Last Life

I GOT DISTRACTED from sorting through papers by the sound of a door opening and muted women’s voices. I drew in air through my nose. Hm... That same revolting perfume. Madame Richard had returned and brought someone with her. What could she possibly want?

A few moments later, the footsteps reached my door, and I heard a considerate knock.

“Monsieur Renard?” I heard the house manager ask. “May I?”

“Of course!” I said and covered the pile of papers with a comforter. The only ones I left out on display were the envelopes with family crests of the Counts de Gramont, and the Legrand trading house.

The door opened and a smiling Madame Richard appeared in the frame. She instantly spotted the envelopes strewn carelessly around on my bed. Based on her hectic look, she recognized the family crests as well. Which was exactly what I wanted. The house manager’s smile only looked more obliging, and she said in a smarmy little voice:

“Apologies for the intrusion, Monsieur Renard.”

“What would you like, madame?” I added a hint of annoyance to my voice.

“I have brought you a new maid,” she replied hurriedly and pushed a young woman lightly through the doorway. “I’m sure you remember Trixie, don’t you? She is my very best worker. I have decided to come introduce her to you myself. So we don’t run into any more misunderstandings like we had with the lazy old fraudster before.”

I turned to look at the maid.

The woman was approximately the same height as Max. Or rather, as me... Not too tall, but stout. She was probably accustomed to hard labor from an early age. Her dress was plain, but tidy.

A few locks of chestnut hair stuck out of her white bonnet. Big blue eyes slightly bulging. She looked to have been crying recently. When we met eyes, she turned deep red and looked at the ground. Was it just me, or was she afraid of me?

Madame Richard, who had been watching me all that time closely, was seemingly satisfied. What did it all mean?

“Your servant told me you wanted a bath,” she said, meanwhile looking significantly at the maid, making her go an even deeper shade of red. “My staff have already heated the water. Would you like everything prepared?”

When I heard I could have a bath, and even with warm water, my head started itching, then my entire body. Oh, yeah! That would be perfect!

Struggling to maintain a calm facial expression, I pretended to consider it, then nodded:

“I suppose I would like to take a bath. You may begin the preparations, madame.”

Pretending to go back to reading, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Madame Richard reward the maid with cruel and insistent look. For her part, she only tensed up more and went totally crimson.

While secretly watching the whole act, I guessed approximately what was going on. I only had to wait a bit longer to test my theory.

Over the next half hour, a large wooden tub was brough into my temporary dwelling, then quickly filled with hot water.

All those preparations were undertaken by Jacques, the very porter who supposedly sold Bertrand firewood for half a thaler on his own ambition.

It only took one glance at Jacques to realize I was dealing with a former soldier. His poise, crisp, sparing movements, the telltale scars on his hands — this was a veteran who had fought in many battles. Sinewy and broad shouldered. A tenacious look in his gray eyes. His facial features seemed like they were carved out of stone.

When he set me on my back in the bathtub, I caught a faint whiff of a familiar perfume. Hm... Madame Richard. So that was why she was so adamant about punishing the porter herself. She didn’t want her lover getting injured. My words must have truly frightened her. I really must have been entitled to give him a good lashing.

I spent a little while soaking in the hot water with my eyes closed and not saying a word. There it was — true bliss! A great opportunity to meditate a bit. However...

Jacques and Madame Richard had already left, but the maid stayed behind for some reason. And I couldn’t hear any of the telltale sounds of cleaning. And that meant she wasn’t here to tidy. Trixie turned into a silent statue, frozen two steps away from the tub afraid to breathe out of turn. And that really bothered me...

“Well?” I asked, not opening an eye. “What are you just standing around for?”

I could practically feel her whole body shudder. And a moment later, I heard clothing rustling timidly, and a shaky feminine breathing. What the...?

I opened my eyes and immediately frowned. Trixie was standing a step away from the bathtub’s edge, slowly unbuttoning her dress with quivering fingers. Tears welled up in her blue eyes. Her rosy glow gave way to pale cheeks. Nervously biting her lips, she looked fatefully at me like a rabbit staring at a viper.

“Stop!” I raised a hand, and Trixie immediately obeyed. “Why are you still here and what exactly are you doing?”

My question left her dumbfounded. She frowned slightly and stared at me in surprise.

I sighed and, running a wet hand over my face, asked:

“Trixie? Is that right?”

“Yes,” she squeaked.

“Full name?”

“Whose?” she asked in surprise.

I again sighed and said patiently:

“Yours, of course. I already know mine.”

“Beatrice...” she responded, and a slight glow returned to her cheeks.

I nodded.

“Alright, Beatrice. Let me ask you again. Why are you here, and what were you just doing?”

I nodded at her unbuttoned dress.

She shuddered and, pressing both hands up to her chest, started explaining with hiccups:

“Madame’s orders... She said I must gain your favor, so you remain satisfied, monsieur. Everyone here knows you have been pestering me. But I can’t... I told you! I have a fiancé... But she...”

“Stop!” I again raised a hand.

Aha. I covered my eyes for a moment. I didn’t know how I could have pulled it off, but if Max were still alive, I’d have killed him myself. That little creep.

I again opened my eyes and asked calmly:

“Did my servant or Mrs. Robert tell you anything about my wound?”

“No,” she shook her head and stood on her tiptoes to get a better look at my bandage.

“I see,” I muttered thoughtfully, choosing the words for an explanation. But I didn’t need to.

“But Madame Richard did say that you don’t remember everything from your past. Is that true?”

I rubbed my chin. Who told? The doc, or Bertrand? Or was it both of them? Well, anyway, I’d deal with that later.

“Honestly, sweet Beatrice,” I sighed sadly, making the now somewhat calmer woman tense up again.

I must have accidentally copied one of Max’s intonations again. Yep... This was not too easy. I got the feeling I’d have to swallow a lot of bitter pills from the old Max...

“As a matter of fact,” I continued, purposely shifting to a whisper while staring at the door with worry. “You might not believe me, but since the duel it’s like I’m a new man. You know? And my memory... Hm... Just so you understand... Today for instance, it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time.”

“What do you mean?” Trixie asked with her eyes open wide and rocking forward. She also switching to a whisper.

“Well,” I shrugged. “The only things I can remember are my most important and precious memories. Things about my father, my love.”

While I said the last part, I was paying close attention to her facial expression.

“Yes,” Trixie nodded eagerly. “Madame told me you are the grandson of Pascal Legrand himself! Which was why she told me to win your favor. And you’re sure you don’t remember me?”

“Absolutely,” I nodded. “Listen, nothing happened between us, did it? I didn’t...”

Trixie shook her head and turned red again.

“No, monsieur! Nothing... Honestly, you did try to get handsy with me a few times, but I didn’t leave you much of a chance. I’m strong. When I was younger, I used to help my father at his smithy before the pestilence took him. Your meager strength was no match for me.”

She chuckled and rubbed her nose with a sleeve.

“That’s just great,” I muttered. “Really takes a load off.”

The last thing I needed was a black mark like that on my already sullied reputation.

My behavior was clearly puzzling her. She had seemingly never seen Max like this before. A shadow of mistrust ran across her face. It also contained an awareness of where she was and why.

I could read her like an open book. Her simplicity and openness were striking. Too bad Madame Richard was ruining her life. And ruin it she would. Trixie didn’t know it yet, but I’d bet my right hand the guesthouse manager was going to start trying to serve her up to every important guest that came through. In my past life, I had seen more than enough of these business ladies.

Meanwhile, Trixie kept staring at me in silence, frozen in indecision.

“Leave,” I nodded at the door.

“I can’t,” she shook her head. “My boss will find out, and then...”

“Get a new job,” I told her. “You do realize, after all, that this is just the beginning. She’ll keep using you like this.”

Tears streamed down Trixie’s pale cheeks.

“I can’t,” she repeated.

“Are you from a serf family? Are you in bondage?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s just very hard to find a job these days. And my mom is sick. My younger sisters and brothers are always hungry. And Madame Richard offers tolerable conditions.”

“And how much is she paying you?” I asked.

“One thaler a month.”

I shook my head. Yep, that was less than junior scribes earned. And how was she able to feed a whole family on one thaler?

“But that’s not all,” she came hurriedly. “Sometimes, a guest is feeling generous and leaves a tip for a job well done or doing them a favor. Like taking a letter or note to a certain address, cleaning clothes or shoes, or bringing food to their room. Not all our esteemed guests come with personal servants like you. There isn’t enough time or manpower to do everything. But I’m always up for a side job. Then I get my little brothers to do my work at the guesthouse. And Madame Richard turns a blind eye.”

“I see,” I came thoughtfully. “So it’s a family affair, then.”

“What?” Trixie asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” I waved it off and asked: “You don’t want to quit, even though you know what is going to happen. What about your fiancé? What will he say when he finds out?”

Trixie shook her head.

“Patrick will never find out.”

“Yes, he will,” I said. “He absolutely will.”

“Even if that’s true,” she shrugged, “by that time, we’ll already be together. We’ll go away to live somewhere else. We’ll have our own farm, kids. He’s a good guy. He’ll forgive me and understand.”

No Trixie, even if he was the best guy in the world — he still would not forgive you and understand. He would nurse that resentment his whole life. But I didn’t say that out loud.

“Alright,” I sighed. “Neither you or I want to do as Madame Richard insists. But you can’t leave right now, either. Any ideas?”

“I could help you wash your head,” Trixie suggested. “I’ll be careful not to touch the wound. I’ve had to tend wounds before.”

“Great,” I nodded.

Trixie’s face instantly lit up.

“Thank you, monsieur!” she squeaked and quickly ran around the room to gather up everything she would need.

A few minutes later, the bandage had been carefully removed from my head. Then she lathered my hair with a dark green substance that smelled of pleasant herbs.

Enjoying the head massage, I closed my eyes and sank down into the water up to my chin.

“You know something, monsieur?” I heard Trixie ask thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen a wound heal this fast before. I have an eye for this sort of thing. I’ve seen all sorts.”

“There’s a simple explanation,” I replied without opening an eye. “Monsieur Robert sold me a medicinal elixir made of crimson hollowstone.”

I felt Trixie’s fingers shiver.

“That must have been incredibly expensive!”

“Quite right,” I muttered. “Shook me down for eight crowns.”

Trixie gasped. But then, she said more calmly:

“But you’re alive.”

“No argument there,” I said and shrugged.

When Trixie finished with my hair, she armed herself with a washcloth and, dabbing a little bit of the herbal soap onto it, started rubbing down my back and shoulders. That doubtlessly pleasant procedure was not part of the deal, but I sat there with a blissful smile and said nothing, feeling shivers all over my body.

“I believe you mentioned wanting a farm with your husband in the future?” I continued the gradual fish for information. “Is your man from a wealthy family?”

“No, come now!” Trixie snorted. “People like me aren’t after wealth. Spongers with no dowry are a dime a dozen. Patrick is from a poor family like me.”

“Then what money were you planning to use to buy a farm?”

“My Patrick signed up for the Shadow Patrol in place of a cooper’s eldest son. According to the contract they signed, the cooper will have to pay my Patrick a whole twenty crowns upon his return!”

The new information made me shudder. I couldn’t ask directly about this Shadow Patrol. Trixie mentioned it like something self-explanatory. I’d have to tiptoe around the issue.

“What’s wrong with the cooper’s son?” I asked. “Why isn’t he going himself?”

I had a lot more questions, but I had to hold them back. I after all had Bertrand, who could clear up the big picture.

Trixie giggled.

“I asked the same question, monsieur. What could possibly be wrong with him? Other than having a daddy with deep enough pockets to hire a mercenary to die in his son’s place. But although the cooper is elderly, he’s nowhere near dying, or allowing his oldest son to do so.”

“And what about your fiancé?” I asked. “Not afraid for him?”

“Of course I am,” she replied with a sigh. “But my Patrick is strong. He can bend horseshoes with his bare hands. On top of that, he’s been in the Shadow before and nothing bad happened. He came back alive and well. And he’ll come back again. Then everything will be alright.”

The way she said the words “the Shadow” had a particular emphasis and air. It gave me the impression that all her confidence in her future husband’s strength was just a façade to calm herself down. Plus a healthy dose of girlish naivete and faith in a better future.

“And do a lot of people sign contracts like your fiancé?”

“I don’t know,” Trixie replied quietly. “But Patrick once mentioned that people are in no rush to risk their lives for free.”

I might have said that a mere twenty crowns for her fiancé’s life was a pittance. But I didn’t. For people like them, two hundred thalers was a lot of cash.

I still had a bunch of questions, but I didn’t manage to ask them. Bertrand was back. With a careful look around the room, bathtub, me sitting in it, and the blushing Trixie with washcloth in hand, the old man gave a knowing snort.

“What did the attorney say?” I quickly seized the initiative.

“Monsieur Moreau is away on business,” Bertrand replied. “He won’t be back for a week.”

I saw that the old man was somewhat shaken up, which I asked him about straight away.

“So, well...” he started. “The entire city is in a tizzy. Messengers from the king have arrived at the local chancery bearing new muster rolls. They say a lot of names have been added. Travelling merchants at the market are saying there’s a big incursion into the Shadow being planned for next year. And so the king has decided to beef up his Shadow Patrol this year to get a head start on preparations. Many esteemed city dwellers are tearing their hair out. Nobody wants to let their sons go out on a dangerous campaign. So in a day or two, expect a wave of mercenaries to come to town. And this little city was so quiet. Now, all kinds of scum will be coming in search of profit.”

Trixie gasped. The washcloth fell out of her hands. Sensing her impatience, I said:

“Thank you, Beatrice. You may go. Bertrand, give her ten oboles from my coin purse.”

She gave a cheery smile. After that, she made a rushed curtsey and, taking the money, was off like a shot. Bertrand did shout off after her that he expected someone in one hour to help him clean up.

When the old man came back from the corridor, I asked:

“So then, what are these muster rolls that have caused all this commotion? And what is ‘the Shadow’ where esteemed city dwellers are afraid to send their children?”