Last Life

Book 3: Chapter 6

“MONSIEUR, PROCEED WITH caution,” Bertrand begged me in a voice wavering with anxiety.

“Everything will be fine, I promise,” I said, pulling an inconspicuous black beret on my head. Spreading my arms, I then asked: “Well, what do you say? Who do I remind you of?”

Bertrand walked a slow circle, scrutinizing my look.

“A shopkeeper’s assistant. But why did you have to put on this whole raggedy getup? As a noble, wearing clothing like that is beneath you. If your uncle or cousin saw you looking like that... The shame.”

“Trust me,” I snorted. “Even if they did, they’d scarcely recognize me.”

“But why this whole masquerade?” Bertrand asked uncomprehending. “And in the middle of the night at that. Wearing this filthy clothing... After all, you only recently visited the baths.”

I breathed a heavy sigh. I’d have to think up an explanation or he’d never let up.

“Look, Bertrand,” I stroked my chin. “After the duel... Actually, what duel? That was a joke...”

“It was very magnanimous of you not to kill him,” Bertrand nodded. “His friends come from very powerful families. Still, it occurs to me that the viscount will not simply leave well enough alone.”

“And foolishly so,” I snorted. “Next time, he’ll be even less lucky.”

The old man shrugged indefinitely. As if to say such was the lot of aristocrats.

“So then,” I continued, “after the duel, I got the sense we were being followed.”

Bertrand shuddered and covered his mouth.

“It could be anyone. Friends of the Baronet de Rohan, or old friends from the guild of the nightwolves. I am very skeptical that they would decide to leave me alone.”

The old man whispered a short prayer.

“My sixth sense is telling me something,” I continued. “That surveillance of the inn has already been established. And the person I want to pay a visit to cannot be seen by any observers. Hence the change of costume.”

“I see, monsieur,” Bertrand nodded and looked more closely at my unsightly attire. Then, he pushed me on the back, smoothed my right sleeve, shook it out and said with satisfaction:

“Okay. Now you are the spitting image of a grocer’s assistant.”

* * *

I reached the agreed-upon location fairly quickly. Honestly though, first I had to do a bit of spinning around on the late-night streets to throw off my potential pursuers.

A few times, I blended into the shadows, stopped in dark alleys and corners and closely scanned around. But I quickly concluded that if someone was watching my temporary residence, they’d stayed there. They must not have been expecting a trick from a young aristocrat, thinking I’d be unwilling to dress up for a night-time caper.

Unfortunately, my reservoir had yet to grow big enough for serious spells or incantations. It would be very nice to have Mislead tonight, for instance.

Honestly though, I shouldn’t have been complaining. The pearls and bruts had made my energy system start to progress at a rapid rate. I was still far from serious spells, but a good part of the witching arsenal was now available to me.

The man I was planning to visit lived on the same street as the capital city baths. That was why I said I wanted to visit that part of town. To get a good look around.

The man had rented the entire second story of an inn at the end of Flower Alley. As an aside, I didn’t know who named the alley that, or why but it was very poorly suited. The aromas were far from floral. Old Herouxville’s sewage system was clearly unable to keep up with demand.

It was a sultry evening, so the windows of the inn’s second floor were wide open. And I took advantage of that.

Quickly climbing up the stone wall, I ducked into the open window and snuck into the small room. Standing in the shadows, I looked around and listened. Based on the meager furnishings, it was a servant’s quarters. The bulky body snoring away loudly on a cot against the opposite wall confirmed my guess.

I drew in air through my nose and closed my eyes. The familiar scent pulled me to a door that was slightly open. The room’s inhabitant must have left the door cracked on purpose to keep the air circulating and stave off the sort of stale humidity that might drive a fellow to madness.

Following that smell, I quietly popped out of the room and walked down a long hallway. Beyond it was another small room where, seated in an armchair, a gaunt man was peacefully dozing away, clearly another servant. And finally, I ducked into a doorway that hid what was quite a large bedroom with a broad bed in the middle. All doors and windows inside the small apartment were open — the inhabitants were doing whatever they could to stave off the heat.

On the wide bed, with the comforter cast aside, my old acquaintance was breathing heavily in his sleep.

Closing the door tightly behind myself, I quietly walked over to the edge of the bed and shook the sleeping man by the shoulder. First, to be honest, I had to scan the whole room for traps then sneak my hand beneath his pillow. As expected, I found there a small satchel of poison powder.

When I touched his shoulder, he woke up instantly. But he didn’t show it. He also didn’t shout or call for help. Eyes closed and pretending to still be asleep, he slowly slipped his right hand beneath the pillow. I chuckled. No surprise.

Meanwhile, taking a few steps back, I sat back in an armchair and crossed my legs.

I saw the no longer sleeping man’s face tense up when he found nothing.

“Viscount,” I called out softly. “Don’t bother. You won’t find it. I have your poison. In the name of the gods, don’t make any sudden moves and, please, don’t make any noise. I give you my word, you are not in danger.”

I had to give the Watchmaker his due. He recognized my voice immediately. Raising his head, he quietly asked:

“Monsieur Renard?”

“Yes, it is I. I remembered your invitation and decided to come pay you a visit. Let me first apologize for barging in uninvited and at such a late hour... Trust me, I had good reason for the intrusion. Can we talk?”