“A gun?” I repeated.

“It’s a disgusting name, isn’t it?” muttered the craftsman.

François turned around; I didn’t need to see his face to visualize the look of reprisal he was giving to the man. “You are employed to construct not comment.”

It was odd seeing the two sides of this seemingly sweet and carefree guy. Not wanting to see anymore, I asked, “So how does it work?”

The craftsman sighed and walked around François. “Here.” He took the device from my hands. “You see this.” He pointed to the hole at the end of the pipe. “When you pull on the trigger, like a crossbow a projectile will come out, but instead of an arrow, it’s a ball.”

“So, it’s just a smaller crossbow?” I was expecting something a bit grandeur.

“Essentially—”

François looked to be dissatisfied with the explanation, “No, it’s not just a crossbow. It’s so much more. Crossbows take a long time to reload, require expansive training, and strength to operate. A gun is—Wait, let’s go to the training field.” He ripped the gun out of the man’s hands and ran to a room hidden on the side. It was just an extremely long room with wooden blocks stored in the back. “Bullets.” François extended his hand, and the craftsman gave him a small pouch.

Taking out a small grey pouch, he put it atop the barrel’s hole before using a small stick to push it down. Next, he took the ball they were talking about, wrapped half of it in a small white paper and pushed it down as well.

“See, already done. This version of a gun was named a blunderbuss by the duke.” François extended his arm, put his finger on the trigger and shot.

BANG!

And with a burst of smoke and flames a piece of wood in the distance exploded.

“See, this is the power of a gun!”

It was impressive but nothing compared to what I’d seen with the caravan.

“Hey! Can you hear me!” yelled François.

“Yes, what is it?”

He frowned. “Do you not have anything to say about it?”

Glancing over to the craftsman, I now understood why he’d looked so apathetic to the weapon. I was now also convinced that this wasn’t an artifact, but more of François’s passion project. “It’s great, I can see how it might be useful,” I forced out to please him, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

“Might be useful? It is useful, it’s revolutionary, how can you not see it?”

Well, François didn’t seem like the sort of person to lynch me over something I’d say, so I decided to be honest. “It’s a bit underwhelming, at least compared to what some class holders can do.”

“Why are everyone here so dense! Look.” François pressed the end of the gun against my chest. “If this was loaded, would you not be scared that I could kill you.”

“So could you kill me if you made me fall asleep.”

“No, you don’t get it, anyone can shoot a gun, not everyone has a class.”

“I guess that’s true, I suppose it’s just not very imposing.”

“Goddamn, look, take it.” François forced the gun on me and ran off into another room.

“Where is he going?” I asked the craftsman who looked just as mildly concerned as myself.

“The armoury probably.” He sighed. “Good luck. I’m being paid quite a lot, so I still work on these toys, it also means I gotta get back to work so see ya, I’m sure I’ll get to see you again at another time.” With that he waved me goodbye just as I could hear François steps become louder.

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Soon, François had returned with two small pouches in hand. “What? He’s gone!” said François looking around.

“Apparently, he had a lot of work to get done.”

François nodded, “That’s fine then. Here, take this.” He threw me a bag. “Inside there’s powder and twenty-five bullets. We’ll practise a bit here then head back out.”

And so, François spent two hours explaining every single part of the gun using a prop before he taught me how to reload and clean the gun.

#

“I suppose this weapon isn’t so bad,” I said after having undergone François’s extensive training. For some reason the bang and recoil of the weapon had grown on me. It was at the very least a fun toy.

Leaving, François ran off to find the craftsman, after all it was, he who had the information on the evil class holder.

A bit later, we were already back on the surface. The sky was no longer black, a hint of purple dabbed the sky as the sun would soon rear its head.

“Are we setting off right away?” I asked François.

“Yes, can you ask your gargoyle to guide us back to the secret exit?”

I looked over to the one who had stayed on my shoulder. He didn’t seem to understand François. “Go and find the exit.” I told it and it flew off. Running after it, we passed a few houses where morning candles were lit and passed a few people out fetching water, but it was still too little activity for a city the size of Fécamp. Regardless, we soon got to the exit and escaped the confines of Fécamp.

While we pushed the block back in place I kept my eyes on Ligothe, half expecting him to crumble as Gothe, and Gotha had done.

But even as we walked away from the walls of the city he stayed put on my shoulders. I wonder if perhaps I shouldn’t take control of all gargoyles I encountered. It would become too cumbersome quickly, not to mention I would look more like a war lord rather than the knight of a duke.

“So where exactly are we going?” I asked François.

“It’s a small village a few hours from here, it doesn’t have a name. We just have to follow a few landmarks, and we’ll be there soon. I’ll tell you when we get near.” François’s eyes were fixated on the trees. Perhaps for the landmark.

Soon, we stumbled upon a sinkhole. It was the size of a small cat, right next to a pond. It reminded me of the hole I fell in, to enter the macabre dungeon. Peering over, there was nothing but some water inside. “Is this the first landmark?” I asked.

“Yep, now we just have to… take a left.” He said pointing to a big rock in the distance. “Head in a straight line, and we will find the village.”

But shouldn’t a village where an evil mage lived be more… hidden? I had to ask. “How come it’s so easily found? Shouldn’t the lord of Fécamp not have done anything about it?”

François stared back at me, again with those eyes he was getting more and more comfortable showing me. “Did you not see Fécamp? Do you not think that the influence of whomever is behind this doesn’t extend there?”

Still, it didn’t make sense. “Then why not do it in Fécamp, or go straight to the source and arrest the lord of Fécamp?”

“Gregoire, you grew up in the dead-ends. Things cannot just be forced here. This is a matter of politics. I cannot sit here and explain it all to you here, just know that if we kill that mage the events will stop long enough for us to take proper action.”

His tone told me to stop questioning things. At least until I was allowed to do so. “Ok, let’s just deal with this.”

“Yes.” Smiled, François. It shouldn’t take too long.

#

And, at least getting there didn’t take long.

Hiding behind bushes, we peaked at the village in question. Although we couldn’t confirm this was the right place, the air of the place was off. Although it was now daytime, there was no one outdoors nor morning smoke coming out of the houses’ chimneys.

“Should we just go and see what’s going on?” I asked.

“Load your gun first.”

And so, I did. But—

“Actually, can you send your gargoyle out first?”

That was a good idea, but I didn’t want to lose him already. Glancing over at the ugly monstrosity, I turned back to François. “I could but he wouldn’t be able to communicate anything with us. He can’t understand anything other than simple commands like push or fight. Maybe if I upgraded my class.”

“True, that’s why we came here after all. But don’t worry, we’ll head to the dungeon after dealing with this.” Looking around, François seemed to be searching for the best path to infiltrate the village. “Let’s go.” He jumped out the bush and ran, crouched towards the village.

When we got to the gates, we waited to see if anything would react to our presence, but nothing happened.

We crept along the walls of a house and glanced through one of its windows. The inside looked grey and white, completely covered in dust.

“I don’t think anyone’s living here.”

“You don’t say,” said François.

“Do you think the mage left?” I asked.

“There’s only one way to know. Let’s check out the mayor’s home—”

But just as we were creeping towards the centre of the village the church doors swung open.

Jumping behind the closest home, we made ourselves small and held our breath. Although we didn’t dare look around the corner, we could hear the rattle of chains and the quiet thud of shoeless soles on dirt.

It was as if there were two people walked side by side, enchained in iron. That’s when the sound of leather soles sounded out on the church’s wooden steps.