Last Life

Book 3: Chapter 18

“OH, MONSIEUR, the capital city magistrate is a monster of many faces and many arms!” came Zacharias Beron with a smile. This was the same financier I was recommended by the Watchmaker and who showed up at my manor gates early that morning. “And like any monster, it has a ravenous appetite.”

Despite his plumpness, the little redheaded man was very fidgety. He seemed to have a hard time sitting still. Need it be said that such behavior was not typical for locals?

“As far as I understand, this monster primarily feeds on gold and silver,” I said with an understanding nod, which made Zacharias burst out laughing.

“Quite right, Your Worship. Quite right!”

Zacharias, it turned out, had tried to visit me once before but we missed each other. I checked out of the inn a day before his visit.

This morning, it nearly happened again, but Jacques and Gunnar got delayed with the buggy, which in the end I could only be glad about.

When I was finally given the carriage, I offered Zacharias a ride, during which we could discuss business. He agreed.

It was a very productive conversation. The financier agreed to try working for me. Then, a conversation about promissory notes and grain prices smoothly shifted to the purpose of my visit to the magistrate. I had nothing to hide, because I had already given a detailed recounting of everything Jacques told me about his buddy.

After hearing I wanted to meet the provost of Herouxville, Zacharias looked very surprised. Apparently, it was very difficult to get to the provost and, for our case, meeting with him would be pointless. Such business was normally dealt with by birds on lower perches but, as I found out, with no less appetite.

Zacharias advised us to go to an attorney who handled similar cases. Then nearly a week later, Beron again came to visit me while Jacques, Gunnar, and the attorney headed out to collect his war buddy from the Herouxville city dungeon.

Zacharias and I were sitting in my office drinking some brandy from my wine cellar when I shared with him my impressions of local bureaucrats.

After a brief pause, I asked:

“I assume you have news for me?”

“Indeed, monsieur,” Beron nodded and, opening his big fat travel bag, took out a thin pile of papers. “This was all I could get my hands on. Promissory notes from Count Ferdinand de Gramont to the tune of just under fifty thousand silver crowns. Some of them were secured against the Barony of Valff.”

I looked them over closely, scanning every sheet, then asked:

“What amounts? And are there other promissory notes like these on the market?”

“This includes my commission,” Zacharias replied and set on the table a full report, then added: “As for question two... They are out there, but I suggest you wait before buying more and focus on other promissory notes from the list you gave me. Despite the fact I acted cautiously, it is possible the price of these promissory notes could rise. Speculators will quickly sniff out the fact that someone is now interested in Ferdinand de Gramont’s papers.”

“Makes sense,” I nodded. “You know best. Here, please...”

I took from a desk drawer two hefty sacks of coins and handed them to Zacharias.

He hid the money in the travelling bag and got up. Squeezing my hand to leave, he came:

“I still can’t see a reason to spend so much buying up ‘dead’ promissory notes. But as I said, it’s none of my business.”

I just gave a pointed smile and gently tugged on the signal cord. A moment later, the door to my office opened and a footman appeared in the hall.

“Show Monsieur Beron his way to the door,” I ordered.

When the door closed behind my broker, I thought it time to take a drive around to capital city jewelers to sell a couple gemstones. I decided not to show off any of the collectibles just yet. Even the old minting Vestonian coins would draw too much attention. And that left gemstones.

* * *

Jacques and Gunnar came back that evening. Looking tired and gloomy.

“How’d it all go?” I asked, standing on the step of the servants’ washhouse where Jacques’ old war buddy, Lucas Devers was now lying on the wooden floor unconscious. I approved of placing him temporarily in the castle, in the wing where the footmen stayed.

The washroom stank unmistakably of festering wounds, blood, and shit.

“The prison guards had a hard time finding him,” Jacques replied darkly, casting a sad look into the washhouse. “We had to do a bit of walking around in the catacombs. It was like hell...”

“I assume things are bad?” I asked, stepping over the doorway.

“Yes,” Jacques replied in a rasping voice but, essentially, I didn’t need to hear an answer.

When I hunched over his body, I had a hard time not wincing at the stench. Jacques had already started undressing him, throwing his now ragged clothing straight into the furnace. Next to the cot there already stood a wooden washtub filled with hot water.

Switching to true vision, I started giving Lucas’ energy system a closer look. I found a few black spots in the rib area, back of the head, arms, and legs.

This guy was hard to kill. I was surprised he was still alive. Then I realized something... The huge number of black spots in his energy system made it hard to tell, but there was evidence to suggest Lucas was not quite human. I found a tiny magic reservoir, indicating that Jacques’ old war buddy was gifted. His gift was very faint, but that was what was keeping Lucas on the mortal plane.

I raised my head and glanced at Jacques. In his eyes, I saw hope and pleading. Seemingly, he was willing to do whatever it took to save his friend.

“Despite the grave wounds, your friend will live,” I said.

Jacques gave a loud sigh and covered his eyes. A moment later, I saw a smile on his pale face.

“Luc was always tough,” he snorted.

“I assume your friend was born in Vestonia.”

Jacques nodded.

“He was born in Atalia, but his family had to flee here on a ship many years ago... But by the time they made it to the port of Craat, he was already an orphan. His parents and little sister died at sea from a disease.”

Jacques glanced at his friend, who was whispering disjointed nonsense, and asked:

“Can you heal him, monsieur?”

“That will depend on whether you answer my next question about your friend honestly,” I came.

Jacques stared into my eyes. What I said must have been a surprise.

“Monsieur, I do not rightfully understand what you are talking about,” he came. “But I give you my word to be honest with you.”

“I believe I’m starting to guess what your friend’s family was fleeing from,” I came.

Jacques gave Lucas another glance, then looked at me foggily.

“Or rather who,” I added and nodded at the injured man. “Dare I suggest that he was being pursued by the Scarlet Knights? Were you aware?”

“Priests?” Jacques asked in sincere surprise and his brows shot up. “Monsieur, you have my word that I never heard anything of the like from Luc! You must be mistaken... What could the Scarlets want with a simple peasant? After all, they only go after...”

And Jacques shuddered. His jaw started hanging down and a flame lit in his eyes.

“I see you’re starting to understand,” I said. “Your friend is a true mage.”