Last Life

A NOISE IN THE OTHER ROOM broke my train of thought. It was Bertrand coming back. He came to the doorstep carrying a small tray with a clay bowl full of hot food that smelled amazing. Also on the tray I noticed quite a large piece of torn bread and realized I was about to start drooling.

“Monsieur,” Bertrand said in an apologetic tone. “This was the best I could do. I know that you don’t particularly enjoy common fare, but you must regain your strength. And lentil stew is just the thing for it. They say Heinrich III the Fierce himself, our king’s great grandfather, ate a stew just like this on his military campaigns from the same pot as his soldiers.”

Oh, Bertrand, Bertrand... If only you knew, old man, the kinds of things I’d had to subsist on...

He set the tray down on a stool near the head of my bed and muttered out with a sigh:

“That Madame Richard is heartless... First it’s changing the linens and tidying, then food, and now firewood... How can a person be so mean and cruel?”

“Are our affairs really that bad?” I enquired, not taking my hungry eyes off the bowl of thick stew. My mouth filled with saliva.

The healing process required extra food intake. Otherwise, at this level of energy activity, my reservoir would very quickly drain all the juice from my physical body.

Bertrand meanwhile, not noticing my condition, kept complaining:

“A real hellcat! We’re only three months behind on payment, and here she forbids her servants from coming to tidy or change your linens. The cook won’t give any more food, either. Even though room and board were included in the payment. And Jacques her porter, refused to give me firewood. A hellcat! The most hellish of cats!”

“So, how much did dinner cost you?” I asked as an aside.

“Well, so five oboles for a small bowl of stew, and two oboles for the end of a piece of rye bread. Seven copper in total. But this is practically the food of the gods. A few days ago, I fed you cold veal with potatoes, and the devil woman shook me down for a whole twenty oboles...”

The old man caught himself and looked at me in fear. And that was despite the fact that Bertrand had purchased an expensive elixir with his own savings and seemingly also paid for his master’s food out of his own pocket.

“And how long have I been dining on your account, old fellow?” I now looked like a snake that had hypnotized a poor frog.

The old man lowered his head.

“It has now been three months since Madame Richard instructed that you no longer be fed. I have also been seeing to your clothing and the cleanliness of your abode. Better than those bimbos ever did. Well, I also bought some firewood today.”

“Remind me, how much do I pay you again?” I winced, feigning a headache.

The old man suddenly shuddered and looked up. I could read unhidden astonishment in his wide-open eyes. Seemingly, I had just said something I shouldn’t have.

“I see Monsieur Robert was right,” he whispered. “You really have forgotten a lot...”

“Has my question offended you?” I asked with sincere concern.

The old man shuddered again and quickly began to lament:

“Monsieur! How could you think such a thing?! It’s just that...”

“Don’t be shy, old fellow.”

Bertrand nodded and said:

“You have forgotten that it is not standard for serfs to be remunerated, monsieur. They follow their masters and live at their mercy. I once served your grandfather, then your mother and now, in accordance with her will, I follow you.”

At first, I didn’t totally get what he was saying, but then it finally hit me. I frowned. My jaws clenched all on their own. So Bertrand was essentially a slave?

Yeah, I’d been all kinds of things in my short but action-packed life. But this was my first time being a slaveowner... Things were not exactly progressing to my satisfaction.

I saw the old man step back in fear. Damn... I had to close my eyes for an instant and breathe a slow sigh.

“Monsieur...” he whispered. “I have never seen you like this before. There was so much fury and rage in your eyes! The look on your face sent a chill over my skin. Like an icy breeze blowing up out of a crypt.”

“Sorry I scared you,” I smiled. “You should never take that sort of thing personally. By the way, given we’ve touched on it... Do you know where I could find the nearest attorney’s office? Someone who won’t charge too much for their services but has a good reputation.”

“Yes, monsieur,” the old man nodded. “Monsieur Moreau has an office on East Street. I’ve heard merchants saying good things about him at the market. They say he’s meticulous and exacting and, unlike other attorneys, doesn’t charge too much for his services.”

“Good,” I said. “Then here’s what I want you to do... Drop by his office tomorrow and ask Monsieur Moreau to pay me a visit when he has time.”

Bertrand wasn’t the least bit surprised by my request. He just nodded in silence. Most likely because, to him, it wasn’t a request at all but rather an order from his master and he didn’t want to argue.

I again frowned but quickly got myself in hand.

“And now,” I said. “Let’s have us a bite to eat. Before this royal feast gets cold.”

Bertrand chuckled and reached for the spoon and bowl.

“Now you’re saying it... Royal...”

“You’re the one who said it,” I feigned surprise.

“Me?!” Bertrand’s eyes went wide.

“Well, who else?” I smiled. “Was it not you that kept buzzing in my ear about His Majesty Heinrich the Fierce dining alongside his soldiers?”

Poor old Bertrand then made for a fearsome sight. He instantly went pale and, seemingly, turned even grayer. I mentally slapped myself upside the head. The last thing I needed was to put this poor old man in the grave with my jokes.

“Breathe easy, old fellow, breathe! I was only joking! And get to feeding me finally. Otherwise the stew really will go cold.”

* * *

After the filling dinner, I waited for Bertrand to finish as well, then asked him to run through all of Max’s belongings for me.

I discovered I had inherited three outfits. A pair of boots and a pair of shoes. A toiletry set. A couple books. For the most part, they were fashionable novels and poetry collections. A small box where he kept a pile of letters and papers. There, we also discovered a vessel the size of a chicken egg made of dark brown glass the sight of which made Bertrand light up.

As it turned out, it was a special sort of ink made of brown hollowstone dust. I scanned the container using true vision and, to my delight, discovered that the liquid inside gave off a dirty brown glow.

I didn’t have to subject Bertrand to an interrogation. He told me everything on his own. As it turned out, Max had saved some of the valuable ink, which was used to write important documents and letters, even though he thought his wayward master had carted it all off to a pawn shop long ago.

Bertrand recalled that Max had paid five silver crowns for a full inkwell. By local standards that was a huge amount of money. A regular scribe in Abbeville earned around twenty-five thalers a year, which was two and a half crowns. A good stone house in a decent neighborhood meanwhile sold for around two hundred crowns.

I was also able to drag the price of the healing elixir out of Bertrand. The physician shook him down for eight crowns. A scribe then would have had to save up for years for such a medicine. But at least they had an income. Bertrand meanwhile, as an unfree serf, had none but somehow managed to save up a pretty fat nest egg, part of which he had just spent on his master with a clean conscience.

The doc was right. My late lookalike wasn’t even worthy of Bertrand’s right pinky finger. But oh well, now everything would be different.

Beyond pricy inkwells, I also found a leather coin purse in the box containing the last of Max’s savings. Seventy-six thalers and a few dozen copper.

That discovery brought me unending joy. As much as I regretted it, I was about ready to start my new life without a dime to my name.

Max also had a lot of papers and letters of various kinds, which I still hadn’t sorted through. As an aside, I was already able to read the local script. All that remained was to try writing. As soon as I got back control over my whole body, I could check.

When I was done sorting through the items, I remembered the duel. The physician had mentioned a helmet that saved my life. So Max had weapons and armor. Things like that had to cost a pretty penny here.

But sadly, Bertrand brought me back down to earth. As it turned out, there was a certain “dueling code” here, which stipulated that all property on the person of the defeated party went to the victor after the fight. And that must have been why Max had not taken his coin purse along. He seemed to be aware who fate had brought into his path, but took the bull by the horns nevertheless. Moron...

And now I was unarmed and unarmored, which noblemen could not afford in this world. Even bastards. And while I could go a while without armor, it would be foolish to appear in polite society without a sword or, at the very least, a dagger. People simply would not understand.

That fact left me deep in thought. No, I wasn’t scared of swordfights or other melee battles. Mamoru Yamada, who had taken me on as a pupil when I was seven years old, had been my guide to the world of swords where, thanks to my abilities, I caught on very quickly.

The islander who had been expelled from his clan for some reason and joined our travelling circus where he put on shows from time to time, and I was always his assistant. Dagger throwing, spear dancing, dual wielding tricks — Mamoru’s every act was like a brush with death.

The audience would stand transfixed by Yamada’s every movement and give furious applause after every successfully completed trick. The circus lost a great asset the day my teacher disappeared. One fine day, he simply left us without so much as a word or even goodbye to me, which offended me greatly.

Later, Vadoma explained to me why Mamoru disappeared so suddenly. His enemies had tracked him down despite being on the continent. He didn’t want to put us all in danger. Especially me. That very day, the old gypsy woman gave me the sword Yamada left before his departure. And meanwhile, I kept performing the islander’s dangerous acts in the ring.

Incidentally, in our circus, no one with any gumption was ashamed to exploit me. Acrobats, magicians, animal trainers, riders, clowns — they all tried to “teach me the tricks of their trade” only to saddle me with all the dirty work. But I didn’t complain. On the contrary, I drank in all the knowledge and honed my abilities, which had saved my life on more than one occasion.

All that was to say I was not afraid to meet the duelist who had essentially ended Max’s life. I knew perfectly well how to hold a sword. But something else was making me tense — I would have to spend money on a new weapon, which was the last thing I needed just then.

To tell the truth, it was of course a very strange situation and that was putting it lightly. For the entire day, I kept catching myself thinking that everything happening to me was completely real. That all this fussing over someone else’s belongings, calculating debts and the price of stew, this body, this room, and Bertrand — all of it was my new life.

Ever since I restarted the heart inside this body, my countdown had begun. And this was no temporary adaptation, like my former life’s missions often required. No, no... This flabby, weak body was now mine. I had become Max Renard. His problems were now mine.

The rest of the evening and night passed quite productively for my body. Bertrand, seeing that the elixir was doing me no harm and in fact that every dose made me look better and better, finally gave in to my admonishments and gave me all the rest, which I swallowed in a single gulp.

At first of course, he grumbled and stood his ground but, after yet another dose in the middle of the night, I was finally able to move the fingers on my right hand and Bertrand relented with tears of joy.

I should note that the brave old man, as a serf, was technically knowingly committing a crime by disobeying my orders. He placed my health above his own safety. And that sent my respect for and trust in him higher and higher with every hour I spent in this world.

As for the finger trick... I was able to pull it off because I had taught myself to direct the potion’s crimson energy to specific parts of my energy structure. To use it with precision, so to speak. And thus, my right hand’s energy channels started healing faster than the rest.

After drinking down the remaining liquid in the phial, I directed it toward healing my arms and headwound, then crashed into a light drowsiness.

Bertrand, who had been watching me closely all that time, was slightly alarmed. I had to get myself together and reassure the old man, who was already starting to regret what he had done. In the end, I was able to convince him to go get some sleep.

As soon as Bertrand left my room and closed the door behind him, I breathed a sigh of relief and fully surrendered to sleep’s gentle embrace. Before drifting off, I gave myself a clear directive — to start gathering all available information about energy potions starting tomorrow. Now I knew how to speed up the cultivation process.

I dreamt of Thais. To tell the truth though, I didn’t recognize her at first. Her locks of red curls were missing. Now her hair was coal black and up in a complicated hairstyle. She was wearing a long dress and expensive jewelry.

Her cute little freckles were also gone. Her eye color had changed to light hazel as well. I spent a long time staring into the face of the person I knew so well and found it unfamiliar, cold and impenetrable. In the end, I couldn’t find a clear answer as to whether it really was my Thais.

But suddenly, to my amazement, she smiled! Not like normal — wide and open. No... It was more of a cunning and even evil smirk, totally alien to my kindhearted Thais. But her dimples gave it away. They looked just like the ones that made me forgive all her antics as kids.

Where are you now, little sister? In the best of worlds, I hope!

A moment before the dream faded, I took one last look at the vision before it disappeared into thin air. My gaze slid over her thin girlish neck, which was wrapped in fancy jewelry set with big blood-red rubies. I tensed up. There was something off about the stones... They contained something dimly familiar... But what exactly I was unable to tell. I woke up.

What awoke me was the sound of the door opening. I recognized Bertrand’s gait and wheezing straight away. I opened my eyes and squinted. In through the little window, driving back the dull gray light in the room, the first rays of the morning sun came streaming. Outside, urban life was already in full swing. I heard cart drivers shouting, hooves clopping, passers-by calling out to one another, dogs barking, and children laughing. On the backdrop of all that cacophony, one thing stood out — a sad droning flute melody. I even started listening for a moment.

“Monsieur!” I heard Bertrand exclaim joyfully. “Your hands!”

At first, I couldn’t tell what he was talking about, but then it hit me. As it turned out, the flautist’s melody had me so absorbed that I didn’t notice putting both hands on my head. It all happened on its own.

I examined my energy channels and smiled wide because they had repaired themselves even more overnight. Honestly though, they were still quite thin, and their glow was very faint. But a foundation had been laid. Now, at the very least, I could hold a spoon on my own.

The headwound was also making encouraging progress. It was noticeably smaller and, most importantly, had stopped draining precious energy from my reservoir. If things kept up at this pace, the recovery would go much faster than the doc said.

“Good morning, old fellow!” I greeted Bertrand with a smile. “I say we celebrate the news with a big breakfast! Fetch me my coin purse, I’ll give you a whole thaler for the cause!”

“Monsieur,” Bertrand muttered. “The thing is...”

I immediately tensed up and sniffed the air like an animal, which made Bertrand shudder. I had seemingly again frightened the old man. But I would handle that later.

For now, I was mad at myself, or rather, at the weak and useless body I had been left with. Until very recently, no one could get into my lair without me knowing.

The thing was that there was someone other than my old servant in the other room, and I could immediately smell them. And that drove me crazy. I took me a lot of effort to get myself together and most importantly — not scare poor old Bertrand even more, who always blamed himself for every shift in my mood. Max must have spewed out his anger on the old man pretty often, the asshole.

I settled down, smiled, and winked at Bertrand as if to say, “everything is fine, give me the update.”

I smelled a sweet perfume aroma slowly spreading into my room, which told me the person was probably a lady. And based on the shrill sobbing coming from the other room, she must have been upset.

The perfume smell was dimly familiar. Maybe it was my lookalike’s memory trying to give me a clumsy hint. Seemingly, I had already guessed who had decided to come wish me good morning.