Last Life

Outskirts of Toulon

Monsieur Mollet’s Manor

“OLD MAN BERTRAND! Old man Bertrand!”

Kevin’s sonorous voice from the entryway made the attorney in Bertrand’s kitchen shudder.

“What is it now?” he grumbled. “He’s shouting like the house is on fire.”

He was ready to spout out a chastising, educational speech about manners and decency but, when he saw the pale frightened face of the boy running into the kitchen, he realized that something catastrophic must have happened.

“Old man Bertrand!” Kevin’s lips quivered, tears welling in his eyes. “Outside...”

“What?!” the old servant sighed, and his heart gave an unpleasant twinge.

It had been a little less than a month since Lieutenant Tassen’s Shadow Patrol squad returned to the fortress. But his master was not with them.

His master must have been able to see the future. He had given detailed instructions for such an event, but Bertrand remembered well his master’s parting words. He was not all that easy to kill. Especially since Maximillian gained the gift of magic.

Bertrand did not believe his master had died. He continued running the household as before, never failing to visit the temple of the Holy Adélaïde to make offerings of coins in hopes that his sacrifice would tip the balance of the Great Scales.

And now another imposition...

“Out in the yard...” Kevin said in a shaky voice. “The captain... Soldiers... They... They want to take Jérémie, Claude, and Luc! And Jacques will not let them!”

At first, Bertrand didn’t know what the kid was saying, but when the fog of fear for his master fell from his eyes, as ever, he got himself together and went out to the yard.

The news hit the old servant like a tub of ice water. Someone dared lay claim to his master’s property! He could not stand for such insolence!

He stopped for a moment in the entryway as if remembering something, then hurried to the stairs leading to the second floor. Before getting into a fight with vultures, he needed to be well prepared.

Bertrand came out into the yard just as the ten soldiers were surrounding Jérémie, Claude, Luc and the broad-shouldered Astlander Gunnar.

Out of the corner of his eye, the old man noted with satisfaction that the four did not look like a herd of frightened sheep. They looked more like young hounds surrounded by wolves, but not about to surrender.

The lessons Jacques instilled in them every day had done them well. And again his master was right to instruct the veteran to train the serfs in mortal combat. Particularly in light of the fact the freedom papers for the five of them had already been drawn up and were hidden away in his master’s office.

Jacques was not going to stay out of it, either. He was desperately trying to communicate something to Captain Louis de Rohan, who was listening lazily. Bertrand could see the way he was looking at everything, as if it was already decided.

A bit in the distance, shifting from foot to foot, stood the landlord Monsieur Mollet. His eyes and mouth open wide, he was staring at the scene as the captain directed.

Scavengers had descended on his master’s property...

The old man clenched his teeth in anger and squinted. Oh, they had no idea what they were getting themselves into! He would die to defend his master’s property! Just then, Bertrand recalled everything he’d seen over the last few years in his master’s home. In the wider world, there were predators that made the captain look like an innocent little lamb by comparison, not to mention Mollet the dolt.

Bertrand puffed out his chest. Smoothing his frock and whispering a prayer to the Holy Adélaïde to intervene, he stepped out the doorway.

“Messieurs!” he said loudly and with dignity. And of course! He was the personal valet of Chevalier Renard, a member of one of the most ancient families in Vestonia and all Mainland. “What seems to be going on here?!”

The question sounded so calm yet authoritative that everyone in the yard stopped what they were doing. The captain’s soldiers even looked slightly intimidated.

Bertrand was a former serf, but now he was a free man and entitled to act this way. He was defending his master’s property. He was like a guard dog, prepared to latch into these thieves’ throats at any moment. He had been trained to do so in the finest and wealthiest homes in Vestonia. And after, if his master so desired, the hound could be strangled for impertinence, or generously rewarded for faithful service. But that would come later... For now — hands off master’s things!

Jacques was also dumbfounded. He looked at Bertrand and couldn’t recognize him. The quiet timid old man was suddenly the embodiment of the very master of ceremonies for the king of Vestonia himself!

The captain was first to come to his senses.

“How dare you, pitiful serf, speak to me in that manner!” he hissed and walked forward.

“One more step, monsieur captain, and a letter will be sent to the capital city residence of the Counts de Gramont with a full recounting of what happened here,” Bertrand enunciated without so much as blinking. “I am certain that His Lordship Heinrich de Gramont will be very surprised and disturbed to hear that the city guard attempted to intrude on his nephew’s property without so much as an explanation.”

“This manor belongs to Monsieur Mollet!” the captain barked, pointing to the bewildered landlord.

“According to royal decree number fifty-eight from year two hundred in the fifth age, all property rented by a noble both real estate and personal effects are equivalent to their personal property for the entire timeframe of the rental agreement,” Bertrand rattled back calmly and raised a hand with a scroll. “Here is a current rental contract. Need I mention what happens to those who try to steal the private property of nobles? Or have you decided to take the manor by storm because you have some personal dispute with house de Gramont? If so, we would be fully entitled to resist and, if necessary, die fighting for our master’s property.”

“Your master has been dead for a while now!” the captain barked. He was enraged by the old servant’s impertinence, but being a noble himself, he was perfectly aware that his servant was legally entitled to say these things. The laws contrived by nobles could not be broken. Otherwise, it would lead to chaos. And the impertinent servant could be dealt with later. “And these three are required to join the Shadow Patrol!”

“These three are serfs belonging to my master. He purchased them in Sardent,” Bertrand objected with a dispassionate tone, showing them a second scroll. “Here are the purchase papers, notarized by witnesses and an attorney. Even if my master died serving the crown, these serfs would still be the property of house de Gramont.”

There was no telling how the standoff may have ended for the old servant, because just then who should step through the gates but the very man they were all discussing. A sparse beard, long hair, canvas bags over his back, dirty worn clothing — Bertrand was first to notice the tramp. First he frowned, but when he saw the stranger wink, he smiled.

And a moment later, Bertrand heard a cheery voice... So familiar, just like home.

“All this fuss and no fighting?!”