Chapter 51: Culmination of all human desire

“You are a godless, deviant, mutant freak. A veritable crime against nature. Who are you to decide what is right and what is wrong? Who are you to sit in judgement over me? You want to know my reasons? We know what your reasons were. You were paid. So what elevates you above me. Why are you right and I am wrong?”

“Even if all that was true. I have the same answer a soldier does. I was paid. But then, knowing that, I have come to make it right.”

“Heh. You were paid. So was I.”

“Yes you were. But you are a priest. You are supposed to be better than the rest of us. We went there in ignorance of what was waiting for us but you... you had a choice. You cannot tell me that it was right and according to the teachings of the holy sun. That deity that you are so quick to worship. I know for a fact that marriage is supposed to be a joining of two souls. Not the forcing of one on another. You must have known that it was wrong but you did it anyway.”

“And look what has happened since then. I have taken the money. Yes, taken all of that money that I was given and I have given it back to the people. The people of this land knew nothing of the Holy sun before I came here. I have saved their souls Witcher. I have gone amongst the heretics and brought the light of the sun into their lives. I have saved them. I serve them. Not some Lord. Not some...holier than I Witcher. I serve them. I serve the sun.”

“You serve yourself.” I snarled. “I saw what just happened there. That boy was not the first was he. You relish your power over them. They're neglecting their tasks. Neglecting the harvest. Even now, some people are in danger of starvation because you had them out looking for me. You are a priest. You are supposed to protect us. Guide us away from evil and into the light. Whether that's the holy sun of the south or the Sacred fire of the north. But you did the deal with the evil. You had that girl in your power. You legitimised that crime and your excuse is that you did an evil thing so that you could do better for more people?”

“I said you wouldn't understand...freak.”

“You know what? I'm glad I don't understand.”

“She was not a girl Witcher. That was the thing. She wasn't a girl she was just a thing. An object. A culmination of all human desire. Physical and spiritual. She is a toy, a plaything. You could not *** her in the same way that you could not *** a tree or a stone. People talk about the magical curse that exists on that place and around that place but it's all nonsense. Magic, yes but who would be so....arrogant who would hate so much that they would curse an entire Kingdom because of the existence of one beautiful girl. That entire place was an example of the evils of magic. I bet that if you look into it you would find that she... that it was the result of some Mage's experimentation. That a mage decided that he wanted a perfect girl, a perfect thing to slake their unnatural lusts on before it went wrong. The evil was already there.

“Yes, I took payment. I took payment from a stupid Prince who had fallen under the spell of a magical device. He will pay for that sin in hell. But I took his money and created a place where the holy sun is properly revered.”

I nodded. “You are just as mad as Erick was. She was no mere thing, priest. She was breathing. She had a pulse. Also, I notice that her status as a magical deviant didn't stop you from raping her or marrying that self same prince to her.”

“Alas, that I am a weak man sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” I could hear people approaching. “Even if I accepted what you say as truth. Even if I accepted that moral argument that you did nothing wrong in forcing a marriage on an unconscious girl because it wasn't a girl at all. You had a young boy in your power in this very barn. A young man. You drew him in. You... you seduced him and then took your pleasure from him. He wasn't a thing, a toy for you to slake your thirsts on.”

“I was his spiritual guide...”

“If you were doing nothing wrong then why did you meet him in secret?”

“He asked me to. He told me to keep it secret.”

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“That's all well and good on his end. But what about your guards. Why are they not protecting you. You came out here, in the evening when you were aware that I was around and you did your....whatever that was supposed to be without guards. What's your excuse?”

Alphonse had no answer.

There was shouting now and I stood up and went to meet the approaching men. I took up my sword and held it out by the blade in an effort to show that I meant no harm.

The farmer appeared to have brought a good number of the various farm hands that were staying in his stables and in various parts of the farm itself and were carrying an assortment of weapons that would have been laughable on a battlefield but when you're facing them by yourself in a circle of firelight, they look wicked, sharp and unpleasant. They were carrying torches, because of course they were carrying torches.

The farmer stepped forward. His son beside him and seeing me he sighed and scratched his head.

“A Witcher then.” he called to me.

“Just so,” I answered still holding my sword upside down.

“Not a demon?”

“Not as far as I know.”

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“Don't listen to him father. He's a demon. He attacked Father Alphonse.”

“Quiet boy.” The father spoke without anger or inflection. I gathered that it was an often used phrase even though the boy was no longer really a child. “Is that true then Witcher? Did you attack Father Alphonse?”

“Oh yes.” I carefully put my sword away doing my best to appear nonchalant. “I punched him good and hard in the gut. I enjoyed it too.”

I saw a couple of people in the crowd hiding smirks behind their hands and decided that I was out of immediate danger. I have found that a mob is most likely to attack in the opening seconds of a confrontation. Anything after that and their blood starts to cool and they start to think along the lines of “someone's going to get hurt if we all rush that man and I don't want it to be me so I'm just going to hang back over here, well out of the way.

“May I ask why?” the farmer asked carefully. I gathered that he had also begun to sense the changing mood of his companions.

“Why are you talking to him Dad? He's evil.”

“Quiet boy.”

“Dad?”

The farmer gave me a look that seemed to communicate Paternal exasperation. “Franklin?”

“Yes Dad?” Another, older lad stepped from the crowd. He was carrying a scythe over his shoulder and was hugely muscled.

“Hold onto your brother for me would you? Just while I talk to the Witcher here.”

“Yes dad.” Franklin stepped forward and grabbed the younger boy by the scruff of the neck and hauled him back into the crowd.

“Take him back to the farm house while I deal with this.”

“Yes Dad.”

“But Dad?”

The sound of brotherly love gradually faded into the night.

“His mother will be worrying.” The farmer said to me.

“I understand.”

“They call me Farmer Mott.”

“Kerrass of Maecht.”

“So, my own personal feelings about the man not withstanding but Father Alphonse is an important man in these parts. So why did you attack him?”

“Did your son tell you what was happening in the barn?”

“He did. He said that he had come out here to pray with the Father.”

“That's what he did. Father Alphonse had a different idea.”

“I see.” I could see the farmer fighting to keep his cool. “I take it you have proof of this. Not that I disbelieve you but he's a priest and you're...well...”

“A dirty mutant freak?”

“I couldn't have put it better myself.”

“I dare say that if you look up the front of his cassock you will see what I mean.”

“Are you trying to be funny Witcher?”

“Not in the least. I found it rather...He didn't touch your son. He wanted to but in the end it was too much. He...”

“I see. Watch him lads. I'm going to talk with the good Father.”

He walked past me and I waited. There were some words exchanged and some ripping cloth sounds.

The farmer walked back out. He was pale.

“You uh...” he took out a piece of cloth and mopped his brow. “You couldn't have stopped it sooner?”

“I will admit that I could have. But I thought that I might hurt your son in some way.”

“My son was lost to me a while ago. My own fault too, trying to get him some learning. Seeing if he could get a better life for himself. But where do you send a lad like that when he's clearly twice as clever as you are and bored with everything you show him.”

“I can't pretend to understand what you're going through sir.”

“Don't call me “sir” Witcher. I work for my living.”

I let myself grin. This wasn't the time to be the stoic Witcher.

“You weren't to know.” I told him. “You were trying to do right by your son. It's just that in this case, your local priest was a piece of scum who thinks of people as objects to use for his own pleasure.

The farmer nodded.

“Thank you for your kind words Witcher but I should have stepped in sooner. You had prior business with the priest?”

“I did.”

“What was it?”

“He was party to a ***. A **** of someone I care about.”

The farmer's eyes flashed. “Then I suspect you share my views.”

“I might.” I answered. “He must never be allowed to...prey on anyone again.”

The farmer nodded. “My son will never forgive me.”

“Then blame me.”

“No. I think that my son would never forgive me, whatever happens.” He took another breath. “I agree with you Witcher. Kill him quickly, then we'll burn the place down. Nothing will be said. Meet us at the farm house. The least I can do is feed you and send you on your way with a good breakfast.”

I nodded and strode back into the barn.

Alphonse sat there, back to the beam. His cassock had been torn up to his naval and the inner parts of his robe were indeed wet and glistening. He looked pitiful.

“I never touched the boy Witcher. I never touched him.” He blubbered at me. He had obviously been crying for some time. Tears and snot streaking his face.

“I know Al. I know.” My hate had been leached away from me and all I felt now was a kind of pity. Pity and shame. “I will kill you quickly Al, a better woman than us both insisted on it. If it exists, your God can judge you.”

I drove my dagger through his eye socket and into his brain. As far as I could tell, he died instantly.

The farm hands were already stacking straw and fire wood around the barn and dousing it with oil as I walked out. I was on the way to collect my horse when there was a kind of Woomph noise and the night's sky glowed orange with flame.

I spent the night with the Farmer drinking scrumpy. A liquid which made my eyes water despite his seeming ability to drink the stuff by the pint. His wife was upstairs in tears with a couple of his daughters. The place was in an uproar. The young boy who was the cause of the entire problem had been locked inside a store-room for fear that he might do something to hurt himself as he had tried to grab a Kitchen knife and attack his elder brother. The elder brother seeming, and I say this without meaning insult, to lack the imagination and intelligence necessary to worry about such matters had taken the knife away without comment and thrown the boy into the store-room. In the morning I was fed and was getting ready to go while also listening to the family try to talk some sense into the boy.

They were unsuccessful.

He was calling them all demons and the spawn of the devil. The fact that I had eaten in their kitchen that morning didn't seem to be helping anyone at all and I was in the process of making myself scarce when the farmer came out to say goodbye.

He was obviously upset.

“I just don't know what to do with him Witcher. That Alphonse has got his claws into him good and proper and, well his mother's beside himself. He's calling us all demons and such like and...well, I tug me forelock towards the sun in the morning as much as the next man but he's taken it to an extreme.”

I remember looking away for a moment. I wanted to be back on the road so badly that I could taste it. I had just murdered a priest and although the locals seemed relatively OK with that I was a bit disconcerted by the fact that I seemed to be treated like an honoured guest.

“Here's a thought.” I suggested. “I'm on my way to a monastery now. Small place about two days ride away. The Father Abbot is supposed to be a good man and a man of the world. How about I take the lad with me. He won't enjoy himself and there's a real possibility that he won't come back and end up staying. He also won't enjoy the journey as I'm pretty sure that he will try to escape me or kill me and will have to take precautions that he will not enjoy, but...”

“Would you do that Witcher?”

I remember distinctly wondering who had suggested such a blatantly stupid idea.

“Least I could do.”

I was delayed another few hours while a mule was found and the boys mother insisted on packing the lads clothes.

Of course it went wrong. How could it not?

In the end the farmer had to physically hold his wife back while I tied the boy to his mule. He was lucky that I kept him in a sitting position. I also had to gag him to keep from being bitten. I waved farewell and we trotted off down the road.

Longest three days of my life. There have been some close ones but those three days were something else entirely.

A two day ride turned into three days of hell. The boy, whose name turned out to be Jack, screamed and shouted. Pleaded and scolded. He tried to escape four times. Each time I promised myself that I wouldn't go after him but I had made a promise after all and I brought him back. One time I did so while holding him by the ankle.

When he wasn't gagged he would sing hymns loudly or pray, equally as loudly until eventually he passed out from exhaustion. That happened sooner than I might like as he refused to take water or food from my hand or that I had cooked.

I took to just travelling through the night as I could see and Jack was tied to his mule.

We arrived on the morning of the fourth day. I was tired, dirty and grumpy.

Jack for his part finally shut up when he saw where we were going.

“You're taking me to a church?”

“A monastery actually?”

“Why? Are they some kind of cultist monks who are summoning dark forces?”

“You know what Jack? The way you keep talking about that kind of thing, I'm beginning to think that you actually want me to hand you over to sinister cultists. Good morning.”

I said this last to a monk who came out of the buildings to take my horses bridle.

He waved cheerily, pointed to himself before placing his finger across his lips.

“Vow of silence?” I guessed.

The monk nodded happily and made a gesture which I took to mean waiting.

I hauled Jack out of his saddle and held onto him with one hand to prevent him from running off. I had learned from previous mistakes but I was probably safe. He was gawking.

An older man came out of the main building. He was stooped with a hunched back and walked with astonishing speed and the aid of a stout walking stick.

“Witcher,” he greeted me with a large and hearty shout. “It's been a while since we've had so obvious a heathen come to visit us.”

As I say, he was old, his face was misshapen and hideously ugly. He was bald but a curtain of long white hair ran around the back and sides of his head. He also wore a beard which was equally long and as snowy white. His eyes were crinkled as though he looked at the world with much amusement and he smiled often. In many ways he reminded me of your (Frederick: my) Father Jerome.

“You'll have to forgive our lack of hospitality. Most of the others are out in the fields at the moment.”

“Any hospitality at all is a welcome change.” I managed feeling a little buffeted by the sheer charisma emanating from the small wizened man.

“I am Father Abbot Radulfas.” he sketched the outline of a courtly vow.

“Kerrass of Maecht Father Abbot.”

The Abbot cackled loudly.

“You're no more from Maecht than I am a comely young maiden.” he said. “Northern Kingdoms I would say but who am I to question it. And who is this?”

I was still holding him by the scruff of the neck.

“Devil Worshipper. Demon. Filth and unholy thing.” the lad spat at the Abbot.

“I see. Your latest apprentice then Witcher? He seems well suited to the task.” The Abbott grinned. “You'd better come inside. Take your boots off though. They've got this horrible thing about bathing each others feet when you enter into the place here. Old tradition apparently, always seemed dreadfully unhygienic to me. Come on this way.”

As I say, he walked with astonishing speed and I had to scramble to keep up.

The same monk that took our horses had a basin of water, some soap and a towel. We sat and he scrubbed at our toes. The monk expertly wrangled Jack into a seated position and I fancy he could have cleaned that boys feet even if I hadn't been restraining him.

“We go barefoot here Witcher and Young master Devil.” The Abbot chatted gaily as the younger monk worked. The stone is cold at first but you soon get used to it.

“I am not the devil here.” Jack insisted. “Why do you call me Devil?”

“That's how you introduced yourself. I asked your name and you said “Devil Worshipper. Demon. Filth and unholy thing.” I think I've got that right anyway. Was that what he said?”

“I think that's what he said.” I found I was enjoying myself.

“'Unusual names,' I thought to myself but there you go. If those are your names then that is what I shall call you young master Devil. Come along.” He lead us down a corridor and into an office. There were several large and comfortable arm-chairs with rugs underfoot in front of a roaring fire. The stone walls did indeed give the place a kind of chilly atmosphere and the fire was needed. There was also a desk with a strange stool shaped thing behind it. The desk was covered with papers which looked to be correspondence of various types gathered haphazardly.

“Now then Witcher. What brings you to my neck of this ungodly country?”

“Two things actually.”

“If you are a man of God why are you talking with this demon?” Jack demanded.

“A demon?” The abbot exclaimed horrified. “A demon. You say this man is a demon?”

“I do.” Jack seemed to think he'd won a point.

The Abbot rushed up to me and peered up at me before spinning and fixing Jack with a stare. “However can you tell that by just looking at him?”

“I...”

“No, no. I must take you at your word. BEGONE FOUL CREATURE.”

The Abbot brandished the holy symbol of the sun that was hanging round his neck in my direction. Then he appeared disappointed before peering at his holy symbol again.

“Stupid thing can't be working.”

He walked over to his desk and slammed the symbol on the side of the desk a couple of times.

“Right then. Let's try that again.” He struck a pose. “BEGONE FOUL CREATURE.”

Then he glared at me. “How are you feeling Witcher?”

“A little tired. Bit hungry.”

“No sudden desire to vanish, flee or otherwise go some-place else?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Ah, Now I have it.”

The old man went over to the desk and opened a drawer pulling out an old prayerbook that was dog-eared, stained and worn with much use.

“Half a moment. I should have the correct incantation here somewhere.” He flicked through some pages.

“Ah here we go.” he started chanting various words in an old sounding archaic language. Jack's eyes went round. The Abbot peered at me again.

“Anything?”

“No.”

“Well there you have it young man. Not a demon. Just a Witcher which makes him a mutant and general worrier of decent people but... not a demon.”

“But...” his words petered out.

“But....what?”

“Father Alphonse said...”

The Abbot's face darkened for just a second before turning to kindness. “Father Alphonse was mistaken lad. It happens. For we are but mortals and only the divine light of the sun sees everything. We will talk more soon, you and I but for now, why don't we get you something to eat mmm?”

It looked as though Jack's world was falling apart. He nodded. “Brother Leroy?” The silent monk poked his head in the room. “Take this young man, get him cleaned up and something to eat would you?”

Leroy nodded his head, beckoned to Jack who followed along nicely.

The old man became fierce again after that.

“Father Alphonse. Dreadful little man that.”

“I agree.”

“I take it that the boy is one of the two things you came here about?”

“He is. He was being...seduced by Alphonse.”

The Abbot sighed. “Poor lad.”

“I was heading this way anyway and I offered to bring Jack with me to see someone of whom I had heard nothing but good things.”

The Abbot nodded.

“I remember Alphonse when he was a young priest. So full of himself. He had a vision you see. A vision of the church of the eternal sun as well as his place in that church. The rest of us had absolutely no bearing on that at all. Silly fool. You must be the yellow-eyed Demon he wrote us about.”

“Yes.”

“How did you know Alphonse?”

“I worked with him on something once.”

“That was awfully cryptic of you Witcher.”

“I apologise for that but it is necessary.”

“People who say that, often only say that things are necessary because they know that the people hearing them are going to object.”

“Possibly so. Still. The boys father found out what was happening and asked me to bring the boy here in the hopes that you would be able to untangle whatever had been done tot he boys mind. I am told he is highly intelligent.”

“Mmm.” The Abbot grunted. “Also imaginative which can be a problem. Still, we shall see what can be done of course. If we can correct a harm that one of our so-called brothers has inflicted then we shall do our utmost. When is he expected back at the farm.”

“The farmer is well aware that he might have already lost his son. He would rather the boy be lost to holy orders than be the prey of a predator however.”

“That's as maybe. Now lets turn to the other thing.”

“I am looking for a man named Gottfried.”

“Gottfried?”

“Yes. Guard Gottfried, formerly of Duke Bertrand's guards. I'm told that he came this way in an effort to seek both holy orders and to avoid the erstwhile Father Alphonse.”

“Another fan of Father Alphonse was he?”

“Similar to myself Father, similar to myself.”

“I see. So many people who thought so highly of the good father.” The Abbot seemed sad for a moment.

“Still, I can't say that the name rings a bell.”

“Tall fellow, blonde hair, slim, lithe in his movements. I'm told by his wife that he left her towards the end of last winter so that will be about five or six months ago.”

That was making a long story short.

Gottfried had returned back to normal guard life along with the other three men that the Prince had brought with him. But like Erick he had changed upon his return. Like Erick he found his duties to be... un-fulfilling but unlike Erick it wasn't a lack of morals that made the problems. It was his gaining of them. He began to take a holier than thou attitude towards everything. He would get angry at even the slightest perceived sin and fly off into a rage. When he did get home he was withdrawn and desperately unhappy.

I found his wife was still living in the home that they had built together. He had taken to sitting and staring moodily off into space. The blackness of his depression had become like a cloud that pressed down on the family as a whole. At first his wife hadn't thought anything of it. Her husband was, by all accounts a good man, a good father and fine husband. It had been remarked that although a skilled soldier, many people had thought that he housed a far too gentle soul to be a proper guard where sometimes the line between right and wrong is decided for you rather than something that you can choose for yourself.

At first, his wife had been able to break through his fog and bring him out of it in one way or another. His children too, seemed to have that skill but gradually, his depressions got worse and worse. Then one day he had lost his temper at work. Shouting at the Duke for some reason that no-one, including Gottfried, could later remember. The Duke had been as understanding as a feudal lord could be given the circumstances. Gottfried was whipped with a relatively gentle nine lashes and stripped down to private in the Duke's guard. Then he had been given leave to “sort himself out.”

He'd lived for the winter, with his wife, taking care of household chores but now that he spent his time indoors and not able to keep himself active, the depression became severe. He would often apologise for the smallest thing. The tiniest thing that didn't deserve an apology. He became very tactile with his wife, constantly wanting reassurance and comfort. She was not a stupid lady and quickly realised that something must have happened on the mission when he had been travelling with the Prince and asked him about it several times. To no avail. He kept tight-lipped and told her that he had sworn that he wouldn't talk about such things. She respected his privacy but became increasingly concerned as he started handling his knife more and more.

In the end she suggested that he seek help for it. He felt that he couldn't go the castle chaplain as the chaplain was new following the departure of Father Alphonse and as such, had not earned the trust of the other inhabitants of the castle and town. She then suggested Alphonse himself to which she was surprised at the almost violent response in the negative. Alphonse had been seen as a rather weasel like man. Weak and easily manipulated by others but at least he had been fairly even-handed in the penance's that he handed out when people went to him for confessional so she was surprised at her husband's dislike.

Then this Father Abbot's name came up. He was a good five days ride away from Duke Bertrand's guards but had a good reputation for being fair, honest and spiritual. He had a tendency to send his monks to help those in need rather than in keeping with the general fashion of the time which was to hide away in spiritual contemplation rather than for tending to the public which was one of the things that the public did not enjoy.

Gottfried sought permission to go from the Duke who gave his permission and off he went. Gottfried's wife was skilled at taking care of the children of others and was generally well thought of in the castle community, helping out where she could so she was allowed to keep her family in the same place while Gottfried got the comfort that he needed. Gottfried had a year to sort himself out or not come back. If he didn't come back inside that year then it would be assumed that he was dead or had taken holy orders and would not be coming back but he was reassured that the Duke would take care of his family if that would be the case.

The Duke seemed to take the attitude that Gottfried had been wounded on duty and was trying to take care of his man as if the injury was more physical in nature.

Gottfried packed a few things and left, seeming more free than his wife remembered having seen him in some time.

This was the monastery that I found myself in now. I had chosen him for the first guard that I would tackle as his location was further away from Duke Bertrand's castle and as such, news of his death would not cause as much fuss.

The Abbot suddenly looked very old.

“You must be talking about Brother sword.”

“Brother Sword?”

“Yes. As you say he came to us shortly after winter was over. He had a haunted look in his eyes that I found...upsetting. He was like a mirror in many ways and he had this way of looking at you that made you think that he was judging you in some way. Judging you and finding you wanting, reflecting all our own sins back on ourselves. Something that you and he have in common I think.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes Witcher. You are not the first Witcher that I have come across in my years. Your kind have a... trait that I don't think your creators had thought about when you were first thought of all that time ago. You are a sign of our own cowardice. We did not have the courage to face the beasts, monsters and.... things that live in the darkness so in our arrogance we created you. We created servants that would do those things for us. Slaves that we could abuse. Then we invent such stories as “The child of surprise” to justify the fact that we send our unwanted young children off to what we laughably call “Witcher schools” where they can be tortured and mutated into becoming killing machines. And then, when you come back and perform those tasks that we created you for, we hate you for it and resent having to pay you for the privilege of having to fulfil your unhappy purpose.”

“You say that without meaning to give offence of course.”

The Abbot grinned although he was obviously upset by the words spoken.

“Of course, my son. You were a victim just as much as the first Witchers were. Otherwise the mages who first came up with your... mutations would have been the ones to clear out the darkness themselves. Oh the arrogance that magic gives.”

“No different from the arrogance that a sword or a crown gives someone. Or a priests robes for that matter.”

“Quite right Witcher. I deserved that. Still, brother Sword came to us seeking guidance. He had the clothes on his back, his weapons and was close to starvation. Apparently he had given his food to the first beggar that he had seen and made the rest of his journey without food and drinking stream water. We fed him and asked how we could help. He asked me what he should do. I said “about what?” and he wouldn't tell me. I won't deny being frustrated with him on that subject. He was obviously distressed by something in his past and I resolved to wait until he was ready to talk to me. We called him “sword” as it seemed appropriate being one of the only things that he had on him.

“We worked him hard. He spent his time up on the roof or out with the peasants in the field but he was a morose presence. A deeply unhappy man. I suspect he was suicidal and took care that he was never left alone so that he couldn't find a way to end himself.”

“Where is he now?”

“Out in the graveyard I'm afraid. Six feet down.”

“What happened?”

“We failed.” The abbot shrugged sadly. “He saw a group of bandits one day attacking one of our villages for some food. He sent his companion back here to call for help and attacked the bandits single-handed and unarmed with inevitable results. Poor man.”

“I thought that churchmen were supposed to be against suicide.” I was surprised to find myself quite angry. My vengeance had been taken from me and I...realised how selfish I was being in that anger. Caught between anger and shame I wanted to hit things.

“Supposed. Such a big word Witcher with so many different meanings. I take it you weren't fond of Brother Sword... Brother Gottfried I should say.”

“No,” I took a deep breath to calm myself. “I will admit to not knowing him very well.”

“Interesting that despite not knowing him he was still able to generate so much hate and anger in you.”

“Interesting to you maybe.” I rose to my feet. “I should get going Father.”

“More monsters to slay?” The Abbot had a sly smile.

“As you say,”

“Can you answer the mystery of Brother Gottfried for me?”

“Probably.”

“But you are not going to.”

“No,”

“Why ever not?”

I sat back down as the question seemed to reverberate around in my skull.

“Because...” I began. “Because I am ashamed.”

“I thought I recognised it. There's a scent to it you know. Do you want to talk about it?”

“What a stupid question?” My anger flashed suddenly. “Do I want to talk about it? If I wanted to talk about it I would be talking about it wouldn't I?”

My anger washed around the old man like water round a rock in a stream.

“You would be surprised at how often that isn't the case.” He sniffed hugely. “But you are not being a Witcher at the moment are you?”

I deliberately misinterpreted what he said. “How could I not be a Witcher? I am a Witcher.”

“You are trying to lead me astray my son. You are a Witcher but “being” a Witcher is an occupation. I will not pry as you are so obviously set against discussing it with me.”

“I am. I apologise father.”

The old man waved his hand negligently. “No need to apologise my son. I am an abbot, people get cross at me all the time. I just thought you might want to talk about it.”

“I do,”

“Then why don't you... you know... talk about it.”

“Because I think you would tell me to stop.”

“Do you want me to?”

“I don't know.”

“That's a yes then. It is an interesting thing this world. We live here and we are told, so often, what is right and what is wrong. We are given codes to live by. Knightly codes, chivalric codes, feudal laws, Witcher codes, church commandments,” he looked at me with a sly grin as he said this last. “But what to do when we feel we must go against any of these things or when circumstances make following any of these rules...wrong or even worse.... force us to commit evil?”

“I do not know the answer to that?”

“Neither do I my son. Neither do I. It is the hardest question that is posed to us all. Right up there next to “Why?” We don't know the answer. If anyone came close to me and said that they did know the answer I would hit them with my stick.”

“An unusual position to take in a churchman.”

“Not really. It is an unusual position to take for a churchman who wants to climb the hierarchies though as if I was more ambitious I would be saying things like “Church law is above all other law” but then that causes all kinds of problems.”

He laughed at his own joke.

“Anyway.” He went on. “All any of us can do is to do the best we can with the information as it is given to us at the time. I won't keep you from doing the best you can. I would ask a favour though.”

“Which is?”

“Two of them actually. I should write to the Duke and to Gottfried's widow to let them know the circumstances of his death and I would ask you to deliver the letters. That is one favour. The other is...would you come back when you are done with....whatever it is that you're doing. Would you tell me what was going on here, with Gottfried Alphonse and yourself and whatever sin it was that caught you all up in it?”

“So you can pass judgement on me?”

“Would you like judgement?”

“I might.”

“Then I shall judge you and offer penance. But no, I just hate mysteries. They give me this terrible pain, here, in my forehead and the matter of Brother Sword was praying on my mind.”

“Then I shall. If only to cure your headache.”

“You are a good man Witcher.”

“I doubt it.”

“Any man that takes a headache away is a good man. Anyway, I shall write these letters which, coincidentally, should give you enough time to eat something and bathe. I don't mean to be rude but you stink.