Last Life

THAT MORNING, after Arnaud Lefevre’s visit, I tasked the cook’s son with running around town to find out where the Viscount de Tosny was staying and how many people he had with him.

Thiviers was a small town. Everyone knew each other and the Watchmaker wasn’t particularly trying to keep a low profile, so I found where he was staying before noon. For ten oboles, I learned the viscount and four of his companions had rented rooms above the Red Ox tavern.

The viscount arrived in a wagon driven by his personal servant, while his guard team stood by on horseback. They came to Thiviers one day before our caravan from the direction of the royal tract, which made me conclude the viscount had been told about the loss of the medallion while underway and decided to catch me at a midway point.

On top of that, the cook’s son was so happy with the money that he even told us what they served the viscount for breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as how many times he required a chamber pot. Overall, I was fully informed for my meeting with the dishonest antiquities collector.

I was concerned that they might try and deceive or get rid of me at the meeting. So just in case, we prepared a little surprise for potential ill-wishers in the form of Jacques armed to the teeth hiding down a dark alleyway. And in practice, our concerns were usually justified.

It wasn’t too hard for me to get up to the second floor of the tavern and silently neutralize the viscount’s only guardsman standing watch at his door.

It was even less of a challenge to gain access to the room — the Watchmaker opened the door for me after I knocked and, imitating Arnaud Lefevre’s smarmy voice to the best of my abilities, told him that I’d come with the medallion.

My trap caught him. With the words, “Finally! How long was I supposed to wait for you idlers!” the door flew open, and the viscount fell back on the floor after I made a short poke at the base of his neck.

While the viscount was lying unconscious, I sat him down on the chair and, with strips of his own bedsheet, tied his hands behind his back. I tied his legs to the chair as well and stuck a gag in his mouth after pouring quite a lot of the wine he used to try and poison me an hour ago down his throat. The decanter of sleeping potion was still on the table.

There was no sense in searching the whole room. The viscount had packed all his things into two duffel bags already, which he had laid out on the bed. After getting the medallion, he was going to get straight underway.

Beyond clothing and toiletries, in the first duffel I found two sacks of coins stuffed to the brim. One contained gold imperials, while the other was just silver and copper change. All told, converted into silver, my haul was up to just over one thousand crowns.

The second duffel, the size of a small chest, was being used to transport various potions and powders. Scanning revealed that the main ingredients in the phials, jars, flagons and powder boxes were magic elements of various shades, ranging from light yellow to coal black. The viscount must have been a regular customer at alchemy shops. As I gazed upon all those riches, I started smiling wide.

Then I discovered a letter protector containing just one scroll I had seen recently. The very sale contract we had signed just one hour before.

When I finished surveying the duffels, I quickly started searching the viscount before he came to his senses. From him I got three signet rings, a chain with a talisman, and an exquisitely crafted gold pocket watch.

By the time the Viscount de Tosny opened his bleary eyes, I had robbed him blind. Thanks to the potion he himself mixed, the Watchmaker and I were able to have an exhaustive heart-to-heart. As it turned out, it was not only good for sleep, but also loosening tongues.

The Viscount de Tosny, calling me his best friend, told me a lot of interesting things about life in the capital and its darker side. Incidentally, the viscount was not a nobleman by birth. For quite a hefty sum, he had been adopted by an old bankrupt count whose family originated in Bergonia. Meanwhile, everyone thought he was called the Watchmaker because of his love of punctuality. But in reality, it was an old nickname that had stuck back when he was a mere assistant at a master watchmaker’s workshop.

For a living, the Watchmaker did various odd jobs. Mainly, he was engaged in tracking down and purchasing cheap ancient artifacts and then reselling them to his wealthy clientele. But that was his most innocent line of work. It wasn’t like the viscount was a killer, though. He preferred doing business by other means. Essentially, the man fate had brought into my path was a swindler who had done a lot of “work” for wealthy aristocrats. Duchess Louise de Clairmont, who was very intrigued by Max’s fox medallion and had promised the viscount no more and no less than fifteen hundred gold imperials for it was a shining example.

The Watchmaker spoke about the duchess with bated breath. The first lady of her royal majesty’s bedchamber, one of the most influential and wealthy women in Vestonia — clients like her were an extreme rarity. So the Viscount de Tosny was planning to shake her down for a lot of cash without crossing the line. Because beyond personal influence, the duchess also had a husband — the Duke de Clairmont, a marshal of Vestonia.

While the truth serum was still in effect, I asked the viscount to put to paper (in duplicate) a description of some of his most brilliant “feats” in great detail and the names of the highly placed individuals he had swindled. Beyond that, he composed for me a detailed instruction manual for the collection of potions and powders in the little duffel. Meanwhile, I kept a close eye on the bright yellow spots of sleeping potion circulating in his energy system.

Finally, the truth serum ran out and the viscount passed out briefly. And half an hour later when he came to his senses, the man silently boring into me with his eyes was a completely different person. But his heavy gaze made it clear that he remembered exactly what had just taken place.

I was sitting on the chair opposite him with my legs crossed and fingers tented on my knee.

“My good viscount, the way you’re looking at me is liable to bore a hole straight through me,” I chuckled, shaking a foot. “But just a few minutes ago, you called me your best friend.”

I had to give the Watchmaker his due. He didn’t spew profanities or threats.

“What do you want from me?” he asked with slightly slurred speech.

I shook my head and said pensively:

“You tried to poison me with sleeping potion and rob me. But there was one thing you didn’t account for — you underestimated me. But based on your stories, you are not typically so careless. I think your lust for profit is to blame. You got hasty and didn’t do your background research. You’re losing your touch, my good man. And in your profession, such things are unforgiveable.”

The Watchmaker gulped with a scratchy throat.

“You see, my good viscount,” I continued in a cold tone without a hint of a smile. “I am not accustomed to leaving enemies at my back.”

My words made him shudder and press back into his chair.

“I could kill you right now but, much to my misfortune, investigators would have a very easy time linking me to that crime. I of course know a few ways of throwing them off the scent, but royal investigators are worth their salt. Overall, as you see, I have no intention of stupidly opening myself up to punishment. Why should I make a martyr out of you and dirty my hands when the secret chancery could do it for me? After all, you’re completely to blame for what happened. You poisoned the nephew of the Count de Gramont with the intention of making off with his family medallion at a low price. Incidentally, you just wrote as much in great detail.”

The viscount went pale and shuddered but said nothing. I meanwhile pressed on, nodding at the papers lying on the table.

“No, I am not going to kill you. I will try a different tactic instead. I will take you and your revelations to my dear uncle in the capital. He then can deliver them personally to the secret chancery, and then I’ll have one less enemy in this world. By the time the investigators reach your soft body, and you start singing like a bird, there will be no one left to help you. As a matter of fact, the fortune you worked so painstakingly to amass will be going under the hammer while the profit will be split between your own former clients who you successfully deceived for so many years.”

The viscount’s face went gray. His eyes faded. His pale lips started to quiver. His entire feigned aristocratic veneer was long gone. Before me now was a frightened and faded watchmaker’s assistant.

“But there is another way out,” I said, making the viscount shudder while a spark of hope lit up in his eyes.

“You have my undivided attention, chevalier,” he came in a quavering voice.

“Your business...” I said, turning my hand around. “No, no. I am in no position to judge. I am far from a saint myself. Everyone earns their keep in their own way... Where I’m going with this is that over the years you cultivated certain relationships and connections which I will be needing in the near future.”

The viscount’s eyebrows shot up into his forehead, but he again sat in silence waiting for me to continue. As an aside, I was starting to like that aspect of his character.

“I cannot tell you everything now,” I shook my head. “But in the future, if we work well together, your fortune could multiply. And many times over at that”

“Are you offering me work?”

“Not exactly. It’s more like a kind of partnership based on exchange.”

“May I ask what exactly you plan to exchange?”

“Not yet,” I shook my head. “But very soon, when I find you, you will find out. And that is only if we are able to reach an agreement now.”

“You have backed me into a corner, chevalier,” the Viscount de Tosny said with a wry smile, nodding at the stack of papers covered with his even handwriting.

“Come on, don’t be dramatic,” I snorted. “If now you agree to work with me, I will simply leave you to go about your business. You will however have to return the duchess’ down payment and explain to her that the medallion has been lost. Well, or think up an excuse. To be frank, I don’t care how you wriggle your way out of it but forget about the medallion. In fact, I’ll also be taking all your valuables, your buggy and your horses as compensation for mental anguish. You know something? I don’t particularly care for being poisoned.”

The viscount nodded extremely fast and took another glance at the table.

“Your revelations meanwhile I will take with me,” I said, following his gaze. “They’ll act as a kind of insurance in case you decide to throw a tantrum. Let me say right now — one copy I will be sealing and sending to the capital with a reliable man who will take it to the secret chancery in case of my death.”

“But you’re heading for the frontier!” the viscount rasped, his eyes open wide. “You could die at any moment! Why should I bear all the burden for your death?!”

“Well, first of all, it’s to give you a reason to pray to the Holiest Mother for my safe deliverance, and second, let me tell you a secret — I do not intend to die on the frontier. I still have my whole life ahead of me.”

My last one at that... But I of course did not mention that.

He wanted to say more, but I interrupted.

“So then,” I came coldly. “What have you decided?”

The viscount took another glance at the papers on the table, licked his dry lips and, with a heavy sigh, responded:

“You’ve left me no choice. I agree.”

“You always have a choice, viscount,” I objected and, not standing from my seat, asked:

“Remind me, where is your sleeping medicine again?”

I left the tavern just before dawn after slipping the viscount and his guard some more sleeping medicine. That way, while they slept, we could get far out of town. I made it just before our caravan departed.

Jacques, beaming like a polished copper basin and nodding at the plundered buggy Bertrand was now driving gave me a brief recounting of what he’d done with the trio. He’d disarmed and cleaned them out to the last thread and set them up in the basement of a local bordello, the owner of which promised to let them go around noon for just five thalers. To his eye though, it’d have been easier to just slit the throats of the fast-talking men. I just shook my head absently and, without a word, got up into the wagon where I tossed my take from the last night. I could sort through it later. Not taking off my boots or clothes, I plunked myself down into bed and as soon as my head hit the pillow, drifted off to the measured rocking of the wagon.

* * *

I was seated by the fire pensively watching the little tongues of flame as they lapped at the night air. It was the first time we had to actually set up camp outside a settlement and spend the night under open sky.

That was because now, by day sixteen of our trip, we had started running into groups of exhausted and haggard people wandering toward us down the road.

Some walked on their own two. Others rode horses or carts. And the farther we went, the denser the stream of humanity became.

They were refugees from the County of Malé who had uprooted their lives in order to survive. The lord of those lands had a dispute with the neighboring Count de Gouffier. The argument fairly quickly grew into a local war which the Count de Malé had clearly lost. His neighbor bested him. And thus, his mercenary army was more numerous. As a result, the Count de Malé locked himself up with the rest of his army in his family castle while bands of marauders flooded his lands.

Initially, we were planning to go through the warring counties but, in light of the new circumstances, Roland Buquet took our caravan on a detour around the problem area. That was why we were so off schedule and thus spending the night on open ground.

During the day, we were caught up to by a small party of the local baron’s retinue men. When they found out we were headed for the frontier to join the Shadow Patrol, we were graciously granted permission to be on their lord’s lands and use their dead wood for our fires. However, we were strictly forbidden from hunting. At any rate, those were approximately the same rules we had to follow on any aristocrat’s land.

Overall, customs gave approval, but we had to shell out for road tax and then again for a bribe for the valiant customs workers, which was a routine occurrence. As a matter of fact, the multiverse I learned existed after my last death seemingly had some phenomena which were immutable and must have been simply impossible to eliminate. One particularly widespread example was corruption.

As an aside, our small group grew a bit bigger. From group three, which thanks to me we had started calling the “poor saps,” two kids came and joined us — Pierre and Jérémie. They were both from poor peasant families that lived in a village on the outskirts of Abbeville.

Their names were most likely not initially on the rolls. I had to imagine their fate was decided in Abbeville’s chancery. Probably, there was a quota of some kind for “poor saps” to be sent to the Shadow Patrol because the frontier forts also needed servants to take care of the soldiers.

The kids joined our group on day ten of the trip. They were trying before to glom on as our assistants, as were all the other saps — the meager rations Sergeant Buquet issued were clearly not sufficient — but Jacques kept shooing them away. He was putting forth a lot of effort to prove to me that he could handle his duties with no outside help.

At first, I pretended not to notice all the fuss, but after we got a buggy and two horses, I instructed Jacques to take on two assistants and furnish them with supplies. Outside of provisions and shelter, I promised them a wage of thirty oboles per week.

When Jacques introduced me to Pierre and Jérémie, and I announced to them the temporary contract conditions, they spent a long time celebrating the sudden stroke of luck. At home, they could only dream of this kind of money. And that was how our little party got bigger.

As an aside, when Sergeant Buquet found out Pierre and Jérémie had joined up with us, he and I had quite an unpleasant and bizarre conversation. He announced that I was poking my nose where it did not belong, and it was his duty to make certain all the recruits made it to the final destination of our journey. Overall, I found his reasoning illogical and suspicious. And my companions concurred. Jacques and I never grew to trust anyone else in the caravan, but that doubled our watchfulness.

We made camp right next to the tract, on the edge of a small forest glade. Despite the fact Sergeant Buquet had sentries posted for the night, Jacques and I agreed to take turns sleeping every three hours. Bertrand also announced that he was willing to sit up for a shift. I had to remind him with an ultimatum that, as my valet, he had other duties he needed to focus on. And to do them well, he needed to be well rested. We also had Pierre and Jérémie, but they were new, and we still didn’t trust them much even though they also took turns sitting with us at the fire. At any rate, now it was my turn for a night watch along with Pierre, who was constantly dozing off.

Using my enhanced senses of smell and hearing, I was able to monitor the perimeter around our camp. But at a certain point, my senses failed me. My present physical shell was still very far from ideal, after all.

So when I heard two bowstrings thrumming behind me at nearly the same time, I was unable to react properly. All I had time to do was dodge right a bit. The powerful blow to my left shoulder turned me nearly three hundred sixty degrees around. Then my mind was flooded with pain. Before passing out, I saw Pierre’s lifeless body and a bloodied crossbow bolt protruding from his chest.