Book 3: Chapter 24

Last Life

BARON DE LEVY HAD A LOT to say over breakfast. Mostly petty rumors from court, amusing happenings at balls and other minor and utterly insignificant tidbits. But he also told me in broad terms about a big embassy to be headed by Prince Louis going north, and which Baron de Levy would also be taking part in as, of course, would all others attached to the green prince.

But meanwhile, he never forgot to ask a lot of questions about me, my life, and my family. After a few minutes talking, I concluded that Jean-Louis was acting on someone else’s instructions. I could even guess whose. I just had to remember whose personal perfumer he was. In general, either the junior prince or his inner circle must have started looking into me more closely. Though neither possibility should have been written off entirely.

Let them look into me. No skin off my back. Pretending to take the bait, I eagerly told the redheaded green spy about my exile in Abbeville, the frontier, and my move back to the capital.

We also talked a lot about what happened at the ball after I passed out. He had nothing new to tell me. Based on what the Duchess du Bellay said about the categories of Vestonian court nobility, I could confidently place Jean-Louis in the group of “smart people who try very successfully to act stupid.” It occurred to me that those were practically the only kind of people at the Duchess du Bellay’s ball.

In sum, all society’s blame had fallen squarely on Baron von Herwart. Because he promised not to use magic, but lost his cool, making himself look foolish and bringing defeat to his team.

And the fact that the baron had thus put his suzerain into a compromising position was something everyone there, including the spineless Prince Louis, preferred to ignore. Just the way they always ignored things relating to the royal family. Everyone who was ever bold enough to go against the king and his family had either been executed or placed in the dungeons. Max’s daddy was a clear example.

Prince Heinrich, of course, had expressed his displeasure publicly, and ordered the baron to leave the ball, but everyone knew perfectly well that it was just an act. Soon enough, the “disgraced” stryker would be going off to war with the Atalians together with his suzerain. I assumed that were the baron not a combat mage, a valuable commodity in this kingdom, Prince Heinrich would have given him a harsher punishment...

In the end, my shared breakfast with the Baron de Levy turned out very informative both to him and to me.

* * *

Despite Bertrand’s admonishments to get some rest, I was already riding out to the Legrand manor the next day. I could not afford to lose all that valuable time. The chance to visit the Legrand family crypt, which Isabelle Legrand had given me for some reason I still didn’t understand, was something I could not afford to miss.

“So, you came,” Isabelle Legrand said either inquisitively or affirmatively, hitting me head to toe with her unblinking, hawkish gaze.

Like the last time, she met me in the garden. In the same gazebo the quiet footman led me to before. Today, Pascal Legrand’s eldest daughter was alone, as was I.

I intentionally left Bertrand in the carriage. His presence would have made it harder for me to get Isabelle to speak candidly.

“Yes, madame,” I answered shortly and added with a slight bow: “And I am grateful to you for giving me this chance.”

Ignoring my gratitude, Isabelle suddenly asked a question I was not expecting:

“Is it true that you set Bertrand free?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“What were your motives?” she kept pressing.

Hm... I seemed to know what she was getting at.

“I considered it the right thing to do,” I responded.

As an aside, my words were the pure truth. Isabelle, meanwhile, seemed to have a different opinion.

“What if you had a different intent?” she asked with a slight smirk.

“Curious. What intent should a person have when freeing another from a life lived in slavery?” I feigned sincere surprise.

“Maybe drop the comedy act, Max?” Isabelle said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Then, curling her lip into a sarcastic smirk, she added: “Do you take us all for idiots? I always had a high opinion of you, but this time you’ve really outdone yourself.”

Was she trying to provoke me, or being sincere? Although they were hardly mutually exclusive. Considering how worthless Max used to be, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear that.

In one way or another, if I wanted to get what I was after, I couldn’t respond to her rude remark.

“Need I remind you the content of your letters?” she continued with a sidelong smile. “The ones where you rudely demand payment for a supposed share in our family business. You even threatened to take it to court if we didn’t pay up to your satisfaction.”

Isabelle shook her head.

“Now you want to come at it another way? You think we believed you suddenly started to feel like a son of the family for the first time in all these years when you asked to visit your mother’s crypt? And you freed Bertrand in the hopes of softening our father.”

I wondered if her and Adeline were working together, or if Isabelle knew nothing about her younger sister’s independent activities. In one way or another, it was still too early to say. I had no proof.

Isabelle was partially right. I really had no business with Max’s mother. Visiting her crypt was just a pretext to officially visit the Legrand home. Maybe I’d find a hook of some kind during my visit. Like when I met Adeline’s son the last time. He was already one potential source of information.

“Madame,” I said with a heavy sigh. “If this is your way of trying to prove yourself to me, then your efforts are going to waste. I know perfectly well how I’m thought of in your home. And I have no desire to convince you of anything, much less justify my every last action and decision to you. I simply want to pay my debt to my mother, whose death everyone here blames on me. If you invited me just so you could read me the riot act again, you’re simply wasting my time.”

I already wanted to turn and leave, but Isabelle stopped me.

“Wait,” she came coldly. “As promised, I will take you to our family crypt. But don’t count on anything more.”

I nodded in silence. So I was right — they couldn’t refuse to let me visit my mother’s tomb. Society simply would not understand. Things like that were no laughing matter here.

The Legrand mausoleum was located past the park. A narrow alley paved with wide marble slabs led me to it. It was a long, narrow building with two towering columns at the entrance with a pair of gray stone statues.

When we had just a few more steps to go, the mausoleum’s massive door peeked open, and a woman’s figure appeared in the frame.

Inside, I laughed. Very well. Adeline Beauchard was on the doorstep of the family crypt. When she saw me, she shuddered. Her face covered with red spots in surprise while her brows shot upward. But a moment later, Max’s second aunt got herself together and her face warped into a scornful grimace.

“Good day, aunt,” I bowed, smiling openly.

“Father will be upset,” Adeline threw out angrily to her sister, ignoring me.

“I’ll survive,” Isabelle came phlegmatically, as if swatting away a bothersome little fly.

“He shouldn’t be here,” Adeline made another attempt.

I looked at her hands and saw in her right fist a little scroll of light pink paper. I had seen things like that at the shops outside temples. Beyond standard scrolls with prayers written by priests, they also sold “clean” illuminated scrolls which buyers were supposed to use to write messages to the deceased.

Based on the thickness of the scroll in Adeline’s hands, it was meant to contain more than one prayer. Write a few words on illuminated paper to a deceased relative, tear it off and burn it next to the urn of the person’s ashes. And so on until you run out of paper. Such multi-use scrolls were the most expensive.

“You know perfectly well that we couldn’t refuse,” Isabelle said and, letting me know the conversation was over, walked into the crypt.

When I got even with Adeline, through her teeth she hissed with hatred in her voice:

“You have no place here, bastard!”

She and Max must have crossed paths somewhere before. I’d like to know why she got so mad at him. She even hired an assassin. Maybe more than one. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the Nightwolves were also her handiwork. Honestly, though, I wasn’t totally sure why they were taking so long. Because they had not completed their task. There must have been some kind of serious reason.

I smiled at her in silence. No, not now. This was not the time.

Leaving my hissing aunt behind, I followed after Isabelle.

It was quite bright and cool in the crypt. It was immediately obvious the mausoleum had been built relatively recently. Most likely, Pascal Legrand had it constructed. And meanwhile, I supposed the de Gramonts’ mausoleum was likely one of the most ancient in Vestonia.

I sniffed. The far corner smelled strongly of smoke. Adeline must have burned a prayer somewhere over there.

I looked around. In the center of the room on a stone pedestal was a bronze chalice with a flame burning inside. There were lots of niches in the walls, most of them empty. Clearly made with “room to grow.” But some of them already contained urns. And Isabelle led me to one.

“Here it is,” she nodded at a pretty, artfully carved vase of blue marble. “You have a few minutes. After that, a footman will show you the way out.”

With that, Isabelle turned and walked to the exit.

“Thank you, madame,” I said to her back, but she completely ignored me.

Waiting for Max’s aunt to leave the crypt, I looked around again, but more closely and in true vision.

Clear... Not a drop of mana. Nor was there anyone around. Here, it must not have been acceptable to spy on those communing with the dead.

Wasting no time, I walked over to the flaming chalice. I lit a prayer scroll Bertrand had bought for me, waited for it to catch, then placed it in a small marble dish next to the urn.

I don’t know what body or world you were reborn in, Anna Renard, or more importantly how long you might last there, but I know one thing for sure — here your life was empty and short, but doubtless rich in exciting events. You really blew the minds of my cantankerous relatives, and for that I want to say a special thanks.

Logically concluding that my business was done there, I turned and wanted to leave, but then my gaze fell on the smoldering bit of paper.

Hm... why not?

With a glance at the front door, I listened closer. Silence.

Raising my head, I sniffed and went toward the faint smell of smoke wafting from deep in the crypt, which had almost completely blown away through windows beneath the ceiling.

A few moments later, I stopped opposite a niche with a fat urn made of black granite. In a flat dish on a pile of weightless ash, there laid a fragment of light pink paper, which was covered with a thick layer of neat little handwriting.

I didn’t know which late relative Adeline Beauchard had prayed to, but she must have had something to say. I looked around just in case, carefully extracted the “surviving” bit of paper, and stashed it in my pocket.

And with that, I was done. I hoped the spirits of the dead wouldn’t hold it against me. But really, who was I fooling? They had all long since been reborn in other worlds in the endless multiverse. They didn’t care about any of these urns or crypts, much less some half-burned scrap of paper. I didn’t yet know myself what I needed it for, but in my line of work, all I needed was a hook.

I got back home by lunchtime, where I was awaited by a message that there was a red pitcher on the Watchmaker’s office windowsill. The Viscount de Tosny had requested another meeting.

I couldn’t help but be alarmed by how quickly it came. Because in my last meeting with the Watchmaker, he claimed he would take the product to his clients who eagerly and discreetly purchased all my hollowstones only next week. It was all a bit odd and sudden... My sixth sense was screaming that problems were coming my way. And it had never let me down yet.

In one way or another, I would figure it all out that night...

* * *

The message from the Watchmaker put not only me on guard. Jacques didn’t like it either. He as usual, tried to ask to come with on my nightly stroll, but in my turn, I refused him as usual.

If I really was in for something nasty at the Watchmaker’s I would have to act on instinct, and at times like that I couldn’t afford distractions. Also, regardless of all Jacques’ talents as a fighter, nighttime was not his forte.

As if on cue, it was a moonless, quiet night. The part of the city where the Watchmaker lived had long been sleeping deeply. Flower Street, always so lively and crowded, seemed to have died.

Moving silently as a ghost from shadow to shadow, I walked over to the inn where the Viscount de Tosny had rented a room on the second floor.

Despite the cold night air, all the windows of his room were slightly ajar. But the blinds on the lower windows, on the other hand, were shut tight. It was as if I was being invited to climb inside through the second story.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and listened. It was suspiciously quiet inside. No snoring or creaking beds. No coughing. It was like I’d come to a graveyard.

I quietly drew in air through my nose. There it was... That smell. Thick and suffocating. I could never mistake it for anything else. Only death smelled that way. There were clearly a number of fresh corpses inside. But also some living people. And all of them were on the second story.

I could have simply faded into the darkness and gone back home, but if the Watchmaker for some reason held that against me, I couldn’t afford to have an enemy like him at my back.

Overall, very strange. What made the viscount cut down every resident of the inn where he himself was also a guest? Utter delirium. It had to be something else.

Climbing over the fence, I found myself in the back yard. Recently, I had done quite a good job studying the building and, if needed, I could have gotten around in it even with my eyes closed. Over there was the stable, and there was the woodshed.

But somehow, I couldn’t see my friend, the old guard dog I tried to feed every time I came to visit, and with whom I shared little masses of crimson mana. Animals were more sensitive in that way. They could tell straight away who was friend and who was foe. He made friends with me right after my first visit. Happily accepting a treat and some crimson mana, he granted me access to his territory.

I found the dog’s body not far from the back entrance. The poor guy had been shot with a crossbow or bow. More likely the former. An experienced marksman had shot him straight in the heart.

The Watchmaker couldn’t have done it. The viscount was probably a goner at this point. And if I had been summoned with our special signal, he must have been tortured. Or more likely, they got all the details out of him using a potion.

The back door was locked from the inside. But that couldn’t stop me. Slowly pumping my mana into a small area on the door, I waited for the wood to pulverize, then made a careful hole with my hand and unlocked it.

Okay, I was in... Quiet as a graveyard...

Holding my small crossbow at the ready, which I’d gotten a few weeks before at a curious weapon stall in the Old Capital, I walked a slow circle around the first floor. I finally found what I sensed on the street.

Dead bodies... Seven corpses. They were all piled up in one room, the farthest from the door. In it were the owner of the inn, his wife, and five guests. It was immediately obvious that they had all been dragged down there alive, and only killed later. The Watchmaker’s body was not among them.

I could already safely go for the guards but, if I did, I would be bringing unwanted attention from the authorities to my little side hustle with the viscount. I didn’t have to be too wise to figure out that the strange cutthroats had come here for my bruts. The Watchmaker must not have been careful or discreet enough.

Okay, done with the first floor. Going up to the second.

I sensed the ambush on the approach to the stairs. Scanning revealed that a person was hiding on the narrow stairway landing. Not a guest, that was for sure. I didn’t see any mana. But he had a well-formed energy system. This man was an experienced warrior.

His energy system looked very calm, meaning he was unaware of my presence. Sitting in the corner and guarding his section of the stairs.

Closing my eyes and continuing to watch the stranger in true vision, I raised my crossbow. The dull, dry thud of the bowstring sounded to me like thunder on a clear day. But the man hiding on the stairs didn’t even move before the short crossbow bolt went through his right eye and straight into his brain. I decided not to shoot for the chest. Based on a thicker area under his clothing, this stranger was wearing armor.

Standing in place and holding my breath, I listened closer. Time was passing, but no one came down to investigate. The Watchmaker’s new friends must have been waiting in his office, which was in the far wing of the building. From there, it was hard to hear what was happening on the stairs.

Quickly reloading the crossbow, I started going up. A few moments later, I hunched over the body. He had a small arbalest on his knees. He must have been the one to shoot the old dog. Oh well, now I had gotten my revenge for my little buddy.

Thanks to night vision, I was able to make out my enemy’s facial features. Hm... Didn’t look Vestonian. This was an Atalian. Curious...

Picking up the dead man’s arbalest, I continued on.

Walking slowly down the corridor, I closely scanned the space in front of me. There was the door leading into the room used by Arnault Lefevre, the Watchmaker’s personal servant.

Peeking into the ajar door, I saw the pipsqueak’s eyes glassed over. The dead Arnault was sitting against the wall with his hands bound, and a gag in his mouth. His head was tilted slightly, while his chest and stomach were covered with lots of blood. On his throat, I saw a deep slice from ear to ear.

I looked around. There were another two bodies lying on Lefevre’s bed, which I had no trouble recognizing as the two hulking men who drove me around the first time the viscount and I had met. The Watchmaker was seemingly without protection. If of course he was still alive, which I was starting to doubt.

I killed a second shooter by sneaking up from behind and snapping his neck. He was hiding at a window and watching the street. Not well enough. And he paid the price. The second man was also Atalian.

And the third fighter was almost a loss. I was just coming out of the room where I left the broken necked Atalian when his comrade suddenly appeared at the end of the hallway and slowly, practically by feel, came toward where I was standing. To my relief, he didn’t see me in the darkness.

Freezing in place, I instantly pumped mana into my aura and my body seemed to disappear into thin air. When the third Atalian walked past me unsuspecting, I made a sharp burst forward.

A quick jab to the temple reinforced with a pulse of energy, and the Atalian fell to the floor limp. Carefully holding the flaccid body, I quickly scanned his energy system. It only took one blow to send him to the next life.

The hallway and rooms were empty. That left the Watchmaker’s office.

I walked over to the door and took position, then settled in to wait. All my sense organs were telling me that there were three men in the room: the office’s primary occupant and his two “guests” one of whom, based on his ragged and angered breathing, must have been losing his patience. He didn’t seem to like the fact that the little birdie, i.e. me, didn’t want to fly into his net.

The impatient man saved me from having to wait very long. The silence in the office was broken by muted cursing, clearly in Atalian, then the door flew open sharply and a broad-shouldered girthy silhouette appeared in the dark passage.

Not letting the big man take another step, I ran forward and knocked him off his feet with a single blow to the solar plexus. His armor lessened the blow but couldn’t hold back the pulse of energy. I was afraid to hit him on the head. I wanted this Atalian alive. He was clearly in charge.

Before the big man’s body could even hit the floor, I was inside the office. Everything looked just like I thought. The Watchmaker, badly beaten, was seated in an armchair with his arms and legs tied up and a gag in his mouth. The Atalian who was in the room meanwhile I caught just as he was getting out of the chair. My bolt going through his head made his head jerk back before his whole body fell into the chair.

I looked around the office to make sure the big man on the floor had just passed out and finally walked up to the viscount, who was staring half-blind into the darkness and mutedly mumbling through the gag.

Gently pulling the rag from his mouth, I came with a slightly sardonic edge:

“Monsieur, you never should have gotten involved with Atalians. Haven’t you heard His Majesty Carl III declared war on their king?”