Last Life

Book 3: Chapter 4

“WHY... HRM... I...” Charles started hiccupping. His face looked even paler.

“Open the gates, brute!” the shrieking voice demanded.

A few moments later, the gates flew open, and François de Gramont appeared. The white horse beneath him stamped its thin legs in impatience, snorted, and shook its long head.

I found myself admiring the noble creature.

“What is going on here?!” François exclaimed, thrusting his chin forward and frowning.

That let me get a closer look at him. He and Yveline really were very similar looking. But she was the very image of a flower in spring. Vibrant and pure. Her brother meanwhile looked more like a weed. He also had his flowers, but they were noxious.

I could safely guess that François was older than his sister by seven or eight years. Slim with a decent build. Dressed in the latest fashions. It was immediately obvious that my uncle was not stingy with his children’s wardrobes. That broad-brimmed hat with fashionable multicolored plume all on its own most likely cost a ton of money.

As an aside, based on the large amount of green interspersed in François’ outfit, he was a supporter of Prince Louis, the king’s youngest son. It was said that all innovations in fashion could be traced back directly to His Highness Prince Louis. The youngest scion of the royal family, he patronized musicians, poets, artists, and sculptors. The capital city theater that Carl III’s youngest financed was famed even outside of Herouxville.

To be frank, I found him the most tolerable of the king’s sons. He clearly understood that he had no chance of attaining the throne, and thus enjoyed life to the fullest.

The behind-the-scenes struggle for power was mostly between his elder brothers. Or rather their supporters. The king’s eldest son, “Red” Prince Philipp, was supported by nobles from the east headed by his uncle on his mother’s side, the Duke de Bauffremont. His middle son — “Blue” Prince Heinrich — was the candidate of the northerners and big bankers like the Craonne brothers.

Going off the fragmentary information I got from various sources, I was perfectly aware of why the Craonnes and other bankers had taken the side of the king’s middle son. Prince Heinrich was determined to embark on the same path of military glory as his father. He was raring for a fight. He craved glory on the battlefield. And wars, as everyone knew, cost money. Lots of money, which just so happened to be something the bankers could provide a lot of only to then shackle his arms and legs with obligations.

The eldest prince meanwhile had the vote of the eastern aristocrats. And that was mainly because Prince Phillipp was completely under the control of his beloved uncle the Duke de Bauffremont, the brother of the queen and cousin of the king of Astland.

From an outside perspective, the whole show looked more or less innocent but, digging deeper, very soon it would all spin out of control. Even before I entered the capital, I had the distinct pleasure of witnessing several spats between members of the different factions. One even ended in a duel with a fatal outcome.

Honestly though, the public announcement said the duel was caused by some lady’s besmirched honor. But everyone knew perfectly well that was just an excuse. Still, the princes’ supporters had yet to break out into uncontrolled political violence, at least not in public. But things were trending in that direction. The king probably knew what he was doing. Or not... I honestly didn’t care.

As an aside, seeing Prince Louis’ flowers on François’ clothing didn’t surprise me. Uncle Heinrich’s choice to support the “greens,” considered the most inoffensive choice, was calculated to keep his head down despite County Gramont being located in the eastern provinces.

I wouldn’t be surprised to discover my uncle was not opposed to casting a line into the ocean of grand politics but, alas, Max’s dad’s failed part in the mutiny had sullied the family’s reputation quite seriously. For now, green was the exact right color for the de Gramonts.

While the frightened footman burbled and hiccupped, Bertrand got on the ground quite quickly and froze in a respectful bow. The etiquette rules of this world stipulated that I could remain in the saddle but, because the viscount was higher in status than me, and an elder relative, I was supposed to greet him before introducing myself. Which I did straight away with a slight bow.

“Chevalier Renard?” I could read strained thinking on François’ face. “Very familiar...”

Finally, the viscount’s thin brows shot upward, and his lips cringed into a condescending smile. He scanned me head to toe with a disgusted look. His attention was drawn for a second by the Silver Wing on my chest.

The apparently modest sliver decoration was none other than an order I was personally awarded by the Marquess de Crépon, mayor of Toulon. All that happened at the reception in his palace in front of several dozen nobles and the commander of Westerly Fort.

Later, Jean Tassen explained to me that the Silver Wing of Strix was one of the most highly-regarded and valued decorations in Vestonia, which could only be awarded by what were known as “Frontier Mayors” and only to troops of the shadow patrol. Only the Golden Wing of Strix was above it, but that could only be awarded by the king.

Mine was given to me officially for “saving the lives of my brothers in arms.” I suspected that if the men I saved were not from noble families my “good deed” would likely never have been noticed by society.

Beyond that, I made a very strong memory of the mayor’s satisfied face during the award ceremony. I had one theory about that. I figured the whole show had a dual purpose. For example, maybe it was a way for the mayor to turn the attention of the paymasters of the former fort captain the Baronet de Rohan, who were now upset that their smuggling operation wasn’t delivering, on me. As if to say, everything was working fine until your protege got too greedy, tripped on the young chevalier, and embarrassed himself in front of Toulon’s noble council. And this chevalier was no simple man. He was from an elite, ancient family, plus he was a hero. The Toulonnais adored him. Basically, if they wanted to direct their anger at anyone — make it Chevalier Renard, cavalier of the Order of the Silver Wing, a true hero.

At first, I hid the medal and didn’t want to show it off, but that turned out to not be allowed. It went against etiquette. If I was outside of my home, my decorations had to be worn on my chest, especially such great ones. Removing, and particularly hiding any medal here was considered bad form. Doing so could be considered a mortal insult by whoever awarded it. I was lucky that Bertrand spotted it and explained before anyone noticed.

As an aside, on the way to the capital, I very quickly realized that medals, particularly those such as the Silver Wing, had a unique almost magical quality. Especially in cities near the frontier. Publicans, when they saw my decoration, tried to serve me the freshest beer and food. Servants and nobles greeted me with respect and even bureaucrats, the most steadfast members of the human species, looked at me differently.

Honestly though, the further I got from the frontier, the more that “magic” lost its power. But the whole way I came across people who were “in the know.”

As for the viscount’s wry and disparaging smirk, he didn’t have the foggiest notion of the shadow patrol’s combat decorations. He saw the little silver wing as nothing but a cheap trinket.

“I am the son of your uncle, Ferdinand de Gramont,” I decided to remind him. “You and I are cousins.”

François’ face after that changed from one of mockery to one of indignance and anger. Max’s cousin seemed fit to die of dismay.

“Don’t mention that traitor’s name in front of me ever again!” he hissed through his teeth. His eyes burned with fury and scorn. “You are no cousin of mine! You are the son of a vile betrayer and daughter of a merchant dog! I meanwhile am the Viscount de Gramont! Heir to a great and ancient dynasty! You have no place here! You are a shame on the family name. You should have stayed in whatever hole we stuck you in. Who allowed you to come to Herouxville, bastard?”

François practically spat out the last sentence.

Ahem... I of course was not counting on a warm welcome from my relations, but to be disparaged from the very doorstep?

Bertrand meanwhile was also in shock. His whole body was quivering. I figured it wasn’t fear. But the footman’s face went dark. He was probably seriously regretting recognizing Bertrand and me and deciding to speak up.

My cousin’s words didn’t affect me in the slightest, but saying nothing would be a sign of weakness.

I didn’t know what François was expecting out of me, but my wry smile clearly bothered him.

“Viscount,” I came, continuing to smile. “As soon as I meet your father, who invited me to come to the capital, I will be sure to tell him how much money he wasted on your edification. As regrettable as it is to admit — you are utterly untrained in proper manners. Either your instructors were fraudulent or, as they say, there’s one in every family.”

The more I said, the darker crimson the viscount’s face went. He looked like a fish out of water. His mouth just kept flapping open and shut while his eyes bulged so far out they seemed about to enter orbit. A little bit more and this cretin would have a stroke.

I meanwhile continued:

“When it comes to my father, Count Ferdinand de Gramont, your uncle... He fought a large number of battles side-by-side with our king. After the battle of Red River, His Majesty personally awarded my father with the Order of the Golden Fang, something only a few dozen in Vestonia can boast. Yes, later my father made a fatal error but His Majesty, may the gods extend his reign for many years to come, gave him the opportunity to clear his family’s shame with his blood, and did not strip us of our nobility or regalia. He and my brothers were beheaded by an executioner, not hanged like thieves or murderers as he did with the other conspirators.”

Okay, time to reel it in. The way this was leading, I was about to make Max’s dad out to be a hero. Bertrand and Charles were giving me looks. My cousin meanwhile slightly calmed down... Was I able to throw him off with my verve?

Okay, then I should keep it up:

“Did you say this is no place for me?” I snorted. “Do you really have the right to say that, viscount? I am clear before the law and king. Royal investigators established that. Or do you think yourself smarter than the agents of the secret chancery? Or are you possibly opposed to the very will of the king?”

François again started gasping silently for air, though now his face was going pale. This must have been the first time in Max’s cousin’s life that someone had contradicted him.

“Yes, on your father’s advice, I laid low in the west until the storm passed,” I continued. “But now, what do I see upon my return? My castle, a gift from my father, is somehow occupied by you. And as if your illegal residence wasn’t enough, you’ve invited guests. Without my awareness or permission. You’re cruelly beating my footmen... How am I to take this, viscount?”

“Y-y-you!” François barked, baring his teeth and bulging his eyes in fury. “You!”

He reached for the grip of his sword, which looked more decorative than anything. The handle and scabbard were just too weighed down with gold and gemstones.

“Oh gods!” I exclaimed cartoonishly, covering my eyes with a light pat and shaking my head.

Max’s cousin again froze for a moment, staring wide-eyed at me in surprise.

“Your manners are even worse than I thought!” I exclaimed. “Viscount, take your hands off that sword this instant. I may be ‘no cousin of yours,’ but the rest of society sees us as close relatives. If we duel, it will bring shame upon our house. Use your head, viscount! Just imagine what people will say. Rumors at court spread very quickly. By this time tomorrow, His Majesty would know everything. Your father would be scandalized.”

Honestly, I didn’t say it, but his outrage would all land on me because I would also end up killing his son. I personally did not want such notoriety. I wanted to get setup comfortably in this world, not become an outcast. Enough provocations out of this cretin.

I couldn’t say what spooked François more: mentioning the king or the Count de Gramont. The way his hand jumped back from his sword grip was just astonishing. For a moment, he looked like a misbehaving child caught in the act, but it quickly faded. My uncle must have been a real tyrant.

“You won’t get away with this, moron,” François hissed, pulling back the reins with fury.

Suddenly digging his spurs into the heaving sides of the poor creature beneath him, the viscount galloped off on his horse down the fine gravel path leading to the castle.

“Start packing, viscount!” I shouted cheerily off after him. “And make it snappy! I want to move back into my castle before it starts getting chilly!”

Then, I looked Charles straight in the eyes. The gray-haired footman, clearly under a strong impression from what he’d seen and heard, shrank and looked down at the ground.

“Look up, Charles,” I came softly.

The sound of my voice made the old footman shudder, but he raised his head. The blood on his forehead and cheek had already dried.

“Your Worship, I...” he sputtered.

“I remember that you served me well,” I cut him off softly. “Bertrand also has good memories...”

My valet nodded to confirm.

“Are you willing to continue serving me?” I asked.

“Yes, Your Worship,” Charles nodded rapidly and winced in pain.

“I see my cousin really did a number on you,” I came, tilting my head to one side. “Much like I used to...”

“Monsieur...” the footman tried to object.

“Drop it, Charles,” I waved. “It hasn’t been long enough for me to forget everything. I promise things will be different as soon as I’m back in the Fox Den. But for now, here...”

I took five thalers from my coin purse and extended them to Charles.

When the footman saw the silver, his eyes crept up into his forehead while his jaw slowly crept down. He wanted to thud to his knees, but Bertrand on my signal grabbed him by the elbow.

“Use this money to buy medicinal herbs and salves,” I said, nodding at the wound on his head. “Or better go directly to a healer.”

“Thank you, Your Worship,” tears welled up in his eyes.

“Close the gates now, Charles,” I said, turning my mare. “Otherwise the viscount will get mad at you again. I don’t want my loyal servant suffering any further.”

“What scheme are you working on now, monsieur?” Bertrand asked me when the castle was far in the distance.

“I want you to come back here in the next few days to find out how things are going in the castle,” I replied. “But not empty-handed. I can get you silver.”

“What exactly do you want to know?” Bertrand got keyed in very quickly as always.

“Everything,” I replied. “Everything you can find out. How many of my servants are left. How many new ones have been taken on. Their mood.”

“Well, based on your cousin’s hotheaded nature, I can tell you their mood right now.”

“And yet,” I insisted. “Some of them must be closer to His Worship. I also want you to convince Charles to recount everything he can remember the viscount and his friends saying in the castle. In simpler terms, we need eyes and ears in the castle.”

“That will not be hard,” Bertrand nodded and added with slight reproach: “Especially after you gave Charles a whole five thalers.”

“Money is not so important,” I waved it off. “It’s just a means to an end. Particularly given the fact I will soon have a lot of it. You saw.”

The old man wanted to say more but kept quiet. Three riders with blue bands on their elbows came around a bend ahead of us. The man in the middle cast a quick glance at us and our horses. Seeing our elbows, he gave an awkward but promising chuckle:

“Messieurs! I see you still have yet to make up your minds. Please explain to us why His Highness Prince Heinrich is not worthy of your choice!”

I snorted. The esteemed nobles were raring for a fight. And they would get one.