Last Life

Book 3: Chapter 1

“WHAT DO YOU NEED all that for? What is the true reason?”

Lieutenant Vincent asked me that question five days after our first meeting. I had just finished my procedures with crimson and emerald energies, actively directing them from their bruts into the body of my patient.

Théodore Vincent hadn’t said much during his prior treatments. I regularly caught him looking at me, though. I didn’t blame him. Apparently, now he’d seen enough to work up the courage for a frank conversation. And to be honest, it was overdue. Despite his chumpish appearance and shirt, Théodore Vincent possessed a razor-sharp wit and uncompromising character. And that was just how Baron von Holtz described him.

“So, I assume you don’t believe I could sincerely want to help a suffering man?” I chuckled, stuffing both bruts into my pocket.

Watching my hand, the lieutenant smiled back at me from bed:

“I stopped believing in fairy tales when I was seven years old and my whole family died of plague. The plague battalion burned my house to the ground with my families’ bodies inside. After that, I got sent to live in a shelter where I got all that foolishness beaten out of me...”

“I see.”

“Oh yeah?” I heard unconcealed sarcasm in Vincent’s voice. “If I’m not mistaken, you grew up somewhere warm and cozy with a team of nannies and valets to look after you, right?”

“Weren’t we just talking about casting off illusions?” I asked, sitting in a chair opposite Vincent’s bed and crossing my legs. “Even legitimized bastards forever remain outcasts. Now picture a bastard whose father conspired against the crown and was executed for his crimes. How could someone like that have any illusions? So I understand you perfectly well even though the two of us grew up with different levels of wealth. And as for your question... What do you think?”

“To be honest, I’m lost in guesses...” Vincent replied. “But still, I have some ideas.”

“Curious... I’m all ears.”

“You’re trying to get the new commander of Westerly Fort on your side by helping me.”

“Well? Is it working?”

“Jean Tassen is a man of honor,” Vincent responded harshly. “But he is no fool. And as an aside, neither am I. We just like playing by the rules. It keeps things simple.”

“Agreed,” I nodded. “It’s always simpler to live without illusions. But true friendship and loyalty are no mere illusions. They are real. They are above feelings of gratitude.”

“Are you saying you are trying to gain loyal friends by helping me?” Vincent smiled condescendingly.

“Hey, why not?” I shrugged. “If I’m not mistaken, that is the path to true, solid friendship.”

“Or maybe it’s all because you want to wet your beak on the smuggling ring through Tassen and me.” Vincent came, staring me straight in the eyes.

“You think I stand a chance?” I asked calmly, not looking away.

“Why not?” Vincent snorted back sardonically. “You managed to get rid of Louis de Rohan, as well as his flunkies Brossard and Buquet. Now the path is clear, particularly now that Tassen is deeply indebted to you for mending my health. He won’t put up any roadblocks.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Will you be grateful? Or put-up roadblocks? Because I was not joking. You will be back on your feet. And you see that yourself already. You must have sensed the changes in your body over the last five days.”

“Yes,” Vincent rasped back with a slightly puzzled look. “I can feel it...” And then, getting himself together, he added in a firm voice: “And yes, I am capable of showing gratitude. You healed me, took my wife and daughter into your home, helped Jean get promoted... I won’t make any trouble. Furthermore, I will do whatever you ask of me. I give you my word. But there is one but…”

“I’m listening...”

“If I ever hear that you’re threatening my friends or family, I will kill you.”

Vincent’s voice was unwavering. The man looking back at me was a vicious predator. Despite his mortal wound, he was ready to bite through my neck at a moment’s notice.

“I hear you, lieutenant,” I nodded.

“But you neglected to answer the biggest question,” Vincent reminded me.

“You mean the money and smuggling operation?” I asked. “I will not lie. I am interested in that business, but I concluded that there’s nothing for me to skim from your operation.”

“Is that right?” Vincent chuckled.

“Oh, come on,” I waved a hand. “Everyone knows perfectly well that de Rohan and his henchmen’s exile is a temporary state of affairs. Very soon, the men who sent him out here will try to take everything back under their control. Either they’ll send a new ‘de Rohan,’ or more likely try to make an arrangement with the new commander. There’s no sense going to war with them. You’ve already seen how that turns out. And considering the fact that I already have a basic idea of exactly who is at the top of this whole pyramid, I’d simply be swallowed up, not merely pushed out. Because Maître Jacob still sits in the fortress as a representative of the Amber Guild. He had to shell out a lot of dough to be granted the royal privilege to be stationed here on the frontier to purchase the claws, fangs, and various roots from the Shadow sold by wildlings after the ebbs.”

I started counting on my fingers.

“So... Louis de Rohan’s backers, the Amber Guild, unscrupulous secret chancery agents, the mayor and his backers... And that’s only surface level information... Sounds like a lot of bloodsuckers to feed already, no?”

“And despite all that, you intend to obtain a manor here, reinforce your position among the officers of Westerly Fort and meet the mayor in the next few days,” Vincent noted with a wry chuckle. “After all, you were released from service in Westerly Fort and very soon will be heading to the capital. All of that seems to conflict with what you just said about not wanting to wet your beak on the smuggling operation, don’t you think?”

“You’re missing one detail,” I shook my head.

“What might that be?” Vincent asked in surprise.

“The biggest one,” I responded, taking a big violet brut out of my pocket. When Vincent saw it, he gave a loud gulp. “As I mentioned, I am interested in the business, but I do not have the slightest desire, as you put it, to ‘wet my beak’ on anyone else’s cash flow. First of all, it sounds too messy. And second, the money, hm... isn’t all that good... And no wonder — with so many mouths to feed.”

“I don’t exactly get your meaning...” Vincent started.

But I interrupted:

“It’s too early for that, lieutenant. Everything in its time.”

Standing from my seat, I stashed the brut back in my pocket and straightened my coat.

“By the way,” I stood outside the door. “Get ready. Tomorrow, you’ll be coming to my manor. The treatment will last more than a month. I cannot waste time traveling to your home every single day. Beyond that, you’ll be able to walk all on your own very soon, which is sure to attract lots of unwanted attention. To avoid that, my people will be publicly transporting you out of town tomorrow morning for supposed treatment in a nearby big city at a healer’s funded by Westerly Fort officers. Then, in the evening, you will return back to Toulon incognito. You will stay in my manor until your complete recovery together with your wife and daughter.”

After I said that, followed by Vincent’s thoughtful gaze, I went out the door.

* * *

“Monsieur,” Bertrand appeared in the doorway of my office. “An Éric Judor is here to see you. Shall I send him in?”

I looked away from reading yet another report from Tomcat, my infobot in Sardent. In it, he informed me that prices on sundries, fabric, iron, fur, and weapons in the independent Duchy of Mâcon had suddenly shot up and were continuing to grow. Hm… And no wonder. To some war could be a great opportunity. Some went to their deaths while others lined their pockets.

Beyond that, Tomcat told me that prices at the slave market had risen significantly, particularly for fit men. Earlier, he informed me that teams of recruiters had started showing up in massive numbers in the county and beyond hunting for fit young men to fill the ranks of the warring armies.

The Count de Mâcon, after a large number of complaints, even tried to combat the overreach, but the higher prices on the “live wares” climbed, the more actively the headhunters plied their trade.

Because that was only the beginning. The armies of Vestonia and Atalia had yet to meet in a single large battle. So far, it had been relegated to small skirmishes for territory belonging to what I was calling “buffer counties and duchies,” those between the mega states. To me, it seemed that, after the war, many of these microstates would lose their independence.

Wiping my face with my hand then stretching out, I took all important documents off the table and gave an order to Bertrand:

“Send him in.”

A few moments later, a short, slouching man walked into my office. He appeared to be fifty or even older. His pale, smallpox scarred face was stamped with a polite but somewhat crafty smile. His clever, cloudy blue eyes glimmered with sincere curiosity.

Éric Judor, a local money lender, had visited my manor several days before. There was something he wanted to talk about. But I was not home, so he left his card and a request to invite him over at my earliest convenience.

As an aside, the manor was now officially my property. Monsieur Mollet’s “fever” abated, and he was all too eager to sell the building to me for eight hundred silver crowns.

I had to slightly rein in his appetites, and the price came down to five hundred fifty. Mollet was desperate to wrap up all his affairs with the inconvenient renter. So much in fact that he agreed to accept a promissory note redeemable in any bank where I kept deposits. I was not doing so great for cash at the time the deal was concluded, so it was an acceptable option.

After a brief greeting, I asked the money lender to take a seat.

“Okay,” I came, looking closely at the man. “There was something you wanted to discuss. All I ask... Is that you get straight to the point. I don’t have much time.”

Éric Judor shifted a bit in the seat, got comfortable and said with a smile:

“Of course, chevalier. Of course! I understand completely. I won’t take much of your time. I have come with a business proposition.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I wanted to offer to buy your promissory note.”

“My promissory note?” I asked in surprise.

“Precisely,” the money lender nodded and set a scroll on the table. “Please...”

I unrolled it and quickly looked over the document bearing my signature. Just to be safe, I also scanned it for magic ink. No problems. It was the very promissory note I had used to pay Monsieur Mollet his five hundred and fifty silver crowns for the purchase of my manor.

Hm... Monsieur Mollet must have decided to just sell it to the money lender. In theory, I didn’t blame him. The nearest branch of the Craonne bank, where my savings were kept, was located in Sardent. And he’d have to get there to get the money. Considering that the roads were less than calm at the moment, Mollet opted to sell the promissory note to a money lender in town. How much might he have sold it for?

“And what do you want for it?” I asked, handing back the scroll.

“Whatever do you mean?” Éric Judor asked in sincere surprise. “What it says on the note. Five hundred fifty silver crowns.”

I stood up slowly and walked over to the window. In the manor’s back yard, I saw Jacques and Théo Vincent sitting on a bench having a conversation.

Théo, as I promised, got on his feet a month ago and was now slowly starting to walk again, leaning on a heavy cane. I recalled the looks of astonishment from Vincent and his wife when he first got out of bed. On that day, I realized I now had two more people loyal to me in this world.

After they met, Jacques and the lieutenant quickly found a common tongue. As it turned out, many years ago, the pair had even taken part in the same battle against some Northlanders. Honestly though, Jacques was in the infantry while Vincent was part of the cavalry. Now, the pair sat and watched as the kids trained, throwing out clipped phrases. Needless to say, the training had gotten even more intense now that there was another veteran on the scene.

A smile instantly flickered on my lips, which I immediately hid behind a mask of indifference.

Turning, I sat back down at the table and said:

“I will give you three hundred silver crowns for it.”

After von Holtz sold our loot to Maître Jacob, I had gotten some cash. In the lower drawer of my desk, I now had four purses containing two hundred crowns each.

The fact we had come back with loot had leaked to the public in the end. And so, we had to sell it all to the official representative of the Amber Guild or risk being labeled smugglers.

I had to admit that when von Holtz told me my share from selling the shadow wolf claws and three nearly empty bruts I was amazed. And Maître Jacobs was most likely not paying us a fair price.

But even so, my people were pleased. Their share constituted just over two hundred crowns, which was a lot.

Hrm... I was afraid to even imagine how much my “collection” might fetch.

As an aside, Lieutenant von Holtz had just gone out on a campaign at the head of a group of fighters from the fort’s garrison loyal to Tassen along with von Brunon and Vidal. They decided to return to the lake to look for the dead shadow wolf we hid in a gully there. Or rather, whatever was left of it.

I figured they’d be back any day now. And if they managed to scare up any loot, I was also entitled to a share of that.

“But please, chevalier!” the money lender came indignantly. “The promissory note says how much its worth in black and white!”

“I do not dispute that,” I replied. “But it also clearly indicates a time and location for that payment to take place. You can only demand the full amount one year after the promissory note was issued, and only from a branch of the Craonne bank.”

And he knew all that perfectly well. I figured he was just testing the waters. He wanted to see what kind of man he was dealing with. I didn’t blame him...

Now, by the way, I could see why Mollet was so eager to agree to my conditions when signing the purchase contract. He was clearly not planning to wait a whole year, much less travel anywhere. He was expecting to sell the promissory note to Éric Judor or another money changer, even if the rate would be greatly reduced.

Judor said nothing, sizing me up with a thoughtful gaze. Then, in an utterly unimpressed tone, he came:

“Three hundred is not a lot.”

“Maybe so,” I shrugged.

“Three hundred is nearly half of the total value. I’d come down to five hundred.”

I tilted my head to one side.

“Three hundred fifty.”

The money changer shook his head.

“Not enough. Four hundred eighty.”

“The war,” I reminded him. “Has the roads a real mess. On top of that, there are roving bands of recruiters all around cities and their outskirts.”

“Sure, but who’d want to recruit me?” Judor chuckled. “And what for?”

“If they don’t push you into the army, they’ll rob you,” I shrugged. “All kinds of things are known to happen in these troubled times. Three hundred seventy.”

“Let’s round that up to four hundred,” Judor suggested. “And part as friends.”

Considering it briefly, I rubbed my chin, then nodded:

“Agreed. I’ll be expecting you tomorrow, same time, with an attorney.”

I didn’t know how much Judor had earned on the deal, but personally I was saving myself one hundred fifty crowns. And that meant the manor was costing me a total of four hundred silver crowns.

By the way... What if...?

Squeezing the hand of the self-satisfied Éric Judor, I held his hand in mine for a moment.

“Monsieur Judor, correct me if I’m wrong, but do you also happen to have other promissory notes?”

“Of course,” he replied, immediately perking up his ears. “Plenty of them. Anything in particular you’re interested in?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “I’d like promissory notes from the trading houses Gilbert, and Legrand and Sons, as well as any coming from the Counts de Gramont. Or... The Count de Marbot. But those are lower priority.”

When I saw the money changer give a broad, promising smile, I realized that soon I was going to need a very large amount of cash.