Last Life

“IT’S TIME FOR US to be going,” Betty said with a respectful smile and, grabbing the slightly baffled Vivienne by the elbow, pulled her out the door.

Seeing the women out like a fool in love, I showered them with assurances and promises that I would do away with the devil incarnate de Lamar.

While Betty smiled with satisfaction and kept trying to egg me on, Vivienne Leroy on the contrary looked gloomier with every word I said. I truly must have overdone it. Oh well, hopefully Betty could again convince her that Max Renard wouldn’t stand a chance against Abbeville’s top swordsman.

And speaking of that... It was time to get myself a weapon. News of my recovery was sure to spread like wildfire through Abbeville. As an aside, that was the very reason I had been avoiding outings in the city for the last two weeks even though I really wanted to get to know this new world better. The dark annex had seeped into my very bones. If I had to start a new life in a new world, I preferred being surrounded by lots of comfort.

When I got back into my room, I noticed that Trixie was gone. The little spy had taken advantage of the commotion and vanished. And that meant Madame Richard would know the contents of my conversation with my visitors within the hour.

Ideally, I wanted to give Trixie a warning about what happened to people who couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Meanwhile, I was no threat to her in that situation. But Vivienne Leroy and her friends Betty and Vincent de Lamar were clearly engaged in a criminal conspiracy with the aim of ending the life of the chevalier called Max Renard. And considering the fact a relative of mine was tangled up in the story — well, basically, none of them were too keen on witnesses. I wanted to know who in my family wanted to get rid of me...

But anyway, I would have time to figure that out. Right now, though...

“Gentlemen?” I asked as I stepped through the doorway where the guardsmen and Bertrand were waiting. “Who do I have the honor of meeting?”

The keepers of law and order were two. The first was a thin, short man with a gray streak on his temples and a short beard. Based on the coat of arms on his cuirass, he was an officer. The second was a redheaded giant with a square jaw and small, closely set eyes — his subordinate.

Notes of clear annoyance slipped through in the sergeant’s voice, clearly due to the fact he was angry to have been dragged out to this shithole.

Come now, sergeant. I’d like to see your face if you could have heard what those two sweet ladies were saying just a half an hour ago.

“My dear sergeant!” I smiled. “I thank you for your timely arrival. You are absolutely correct. Those women are far from outlaws. But my servant took you away from your doubtless important affairs for good reason. I did indeed suffer an attack by three miscreants but fought them off on my own.”

The redheaded giant, who hadn’t taken his mocking gaze off me the entire time, bared his teeth after I said that. His sergeant was more restrained, but overall reacted approximately the same way.

“Where did it happen?” asked Jérôme Tonnerre.

“In the back yard,” I nodded toward the back door.

“My boys didn’t find anyone there.”

“Well, the criminals must have fled by the time you arrived,” I shrugged.

“Do you know their names?” the sergeant asked.

“Sadly, I do not,” I sighed and reached into my pocket. “Sergeant, in any case I thank you for your service. Here, for the trouble. I’m sure that you as a good commander will be able to share this money fairly with your boys. Yours is a difficult and dangerous profession. I’m glad we have fighters like yourselves keeping the peace in our town.”

I slipped five thalers into the suddenly sprightlier Jérôme Tonnerre’s hand. His assistant’s red eyebrows shot up into his forehead, while his little eyes glimmered with greed. From somewhere behind the guardsmen, I heard Bertrand sniffling, upset. And I knew why — I overpaid for the false alarm, but I had other things in mind. I wanted to establish good relations with local law enforcement.

“Chevalier Renard, I thank you,” the sergeant nodded respectfully. “These days, it’s hard finding a person who truly values our work. In the future, you can count on me and my boys.”

Yes, yes, but only if I can afford you. Otherwise, you won’t lift a finger. But out loud of course, I said nothing, just nodded back.

“With your permission, we’ll be going,” said the sergeant, turning toward the door. “Things have been uneasy in the city for the past week.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Mercenaries have started coming to Abbeville. They found out about the new Shadow Patrol muster rolls. Walking down the street after nightfall is best avoided. One could run into all sorts of rabble.”

“There have been several dozen duels over the last two days,” Henri Morelle boomed out in his deep bass. “The earth beneath the city stadium is red with blood. Several city dwellers have gotten rich betting on the soldiers.”

“Curious,” I stroked my chin. “And who is taking the bets?”

“Why, as always, the office of Paul Lepetit,” the redheaded giant shrugged.

“Curious,” I repeated again. “Well, I wouldn’t presume to keep you any longer.”

When the guards had gone, I had to listen to Bertrand for a few minutes and reassure him. The poor man had experienced a lot of stress over the last few days. First of all, as it turned out, after my experiments with the brown energy, I spent three days unconscious, and today I even had a run in with Trebolt’s cutthroats, who dragged my sleeping body into the back yard. Bertrand put up as much resistance as he could but was outmuscled. Which was why he hurried for the guards.

Jacques by the way, had also seen me being hauled off naked to the barrel, but opted to stay on the sidelines even though Bertrand called him to help. Of course, I didn’t blame Jacques. Who was I to him? What reason did he have to risk his life for some nobleman who was to blame for all his own problems? But still, it left a bad taste in my mouth. Somehow, I felt a sudden urge to give him a talking to.

Little Trixie on the other hand had proven herself in a positive way. She tried bravely to stop the ugly bastards. She even earned herself a box to the ear from Crab. For which I owed the bald man a punch to the face.

“Monsieur, how did you really manage to get free though?” Bertrand asked after he finally settled down.

I chuckled.

“You heard my story. Or don’t you believe me?”

My question embarrassed the old man. He looked down and burbled out quietly:

“There were three of them, monsieur. True cutthroats... I understand if you had to...”

“Had to what?” I kept smiling. “Beg for mercy? Plead for them to postpone my repayment? Run away? The old me probably would have done just that.”

“And rightly so,” the old man supported me and started caringly wiping dirt off my coat. “There’s no shame in retreating in the face of overwhelming odds. You are alive, and that’s what matters! You did exactly right.”

I sighed and shook my head. Bertrand had known Max since childhood. He had a hard time believing my lookalike was capable of such things. And thinking back on the things Vivienne Leroy and Betty Gilbert had said about him, like that Max had even cried while begging Vincent de Lamar for his life... I figured if Bertrand could have seen me laying out Trebolt’s enforcers on the snow with his own eyes, he still would have had a hard time believing it.

But strange as it may have been, the black mark of a traitor being on my lookalike’s reputation was playing into my hand. It would make it easier to enact my scheme.

“Listen, old fellow,” I decided to get to action. “I need the duel reminder letters.”

Bertrand shuddered and opened his mouth to speak, but I got ahead of him.

“Beyond that, I have prepared all my books there on the bed. They’ll need to be sold. I am in no position to be reading useless novels and poems. Furthermore, prepare me some clothes for an outing into town. Just pick something nice and warm.”

“Monsieur,” the old man muttered. “But you do not have decent winter clothing. When we came here, it was warm. So you ordered your entire winter wardrobe sold.”

I snorted.

“Then ask Madame Richard if she has anything decent for me to wear. Just outerwear will do. A winter cloak, for example.”

The old man nodded and asked:

“Are you planning on paying a visit to someone? I have to know what clothing to pick out.”

“No,” I shook my head. “Today I would like to reacquaint myself with Abbeville and take care of a few urgent pieces of business. To make it everywhere I want to go, we’ll need a driver. I believe Madame Richard has a buggy. Arrange with her for us to use it. And hurry up, my friend. I want to do as much as possible before it gets dark.”

Bertrand got started without saying another word. When needed, he very quickly put his nose to the grindstone and, despite his age, did everything quickly and precisely. A consummate professional.

First, I was given the three letters from my future rivals. The one from Vincent de Lamar I immediately set aside. It wasn’t yet time for a duel with him. I was saving him for last.

The other two notes were from a Viscount de Angland and Chevalier de Nevers. The former had been insulted by Max at a ball, and the latter was burning with righteous fury to slay his wife’s lover. Surprising. Apparently, my lookalike was able to catch the fancy of at least one lady in this town.

But hey, why not? Thais was always teasing me saying I had a “cute little baby face.” And she was partially right. In the past, particularly as a child, my inoffensive appearance made people take me for a weakling. Even when I became a man, people never stopped underestimating me. Much less Max, who had an even prettier face. Particularly now that I’d dropped the excess weight and started looking younger.

Every time I washed up, I saw the gaze of a young man who I never would have taken for more than eighteen reflected back in the piece of polished copper hanging over the basin. Like a consumptive frat boy with a pale face and bags under his eyes. I was even curious how Vivienne Leroy could have seen a glimmer of confidence on this face as she claimed.

“The buggy will be ready in half an hour,” Bertrand announced when he returned.

“How much is it going to cost us?” I asked, not looking up from the letters.

“Not a thing,” Bertrand responded uneasily. “Madame said it’s included in the rent.”

I raised my head.

“Is it really?”

“No,” Bertrand shook his head.

“Let me guess,” I smiled. “Our driver is going to be Jacques, isn’t it?”

The old man nodded and shrugged.

“Madame Richard gets more curious with every passing day,” I snorted. “What have you got there?”

“This is the most appropriate clothing we could pick out,” Bertrand stated uneasily, and immediately started making rushed excuses: “I know a hare skin coat is not the kind of clothing you’re accustomed to, and it doesn’t quite rise to the level of your status, but it wasn’t exactly cheap. This coat was used by a travelling merchant to pay Madame Richard for his stay after losing everything.”

I picked up the coat and gave it a closer look. The long coat was made of high-quality fabric with fur lining and was surprisingly light. I tossed it over my shoulders and put up the high fur collar. Its former owner was broader at the shoulders and waist than me, but that wasn’t such a big deal. All I cared about was that I wouldn’t be freezing in Max’s autumn boots and thin little cloak, which I used to cover my nakedness in front of Vivienne and Betty.

“Excellent!” I rendered a verdict. Which made Bertrand breathe a sigh of relief. “We’ll have to buy some more appropriate clothing later.”

“You look very much like your grandfather as a young man right now,” he said tenderly and added for some reason: “Honestly though, just a month ago, you’d have thrown me out by the scruff of my neck if I suggested you wear a merchant’s coat.”

“Start getting used to the new me,” I chuckled. “Think of it like this — you were right, and my Legrand nature has started to awaken. By the way, speaking of clothing off someone else’s back... Do you know what the Viscount de Angland and Chevalier de Nevers look like?”

“Yes, monsieur,” Bertrand replied. “I have seen them both.”

“Then here’s my question... Which of them are closest to my build?”

“Neither,” Bertrand shook his head. “They’re both bigger and taller than you.”

“Hm, why am I not surprised?” I muttered to myself. “Then which one is richer?”

“The Viscount de Angland, son of the Count de Angland,” the old man replied without a second thought. “He is the immediate heir to the entire neighboring county.”

“And what did I say to make him challenge me to a duel?”

“As far as I know, you made fun of his long nose,” Bertrand responded uneasily. “It all took place at a ball at the Count de Brionne’s estate. He by the way is lord of this land. At that very party, an engagement was announced between the Viscount de Angland and the Viscountess de Brionne.”

“I see,” I sighed. “And what about my other rival?”

“The Chevalier de Nevers is mad at you for fooling around with his fiancée, Irène Danet, daughter of Zacharie Danet, a wealthy cloth merchant. The chevalier, being the Baron de Nevers’ younger son, has no inheritance. Marrying the daughter of a wealthy merchant would have settled his financial position. As a matter of fact, you considered Bastien de Nevers your friend along with another few noblemen none of whom, for the record, ever showed their faces again after your money ran out.”

I scratched the back of my head. Well, with friends like that, who needed enemies? In fact, it was for the best that they took off.

“And how far did things go between me and Irène?”

“That I do not know, monsieur,” Bertrand shrugged his shoulders uneasily. “But I do know that her father is angry at you.”

“Yes,” I said. “I recall a few letters. By the looks of things, I owe this Zacharie a large amount of money. Him and Weber...”

* * *

“Where to, monsieur?” Jacques asked in a dispassionate voice, sitting on the front bench of the buggy harnessed to a large gray gelding. Dressed in a sheepskin coat that had seen better days and a wolfskin cap with three flaps, Jacques now looked like a highwayman.

With an envious glance at Jacques’ hat, then at the drawstring fur hat on Bertrand sitting next to me, I pulled down over my ears an idiotic tricorn, which was the height of current noble fashion and said:

“How about you take us around downtown. Then we’ll see where to go from there.”

Jacques gave a short nod, pulled on the reins, and we rolled off.

After driving unhurriedly around Abbeville for an hour, I had an approximate idea of the place where my mysterious benefactor had dropped me. To be frank, I was expecting much worse. Overall, Abbeville came as a pleasant surprise. It was a small, but well-maintained town, though it did have its finer points.

I had visited the main square. Admired the city hall. Taken a passing look at several temples. Observed the city folk, who didn’t look too poorly off. There were plenty of street urchins though, as well as travelling riffraff. The sergeant was right — it was best not to wander around here after sundown.

I saw a lot of armed men — they must have been the mercenaries who had come to try their luck in the Shadow Patrol in place of the son of some rich merchant or shopkeeper.

They had come with all kinds of equipment. Most of the war dogs looked quite pitiful. Spears, bows, and axes dominated with swords the rare exception. As for plate and chain armor, there was hardly any. For the most part, they were beggars who would hardly stand a chance in the Shadow. They wandered the alleyways in small drunken groups loudly belting out bawdy tunes. To put it briefly, if all the scum got cleaned off the streets, it wouldn’t have been such a bad place.

The local guards were clearly neglecting their duty. I imagined the vast majority of law enforcement was patrolling richer neighborhoods, providing security first and foremost to privileged city dwellers.

We just so happened to have entered one such neighborhood. Our buggy rolled down the causeway paved with large flat stones, their black surfaces peeking out through the dirty brown snow. Along the fairly broad little street there towered brick and stone buildings of two and three stories. Little towers, balconies with overhanging upper levels, spires on brick roofs.

“I like it here,” I said quietly to Bertrand.

“This is where we lived at first,” the old man said quietly. “Until you ran out of money.”

After another hour driving up and down all the central neighborhoods of the city, I asked to be brought to the duelyard, which earned me an understanding chuckle from Jacques and a concerned look from Bertrand.

The duelyard, which was where city law dictated all duels or even training fights be held, was not far from downtown. The sound of it came far before I could see it.

The din of hundreds of voices provoked by the bloody spectacle echoed through the surrounding area. Smiling city dwellers hurried down the streets leading to the duelyard, as well as petty merchants with carts loaded with all kinds of wares. One such bustling man sold me ten meat and berry pies for ten oboles.

The spoils we split evenly between myself and Bertrand. I was not planning to feed Jacques, though he did occasionally glance our way, greedily inhaling the tempting aromas of our baked goods.

I just laughed. No, no, man. You and I are separate. You are under no obligation to save me, and I am under no obligation to feed you. Let your boss do that. She should have taken care to feed her spy herself.

There was a wide strip of land next to the tall stone wall dividing the arena from the outside world, which was used for parking and contained all kinds of carriages. Starting with simple wagons and carts and ending with advanced bulbous coaches on steel springs.

I looked with a glum sigh at one beautiful specimen, a dark blue one with ornate carving harnessed to a set of four excellent steeds. After that, pulling the tricorn down over my finally unfrozen ears, I headed to the arena entrance.

But before I could make it to the gates I was intercepted.

“Bah!” I heard a sonorous mocking voice. “Well, if it isn’t the Chevalier Renard in the flesh!”

I stopped and turned my head. Between two flashy coaches there stood a little gang of young people. Based on their brightly colored expensive clothing and abundance of jewelry, they were young elites.

Bertrand walking next to me started listing off their names rapid-fire:

“That is the Chevalier Daveluy. Next to him in the green mantle is the Viscount de Goddard. To the left, the tall one is the Baron de Jamet. And to the right, the broad-shouldered stocky one...”

“Is the Viscount de Angland,” I finished just as quietly. “Just the man I wanted to see. I recognized him by his nose. You know something? It really is very big.”

I turned and walked boldly toward the group.

“Gentlemen,” I said with a slight bow. “What a pleasure to see you! Wonderful day, isn’t it?”

The young people traded glances and, after a round of sidelong smirks, looked back at me. The only one not to take his hateful gaze off me all that time was the Viscount de Angland.

“Renard, I see you’re already back on your feet.” the sonorous voiced one asked. “And that after dueling de Lamar.”

“I’m not all that easy to kill,” I chuckled. “My predecessors were always famed for their excellent health.”

“Which ones?” the Viscount de Angland went straight on the attack. It was as if he was expecting to be able to catch me that way. “The counts, or the merchants? I only found out recently that you are the grandson of the famous merchant Legrand. Is that where you got your stupid commoner outfit?”

The young people immediately supported him with acrid chuckles.

“Both, viscount,” I responded and, smiling, asked: “And you, as I see, are still sticking your big nose into other peoples’ business?”

For a moment, a cryptlike silence took hold. Only the whinnying horses and distant sounds from the arena trickled in.

The viscount stumbled back like he’d been slapped, then took a shaky step forward. His dark chestnut eyes went even darker. If he could kill with a gaze, I’d have already died. His friends reacted quicker. They immediately blocked the enraged viscount’s path.

“I’ll kill you!” de Angland barked, trying to draw his sword. “No more delays, sniveling worm! You will answer for your words this very instant! And if you think you can move me to pity with your tears like you did with de Lamar, better forget it! You will die!”

I shrugged my shoulders and, putting on a sad smile, said:

“Alas, viscount... I cannot answer your challenge today, because I do not even have a sword. You wouldn’t kill an unarmed man, would you? What do you say we fight here tomorrow, same time? I promise I’m not going anywhere. Plus, I can no longer deny myself the pleasure of giving your big inquisitive nose a flick.”

The viscount again began to snarl. He was raring for a fight. His three companions struggled to hold him back.

“Tomorrow! Here! Same time, you die!”

“Excellent, viscount!” I bowed. “I reserve the right to choose the weapon. We fight with swords. Gentlemen, allow me to bow out.”

I turned and, with an easy gait, headed into the arena stands. I could practically feel the rich kids searing a hole into my back with their hate and scorn.

“To the death!” de Angland barked after me.

I then, not turning around, waved goodbye.

“Monsieur!” Bertrand sniveled plaintively, walking beside me. “What have you done?!”

“It’s time to repay my debts, old fellow,” I slapped him on the shoulder and added: “Get yourself together. I need you in a cool frame of mind. We have a lot of business ahead of us. We have many preparations to make before tomorrow’s duel.”