Last Life

BERTRAND AND I were unable to have a decent conversation, much less eat breakfast because another knock came at the front door immediately.

Stopping Bertrand, I walked over to open it myself. The sergeant must have needed something or perhaps more likely one of Madame Richard’s staff was dropping by to inquire about the latest news. Hot on our heels, so to speak. I even knew who. A redheaded fidget.

But just in case, before opening the door I glanced out the window. Hm... No such luck. On the porch was a man I had never seen before. Forty years by the look of him. Average height. Well dressed. By local fashions, one might even call him a dandy. But he didn’t look like a nobleman. His eyes did not harbor that superiority the bearers of aristocratic blood seem to reserve for mere mortals.

Overall, his appearance was quite respectable. Something of your standard member of the local class of decently successful city folk.

A look in true vision also showed nothing. The only thing that put me on guard was the sheer number of dark spots all over his body. Old wounds. Particularly on his forearms. My visitor must have done a lot of fighting over the course of his life. To put it briefly, he was clearly skilled with the sword hanging on his belt.

The man raised his hand to knock again, but I beat him to the punch. Throwing open the door with a look of dismay, I asked:

“What do you want?”

My appearing in the doorway threw him off slightly. He must have been expecting to see my valet. Nobles with servants here never opened doors for themselves or greeted visitors in such a casual manner.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with a slight bow. “Gaston Barbier. I have come with instructions from my master for the Chevalier Renard.”

“Well then, let me have it,” I waved a hand. I was not going to invite him in. He would make do. Most likely this was one of my creditors sending another reminder. “But make it quick. I’m famished. Working out in fresh air awakens the appetite, don’t you know.”

“Oh, do I ever,” Gaston said with a sidelong smirk, nodding at the guardsmen loading the bodies of my foes onto a cart.

The sergeant must have decided to approach the issue responsibly. The mercenaries would clearly not be getting away with just a slap on the wrist. They would spend a few days marinating in city lockup. Maybe they could even be shaken down for a bit of cash. But based on their meager equipment, it was unlikely the motley crew would have much. That was none of my business though.

“I still have yet to hear your master’s name,” I said.

“Oh! Forgive the impertinence! I am employed by Monsieur Trebolt.”

Ah, now the wolves were circling. The look in his cold gray eyes fixed on the bridge of my nose.

“Ah, now I see,” I chuckled, completely ignoring Gaston’s look. Those kinds of moves did not work on me.

“May I enquire what you find so amusing?” Gaston Barbier squinted.

“Of course you may,” I snorted. “The thing is in light of recent events I was expecting you to pay me a visit earlier. You sure took your sweet time. But that doesn’t matter. What orders did your master give you?”

My contemptuous tone was clearly not to Trebolt’s messenger’s liking. I suspected this Gaston Barbier was far from small fry. He must have been one of the top enforcers this city’s criminal underbelly had to offer. Trebolt would not have sent anyone else. Especially not alone. For the record, the sergeant and other guards were clearly aware of who was paying me a visit. Just based on the way they tensed up. They even stopped what they were doing.

“My master would like to invite you over for a visit right now at the Yellow Turtle,” Gaston stated. “Just so you know, they serve an excellent breakfast. Our chef’s grub is the best in town. But you already know that because you’ve been there many times.”

“Curious,” I stroked my chin. “Why does your master’s invitation sound more like an order?”

“Oh come now, chevalier,” Gaston bowed again, this time even deeper. “How could I give you an order? It really is just an invitation.”

Well, maybe so, but it was not the kind that one could refuse. Okay then, I’d play along. All the more so given I was already planning to pay a visit to my main creditor. Time to wrap this up. The last thing I needed was daily run-ins with small-time criminals.

“Alright,” I sighed significantly, then smiled wide, which came as a great surprise to the messenger. “You really have a gift, Monsieur Barbier. You have a way with persuasion. And who in their right mind would say no to the best breakfast in all Abbeville? Give me a minute. I have to get ready.”

After that, I unceremoniously slammed the door in his face and went to go get dressed.

Quickly getting myself together and reassuring Bertrand, I went outside. Before leaving, I drew a decent amount of energy from the emerald dust, accelerating mana refill for my reservoir. I then stashed the stolen sack in the pile of wood next to the stove. Not a great hiding spot, but I hadn’t had time to make anything better yet.

Outside, beyond Gaston, Jérôme Tonnerre was also waiting for me. When I made it into the doorway, he asked a question while staring down Trebolt’s henchman:

“Monsieur Renard, is everything okay?”

“Absolutely,” I responded with a broad smile.

“Would you perhaps lend me a minute of your time?” the sergeant insisted. That made Gaston snort and shake his head in dismay.

“Alright,” I nodded and turned to Gaston: “Monsieur Barbier, would you please give us a minute?”

Gaston again snorted but did leave the porch and even walked a few paces away, though still keeping me in his field of view. As if he was scared I might try to run.

“Chevalier, it is not for me to give you advice,” the sergeant took the bull straight by the horns.

“What makes you say that?” I asked in surprise. “I am happy to hear what you have to say. Even more so given you have proven yourself a good man in my eyes. A man who performs his duty to the city and its citizens with honor.”

For the right price, of course. But I didn’t say that part out loud.

“You have my gratitude for the flattering review, Monsieur Renard,” the sergeant bowed his head. The slight blush on his cheeks indicated that he was truly touched.

“So, you have my ear.”

“Gaston Barbier, AKA the Butcher, is a very dangerous man,” the sergeant started in a half-volume staccato. “He is one of the closest confidants of the villain and scoundrel Trebolt. I know what happened last night in Paul Lepetit’s office. Considering de Nevers’ visit today, these are all links in the same chain. The chevalier has long been working for Trebolt. He helps lure aristocrats into his gambling den, who then lose lots of money. You are but the most recent victim of this criminal conspiracy.”

Inside, I laughed. My meager investment was already starting to pay dividends. It only took a couple crowns and now he was treating me with respect. And this was only the beginning.

As for Max’s redheaded friend though... I had started suspecting about as much. I just couldn’t figure out the point of the whole duel scheme. Why had de Nevers challenged Max? Now it was clear that the rich shopkeeper’s daughter was just an excuse. The redhead was probably acting on Trebolt’s orders all along. Hm... The local crime boss had really made himself a decent setup. The gambling business, magic artifact smuggling, scamming wealthy aristocrats. And that was probably just the tip of the iceberg.

“This all probably makes you ask why we aren’t doing anything despite knowing about his unclean dealings.” the sergeant started in a muted voice, but I stopped him.

“Don’t you worry, Monsieur Tonnerre. I have no need to ask you questions I already know the answer to.”

The sergeant looked up and glanced at me in surprise.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, sergeant. Without support from someone in a position of authority, people like Trebolt would never get off the ground. He probably has cover from someone in the local chancery. Or one of your superiors. Most likely both.”

The sergeant’s face stretched out. He wanted to say something but bit his tongue. I chuckled. Agreed. We don’t trust each other quite that much yet.

“So, the Butcher, you say?” I smiled and winked at the sergeant. “Thanks for the head’s up. Here you go.”

Five crowns appeared in my hand as if by magic, which I then slipped to the astonished Jérôme Tonnerre.

Not listening to the sergeant’s words of gratitude, I headed over to Gaston who was standing not too far away.

“Monsieur Barbier,” I turned to him. “If I don’t get something to eat in the next hour, I’m going to start jumping people.”

“Then we better hurry, Monsieur Renard,” he came with a slight bow, pointing forward. Walking past him, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a bloodthirsty smirk. Come on, bud. You may be a predator, but you’ve bit off more than you can chew with me. Don’t even think of trying something.

At the main entrance to the guesthouse, a buggy was waiting for us. Excellent. I wouldn’t have to trudge through the whole town on my own two.

We made it to the Yellow Turtle quickly. To my surprise, Trebolt’s gambling den was located near the center of town and looked fairly respectable. Pink brick. Big windows. Nothing in common with the gloomy bookmaker’s office. A broad-shouldered doorman was standing outside in red and blue livery with shiny buttons.

When he saw us, he opened the huge door without a word and let us inside.

The interior was clean and cozy. But also — empty. It was immediately apparent this place only came to life at night.

Following after Gaston, I could sense the ardent gazes of strangers in my skin. Most likely, the people I wrecked in Paul Lepetit’s office were staring at me from the dark corners along with a few others.

Trebolt’s pack was lying in wait for a signal from their alpha to fall on the stupid sheep who had been lured into their lair. However, following that analogy, much to the misfortune of this pack of jackals, the thing that entered their den in sheep’s clothing was a very pissed-off and dangerous tiger, who was getting very sick of the constant harassment.

Passing through a big gambling floor fairly quickly, followed by another smaller one, we stopped in front of a small carved door guarded by a pair of cutthroats. If Lepetit’s office had been guarded by the same kinds of guys, I would have had a slightly tougher job. They were wolves. I scanned them using true vision but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

“Chevalier,” one of them said to me. “You’ll have to leave your weapons here for the duration of the talk with our master.”

I saw how tense the guards looked, Gaston included. They were probably expecting a fuss. Demanding a noble give up his weapon... Hm... That was technically reason enough for a duel.

But I just shrugged my shoulders and obligingly gave them the useless sword I had brought along just for show. They also asked me to give up my daggers. Oh well. I could still cause trouble.

When my weapons had been handed to the guards, they relaxed noticeably. I snorted. They were getting ahead of themselves...

Finally, the carved door opened, and I walked into the criminal lair’s holiest of holies. Well, what could I say? Trebolt’s appearance came as no surprise. For some reason, I imagined him to look just like this. Not tall, but stout. Not an ounce of excess fat on him. A sixty-year-old man with a razor-sharp gaze. Was it perhaps Max’s memory treating me to some hints?

Trebolt was seated at a broad table made of dark wood sorting through documents. His long gray hair was up in a ponytail, while his face was crossed by a deep slanting scar. Beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white vest, I could make out the rippling sinews of his forearms and nautical tattoos. There was a boarding cutlass hanging on the wall. The establishment also had a peculiar name for how far it was from the seacoast — all that meant that Trebolt must have sailed the seas and oceans in his younger days. Most likely on a pirate ship of some kind.

Pulling back from his reading, Trebolt glanced at us. A second later, the look in his eyes was more sensible. He looked at me with unconcealed interest as if seeing me for the first time.

“Ah, Max!” he came in a rasping voice. “Come in, take a seat. Thank you for accepting my invitation. I hope I haven’t taken you away from important business.”

Plunking myself down in a wide oak armchair opposite the table, I said:

“I was promised breakfast.”

Trebolt looked in surprise at Gaston. He just shrugged his shoulders without comment. As if to say, “I used every method I could to lure him here.”

Then he turned to look at me.

“Alas, Max, our kitchen is closed. The chefs are still sleeping after the night shift.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame them,” I waved it off. “I’ll just have to tough it out.”

Trebolt laughed and fell back in his chair. His whole appearance was showing me that he couldn’t say for certain whether I would survive long enough to eat breakfast. Gaston also snuck around behind me, thinking I wouldn’t notice.

“I must say Max, you’re unrecognizable,” Trebolt smiled. Most of his teeth were made of steel. “You’ve changed quite a lot since our last encounter. You’re more grown up. More mature. Looks like death has done you a good turn.”

I smiled back and shrugged my shoulders.

“Who knows. Maybe I was always like this.”

The smile crept off Trebolt’s face. He tented his fingers and braced his elbows on the arms of the chair.

“Anyhow, you must be aware of why I asked you to be brought in,” he said, adding a steely edge to his voice.

“Of course,” I nodded and reached my right hand for my belt, then instantly felt a cold knife blade against my neck.

“Try anything and it’s curtains,” Gaston whispered. “Hands where I can see them.”

“You sure are jumpy,” I snorted and complied, setting my hands back on the chair’s arms. “My coin purse is on my belt. I brought what I owe you, Trebolt. See for yourself.”

Waiting for a nod from his master, Gaston kept holding the knife against my carotid artery as he unclipped the coin purse from my belt deftly with his other hand and tossed it to Trebolt.

A minute later, the contents were spilled out on the desk. While Trebolt counted the money, he looked up at me in perplexity.

“Max, have you lost your mind? This is just a hundred crowns. You owe me six... Wait. No. After the little stunt you pulled, you owe me ten times that. And this hundred will serve as an apology for the time I wasted on you. But that is just a start. Because we still haven’t gotten to the part where you tell me all about your attack on my office.”

“Ah!” I smiled. “Quite the appetite you fellows have! And you also had the nerve to say I’m going too far. I see you have forgotten the meaning of fear. You’ve gotten too relaxed out here in the provinces. Gods only know how highly you must think of yourself.”

“What did you say, moron?” Trebolt frowned and lurched forward.

The pressure of the knife against my neck increased, but I stayed sitting unflappable and calm, watching the crime boss’ eyes fill with blood.

“And now you have hearing problems, too,” I snorted and continued a bit louder. “I said even one hundred crowns is too much for you. After everything you’ve done, I don’t owe you a dime.”

“What?!”

“First you send your enforcers out to practically drown me. Then your security robs and beats up my servant. After that all the theatrics with de Nevers. And you think I still owe you money? And so I ask — might you be the one who’s lost your mind?”

A cryptlike silence hung in the office for a little while. I even heard mice skittering in the far corner. Then Trebolt sat back in his armchair and started whinnying. Tears rolled down his sunken cheeks.

While his boss laughed, Gaston kept a close eye on me without a shadow of a smile. One false move and my neck would have been spurting blood.

Finally bolder, Trebolt cleared his throat and said in a rasping tone:

“So be it. I’ll write off ten thalers for the drama. You had your fun, you can’t say a thing. And now, let’s talk seriously. Gaston, off with his ear!”

The next instant, I drew a quite large mass of energy from my reservoir, draining it by a quarter and whispered a short witching incantation directed at Gaston.

“Sleep...”

Gaston’s eyes rolled back, and he fell to the floor like a ragdoll.

Watching Trebolt’s stunned countenance, I fidgeted around for a minute, getting a more comfortable seat, and tossed one leg over the other.

“Agreed,” I said in an icy tone, the sound of which caused Trebolt’s entire body to shiver. “It’s time for a serious talk.”