Last Life

Book 5: Chapter 3

I TOOK A SEAT IN THE CARRIAGE and glanced quickly out at the first-floor windows as we passed. Upon noticing a tiny silhouette flash by in one of the windows, I smiled at my own thoughts.

The “Fox Den” hadn’t been built by everyday craftsmen. The place had been created by an artifactor, and judging by the secret basement, they’d been one hell of an artifactor. But with the nisse’s arrival, the castle seemed to come to life. It was like the building had acquired a soul.

For the first two days after our arrival, Itta wandered the house, getting familiar with her new residence. I didn’t see her once, the entire time. I even tried to call her, but to no avail. The fact that she was up to something important was clear from the weird magic emanations I kept seeing at intervals throughout the whole period.

The nisse finally appeared on the morning of the third day, looking energetic and happy. I don’t know what kind of magic she worked, but it obviously did her some good. Itta looked very different. Her hair was no longer the same rat’s nest it had been when I found her, and her wardrobe was new too: no more rags and hole-ridden moccasins. Instead, she had a cute little linen tunic with a hood and tall boots made of soft leather. I didn’t even attempt to guess how and where she got them.

The color of Itta’s clothes harmonized perfectly with the color palette of the castle. Thanks to this kind of disguise, the nisse didn’t have to use her stealth magic as much. Like a chameleon, she blended in effortlessly with the walls, portraits, and furniture. And most importantly — Itta’s magic reservoir was significantly bigger, and as far as I understood it was still a long way from reaching its limit.

In answer to my question about how she was settling into the castle, she smiled happily and began explaining all the information she’d collected.

It turned out that the castle had three secret storerooms whose existence I hadn’t even suspected, despite a thorough search of every dark nook and cranny of the place when I first moved in. I told nisse as much.

In response, she just shrugged and said something to the effect of “you should’ve looked harder.” Anyway, two of the storerooms held more of the coins I was already familiar with, minted in the so-called Forgotten kingdoms, along with various bits of jewelry. In the third stash, the nisse discovered a big pile of long-rotted papers, which we were far too late to save. Which was really too bad — I would’ve loved to read the notes of whoever used to live in this castle.

So all things considered, and not counting the main storeroom, the “Fox Den” held nine secret stashes, which I ordered the nisse to fill with modern coins and conceal carefully. That could be my stash for a rainy day.

By the way, it turned out that Itta didn’t need any kind of amulet to get into the castle’s basement, or into any other corner of the castle for that matter. This was somehow connected to the nisse’s skills and the magical connection between me and her.

Besides that, Itta already knew everything that was going on in the mansion anyway. Literally — from conversations between servants and footmen, right up to the exact number of spiders living in every little corner of the house.

And actually, on the fourth day after she moved in, Itta declared war on the rodents resident in the mansion, who, according to her, had lost all sense of restraint and grown fat on the mansion’s larders.

And Itta wasn’t fighting the rats alone. She gathered a small task force around herself, consisting of two scruffy-looking street cats, one ginger and one gray, who inhabited one of the neighboring alleys and who the nisse lured in with some liver she’d borrowed from the kitchen.

At the same time, there was a big speckled cat who had also grown fat off the kitchen’s sour cream and cottage cheese, which Itta mercilessly hounded off the grounds of the mansion. To be fair, it was just temporary — a chance for the animal to reconsider its behavior. “Because it’s lazy and it seems to think it owns the place!”

There were also three wolfhounds in the little unit, who Charles Simon would let off their chains at night to patrol the area around the house. Basically, all things considered, it was looking like the rats were going to have to find a new place to live — Itta was deadly serious where they were concerned.

As for the castle, the nisse also gave me a detailed rundown of their financial situations. Jacques had done the best of all so far. And that wasn’t surprising; my head of security hadn’t lost a single bet on any of my duels, and over time he managed to rack up quite a nice sum for himself.

To be honest, Jacques probably could’ve retired quite some time ago. Bought a nice house and started a family. And still had a nice nest egg left over. But Jacques had other goals. At a certain point, we talked about his future, and from what I could tell he was taking it seriously.

It seemed that his next step would be investing some of his money in securities. He had listened in on some conversations between me and Zacharias Beron, and it seemed like he was applying what he’d learned. I even knew who Jacques was planning to work with to make his very first investment. Kevin, who my broker simply couldn’t stop praising, was only too happy to help out his old fighting trainer.

I’m not going to lie — it made me happy to see my fighters growing more “comfortable.” And for their part, they understood that their position in society, and also their general welfare, depended directly on my own status and personal welfare.

As big as the jar of honey might be, however, there was always bound to be at least one fly in it.

Specifically, this came in the form of news (which I’d received from Itta the day before) that there were several spies among my servants. She was completely certain about two of them, and two others were still under suspicion.

The first person the nisse named was Romen Siville, the senior assistant to Agnès the chef, who was secretly dropping information to our temporary “sewage system repair technician.” It seemed that the chubby little man with pink cheeks and an obsequious expression had actually been funneling information to Bruno Foulon for some time, reporting on everything that happened in the castle.

Based on the conversations she’d heard, the nisse informed me that besides the predictable financial compensation, Bruno promised Romen a promotion — a transfer to the Count de Gramont’s kitchens, with the position of sous-chef. Which, as an aside, didn’t seem likely to me.

The second spy was Denise, one of the maids. To be honest, when Itta told me that one of the maids was betraying us, my first reaction was fear — but when I heard that it wasn’t Josie, Agnès’ daughter, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Don’t get me wrong — I didn’t have feelings for the cook’s daughter or anything like that. I just really liked Agnès. We had a good relationship, and she was a great cook. And I also knew that unlike many of her colleagues in other kitchens (whom I heard plenty about from other noblemen like myself), she didn’t steal either the food she bought or the money she was given to buy it. The nisse, by the way, also confirmed this to be the case.

As for Denise... With time, I started to notice her paying more and more attention to me. Occasionally, I caught her staring at me, seemingly studying me. Besides that, she “happened” to cross paths with me far too frequently for it to be a coincidence. She would just glance into the fireplace hall “by chance,” for example, or brush past me in the hallway with a stack of freshly-pressed linens. And every time, she would blush and issue sheepish apologies. It seemed like she was trying to appear as attractive as possible while making it look unintentional. And she was always extremely surprised by my complete lack of reaction to it all.

As soon as I noticed it, I made a mental note to have a talk with Marc Ducos about his subordinate’s unprofessional behavior, and to ask him to have a little performance improvement discussion with her. That, after all, was his job, and I paid him pretty well for it by local standards.

Long story short, a lot of things fell into place after my conversation with the nisse. She told me that there was a certain cavalier with whom Denise spent all her free time; they would walk the city for hours, and then spend a long time hanging around by the gates when they got back.

My men guarded those gates day and night, of course, and they kept a close but surreptitious eye on the pair. Young love — everybody understood. Especially since Denise’s cavalier didn’t exactly look like the kind of guy who was used to wielding a sword. Judging by his clothes, he most likely served in some sort of merchant’s office.

The nisse, on the other hand, reacted to him with some alarm.

One evening, after one of their dates, Denise suddenly had a little leather wallet full of silver coins in her hands. Assuming, logically enough, that that kind of money was a lot for either a maid or a merchant’s servant, the nisse waited for the pair to return the following day, listened to their entire conversation, came to see me afterward, and repeated it word for word.

Judging by the slick way that the recruiter worked, and the kind of questions he was asking, it didn’t seem like he was working for any of my relatives. Someone more adept at spying was behind Denise’s “cavalier.”

I didn’t want to scare the happy couple away too soon, so I decided not to mention this to my people. Better, I figured, to keep them close and have the nisse keep them under surveillance.

When Itta dropped the other two names, however — the names of those she suspected, but wasn’t sure of — it gave me some serious food for thought. The second name in particular was upsetting to me.

These two people attracted the nisse’s attention in exactly the same way Denise had. Big lump sums of money, appearing suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere. First, there was Benedict, my gardener, a quiet, industrious old man who always seemed to love his work.

Second, there was Marc Ducos. According to the nisse, his lump sum was by far the biggest. I understood that it was still too early to draw any firm conclusions, but if the suspicions around my butler were confirmed, I would be really disappointed to lose such a consummate professional...

* * *

“Your Worship, are you sure about this?” Sigurd asked as we came to a stop outside the entrance to a small herbalist’s shop.

It was tucked in a tiny, neat little alley along with a multitude of other equally-tiny shops. We found the alley by following the witches’ mark I had noticed on one of the columns in Moneychangers’ Square.

Sigurd, who was accompanying me, also recognized the mark but tried not to show it. Although he’d already been frowning by the time we were halfway there, because Gunnar, who was holding the reins today and driving us around, was clearly and carefully following the witching marks on the walls of houses as we passed.

I realized, of course, that showing up at a witch’s stall with a former frost knight was not the best idea. But I wasn’t really worried about that. And anyway, one look at my bodyguard would give them a chance to see who they were dealing with. I’d have bet my right hand that they could already sense his power, and that we were already being followed. I could almost feel their invisible, malicious glare on my skin.

“Absolutely,” I replied with a nod.

Sigurd grunted, opened the door, and slipped into the shop before me.

“If you please, Your Worship,” I heard him say a few seconds later.

Bending down slightly, I stepped quickly inside and stopped right behind the door as I looked carefully around the inside of the shop. The smell of herbs and perfumes immediately lit up my nostrils. Hundreds of vials and boxes of various potions and powders covered the shelves along the walls. Bunches of herbs and feathers hung from the ceiling, along with amulets made from little bones, colored threads, and ribbons.

I snickered. The amulets were trinkets, nothing more. Same with the potions and powders. The herbs were the only thing that was real, although even they were nothing out of the ordinary. That said, it all combined to create exactly the impression a typical customer would expect. For a second, I doubted my decision — was it even worth coming here in the first place? Could they really give me what I was looking for?

My doubts were dispelled, however, as soon as I saw the owner of the place.

She was already expecting me. Frozen behind the counter stood a short, black-haired, middle-aged woman, whose dark, slightly crossed eyes were boring into me with a glare that suggested a hint of disgust. Her hands were down behind the counter. Knots of muscle twitched on her thin cheekbones.

Quickly but carefully, I scanned her energy system and chuckled in my head. A powerful witch. Obviously not the most junior member of the coven.

Stil, though, she wouldn’t have been able to size me up accurately. Thanks to my training and meditation, my aura could cover my real identity very well. So as she stood there glaring at me, the witch took me for a normal person. Maybe a young nobleman who had heard all sorts of nonsense about witches and their potions and come to see for himself whether there was any truth behind the hype.

“Your Worship,” she said, obviously trying as hard as she could to hold back an intense feeling of disdain. “I daresay you and your... hm... servant... might have taken a wrong turn at some point.”

Sigurd was obviously making her uncomfortable. I could see her staring at his scars from beneath her furrowed eyebrows. While the witch’s attention was fixed on my bodyguard (who was perfectly calm and cold as a hunk of ice through it all), I switched to true vision and looked around at the walls, then at the shelves behind the shop owner’s back.

Hm... Nothing too surprising. Behind a barely-discernible door, I could sense two more energy systems, pulsing with mana. Although they weren’t as well-developed as that of the black-haired witch.

“You’re mistaken, my dear,” I replied with a smile, trying to pretend that I couldn’t sense the tension in the room. “I’ve come precisely where I meant to come.”

My answer surprised the witch, and she turned to look at me with mild confusion.

“What could a noble gentleman such as yourself need from a simple herbalist’s shop?” She asked, smiling back at me. There was a smile on her lips, but her eyes were as icy as before. “Healing potions? Unlikely... Your Worship undoubtedly has access to the services of the best healers in the capital. Perfumes? No... I can smell expensive perfume on you as we speak. Perhaps you’ve heard some fantastic tales and decided to acquire some love potions for yourself? If so, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. There is no such thing as a functioning love potion. Even if there were, you would have no need for it. You’re young, handsome, and rich! Any girl would consider herself lucky to join her fate to that of a young man such as yourself. A bright future cannot but await you, with or without some useless potion.”

The witch’s soft voice flowed into my ears like molasses. She was trying, carefully and gently, to get me out of her shop.

“A shame,” I said with a very convincing look of disappointment. I noticed a wry grin on Sigurd’s face out of the corner of my eye. “I was so hoping to acquire just such a potion from you... It’s just that the Viscountess de — ... Actually, let’s leave names out of this. Anyway... She looks so adoringly at the Viscount, but seems not to notice me. It’s as if I were nothing but thin air. When I was told I could acquire such a potion here... Agh... What a shame...”

“Alas, Your Worship,” the witch was about to continue in the same vein as before. “But...”

“But all the same, if there’s even a faint possibility,” I hurriedly interrupted her. “My family is one of means. I can pay handsomely...”

I nodded, and Sigurd laid a heavy bag with a golden buckle down on the counter. Opening the elegant clasp, I spread the folds of the bag a little bit and showed the witch the small mountain of golden imperials gleaming inside it.

With a smile, I watched a metamorphosis sweep across the witch’s face. Malice quickly gave way to greed and a desire to obtain the treasure she saw in front of her.

“Your Worship,” she said in a slightly deflated tone of voice. It seemed like we were about to have a very different conversation this time. “The potion you require is on the banned list. According to an ordinance issued by His Majesty, violations will be punished by death.”

I slid the bag over to the witch and replied in a seductive tone of voice:

“This is just an advance. Make this potion for me and you’ll receive another bag, just as big. And no one will ever learn of your involvement. The young woman about whom I told you... The wedding will not only make me happy, but strengthen both of our families as well. If the potion works, of — “

“Two.” The witch’s reply was immediate and firm.

“What do you mean, “two?”“ I asked.

“Two more bags like this, and that girl will never notice anyone but you again in her life.” The witch’s dark eyes were locked on mine. An enigmatic smile danced on her lips.

“Hm...” I rubbed my chin and responded, this time in my normal tone of voice: “I see you’re someone we can work with. I think we can begin the serious conversation at this point.”

As the perplexed witch looked on, I nodded to Sigurd to indicate that he should leave. After waiting for the door to close behind him, I turned around. My eyes met those of the witch. Her thin eyebrows were furrowed into a frown, which caused a barely-perceptible fold to appear on her forehead. The fire of danger shone in her eyes.

With a nod down at the bag of money, I calmly continued:

“I want you to listen to me and pass on my request to the Elder Mother of your coven. Regardless of the result of our conversation, this gold is yours.”

At the mention of the coven and its leader, the witch winced, and her cheeks flushed a deep red.

Nevertheless, she laid a hand on the bag, pulled it toward herself, and hissed through clenched teeth:

“Speak, and then leave.”

Inside my head, I couldn’t help chuckling. A witch? Turning away free gold? Not a chance — that was something they simply did not do. Nevertheless, I still had to seal the deal.

“If you really do pass on what I’m about to say,” I continued unflappably. “You’ll get this as well.”

I took a little velvet bag out of the inner pocket of my jacket and shook its contents out carefully on the countertop. It was a little brooch; at first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than costume jewelry. It had neither gemstones nor any kind of intricate engraved flourishes. What’s more, it appeared at first glance to be made of normal, unalloyed iron. Overall, it looked like a bizarre decoration, more like a hunk of thick, tangled-up wire than anything else.

But that was just at first glance... In reality, anyone who knew their stuff would easily recognize this bizarre little piece of jewelry as a witch’s defensive rune that was filled to the brim with energy.

I had several little items like this in my possession, acquired in the Crafting District up north. Admittedly, they had all lost their magical charges long before I bought them. But after a few experiments with magical potions, I learned to fill them with lilac mana pretty easily.

Judging by the way her eyes bulged, the shop owner knew exactly what was lying on the counter in front of her.

She turned to look up at me, and asked in a subtle, secretive tone of voice:

“Who are you and what do you want?”

“Tell the Elder Mother that I’ve got something I want to discuss with her.” And I proceeded to divulge my purpose to her.

At first, the witch staggered back in surprise, but she quickly got ahold of herself. Taking a big, loud breath in through her nose, she sniffed the air, and a few seconds later a wry smile spread across her lips:

“Fox Tribe... I should’ve known...”

Then, throwing a quick glance at the brooch, her eyes narrowed cunningly and she added:

“I’ll do as you asked. Come back in three days.”