Chapter 31: Food for thought (2)

But that night we all retired together and sat around in silence. Mother wasn't present as apparently she had wanted to be there while the examination was being carried out.

The rest of us just sat there. Sam and I were sat on a sofa, Kerrass was sat with his legs stretched out and staring at the fire. He looked so relaxed and at ease that I found myself hating him for a moment. Emma sat with her maid, the absurdly beautiful woman, and the two were playing a kind of quiet game of Gwent although they seemed to be playing according to rules that I didn't recognise.

“Is Mark coming down?” Sam asked suddenly.

It was a jolt, jerking us all out of our own reflective hazes. My resentment shifted over to Sam from Kerrass.

It seemed somehow sacrilegious to break the silence.

Emma looked up and I finally saw that she had been crying. She shook her head and returned to looking at her cards. Her maid tried to look at her, an expression of concern on her face.

It hadn't seemed odd that she should be there before, but then it did seem strange, but then it was explained away by that concern. She was keeping an eye on my sister.

How very proper.

I felt myself chuckle rather than do anything else and the maid glared at me.

Silence returned and wrapped us all up in the blanket.

I don't know if I've spoken about it often but in these moments before action while we are waiting for the next thing to happen are frustrating more than scary. Nervous energy spreads through me, my arms and my legs jittering in an effort to keep moving, to do something, anything at all that might be of use.

This time though it was …. Instead I didn't want to do anything. I didn't want to think, I didn't want to stir instead I felt as though this moment was peaceful and that it might not be peaceful again. That we would look back on this moment and wish that we could come back here before anything had happened.

Kerrass reacted first, of course he did. With his heightened hearing he would have heard her coming down the stairs. He straightened up, waking from the drowsiness that seemed to have affected us all and looked at the door just a second or two before it opened to admit the tiny red-haired medic.

Shani, what can I say about Shani that you don't already know?

OK, well lets start with this. Anyone who only knows her from the Tales of the Bard I have to tell you that you run a serious danger of not getting the whole story. Or rather you run the danger of grabbing only a small part of the story and to her, not a very important part of the story either.

Shani is possibly the most complex, mature, chaste, worldly, naïve, romantic, cynical, intelligent and moral person that I know.

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Yes, I realise that there are some contradictions in that sentence.

Shani is one of those people that when you are not in her immediate presence you find that you remember her different than she actually is.

Shani is quite short. I wouldn't dare try to measure her from head to toe but she is certainly shorter than me. I think that she was meant to be quite slight and delicate as well but unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your point of view) she has a not inconsiderable amount of muscle tone from her years serving in the Redanian military. She keeps her startlingly red hair cut short as she claims that it stays out of her eyes better but I'm not convinced of this truth but I am not satisfied with any answer that I have ever come up with.

I should also say that the reason I can talk about Shani in this amount of detail is that I was a student at Oxenfurt university and that she has her medical practice in Oxenfurt. It's also as a result of a certain amount of.... research on my part as I will not deny that I had a huge crush on Dr Shani from almost the first moment that I met her.

To all of the people who live and work at the university Shani has been Daughter, Sister and Mother. She is fiercely intelligent and I think it's an amazing shame that she is not a fully accredited Doctor of the University.

She's... I have seen Shani drink two dwarves under the table. But I've also seen her blush at a relatively small lewd jest.

She is a complicated woman.

I once saw her rebuff the unwanted advances of some kind of mercenary until he got physical in a way that she wasn't comfortable with. Her hand moved in three sharp jerks and then he was on the floor cradling a broken arm and with blood running from the cut on his head. Then she crouched next to him, set his arm, splinted it, cleaned up his head injury and all but carried the man off so that she could “properly have a look at him.” She did all of this without help from anyone else. Nor did any of us that were there think that she needed that help.

Shani is one of those hero's that you don't read about in the saga's. From the works of the Bard you will know that she served on the field at the miracle of Brenna. You may not know that when an outbreak of plague was declared in Temeria she was one of the few, and by few I mean handful, of people who marched towards the place where the plague had broken out.

The plague that makes most of us, including me, piss ourselves with terror and check our armpits frantically for the black swellings that signal it's onset whenever we sneeze. That plague and Shani walked towards it. Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

I like Shani, now that I feel that I have grown up a bit and moved on, (Not to mention the attentions of a certain terrifying Vampire,) I can look at Shani in a different light.

Shani is also lonely. A lonely, helplessly romantic and cynical patriotic woman. One day some Shining knight is going to sweep her off her feet. Once upon a time I had hoped that it might be me. Instead I hope that that person will come soon and make her smile.

And yes Shani, when you read this I will come to your wedding and laugh at the funny faces you make when you get drunk.

I may even dance.

That night though she was deathly tired, pale and with large rings under her eyes.

She came in through the door, looked around and very carefully walked over to the drinks cabinet where she, equally as carefully poured herself a large brandy.

Father would have been incensed as she gulped it down and made a face at the taste. Then she poured another one.

None of the rest of us had moved. We were watching her as though she was some kind of axe waiting to fall onto our heads.

Kerrass had stood though.

Shani brought the second drink to the group and fell, rather than sat down, into a plump armchair and closed her eyes.

After a long moment Kerrass cleared his throat.

She snapped awake and was back to being Dr Shani again.

“Yes,” she said rubbing her eyes, “I'm awake, what?” She blinked blearily at Kerrass. “Oh, right. Yes, well. Definitely is the answer. I have already recommended to her Ladyship that the Von Coulthards change their family physician.”

“Incompetence or something else?” Kerrass asked.

Shani took a small sip as she considered before shaking her head. “No, definitely incompetence, or ignorance and laziness which is more likely. The long and short of it was that they simply didn't look for it.”

Kerrass nodded.

“What do you mean?” I asked having the strong feeling that I was only hearing half the story.

Shani jumped as though she was seeing me for the first time.

“Of course you're here, how stupid of me to think that you wouldn't be.” She sighed and visibly fought off the urge to rest her head on the back of the chair. “In all accidents of this nature the main concern is whether or not something has been punctured by any kind of broken bones. Not just the lungs although that is one of the main killers meaning that blood can go into the lungs and drown the patient, but also liver, kidney's or any of the other exciting bags of poison that we all carry around in our guts.”

Sam was looking confused and Shani noticed.

“You would be amazed at the amount of poisonous shite is in the water that you're drinking Sir knight. Let's just say that there is a reason that we add wine to water before it gets drunk.”

Sam's eyes goggled as Shani got up again and added some water to her glass. Only a little though I noticed.

“That had happened with the Baron and there was not a great deal of things that had been done to the injury by your physicians to eke out their fee but there was absolutely no reason why a healthy individual would not have survived that injury without disaster.”

She sat back down and answered Emma's and Sam's unspoken questions without really thinking about it. Another of Shani's problems is that she would be much more famous if she actually stayed at the university and lectured rather than running off around the country wherever the armed forces sent her. Otherwise she is a good teacher and is used to talking to Laymen and women. If you ever get the chance to hear her speak at the university, even if it's just a seminar rather than a lecture then I would recommend it.

“Those disasters are most commonly an allergic reaction to whatever herb is used in the bindings, a foreign body such as clothing dirt or twig trapped inside the open wound if there is one or the patient not doing what they're damn well told and getting up and running around the place before they are ready. Also medical incompetence cannot be discounted in these matters.”

She sighed and this time did rest her head back and close her eyes.

“These problems cause something called “infection”. You can tell that infection is happening because the injured area can turn black, or one of many wonderful shades of green. It swells, smells bad and any open injury leads to pus, a clear or more often creamy discharge that... well... Lets just say it's not pleasant.”

Emma nodded gratefully. As did Sam, and the maid I noticed.

Interesting. I would have thought that Sam knew about these things.

“In the event of injury it is more often these things that are responsible for a persons death as this infection causes the nearby organs to shut down or stop working properly. That infection moves to the heart, or the brain or something else equally as unpleasant and then the body just throws it's hands up and surrenders.”

Shani leant forward suddenly.

“Your Surgeons and Physicians know this. As soon as they saw it they prescribed a treatment that would combat the infection. This was correct. What they didn't do was check to see if there was anything else causing the infection symptoms?”

She stood up then and started to pace.

“There are also substances that can be introduced to a person that can increase the rate of infection. They can be introduced in varying doses to accelerate that infection, decrease it's progress or even balance it with the other treatments so that the patient seems to stay in limbo for too long. Your physicians didn't think to look for them. I did and I found the presence of some of those chemical agents.”

The ripple of that went through us all visibly.

“Is there anything you can do?” Emma asked timidly.

Shani locked eyes with her. She didn't believe in the thing about sugaring the medicine.

“No, he will see tomorrow but he will not see tomorrow night. The best I can do is make him comfortable with some proper pain management.” The word “proper” was slightly emphasised. “Speaking of which I should get back to my patient.”

She got up to leave, just as Sam was getting to his feet.

“Why should we take your word for it? I've known Dr Gannomack my entire life. He helped deliver my baby sister.”

I started to speak, to defend my friend. But she pinned me back to the chair with a glare. She hates being defended.

“Tell me, Sir Samuel is it?”

Sam nodded.

“Do you know what Suckrose and Aakwa is and what it's used to treat?”

“No,”

“Neither does Dr Gannomack. I have no doubt that Dr Gannomack was a very good Doctor about ten years ago but medical science is moving on at a rate that is astonishing. I've been a fully qualified Doctor now for five years and was serving my apprenticeships in surgery, herbalism and trauma before that. I have been studying medicine for about fourteen years now. I still attend more lectures than I give as new things are being discovered and tried every day. Many fail but some succeed and produce astonishing results that save lives. I continue to work hard at my job whereas Dr Gannomack believes that he knows everything that he ever needs to know.”

She shrunk then and subsided.

“In the meantime I am tired and don't have the energy to put your opinions right. I was up at dawn this morning to help with a case of dysentery up at the university and then I've come here at the request of a friend which was not a short or easy journey pulling another horse that carried what I need. Your brother knows me and my expertise, as does Kerrass and I presented my findings to your Mother who saw my prognosis and agrees with it. I suggest you take it up with them.”

She turned to go.

“What is Suckrose and Aakwa?” I asked. I knew she wanted to explain and I was indeed rewarded with a smile as she turned.

“Crystallised honey shaped into a pill and water. It's called a placebo. You give it to people who feel ill but there's nothing wrong with them and they feel better but it physically does nothing. No-one knows why. Go figure”

Her smile was tired though as she walked back through the door.

Kerrass went after her and could be heard speaking to her in the hall for a couple of moments before he came back in.

“Is she any good?” It was Sam's question.

Kerrass looked up. “What?”

“Is she competent? Can we trust her?”

“Oh yes. Dr Shani is one of the best as I'm sure Frederick will agree.”

“Flame,” Sam got up and poured himself a stiff drink. If nothing else happened it meant that we were all doing some serious damage to our families collection of alcohol. “Don't take this the wrong way Freddie but I'm really beginning to wish that you had just left well enough alone,”

“What and let a murderer get away with it?” I retorted.

“I still want to know,” Emma asked quickly jumping in before the whole argument started up again. Her maid was clearing up the card game, clearly having given it all up as a bad idea.

“Know what?”

“Why did you even look in the first place? Why did you think that Father had been murdered?”

Kerrass smiled, a little sadly I thought.

“You'll be disappointed I'm afraid. People generally are when you point out this kind of thing. It's like a

magic trick.”

“Never the less I...”

“I wasn't trying to get out of it.” Kerrass sighed and rubbed at his temples before accepting the offered drink from Sam. “I'm afraid it seemed fairly obvious to me that this entire thing started with your Father's death. Without wishing to speak ill of the dead your brother Edmund was not a nice person.”

“That's putting it mildly,” Emma commented. Sam glared.

“So the question is no longer “why would someone kill him?” It instead becomes “Why now?” or Why hasn't it happened before?”

Kerrass took a long drink.

“Having spoken to all of you about the events around the day of the murder there is nothing out of the ordinary, no thefts or supplies missing that aren't taken into account as part of the normal run of the mill things. Nor has anything more exciting than a round of cheese been taken from the kitchens.

“Your brother was murdered by a simple Kitchen knife. Kitchen knives go missing all the time. Your cook insists on clean and well sharpened knives being on hand at all times. In fact your mother has even had cause to complain to the cook about the number of knives that have been used up due to over-sharpening. So everyone knows that they are there and as such, if they need a sharp knife then they take one from the Kitchen.”

Kerrass shrugged.

“In a murder investigation, regardless of whether it's in this case or whether it's in the case of something supernatural happening you need to look for a murder weapon. As such we can identify that such a weapon would not be hard to find, or hide. Simply clean it thoroughly and leave it where you found it. Even if we found which knife it was, that wouldn't help us.”

“So then you look for capability. Who could actually do this deed? Your brother was sat at a chair and leaning back, probably with his hands clasped behind his head and his feet up on the desk. Like this.”

Kerrass demonstrated in one of the smaller chairs that were around the room.

“He would have been looking up at his assailant like this meaning that his throat would be exposed to the killer. The killer then approached, your brother didn't react suggesting that he knew the killer and he was stabbed, probably with some force. So first of all who could approach your brother without causing him upset or distress?

“The answer is, anyone. Your brother's character was remarkable in the amount of arrogance that he displayed.

“A sharp knife will make the blow easier so all that is left is knowing where to stab.

“I did spend a bit of time looking around to see if there were any signs of someone practising. A dressing dummy had gone missing from the Seamstresses quarters but again, I understand that this is a relatively common occurrence and not to be remarked upon. Also there are regular training dummies in the yard for someone to practice on or to be used as a pattern for making a similar dummy. That discounts anyone who already knows where to stab to kill someone.

“So what that leaves us with is the question of why. Why would someone kill Brother Edmund in the hope that the answer will lead us to the killer. Well, as we've said, there are plenty of reasons for someone to kill brother Edmund so the question becomes “Why now?”

“The answer is obviously “Because of your Father's accident,”. Running through the various scenarios as to why someone should kill your brother. A wronged person be they, husband, brother, son, or indeed victim of his lusts,”

My sister stiffened. I'm sure I wasn't the only person who noticed the concern in her maids eyes.

“In which case the question was, why now? I checked. Your brother has been on remarkably good behaviour for the last six months. Meaning that the motive and the Method don't measure up.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

“A crime of vengeance is a crime of passion, of opportunity and often of considerable violence and unpleasantness. One, simple and precise stab wound? In the middle of a well guarded castle? Why not on the road to Oxenfurt where he keeps rooms, or in Oxenfurt itself which, although it's no Novigrad or Vizima, still has it's own underbelly? This was not a crime of passion it was a crime of... necessity is my reading of it or maybe the work of a professional but we're not finished there.”

Kerrass topped up his drink.

“There is some room to think that he was taken in by those who he might be in debt to but I don't think that argument holds water given what we know at the moment. He was about to inherit one of the largest inheritances known on the continent. Any creditor, or blackmailer for that matter, would be rolling in potential wealth when Edmund comes into his own. So there must be something else. The answer? Your Fathers death.

“Why would your Fathers death trigger the death of his older son?

“I don't know, yet but there are several possibilities. The most obvious one would be that Edmund was about to inherit. Someone wanted to stop that.

“Even so that means that your Fathers accident was the triggering point. It was that moment that caused your Brothers death. It was made even more suspicious when I learned that it was a riding accident. I knew that your father was a well practised rider and yes I know that even the best rider in the world can fall off at any given time. But, when you couple that with the fact that your stable-master has also left suddenly?

“That looked suspicious.

“So I went to have a look at where the accident happened. There was nothing there that would spook a horse into throwing it's rider. Therefore it was something wrong with the horse. You know the rest.”

“Why would someone kill Father and then Edmund?” Sam asked.

Something clicked in the back of my head and I groaned.

“It's not the same person.” I said.

“What?”

“Think about it. I said.” Father's murder was well thought out. It was planned and implemented over time.

The only reason anyone looked into it being anything other than an accident is because Edmund died. Edmund's death was a sudden, maybe even spur of the moment thing.”

“I doubt that,” Kerrass interrupted. “I think someone decided to kill Edmund and then acted on it. But this is what I think was that chain of events. Someone planned and carefully went about killing off your Father. When that was achieved your Fathers killer realised that the Stable-master knew, saw or suspected something, hunted them down and killed them. That was their part of it done and I agree with Freddie that this was one person. They wanted to install Edmund as Lord of the Manor giving him access to the money, trade and therefore power that comes with the name of Baron von Coulthard. That is what that aim was. Then someone else, working against the first party realised that the weak link in the chain is Edmund and killed him, either for their own reasons or to counter your Father's murderer.”

“So why kill Father in the first place?” Emma asked. “Edmund was still going to inherit eventually.”

“Precisely. Why now? Again I don't know but I can guess. I think your Father changed his will. Or, I think your Father found something out and he was being silenced. I'm hoping to know more when I meet your Notary and accountant tomorrow.”

Emma nodded, finished her drink. “In which case, Gentlemen?”

We stood and she left, followed quickly by her maid.

“I think I'll head to bed myself,” Sam said, clapping me on the shoulder with a tired looking smile. “From the sound of things it's going to be a long day tomorrow.”

I nodded back to him and he left leaving Kerrass and I alone in the room. He was staring into the fire as though he could see things dancing in the flames.

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

Kerrass sighed again before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Now? We do nothing. Shani is of the opinion that your Father will not make it through the day tomorrow so I would suggest that you get some rest. I've never stood a family death vigil before but I would guess that there will be too many emotions. Before you ask, no, you cannot help me. The things that I want to be told and want to be shown tomorrow will not be given in your presence, nor should they.”

“But,”

“Dammit Freddie...”

Kerrass shook his head in what I thought was exasperation.

“I'm not going to stand here and tell you that I know how you feel. I don't. My blood relatives are long gone and I didn't know them well enough to care. My brothers die. Every year I hear about another Witcher who dodged left when he should have dodged right or was told incorrect information about a monster and so prepared for the wrong thing. So no, I don't know how it feels. What I do know is the feeling of longing for something to do to distract you from everything else that is happening. I know that feeling all to well.”

He put his hand on my shoulder.

“Go to bed, get some sleep.” He gestured towards the brandy. “Take something to help you if you like but tomorrow you need to spend it with your family. They need you and although you might not know it yourself or even want to acknowledge it. You need it too. You will regret it for the rest of your life if you don't...make your peace.”

“How do I make my peace if he won't talk to me.”

Kerrass blew out his breath.

“I don't have the answer to that as well you know it. So don't get on your high horse, or look for an excuse to get angry at me.”

I nodded. He was right and I turned to pour myself another drink. By the time I had turned back, Kerrass had quietly made his exit.

Since I started my travels with the Witcher I have spent longer nights without sleep, waiting for the dawn. The night before the journey into the woods at Ambers crossing is a good example. Indeed, if I'm honest with myself I have spent longer nights not being able to sleep before important exams during the long years of my education.

But this one was no picnic.

With a certain sense of victory I managed to drift off to sleep somewhere around midnight but I was awake a few hours later. I remember waking up and looking out of my window to see the eastern sky turning a slightly lighter shade of blue and thinking to myself,

“Well then, this is it. The world changes today.”

I went down to the bath house and gave myself a thorough cleaning before returning to my rooms to arm myself for the day. I have watched and helped knights, soldiers and Witchers prepare before a fight and a certain hysterical flutter at the back of my throat made me laugh at myself as I prepared for the day. I was not in mourning yet but it would not do to be too gaudy or decorated. I laid out my clothes, inspected them carefully for wear, tear and dirt before putting them on piece by piece.

Shirt followed by trews, vest, boots and so on and on. Settling each one and examining myself before a mirror before moving onto the next one.

Despite my expert level procrastination The sky was only just beginning to turn towards Orange by the time I was done.

Breakfast was next.

It was still early, even for the castle kitchen but despite that there was a feeling in the air today, servants and bondsmen were already up and about, going about their business and I was able to eat a quiet breakfast in the corner, guarded by one of the cooks assistants who turned well wishers away with the threat of a beating with a ladle. No set of crown jewels was ever guarded so well.

I ate, making sure to eat every last morsel before I stood up and walked slowly upstairs towards my Fathers Deathbed.

There were no guards. There didn't need to be and as quietly as I could I let myself in and shut the door behind me.

It had not changed really from the last time I had described it.

Mark was kneeling at his prayer book stand and was mumbling to himself. From a quick listen he was reciting one of the psalms, one of the more cheery ones about what it's like to cast off this mortal shell and how, although the body itself will turn to dust, the soul will fly, loosed of it's bonds and rise towards the light.

He looked up at my arrival and nodded a greeting to me. Our brief enmity forgotten in the wake of what was going to happen. He was wearing his plain red cassock and his holy symbol was in his hands. I put my hand on his shoulder and he covered mine with his for a moment before he shuffled sideways a bit to make room on his kneeling mat. After a brief moments thought I shrugged.

Why the hell not?

I knelt down and started to recite the familiar verses. They were a comfort after all.

The other difference was that Shani was asleep on a small cot over in the corner. Still dressed she was covered in a blanket and was snoring gently. She looked so tired that a flash of tenderness towards the small Doctor flashed over me. I was glad it was her who had come to care for my father on his deathbed. She would look after him at the end.

Mother came in a short while later. It turned out that Shani had summarily ordered Mother off to get some rest and had already arranged that the drink that was brought would be laced with something to help her sleep so now, Mother looked as though she wanted to be angry but found that she couldn't really argue that what had happened wasn't done for her own good.

I stood to make room for her on the cushion and moved to a chair near the bed and examined the dying man on the bed as Mother's voice joined Mark's.

When I had first returned home after my sisters message I had thought that Father had looked close to death then. But I had been wrong. He still had a long way to go regarding that.

This was not a man that lay before me. This was a corpse.

A corpse who by some miracle or some curse was still breathing.

He just lay there, flat on his back with his arms out of the covers next to him. His eyes were closed but we could all tell that he was still alive because we could hear his breath rasping in his throat.

A fire started in my gut then.

It looked so neat and orderly. As though he had been arranged to look as perfect as he could when he died.

Just so that people would be able to say that “It was beautiful,” and “He died so peacefully.”

There was nothing peaceful about this. This was robbery as a poison, a disease and an injury were taking my father from me.

He looked so old. That was the thought that kept coming back to me. When had my father gotten so old? He looked ancient. Pale, blotchy skin stretched over a skeleton which, although it looked tiny to me then, looked as though it was to big for the amount of skin it had been given to cover itself.

I found that I could no longer look at him and I let my head sink until I was staring at my boots.

Sam came in next. He was dressed in his Barony uniform. Someone must have spent an age pressing that thing for him and for the first time I seemed to remember that he was a knight and wondered who his squire was. More than that, why hadn't I thought of that before. He came in, looked around the room before choosing his post next to the door. Then he placed his helm on his head and drew his sword before placing the point on the ground and resting his hands on the pommel. I had seen this before as men stood the death watch for fallen comrades on the field of battle. I thought it a little inappropriate at the moment but if this was his way of coping with what was going to happen then who was I to argue.

Emma was last. She looked tired and pulled up a chair sitting next to me at the bed side.

It was a long day.

I hope you will forgive me if I don't talk about that day very much. I suspect it wouldn't be very interesting to anyone and the other thing is that it was quite a private affair. Anyone who's had to do something similar will know what I mean. Standing or sitting there is a constant struggle between wanting to be somewhere else, thinking up reasons to be somewhere else and then thinking up reasons to stay. The man on the bed didn't care whether we were there or not as he was so delirious from the infection that was killing him along with the amount of potions and herbs that were stuffed into and down every orifice that he was probably existing on another level of consciousness as it was.

If father had been awake then it might have been a different story and I would have sat there talking him into his grave and providing comfort where I could but this... This was another beast entirely. This was...maudlin and incredibly depressing. I longed for something to do, something, anything to do, shout at, help with or hit. Instead I stayed in that room. Sometimes sitting, sometimes praying and sometimes pacing backwards and forwards.

I won't talk about the small and ridiculously cheerful conversations that we shared before we realised that they were inappropriate. Nor will I talk about the small amounts of bickering that happen whenever you put together an extended number of siblings in the same room for an extended period of time. I won't tell you about the small jokes that were made and the sudden outbursts of laughter, or that period where Emma started to weep and nothing any of us could do could stop that so gradually we all joined in, sitting there, or kneeling there and the tears flowed freely.

Before they dried up and left us feeling numb.

I won't detail the debate that I struck up with brother Mark, all of our previous enmity over the investigation forgotten as we stood the vigil, about the prophet Lebioda and the location of their final resting place.

Nor will I mention the desultory lunch that we shared. Small pastries and sandwiches that had been put together by a Kitchen that was clearly as on edge as we were.

What I will talk about is the curious sense of pride I had in the old man.

He didn't go easily.

He fought it every step of the way.

His constant wheezing breath became a battle. As we all arrived it was an accompaniment to what was happening, slow and relatively steady despite being a bit ragged on occasion.

But slowly, so slowly that we barely noticed, it began to lessen, becoming more ragged. Then every so often he would miss a breath. We would look up, exchange glances, conversations would stop, we would all look up at Fathers bed, then over to the small medic who would shake her head and then the breathing would start again.

I judge that it was around three hours after noon when something changed in that breathing. I don't know what it was and I would imagine that you couldn't either. But Shani knew. She was playing a strange variant of patience with a set of Gwent cards that I didn't recognise and her head shot up to look at her patient. She cocked her head on one side and listened for a moment before declaring “Not long now,” and returning to her game. I can only imagine that it was an instinct that was bred out of long hours sitting next to the beds of dying men and women but she knew.

Then we listened. We all returned to the bed side, kneeling and sitting. Mark started to pray audibly as we listened to those last few breaths. But still Dad fought it every step of the way.

Breath,

Breath,

Emma was crying again, silently this time as she watched the blankets covering fathers chest rise and fall.

Breath,

I could feel dampness on my own face and could no longer look at the other people in the room.

Breath,

Breath,

Then he gasped, Shani was there, the only sound was Marks mumbling prayers

Breath,

Breath,

Then he sighed. A long drawn out sound. I had heard it before, as had Shani, Sam and Mark too I think. But mother and Emma looked at Shani.

Shani held the mirror over Fathers nose and mouth and examined it before shaking her head.

We all sighed a gradual expulsion of tension.

It was Sam that broke the tableau moving to raise the sheet to cover Fathers face but Shani stopped him,

“Not yet,” she whispered. “He isn't ready.”

We waited a little longer watching as the already pale man started to pale even further.

Shani shivered and I saw a similar quiver go through us all and in the end it was Shani who pulled the sheet up and over to cover his face.

Sam stood first, furiously brushing tears from his face and left quickly. With a gentleness that surprised me, Mark led Mother away soon after that. Shani had already vanished without me noticing leaving Emma and I together in a room with our Fathers corpse.

I don't know how long we stayed there together, sitting and staring at the corpse without speaking.

“Are you Ok?” She asked after a long while, I don't know how long.

I took a long breath and considered.

“No,” I said after a long while. “No I'm not.”

I stood up and stalked to the window where I threw aside the drapes to let what remained of the day in.

“I'm angry,” I said. “I'm furious, I'm so fucking... Flame but I want to smash something.”

The fire in my belly that had started earlier in the day had grown, slowly at first and entirely without my noticing but it had grown to the point where it was leaking out. The same way that fire gradually escapes from the charcoal burners mounds to lick up and consume the hillock.

“I'm raging, I'm, I'm burning up. I want to scream and shout. I want to yell at him. At you, at mother, at Mark, at Sam and especially I want to yell at my sweet ass fucking self. Selfish Cunt that I am.”

To my shame I spun and started screaming at my father's corpse.

“Are you happy now you bastard? Are you happy now? You're dead you piece of filth. Are you happy? Flame of heaven you couldn't even do it now could you? You couldn't find a way to tell me that you were proud of me. That you loved me.”

“Freddie?”

“Flame,” I turned away. “I know that he did. I know that he was even.” I yelled at him again. “I knew it, I saw through you you withered up old wreck. Couldn't even stay on your own fucking horse when someone was trying to... Flame damn it but they were trying to kill you and you fell for it.”

The sobbing came then and I didn't try to hold it back.

Emma just stood there.

“I knew it but he never told me. Not once you know that? He never told me he was proud of me. It was always you, or mother or some servant. All I could ever see was the disappointment when I got clouted in the practice yard by Sammy's sword. All I could ever see was how much he praised him and not me. All I could here was him telling me how utterly stupid it was to try and be scholar.”

“Who ever heard of a man of learning?” I mimicked fathers voice. “No man ever attracted a bride with a quill and ink-spattered robes.”

“Freddie?”

“You know it too. You heard it all the time and I came running to your...Flame damn you to hell old man. Flame damn you and here you are, lying there all nice and wrapped up in your fucking blankets and it's me. Me and the friends that I made.....”

“Freddie?” Emma put her hand on my shoulder and I flinched away from her at first. “I miss him too Freddie.”

Slowly, as though she was coaxing some wild animal to her hand, she wrapped her arms around me

“Flame, I'm sorry,” I managed as I sobbed into her shoulder.

We stayed there for a while sobbing quietly together.

When we did pull apart we examined each other.

“I've got make-up on your shirt,” she said.

“Well that's alright. I've got snot on your dress.”

She laughed and I laughed with her.

“He did love you you know.”

I sighed. “I know. I've always known but Flame curse me I wanted him to tell me that himself.”

“He just didn't understand you.”

“I know that too. Made even worse that I never understood him either and I really tried.

I found a cloth and blew my nose loudly.

“You ready?” she asked and I nodded.

We left together, I held the door open for her to find Kerrass waiting outside. He had a chair and had found a small table that had some papers on it and he stood to greet us.

“Allow me to offer my condolences,” he said formally.

“Thank you, Now it's just a matter of doing the proper mourning period and getting him interred along with Edmund.” My sister said formally. “Speaking of which, have you heard anything?”

“I have,” said Kerrass, his eyes gleaming which normally means that someone's about to get murdered.

“Your lawyer has told me some very interesting things and has given me written permission to look into some other things which includes, but is not limited to, your brothers quarters in Oxenfurt as well as his vault. A place where I have not yet been able to go. So tomorrow I go to Oxenfurt to yell at people, find things out and maybe, just maybe, bust some heads.”

He turned to me,

“You wanna come?”

“Oh yes,”