“Two silvers say it’s going to be a waste of time again,” Nathan said as they went to see about breakfast the next morning.

“If you think I’m touching silver for odds that shitty, you’re clearly delusional,” Greg replied.

Nathan grinned at him.

“At least the food is likely to be good again,” Andrew said.

“Yeah, if we really have to stay here till full moon, you won’t fit into your pants anymore,” Nathan griped.

Andrew punched him in the shoulder for that.

Today, the discussion started right after breakfast. Nathan, Andrew, and Greg weren’t included this time and spent the day roaming the viceroy’s lands. They had no luck in finding the two werewolves, but they weren’t trying all that hard, anyway. The viceroy didn’t have any more luck, but he wasn’t giving up, apparently.

“There’s going to be one last meeting tomorrow,” David sighed.

By the time Greg, Nathan and Andrew had returned the next day, a bunch of coaches was just leaving Castle Blanc.

“The viceroy wants to talk to us,” David greeted them. “Get clean and then get dressed for dinner.”

“Already?” Nathan asked.

“He wants to meet us at what he calls the tea room,” Bram said. “David is right, we should all look presentable.”

Duke Desmarais didn’t get up to greet them, when they entered the “tea room” a little while later, and waved the servant off who wanted to announce Bram.

“Yes, yes, Lord Abraham Feleke does not need an introduction,” the duke sighed. “He’s quite recognizable, is he not?”

They all thought it wiser not to answer to that. Bram was the only noble black man in the rank of Baron in all of Loegrion.

“And his four sons,” the duke continued. “David, Andrew, Nathan, and Gregory. Please, sit down, have a bite to eat. You must be tired after all these pointless arguments. I certainly am.”

He was already following his own advice, filling his plate with cold cuts. The food all around the room was plentiful and much more varied than just tea cakes.

“Your son hinted that you know why the White Torrent is collapsing, now of all times,” Desmarais went on. “Yet you haven’t said anything so far. Nothing at all.”

Their father and David exchanged a long look. When Bram didn’t answer right away, Desmarais clapped his hands, and the servants, who had been serving drinks, left at once.

“Well?” the duke demanded. “Out with it.”

“It’s not that simple, Your Highness,” Bram said. “Are you speaking to us as the viceroy of Loegrion, or a landowner who doesn’t want his people’s crops to be ruined by the Rot?”

“Ah,” the duke said softly. “So this is not just about Church law?”

Bram kept his mouth shut.

“In that case,” the duke said, “I would like to speak to you as a man of common sense speaking to another. My family has lived here nearly as long as yours. I would hate to see this land rot away even further. So I ask you again to tell me why the White Torrent is falling to the Rot after such a long time, and what can be done about it? I don’t care how you know. I only ask to be included in this knowledge.”

Bram smiled wryly. “We know what is happening to the river because our family has been hunting werewolves for generations,” he said. “Recently, this work led us to a quite interesting discovery: The White Torrent remained free of the Rot because its well was protected. It is collapsing now because its last guardian has succumbed to old age over a year ago.”

“Protected by what? There is no magic or alchemy powerful enough to protect a whole river. Otherwise, the Empire would have cleansed the land long ago and pushed further north.”

“Quite the contrary,” Andrew disagreed. “The Empire and especially the Church of Mithras have been working since the emergence of the Rot on destroying the one thing that can effectively fight it.”

“And that is? Out with it!”

“A sane werewolf,” said Bram.

Silence fell between them. The duke’s jaws were working, but he was clearly lost for words.

“You must be joking,” was all he finally managed.

“Not at all,” Bram said.

“One werewolf. That’s all it took to keep the river clean? One werewolf like the two that have been killing my people’s sheep?”

“No, probably not like those,” Bram replied. “One exceptionally old and powerful werewolf.”

“I hope you are going to tell me that there are others as powerful,” Desmarais said.

“No.”

“No?” Duke Desmarais echoed. “None at all?”

“Werewolves grow more – resistant – against the Rot as they age,” Andrew explained. “Since the law is to kill any werewolf, not just the mad ones, there hasn’t been a sufficiently old one for years. Except for possibly one.”

“But?” the duke asked. “What’s the issue with this one?”

“Duke George Louis already has a claim on it,” Bram explained.

“So that’s how he had his railway through the forest to Sheaf built?” Duke Desmarais wiped his broad forehead with a silk handkerchief. He looked thoughtful. “And you are sure that there is only one werewolf capable of keeping the Torrent clear?”

“Only one that we know of,” Bram said.

“I take it you have been looking?”

Bram just took a sip from his wine glass. So far, he had not admitted to actually doing anything himself that would break the law.

“If I were to order you,” Desmarais tried another angle, “would you obey?”

“If the viceroy, voice of the Roi Solei on Loegrian soil, were to order us, how could we resist?” Bram replied.

“Fine then.” Duke Desmarais pushed himself out of his chair. “I hereby order you, Lord Abraham Feleke, and your sons, to do everything within your power to find a werewolf capable of keeping the White Torrent clear of the Rot.”

He fell back into his chair. “And now that treason has been committed, will you finally speak openly?”

“There is little more to say,” Bram answered. “Yes, we will look for werewolves. I would suggest starting with those already on your lands. But we have to warn you: There is no simple test to see if a werewolf is sane and stable, or not. Newly bitten ones have been known to turn mad as late as four months after the bite. And we don’t know why they go mad, either.”

“Or how the rate of sane to rabid werewolves stands,” Greg added.

“But you are certain that a werewolf can, what, resist the Rot? Repel it?”

“Fight it,” Bram said. “Literally. A werewolf can fight the moving shapes the Rot takes, and destroy them. Kill them, for lack of a better word. We have all witnessed those fights.”

“Are they even?” the duke wanted to know.

“Depends,” David said. “A sufficiently seasoned werewolf can destroy even the largest manifestations of the Rot without much of a struggle. A younger one risks its life if it goes up against too many or too large a Rot creature.”

“And how old is ‘sufficiently seasoned’?”

“To defend a camp of railway navvies? About eight years should do. To keep a whole river clean? We’ll have to see.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“What significance does the number eight have here?”

“About a hundred full moons,” David explained. “The ancient one who defended the river had lived through over a thousand full moon transformations.”

“And this werewolf that Duke George Louis has?”

“At least four hundred but we don’t know the exact number,” David said. “You might remember the circus act known as the Morgulon? Over thirty years ago.”

“Can’t say I do,” the duke said.

“It’ll be in the chronicles,” Bram continued. “The circus toured with a very young werewolf-girl they called the Morgulon. Due to the unrest this caused, they were banned from Loegrion for five years. It was one of your father’s last acts as viceroy, I believe. Right after their return, Lord Leon deLande set fire to the circus to kill the werewolf.”

“Oh, that circus. Yes, I remember,” Desmarais said. “I’ll look up the details. And I suppose I should contact Duke George Louis. Perhaps we can come to an agreement regarding this Morgulon.”

He wiped his forehead again. “Perhaps if you can catch these two sheepkillers alive, he will agree to a trade.”

“Your Highness,” Greg started and then bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something untoward.

“Yes. Speak your mind, young man.”

“What my brother wanted to point out is the difference between hunting a werewolf and bringing one in alive, your Highness,” Andrew said. “All we can do, what Duke George Louis has done, is to offer them work.”

“Work. You mean to tell me that he pays them?” Desmarais asked.

“Strictly speaking, Duke George Louis pays the butty gangs, and the gangs hire and pay the werewolves,” Greg said. “But yes, they do get paid.”

“Paid in food? Clothes? Do they actually hand them silver?” Duke Desmarais asked, looking flabbergasted.

“Some take silver,” Greg said. Porter did, in any case. “Others won’t touch coins. They just expect food and a safe place to stay over full moon. But the point is, you cannot force them to fight the Rot, because you cannot chain them up to do so, nor send guards with them into the forest. So you need to create some other incentive.”

“And not having them killed won’t be enough?” the duke asked archly.

“You mean to send them away, Your Highness,” Bram pointed out. “Far away into areas where no man can follow them. Depending on how scared they are of hunters, they might still do what you demand, but you should be aware that your threats are empty. And as soon as your werewolves realize that, they will be gone. And I doubt they will come back, no matter your offer. Also, any time they have to spend hunting or scavenging for food will be time during which they won’t fight the Rot.”

“You all have worked on these issues before. Or do you deny that?”

“We did help Duke George Louis to find werewolves for his crews,” Bram said. “And he, too, has ordered us to find more.”

“And whose order do you intend to follow?”

“Both, of course,” Bram said. “As my son already pointed out, we cannot force a werewolf to work for either of you. So it will be up to you and Duke George Louis to hire them. Obviously, we won’t drag those two sheepkillers all the way to Eoforwic.”

“Very kind of you. And what does Duke George Louis pay you for your services?”

“The basic rate for a living werewolf is double that of a dead one,” David replied.

“And if I were to pay you more?”

“All we could do is give you – preferred access,” Bram said. “And even that would be hindered by geography. Since the Church cannot find out about this, it is generally rather difficult to travel a longer distance with a werewolf in tow.”

Duke Desmarais rested his face heavily on one hand and turned to his plate of cold cuts.

“So what you are telling me,” he said after a while, “is that suddenly, after hundreds of years, after generations of killing them, you have now created a demand and thus competition for living werewolves. You speak of sane ones and mad ones. But in the end, these creatures are at best unstable. Howling mad at worst.”

“Well, first of all, we did not create this – demand,” Bram said calmly but firmly. “We did not put the Rot into the ground, and it wasn’t our idea to build a railway through these lands. And we most certainly did not want the protector of the White Torrent to die. Before you ask – he was dead ere we even learned of his existence. But things are what they are. My personal interest is simply to keep Courtenay barony safe.

“Secondly, and this will be harder to believe, I’m sure, there are werewolves which are far from unstable. You do not hear about them, Your Highness, because they commit no crimes, except for vagrancy. And in that they are swallowed by the many itinerant people to whom poverty leaves no choice but to travel up and down the country, to sell what services they can offer. Some of them look entirely human, and behave entirely human, except for full moon. Once the full moon is in the sky, and darkness has fallen, they are as dangerous as any werewolf and often killed alongside the mad and mean-spirited of their kind. But they possess none of the malice, irascibility, or unpredictability of a truly mad werewolf. In fact, they will go to great lengths to ensure that even on full moon they will not endanger humans.

The Church does not acknowledge their existence. On the contrary, the Church has made a lot of effort and paid a lot of money to have them eradicated both from folk’s memories and our forests. Even to speak of them is blasphemy, for how could a creature cursed by Mithras be sane?”

Duke Desmarais sneered at that. “Always bending the facts to suit their teachings,” he grumbled and stared into his cup of wine.

Greg helped himself to some more food to stop himself from fidgeting.

“But do you have proof?” the duke finally wanted to know.

Bram looked at David, who shrugged.

“What?” the duke growled when Bram remained silent. “If you do have proof, then I demand to see it.”

“There is only the proof of your own eyes,” Bram said after a long moment. “One of my sons was bitten a year ago. Can you tell which one? You have seen them all over the last few days, talked to each of them a little, yet would you have guessed?”

“This – this is not a funny joke,” the duke gasped. He had turned pale like goat cheese.

“It is not a joke at all,” Bram replied.

Duke Desmarais nervously wiped his forehead again, looking back and forth between the four of them. After a minute of tense silence, though, he got a grip on himself.

“You are having me on,” he declared like he could dictate the truth.

“Would you like proof?” Bram asked mildly.

The duke looked again from David to Greg to Andrew and Nathan. “Yes.” His voice was rough. “I’m calling your bluff.”

Bram nodded and looked at Greg. Greg stared back, almost as shocked as Desmarais, but when his father arched his eyebrows, he dutifully began to take off his shoes.

“What are you doing?” the duke hissed.

“I don’t want to ruin them,” Greg explained. “They finally fit properly.”

He shrugged out of his vest and shirt, too. When he started on his pants, the duke looked away from him at Bram and groused: “Are you running a circus now?”

Greg smiled, found the tightrope in his mind, and jumped down on the other side. It would have probably looked a lot more dramatic if he had stripped down completely, and he had also misjudged how much he still staggered around while turning, so he almost fell over his chair and ended up with one foot still covered by his sock.

“No points for style,” Nathan promptly commented but got up to stop one of the little food-covered tables from falling over.

Greg threw one look at the duke, who was either about to faint or yell for his guards and decided the more comical he looked, the less threatening he would appear. So he sat down like a well-behaved dog and tried to take the remains of his sock off with his teeth.

“Seriously?” Andrew asked. “Why do you always ruin your stockings?”

But they all kept a watchful eye on the duke, who was dabbing at his forehead with his silk handkerchief again. Sweat was running down his jowls in little rivulets. His colour was changing from very pale to beet red now.

His eyes were glittering.

He still hadn’t called the guards.

“Quite a troupe you have here,” he finally managed, looking at Bram. “Quite a show. I take it he is amongst those Duke George Louis pays?”

“He was the first,” Bram said. “Now he helps us find others. He understands us just fine, by the way.”

“You understand me?” the duke asked, turning to Greg.

Greg rolled his eyes, but nodded, then looked questioningly at his father. He would really prefer it if the secret didn’t pass even further. Bram nodded, and Andrew got up.

“Where is he going?” Desmarais wanted to know.

“Bringing more clothes for Greg,” Bram explained.

“You do have this well-rehearsed,” the duke said softly. “And yes, quite convincing as far as proofs go. I would never have guessed.”

He still, maybe even unconsciously, moved as far away from Greg as his chair would allow.

“Could he protect the White Torrent?”

“No,” Bram said. “Not for years.”

“But he has protected the railway workers. Did you not say that a werewolf should be at least eight years old for that job and that your son was only bitten a year ago?”

“Greg was bitten a year ago, yes,” Bram said. “And on the short line to Sheaf, he was able to protect the work crew. The new line to Mannin though will have to cross the Savre, and thus much more dangerous areas. The crews will need to be larger, too. At least the proposed bridgework, right at the riverbank, will require somebody older.”

“Always the rivers and waters,” Duke Desmarais mused. “They could make these lands the richest part of the Empire. Instead, we are constantly crippled by the Rot that hides in their cool floods. Duke George Louis wants to be king, yes? I can see the shape of this vision now – each stream, each creek, lake, and pond with its own werewolf on guard, the swamps along the Savre drained, the river’s powers harnessed. And – king – George Louis ruling over the prospering, green lands, expanding into the western mountains and further North, everywhere the Empire could not reach for fear of the Rot. Or am I wrong?”

“We don’t know what Duke George Louis plans,” Bram said. “But I can imagine worse futures than the one you just described, Your Highness. Most of them start with you informing the Inquisition about what you just learned.”

“I could arrest you all on the spot.”

“You could try,” Bram said, almost serenely.

There was a long, long moment of silence. The duke looked at Greg, but then seemed to realize that it was both Nathan and David, who had both gripped the hilts of their dress swords, which weren’t actually dress swords but real rapiers. They returned his gaze calmly.

Finally, the duke huffed, not quite a laugh, and looked away. “I do not doubt that I would never finish calling for help,” he said. “And strangely, it’s not the werewolf I feel the most threatened by. But let us not do anything that we would all regret later.”

Bram smiled and Nathan leaned back a little in his chair. David, too, relaxed but moved his hand barely an inch further away from the hilt of his sword.

“What do you intend to do with your new knowledge?” Bram asked.

“As I said repeatedly in the recent days,” the duke replied, “my family has lived here for over two centuries. My ancestors conquered these lands for the Empire, and we are still fighting, fighting the Rot every day. As a reward, the Empire seemed to have forgotten about us. And now you tell me, that perhaps it is the Roi Solei himself, but certainly, the Church and High Inquisitor d’Evier, who are crippling us in our defence against this foul sickness that is strangling Loegrion day by day. The Rot is my enemy since it killed my son. Anyone who chooses to stand in my way in this fight should consider himself my enemy, too. If you will side with me against the Rot, then we can be allies.”

“Perhaps we should start by finding your sheepkillers, then,” David suggested. “See how their state of mind is. Even if they are only newly turned, together they should be able to at least protect the castle from attacks.”

The duke looked at Greg. “And if they turn out to be – unstable? My daughter will give birth soon. We took all the precautions with my son, and yet he was – was stolen.”

“I suppose we can stay a while longer,” Bram said. “If you can think of a safe place for Greg to wait out full moon.”

“I’ll see to it,” the duke promised, just as Andrew opened the door.