mistake a lack of learning with being stupid.” She told him. “We have a lot to talk about, but first,” she kissed him again. “I need to help these two reprobates.”

“Which means that I have to as well.”

I looked at Kerrass. “Then we have our extra helper.”

“We do.”

I turned back to the new couple who were helping each other to their feet. “Then we should take you to meet our fellow conspirators.”

“Before we do that though,” She said. “I would rather like to know what I'm getting myself in for. Not to mention the thing that I'm getting my new boyfriend into.”

“Boyfriend hmm?” The Cartwright was grinning like a fool. Can't say I blame him. If I haven't mentioned before, she really was a beautiful woman.

“I will upgrade you to Lover as soon as is possible, have no fear.” She told him. “I hope your bed is up to it though as I have a lot of pent-up...” she faltered.

“Feelings?” I suggested helpfully.

She glowered at me out of habit more than anything else before she realised that I was rescuing her. “Yes, feelings. That's a good word for it. But it's still true that my bed is just a little cubbyhole and I rather think that you won't fit. You're rather taller and wider than me, around the shoulders I mean.”

Kerrass sighed in boredom and impatience as he leant against the nearby wall. I just resolved to wait patiently and wondered if I should put some tea on or something.

“It would be,” the Cartwright told her with a smile. “If I hadn't already dismantled it and packed it down ready for movement in the morning.”

“Well that won't do.” She declared. “That won't do at all. Unpack it at once, this instant. If you think I'm waiting one moment longer than I have to in order to have my...”

Kerrass cleared his throat.

“Just thinking about practicalities,” Kerrass suggested to them. “The floor is plenty sturdy enough, with a nice rug or something covering it. Or even the outside grass or hay, again with a blanket over it. The weather is still seasonal enough that outside would be perfectly acceptable.”

“'e's not wrong.” The Cartwright mused. “Although I'm getting a little old for a roll around in the 'ay. I need room and light to see by in order to do the deed properly.”

“Do you now?” She leered but with a certain glint of delight in her eyes. “I shall look forward to seeing what your idea of “doing the deed properly” is.”

“I was once advised on the matter by my father.” He told her. “'e told me that “If she thinks that the cuddling after is the best part. Then you're not doing it right my son”. I may say that 'ee weren't wrong. He arranged for me to get some lessons from a very nice lady before.... well.... before I left 'ome.”

Now that he was becoming more comfortable with everything, his accent had settled down into simply and regularly dropping his “h” out of most sentences.

Also, I might add that his sentiment on the matter is not incorrect at all and the Herbalist properly glowed in approval.

“But still, Fun though this conversation is, and much though I'm looking forward to putting some of these theories to the test, I would still like to know what's going on. Properly, what's going on and what you need me to do.”

“I'll put a brew on, while I unpack.” The Cartwright told us. “Although I do think there's a conversation to be 'ad about whether we both want to stay 'ere after all's said and done. But a few extra days 'ere means that my cooking things at least need to be unpacked.”

“Hang on.” She told me lifting her hand to ward me off. “You can cook?” She asked her new beau with amazement.

“Course I can.” he told her with mock outrage. “Cooking's quite a manly art where I'm from. Me dad taught me 'ow to do it. 'e told me that if a man wants to eat good food then 'e should damn well learn to cook it 'imself. 'e's right as well. I got out the 'abit a bit when I got married but I've 'ad to pick it up again since....well,... you know. But course I can cook.”

“Why haven't you been snapped up by one of the other village women?” She demanded to know, trying to sound indignant but grinning from ear to ear.

He paused to think about it for a while.

“Well, I were waiting for the right one weren't I,”

“Ooh that was a good line,” she told him.

“Anyway,” I tried to interrupt.

“Yes,” she said, trying to look all business despite the almost overwhelming urge to keep looking over at her man. “To business.”

“Where should we start?” I asked.

“Is it really a Unicorn that's in the woods?” She asked.

“You knew that it was a Unicorn?”

She snorted. “A few weeks ago the Innkeeper came up to me to buy some herbs for his cooking that his wife doesn't have room to grow in their little vegetable patch out in the garden. The kind of thing that needs constant care rather than the occasional care that she can devote. But anyway, he comes up and, rather clumsily, brings the conversation round to Monsters and the Alchemical costs of the various things that could be found. I made small talk while I harvested the stuff that he wanted before he deliberately and obviously asked about Unicorns.

“I looked at him sharply as I recall. The council had already told us all about this scheme that they had to save the village. They told us that “something” lived in the woods and that it would be able to save us all.”

She sniffed derisively. “Mother taught me that, as a rule, you should never trust things that live in woods that offer to solve all of your problems. I told them that as well when they were making noises about it all at first. But that he was asking so much about Unicorns? I laughed at him and told him that such a thing was impossible. That Unicorns were either extinct or no longer living on the continent. But he insisted and eventually, more to shut him up rather than anything, I told him that anyone who had a Unicorn to sell could afford to buy themselves a nice castle and live in relative comfort for the rest of their lives.”

She considered this, pulling at her lower lip with her eyes unfocused.

“His eyes gleamed unpleasantly as I recall and he left in a hurry. Almost forgetting to pay for his herbs before he ran off.”

Her eyes focused on me.

“So, is it a Unicorn?”

I looked at Kerrass and he shrugged. “It is. A Unicorn and her Witcher companion who travels with her.”

“I don't understand then, what's the problem. Unicorns can simply travel between worlds to escape.”

“This one can't for some reason that she either doesn't know or isn't telling us.”

“Is she definitely a Unicorn? I once saw a horse with this thing strapped to her head and...”

“Believe me,” I told her. “If you ever get to meet her, you will know the difference between a stuffed forgery and the real thing itself.”

“Why doesn't she just run away. Put the Witcher on her back and leg it?” She asked.

“There are look outs.” The Cartwright spoke up. “Most of 'em are looking for a strange creature leaving. The rumour mill is saying that it's a Unicorn but relatively few of them are at the point where they actually believe it.”

He handed us all cups and poured us tea from a steaming pot.

“The road is actually one of the few places that can take the weight of a horse and their rider. There are others but they can only be found if there is a guide. Those areas have hunters watching them. Then the villagers will have an advantage over a horseman that doesn't know the ground and is working not to sink in.”

“We didn't know that.” Kerrass told them. “But at the same time. It would mean that they would need to hack their way through a good percentage of the people that came after them.”

There was a silence after that.

“I know many of those men.” The Cartwright said before shrugging. “I can think of a couple of them that I could do without.”

“A little harsh,” The Herbalist commented. “There are also some good people out there as well.”

“There are.” He seemed unhappy.

“But what we don't want is for my brother Witcher and his Unicorn to cut their way out. That would do no-one any good at all.” Kerrass continued. “There is no doubt at all that they could do that. Not least because, with what I owe him let alone that he is my brother, I would have to help him.”

She shivered before growing thoughtful. “Still,” she began, her eyes distant and dreamy. “The things I could do with a Unicorn horn.” She shook herself free from the train of thought. “But that would be as good as murder wouldn't it. So what's the plan?”

“We need to drive people out of the way.” I told the two of them. “We have an idea for a piece of theatre that we're going to show but we need a goad.”

I told them about the plan and what the problem was that we hoped she would be able to solve. She laughed at several junctures.

“I don't know what I'm supposed to do though.” She said. “I haven't got the first idea where to begin...”

“In the North,” Kerrass began, interrupting her. “We saw a thing used. It was a pellet that could be burned to form a kind of smoke that interacted with the mist that would regularly rise up and come down the mountain. The smoke, when breathed, would increase the baser instincts of the people that were subject to it. Specifically the fight of flight response.”

“It was a fear smoke?” She asked.

“Precisely. It meant that you saw things that weren't really there and accentuated other things that were there. A normal soldier or bandit would appear to be a terrfying demon from beyond the realms of existence. A normal horse would have glowing eyes and appear to breathe fire. We want to achieve this same effect.”

“Why a demon?” The Cartwright asked as he fitted together planks of wood that he pulled out of his bundles, seemingly rebuilding some of his furniture. “I know about the Unicorn and so do many of the other hunters. Certainly the majority of the shopkeepers know about it.”

“The majority of the male shopkeepers anyway.” The herbalist commented.

“The demon story was a story invented by the council to get us into the woods.” I told the Cartwright. “We think that they hoped that a Witchers would fight and, if not severely hurt, then kill the other in reflex. Then they would be able to fall on the survivor and deal with the matter. Something of a fantasy to believe that they would then find killing a Unicorn easy but still.”

“But when we got here we had to play along,” Kerrass went on. “So I spouted all kinds of nonsense about detecting the very real presence of a demon. Those people in the know will think that I was just inept or making some kind of play to drive up the price that I would charge later. But some people who were watching will have heard me talking about the demon. I know that they won't have seen the Unicorn so instead, we will show them a demon.”

“It's a good plan.” The Herbalist told us. “But I don't have the first idea how to make such a smoke. Mist is easy. It was natural mist wasn't it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh well, there are plenty of things that we can throw into the marshes around the village to make a mist but to do what you describe...?” She shook her head. “I don't have the first idea how to do that.”

“I know some, though probably not all of the ingredients.” Kerrass told her.

“That's a start.” Her eyes glittered with eagerness and mischief.

“I also know how to counteract the smoke which might give you some clues.”

“Even better. What are the ingredients?”

Kerrass reeled off a number of herbs. Some of them had long names that I didn't recognise and some of them Kerrass didn't know the name of although he could tell her some distinguishing characteristics. I was lost and, looking at the Cartwright, he was lost too but she seemed to go along with things. Nodding and smiling.

“Ok.” She said when Kerrass had finished talking. “Let me think.” She got up and walked a couple of steps backwards and forwards before spinning on the Cartwright. “Have you got any paper, or something to draw on.”

“I've got some sheep's hide.”

“That'll do. Some charcoal?”

He passed it over before she collapsed into a seated position and scribbled frantically, her tongue tucked between her teeth.

“How long do you need the effect to last?” She asked abruptly.

“As long as you can give us.”

“Ok. I've got some ideas how to make it work. But I would need to play with it a while and that thing (Freddies note: In the same way that I am disguising the names of the couple in question to prevent repercussions or reprisals, I have also hidden what the ingredients to the stuff were.) is something to do with the time elapsed. But damned if I can figure out...”

She frowned at it.

“I need to play with it.” She said again. “When do you want to put on the show?”

“As soon as possible.”

She hissed. “Can you wait a couple of days for me to figure this out?”

“Probably.”

“Then I think it's time to meet the other conspirators.” She decided, rolling up and tucking the piece of sheep hide under her arm.

Kerrass and I had been to see the Priest, Father Anchor and his wife Tulip earlier in the evening before we had gone to see the Herbalist. There were two reasons for this. The first was that we wanted to make sure that we could all meet at the church and use it for our staging ground when it came to actually putting the plan into action. The second point was that we thought it would be easier to get the two of them onto our side and I kind of wanted that extra little boost to my morale before I went into battle against the herbalist.

She really can be fierce and terrifying when she puts her mind to it. Tulip had clearly already made her mind up in advance and it seemed like she was mainly waiting for us to stop talking before she was nodding to us that she agreed and of course she and her husband would help.

He took a little more persuasion, but after being told that we were going with this plan over any other plan that we might implement because we were aiming to save as many lives as possible, he agreed. That and his wife was tapping her foot at him in a threatening manner.

Schrodinger had stayed in the woods with the Unicorn, or at least that was his stated reason for staying behind. I also think that it was more than likely that he was staying behind in case Kerrass and I got betrayed and he could get a running head start.

They met our quartet as we approached and knocked on the door. It was both frustrating and endearing to hear the two new lovers giggling with each other over their newly admitted feelings. I remember Laurelen and Emma being the same when they got outed. The sheer thrill of being able to express how they feel seemed to be intoxicating and although they both knew that we were not in an entirely safe position and that if we were all seen sneaking through the village at night then the game would be up before it started.

We knocked on the church door which was opened by Tulip who all but pulled the four of us through the door with surprising strength. Then she stood looking at us with a big sloppy smile all over her face, her eyes glowing and shimmering with tears. A question forming on her face as she looked at the Herbalist and then to the Cartwright and then back.

To make it through the church door, the two of them had had to let go of each others hands. The Herbalist smiled shyly, blushed and took his hand back, looking for all the world like a bashful teenager going on her first engagement with someone that she actually liked rather than what her father had chosen for her.

Tulip did a little dance of barely suppressed joy before giving an expression of scolding and appealing to the Holy Fire. I have already mentioned that she is the most expressive person that I've ever met and I could almost hear her. “Finally,” she said. “I thought I was going to have to bang your heads together.”

Then she leapt at the Herbalist in a full bodied “Glompf” of a hug bringing a bark of laughter from her target and a gentle chuckle from Father Anchor.

“She does so enjoy things when her schemes come together in the right order.” He commented.

“This was a scheme?” I asked.

“You have no idea.” There was much handshaking between the Priest and the Cartwright. Kerrass and I found ourselves on the edges of things a bit again but I didn't mind. So often in our travels we have ended up being the heralds of woe or of chaos so it was actually quite nice to think that we might have had a positive impact on the place as a whole as well as the people in it. Even if it was just for these four people.

“So,” After she could put down the overjoyed Tulip, the Herbalist planted her hands on her hips before the priest and his wife. “How long have the two of you known about this Unicorn in the woods?”

Tulip just shrugged before looking more than a little sly.

“As far as I can tell,” Father Anchor told her. “She's known from a couple of days after they arrived. Sneaking food and supplies out to the Witcher and his friend. As for me?” He shook his head. “I am much stupider than my wife is.”

“Are you really.” The Herbalist was not convinced. “Was your stupidity real or assumed I wonder?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really.”

Tulip took her friend by the hand and led her off to the corner of the building away from the men so that the two of them could have a quick and very feminine gossip. As she departed, Tulip gave the rest of us an all purpose withering glare that banned us from following. There was the sound of much giggling and squealing coming from the corner within a few moments of arrival. As well as much hugging.

“So when did this happen? Between the two of you I mean.” The Priest led us over to a set of pews after deciding that the two of them won't going to be useful for several minutes at least.

“Just now,” The Cartwright explained. “The first I knew about it was when the Witcher and his friend knocked on my door with a tearful Woman.”

“There sounds like there's a lot more to this story my friend.” The priest told him.

“There is. Would you believe it comes down to two people grabbing the wrong end of the same stick and running off with it.”

“Believe me. I can absolutely believe it.” The Priest laughed. “Wait here and I'll get some tea.” He went off into the back room and came back with cups, honey and milk before returning and emerging again with a large, steaming kettle. Tea was poured and Father Anchor volunteered to take two cups over to the Women's corner where he had to protest that he was just bringing them tea before they would let him near them. He returned with a smile on his face.

“I hope you would do me the honour of officiating the marriage.” He told the lumbering Cartwright.

“It's a bit soon for talking about that.” The large man told him with a lopsided and soppy grin. “I don't know if she's going to want to make this a permanent fixture or not.” A flicker of fear showed in his face. “She's much better than I deserve, much more clever than I am, much prettier, much funnier and... I just worry that she might get bored. I don't want to rush things and force her into situations that...”

“My friend,” I felt the need to speak up. “I have two observations. The first is that, speaking as a man whose fiancée is also much cleverer than he is. If she decides that she wants you, then don't fight it. You will be surprised at how often you offer an insight or a thought that she won't have considered because she's the mental equivalent of a race horse whereas your mind is more like a draft horse. I have often pointed things out that she hasn't considered because she is thinking on a different level to me and I saw a way through where all she saw was complication.”

“There's some truth in that.” Father Anchor said, pointing at me with his cup in his hand. Kerrass just smiled.

“Also, I've known that woman for a few days at most. Once she's got hold of you, do you think you have any chance of getting away? She has you know and is not going to let you go. My advice again? Just hold on to her and enjoy the ride.”

“There's some truth in that as well.” The Priest said checking to see that his wife wasn't looking before reaching into his robes and producing a hip flask which he used to pour a generous measure into each of our cups. “Obviously I'm married to the most charming, clever and beautiful woman on the continent and I will fight anyone who says differently but that's a fine woman that you have there. Grab hold of her with both hands. If it comes to it and she wants you to let her go. Then do so with grace but until then?

“How do you know that she isn't looking at you and thinking “I'm not a normal person, I'm never going to cook and clean and follow him around, or do what he orders me to do. What happens if he doesn't want me or gets bored of me?” My point is, it's her choice just as much as it is yours. Also, not being funny, but you aren't getting any younger. Seize the moment, seize the woman. Obviously, only if she wants you to of course.”

I was leaning over the back of one of the pews listening to this conversation. But after this little speech, I leant over and crooked my finger at Kerrass. It took him a while before he rolled his eyes and leaned over. “I hope you were listening to all of that.” I muttered to him quietly so that the others wouldn't hear.

“Fuck off Freddie.” He told me, equally as quietly with an air of tired and weary resignation.

We waited for everyone to get all of this out of their system. They had all agreed to help us and so the urgency of things would soon begin to lessen.

As it turns out though, we were wrong. Not for the first time and almost certainly not for the last. Not catastrophically so though.

Eventually, the two women in the corner, after talking about all the things that women talk about in these kinds of situations which I assume involves Bridesmaids dresses, colours of flowers and the potential faults of future lovers. You know, those things which seem to be intrinsic to all woman kind and remain a mystery to those of us unfortunate enough to have been born male. For all I know the Priest's wife was giving her sex tips. But anyway, they came back to the menfolk arm in arm, heads together and giggling.

“Right then,” began the Herbalist before her mouth continued to fall open. My jaw joined hers on the floor when the Cartwright fell to one knee. She looked at him as her hand, the one not claimed by Tulip, rose to cover her mouth while her eyes shone. Then she looked at us before returning to the face of the man kneeling before her.

Tulip's face showed no hesitation. She was grinning with joy, excitement and a not small amount of “See, I told you so” levels of smugness.

“I know it's sudden.” The Cartwright began. If it was any other moment, or if I knew him better, then I might have teased him about the fact that he clearly needed to work himself up towards the point. “I know that we only told each other how we felt about each other earlier this evening. But....” His forehead was creased with the effort as he stared at a point, somewhere around the Herbalist's knees. Presumably out of fear and nervousness at what he might see. “...I don't want any man, or any woman for that matter, to think that we have acted in sin, or acted underhandedly in any way. I want to walk beside you and behind you and be proud of that, not having to scurry between your 'ouse and mine. So....” He took a deep breath. “I was wondrin'” Another breath. “If you would do me the great honour of marrying me?” He finally looked up to see the tears streaming out of the Herbalist's eyes. The swollen one too.

I got the impression that Tulip was restraining herself from doing a little skip of joy on the grounds that it was very possibly only her grip that kept her friend on her feet.

Even though I could see what the Herbalist's answer was going to be. As could everyone else in the room I wager, the Cartwright didn't see the ringing endorsement that he was hoping for and his eyes sank back to about where her knees were.

“I know that this is sudden,” he went on, “and I know that I don't have a ring to propose with. But....But I will arrange that as soon as I can I promise and then....” he kind of petered out. Running out of words.

Tulip kicked her friend in the shin. Her almost supernatural way of expressing herself came to the fore again.

“Oh help him out you silly fool.” She seemed to say with the smallest of gestures, a frown and a telling glare.

“Oh Hush,” The herbalist all but whispered it as she sank to her knees. “Of course I will marry you. Of course I will..... I love you.”

Then they kissed, tears on both their faces.

I let out a whoop. I know we were trying to keep things quiet but I just couldn't hold it in. It was the kind of moment that poets sing about and I couldn't help but start to clap. Kerrass joined me in my clapping, as did Tulip while the priest quietly walked round and embraced his wife.

When the couple broke apart they spent a bit of time looking at each other.

“Now?” The herbalist said, her voice trembling with emotion. “It's just that, I don't think I can restrain myself much longer.”

The Cartwright threw his hands in the air in an expression of what could easily be mistaken for despair. “Why the fuck not?” He suddenly looked ashamed. “Sorry Father.”

“I think it's kind of warranted my son, given the circumstances.”

“Are you willing?”

“Certainly. I will just go and get ready. Robes, scarves and things. See if I can find some candles.” He scurried off.

Tulip took command of the Herbalist again, pulling her back towards the living quarters at the back of the building. The two love birds didn't break eye contact until she was out of sight.

The Cartwright seemed to slump, his shoulders shaking in huge wracking sobs. Then he turned to us, his tears spilling down his cheeks and into his beard. “Oh lads.” He said to Kerrass and I. “Oh lads I can't....” he shook his head unable to speak more. It was a minute or two later when the priest emerged with an armful of candlesticks which he quickly put on the alter that the big man managed to get himself under control.

“Will you two stand with me?” He said. “I've been looking around recently and I find that of all the people that I used to consider friends have disappointed me badly over the last few days.”

I looked at Kerrass who shrugged, even though I could tell he was moved. Something about the way that his mouth twisted.

“Of course we will.” I said aloud. “We would be honoured. But that doesn't leave us much time. Come on. Kerrass can you get him cleaned up?”

Kerrass moved into action as I leapt for the door and the outside. It turns out that Tulip was already there and picking flowers by Lantern light. She grinned when she saw me and pushed three large pink roses into my hands. I took a bit of time to pull the thorns off the stems with my teeth before thanking her.

She winked in response.

Kerrass had done me proud. He had rescued the remains of the hot water that had been used to make the tea which the Cartwright was using to wipe himself off. I pinned one of the roses above my own heart and did the same for Kerrass. The Cartwright straightened as we threw his shirt back over him. We didn't have any alternative and I pinned the third rose to his lapel while Kerrass produced a comb from somewhere and attacked the big man's hair.

We just about managed to man-handle him into position as the priest tugged his surplice over his head and straightened his scarf.

Yes, I know there's a fancy name for it but if I used that name then no-one would know what I was talking about.

For those people who are wondering. It's called a Stole. If I was really trying to show off, which obviously I'm not, I would call it an Epitrachilion. But people only really use this when they're trying to show off how educated they are, or if they are trying to forget the fact that a “stole” is also a garment traditionally worn by a woman. We can't have anyone thinking that a priest is wearing women's clothes can we? Perish the thought.

“Right,” The priest began. “You ready?” He asked the groom.

Who laughed at him. I thought it was a fairly reasonable response all things considered.

“In which case, are the two of you ready?”

“What for?” Kerrass wanted to know.

“To catch him in case he faints of course.”

“Does that actually happen?” I wanted to know.

“More than you might think. Remember that traditionally, the groom's friends have taken him out to get him utterly rat-arsed drunk the night before the actual wedding day so quite often the groom is all but throwing up all over the bride's dress. Normally I would keep a handy bucket or something nearby but I don't think that that's going to be a worry here.”

It was interesting. It was like the priest had a constant stream of banter that he could keep going with the groom's party to keep everybody's mind off the event that was about to take place. It was quite endearing really, certainly it was funny. It didn't work this time, the Cartwright's gaze was firmly fixed on the doors to the church.

“If I'd known that this was the way the day was going to turn out,” Father Anchor went on. “I might have made some provision in that kind of direction but I didn't really think...” He cocked his head to one side in the same way that a dog or a cat does when they are trying to listen for something. “Here we go.” He told us. “Last chance to back out.”

“Fuck that,” muttered the Cartwright before realising what he said and turned back to the priest. “Sorry Father.”

Which meant that he missed the moment the doors opened.

Tulip had done her friend proud. The Herbalist was still wearing the night dress that Kerrass and I had dragged her out of the house in but instead of it being a formless and shapeless piece of grey cloth it was now tied down with a sash of purple. The mass of dreadlocks had been let down so that it spilled down her back giving the appearance of a sea of hair, but strange enough to make it seem exotic. There was a crown of large daisies perched on the top of her head. She was still barefoot but the mud had been cleaned off. There was also a thin, bright gold torque around her neck and the neckline of the nightdress had been tied together with a piece of twine in an effort to make it appear more virginal and more like a bridal dress. The look was finished by the bouquet of Pink roses, that matched the ones that Kerrass and I wore in our lapels, and other light blue flowers that I did not immediately recognise.

There was an odd look on the Herbalist's face. A combination of utter terror and longing as she looked at her soon to be husband.

Tulip stood just behind her friend in her own best dress positively radiating smugness. I had wondered whether or not Tulip might have leant her friend one of her own dresses but the shapes of the two women couldn't have been more different and there was absolutely no way that one of Tulip's dresses would have been able to fit over the Herbalist's own body with out being let out in two very particular areas if you know what I'm saying. So it would seem that that option would have been impractical.

Tulip also had to prod her friend down the aisle as I had to turn away to hide my smile as a look of surprise replaced the earlier one on the Herbalist's face. “Oh yes, I get to walk towards him.”

The Cartwright didn't notice. His gaze was open and utter astonishment, adoration and wonder.

“I hope it's ok,” The Bride said as she got to the end of the aisle. “I would have gone home to get ready but I don't really have any other dresses. Everything I use needs to be able to be worn outside and...”

“You look beautiful.” The Groom interrupted her. “Far more beautiful than I deserve.”

They stood there looking at each other for a while in that truly sickening way that only the newly in love manage. Kerrass occasionally likes to tease me that Ariadne and I do that when we're near each other but I protest my innocence in the strongest terms possible.

The tableau was broken by the priest clearing his throat.

“Ahem.”

The two looked away and down bashfully. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Got distracted,” he echoed her. Father Anchor did a masterful job of schooling his rather goofy grin into an expression of priestly decorum.

“Ok. Let's keep it simple then as there are other things on our minds here.”

“I'll say,” the Bride commented with a leer. The groom blushed.

“So I'm cutting this down a lot from the normal texts. Does anyone here object?”

Kerrass is a funny man. He doesn't often do well in a crowd situation and among louder groups but he can normally come up with some funny comments between groups of friends. But his jokes are better when he doesn't plan them and just says what he thinks. Normally he keeps his humour under tight wraps for fear of piercing the sense of mystique that he tries to carry round with himself to preserve the poetic myth of “the Witcher”. But this time he timed it perfectly.

He reached up and calmly took a hold of the hilt of his sword and drew half of it noisily so that it scraped against the edge of the scabbard ominously. Then he scanned the room before nodding at the priest and returning the sword to the scabbard. Tulip, myself and Father Anchor had to restrain a fit of giggles. Even the Herbalist grinned at the gesture.

I honestly don't think that the Cartwright noticed. He was lost, back at looking at his bride.

Can't say I blame him really. She did look gorgeous.

“In which case, let's keep this simple.” The priest went on. “Cartwright do you?”

“What?” he seemed startled. “Oh, errr yes of course I do.”

“Excellent, then Herbalist, do you?”

“Definitely.” She drawled.

Of course Father Anchor used their real names during the oathswearing section of the service. As I say, I am hiding their names out of respect.

“I don't suppose we have any rings do we?” Father Anchor asked without much hope but once again Kerrass came to the rescue.

“Actually.” He was rooting around in one of his pouches. “I might have.... Here we go.” He produced a handful of rings. “You find all kinds of things when you trawl through monster dens for a living. And many monsters are attracted to shiny things, it's not just a draconic trait. Lessee now, they need a bit of cleaning and they won't be good quality as the last jeweller I tried didn't want to buy them but...”

There was a slight delay as a couple of options were buffed up on the ends of bits of cloth and a couple of options needed to be tried in order to find ones that would fit. As it was, the herbalist had to choose a large one and wear it on her thumb but she was clearly delighted with the gift.

“All right then, back on track. Repeat after me. With this ring I thee wed.”

“With this ring I thee wed.” The Cartwright intoned. I got the feeling that he was carefully enunciating each word so as not to be mistaken.

“Now you, With this ring, I thee wed.”

“With this ring I thee wed.”

“Excellent. Now before these witnesses and before the sacred flame of the eternal flame it is my distinct honour to....finally....declare you man and wife. Just the test to go now, come on.”

He took them up the alter, formed their hands together and then made them pass their joined hands through the oil flame. For the uninitiated it's supposed to mean that anyone who doesn't have true and honest intentions will flinch away from the flame and the heat. The two of them giggled as they went though. The flame is never that hot, especially if you move with reasonable speed rather than just leaving your hand in the flame.

Like I did once but that's another story.

“Excellent. Did every one witness that?” Father Anchor asked.

“We did,” Kerrass and I intoned as solemnly as we could while Tulip nodded enough to make it look as though her head was about to fall off.

“And will you swear to that, should it be required before the flame and the law?” Another formal question for legal reasons.”

More nodding from Tulip. “We will.” Kerrass and I answered formally.

“Then the deed is done. You may now kiss the bride.”

It was more the other way round I will admit. The bride tossing her bouquet over her shoulder negligently before grabbing her new husband with both hands to do the deed.

A few uncomfortable moments passed.

“Ummm,” Kerrass began. “Do you think they're going to stop at any point?”

“They have been holding this in for quite a long time.” Father Anchor commented.

The happy couple parted, breathing hard. I could only see the Herbalist's face from where I was standing but her eyes shone, her cheeks were flushed as she almost panted for breath. But then he kissed her back.

I giggled.

“Oh my,” Father Anchor commented as the bride's crown of flowers fell from her head as her husband's hands cupped the back of her head.

“Errr.” I began as she pushed her husband's leather work coat off his frame so that it clattered on the floor. “I don't think they're going to stop.”

“Do you think that we'd better?” Kerrass asked gesturing towards the door, cutting his question short as The groom's shirt joined his coat on the floor.

“Yes, I think we'd better.” Father Anchor said as the newly married couple sank to the floor. He grabbed his wife's hand as he went leading us towards the door. For her part, Tulip's eyes were beacons of joy and fascination as she watched the couple giving in to their long restrained passion.

As we approached the door we were forced to increase our pace as we heard a feminine moan coming from behind us.

The priest shut the door and leant back on it. Then he realised that he still had hold of his wife's hand and pulled her in for a passionate embrace of his own before kissing her soundly. I looked away to give the pair of them a bit of privacy. Only turning back again when Father Anchor spoke again.

“Well, that's been a long time coming?” He commented.

“Are they not currently sinning in there?” Kerrass wanted to know.

“Why?”

“Isn't fucking....”

“Fornicating Kerrass, fornicating.” I corrected.

“Sorry, isn't fornicating a sin?”

“Technically speaking it's only a sin if the couple are not trying for a child.” The priest. “It's later inferred that it should only be done between married couples but in the same way that I'm not “supposed” to be married, a lot of these rules are actually later additions to the texts. The same way that the anti-magic rhetoric is a recent addition.”

He sniffed to show what he thought of all of that. “For myself, I can't think of many better places to do the deed. To declare your love in such a way before the eyes of the flame and in the place that houses even a part of it. I don't suggest you put that to the test in the halls of the cathedral of Novigrad though. But as a place to consummate a wedding? Which is also a religious requirement by the way, then I think it's among the better places to do it.”

Tulip exhibited some more of her command of mime and body language as she pointed out that she and her husband did it all the time.

He blushed at this.

Then she seemed to go on to suggest that as soon as they'd gotten rid of all of their guests they would do so again. And vigorously at that.

Kerrass laughed but I was left with an odd feeling. It took me a while to pin down exactly what I was thinking and walked a little way down the hill.

I reached out and made contact with Ariadne. She was in a strange castle that I did not recognise. Cold, black stone walls lit by torches. She made a few excuses to someone before moving a little way away.

“Always nice to hear from you My love, but I can't talk long. I'm in a meeting.”

“Then I won't keep you.” I told her. I felt myself blushing at being referred to as “My Love”. “I just wanted to tell you something.”

“Oh,”

“I've just attended a wedding and the couple are kind of aggressive in their... We had to leave quickly so that things didn't become awkward.”

“I see,” I could feel her smile.

“I just needed to tell you that...” I took a deep breath, even though communicating with Ariadne like this didn't need breath. “Despite whatever bodily reaction I might have due to instinct or.... whatever. I can't wait to have you all to myself on our wedding night.”

“Really?” Her smile widened and became wicked. “Tell me more.”

“I would, but if you're in the middle of a meeting...”

“They can wait a bit.”

“Can they now. I thought that you were busy in a meeting.”

“Freddie...”

“I can't wait,” I told her firmly. “To take you to a chamber, remove your wedding dress and....”

“yes....” she prompted as I began to chicken out.

“and....I'm going to make love to you until we can't take it any more.”

Her pleasure and happiness at the sentiment was palpable through our link.

“You know that you're going to be wintering with me soon?” She suggested. I got the feeling that she was all but licking her lips.

“I thought you wanted to wait.”

“I do, I do. Hmmmm, maybe having you spend winter with me is not necessarily the best idea after all.” She joked.

I groaned in mock fear and disappointment and I could feel her laugh.

“Listen,” I began, “You've got a meeting to get back to and I need to go and keep the others company. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I nodded and went to walk back to the church.

“Oh and Freddie?”

I responded with her own words.

“Yes my Love?”

“On our wedding night. I am going to show you pleasure like nothing you've ever experienced.”

Then she broke contact.

That gave me something to think about as I walked back up the hill.

“Ariadne ok?” Kerrass asked as I returned to the small trio who were gossiping in small voices.

“You know me too well Kerrass.” I told him.

“I do.” He answered with a smug grin.

“You thinking about the Princess?” I asked him.

“Fuck off Freddie.”

I laughed. It turned out that I had another ally in the cause of getting Kerrass to admit and act on his feelings for the Princess Dorn in Tulip who started to scold him on the matter. Without speaking. It was a lot of fun to watch.