IT WAS EARLY MORNING on the day after my controversial duel with de Lamar and the departure of my “dear” relatives. Just as I was finishing breakfast, Mada Weber barged into my annex like a whirlwind of snow, sweeping away everything in her path.
As it turned out, while I was busy handling my problems the day before, Leon Weber’s wife had kept herself busy with a flurry of activity surrounding my departure.
In the morning, she stord the main office of her husband’s trading house to prepare all their covered wagons for inspection, sent all idle staff out to purchase feed, provisions, and travel accessories, then dispatched couriers to all my creditors with bundles of cash.
Overall, Weber and Sons’ main office spent the whole previous day preparing for my departure. It gave the impression that Mada Weber was more interested in my safe arrival at the frontier than I was.
At any rate, I was not surprised by her enthusiasm — she was a doting mother who now saw a glimr of hope to save her son Ruben’s life. Just one final step remained — for Chevalier Renard, i.e. — to make it in one piece to Westerly Fort as soon as possible with a copy of our contract, notarized in Abbeville’s chancery, and present it to the commander, Captain Louis de Rohan.
The mont I was entered into the rolls of the Shadow Patrol, young Ruben would be freed of his obligations. Essentially, he was free already, but only as long as I was still alive. In other words, if I now got shanked down so Abbeville alleyway, or on my way to Westerly Fort, the Webers would have to start over from square one. Mada Weber said as much to openly while admonishing to pack and get on the road quickly. I’d bet my hand if she had her way, she’d have personally escorted out of town all the way until noon today.
I had to put a slight damper on her enthusiasm, explaining that I needed at least one week before I could depart. First of all, I had to prepare diligently for my journey. And second, in one week, a caravan of several dozen recruits would be departing, and I was planning to go with them. Traveling with an ard group was much safer than going alone.
I ended my speech with assurances that I myself wanted to leave town as quickly as possible, because the spring floods were right around the corner and would be turning all roads into an impassable swamp.
Mada Weber, with a heavy sigh, had no choice but to agree with my conclusions. After that, she introduced to a Monsieur Dormael who she claid was one of the trading house’s best clerks and told that he was mine to command until I completed my preparations. Beyond that, she loaned a comfortable coach to facilitate my travels around town. Believing her mission complete, Mada Weber then returned ho.
The clerk, a short balding man of fifty years with intelligent gray eyes and a neatly trimd wedge beard was on the contrary not planning on going anywhere. Serious, unsmiling, taciturn — he stood at the door patiently waiting.
“Monsieur Dormael,” I addressed him with a nod at the table. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
“You have my gratitude, Monsieur Renard,” he nodded curtly. “But I have already eaten and am ready to perform my duties.”
“Good,” I said, getting up from the table. “About the coach...”
“It is parked outside the guest house’s main entrance,” he got ahead of and added: “You may take it wherever you wish, as Mada Weber said.”
“Excellent,” I smiled. “Now as for your duties... Have you already been told how this will go?”
“Yes. You call the shots; I take care of the rest.”
“Superb,” I said. “Wait for in the coach.”
“Yes sir,” Dormael bowed and left the annex.
“What a soulless puppet,” Bertrand snorted, saying about what I was thinking.
“Oh well,” I dismissed it, throwing on my well-loved coat. “All that matters is keeping him from putting a spanner in the works and making sure he does everything I say.”
I was about to follow the Weber clerk but rembered sothing and stopped in the doorway.
“Old fellow,” I said to Bertrand, who was already trying to get out of bed. “There’s sothing I’ve been aning to ask you...”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“In your estimation, is there anything I brought to the pawn broker’s worth retrieving?”
The old man considered it for a mont, then responded confidently:
“Other than the ancient dallion given to you by your late grandfather and which you pawned to Baptiste Harcourt, I do not believe so... It is the sole family heirloom you had with you.”
I nodded.
“Okay. Then I guess I’ll start with the pawn shop.”
Before leaving the annex, I warned the old man:
“You rember our deal? Today, I need you to eat well and refrain from overworking yourself. That way I can treat your condition properly.”
Bertrand nodded fatedly. When I stepped through the doorway, I heard him grumbling that I was wasting my precious attention on a lowly servant like him.
Oh, old fellow, you have no idea how wrong you are...
* * *
The shop where Max usually pawned off valuables to get cash for his sweetheart’s ever-expanding collection of fancy baubles was located in the center of Abbeville. Just two steps from city hall where the town council t. A nice little spot, from the outside the noble building looked like a fancy store. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out the owner of the establishnt had an arrangent with a city councilmber.
And that guess proved accurate. When I shared my thoughts with the taciturn Dormael, he reported back robot-like that the pawn shop owner Baptiste Harcourt was a distant relative of the second most influential city councilman.
“A nagerie of abandoned property...” I muttered to myself, surveying the pawn shop’s interior curiously.
The shelves, racks, and counters were jam packed full of objects of all kinds. He had everything! Clothing of every fashion, dishware and table utensils, variously sized figurines, canes, jewelry... Everything in the shop carried an air of unique history as if every item bore a fleck of its negligent forr owner’s soul. Just in case, I scanned through it all but did not detect anything magical.
Once done with my survey, I headed to the back counter where a rail-thin boy was standing with a smile and watching us. Based on the look in his eyes, he knew perfectly well who I was. And no wonder — Max was a regular custor.
He was clearly not the owner of the shop. Most likely a son or nephew. Or maybe even an adult grandson.
“Chevalier Renard!” the boy said with a sonorous voice, bowing when we stopped before his counter. “How nice to see you here! I would also like to offer my wholehearted congratulations on your victory in yesterday’s duel!”
“Thank you my dear... Uhh...”
“Jaco,” the kid “reminded” with a smile.
“Yes, yes... Jaco...”
“Have you co to pawn the spoils from yesterday’s fight?” the slick kid took the bull straight by the horns.
Inside, I laughed. Baptiste Harcourt was raising himself a great replacent.
“No,” I shook my head. “On the contrary... I am here to redeem an item that belongs to . Specifically — the dallion. A re trifle... But it is worth a lot to as a mory of my father.”
After I ntioned the dallion, sothing strange happened. Jaco’s big obliging smile suddenly turned to a face of grave seriousness.
With a clumsily muttered apology, he slipped through a small imperceptible door behind him. Dormael, by the way, had no reaction to the kid’s strange behavior. Was he perhaps truly so kind of automaton?
After a few minutes, a perfect copy of Jaco except bald and thirty years older erged. It must have been Baptiste Harcourt himself.
“Monsieur Renard!” he said with a slightly shaky voice. “I am imasurably glad to see you again! Please forgive my young son’s behavior. He is still learning the finer points of our family business... Monsieur Dormael!”
“Monsieur Harcourt,” my escort responded to the greeting with a colorless voice.
The pawn shop owner was clearly not himself. Eyes darting, arms shivering... I wondered what had him so spooked.
“So then, Monsieur Harcourt,” I went on the attack. “Surely your son has already told you the purpose of my visit. I trust you are still in possession of my father’s dallion.”
I could feel it in my bones. He wanted to lie and say the dallion had already been sold, but Harcourt seed to get himself together.
“Yes, chevalier,” he nodded. “It is still in my possession.”
“Then bring it here with all possible haste! I wish to redeem it.”
“The thing is,” he said in an apologetic tone. “Please understand that the redemption period as indicated in the original record has expired... And...”
“And so what?” I kept pushing, though I could already tell where he was going. “You have the dallion. I am here. What is the problem? You get your money back with the commission owed to you. I get back an item of sentintal value to .”
“Hm...” Harcourt started coming to his senses despite my pressure. His many years of experience had hardened him. “The thing is, there have been certain difficulties in this particular case...”
“Such as?”
“According to the current laws of our kingdom, if you do not repay in the stipulated tifra, you no longer have any claim to ownership of the item pawned. In other words, the dallion now belongs to .”
With those words, Harcourt extended a record with Max’s signature. He originally got twenty crowns for the dallion. As an aside, this weasel had scamd doubly with the absolutely criminal thirty percent commission.
“Hm, okay,” I said while closely reading the note again. “So, bearing in mind what you’ve said, do you have an offer for then? Would you like to sell my own dallion for an elevated price?”
Harcourt breathed a heavy sigh and, squinting at Dormael, said:
“That’s the thing, I would not... Or rather, I cannot...”
“What’s that supposed to an?” I frowned.
“That the dallion already has a buyer, who will co for it in one week’s ti.”
In my past life, I had done business with people like him before. I even worked for one. Who later tried to stiff on paynt. Heh... Naive...
Doing my best impression of a man holding back rage, I frowned and wanted to put even more pressure on Harcourt but, before I could, Dormael suddenly entered the ga.
“Monsieur Renard,” he ca in a colorless voice, addressing . “I consider it my duty to remind you of a decree issued by the Count de Brionne, the lord of these lands. The thing is that several years ago, the Viscount de Avesnes, son of one of our count’s closest friends, got himself into much the sa situation as yourself. That case involved a family heirloom, a bracelet, which he pawned to a shop. The tifra on the record had expired and the shop owner, not wanting to wait any longer, sold the family treasure to soone else. Technically, he was within his rights but, as you understand, neither the Viscount de Avesnes nor his father the count were happy about it. And so the Count de Brionne went ballistic. In the end, the pawn shop owner was banished from the county along with his family while the lord of the land issued a decree applicable only to our county extending the length of pawn redemption periods by six months.”
The longer Dormael expounded in his dry voice, the grimr the shop owner’s face beca.
“Thank you, Monsieur Dormael,” I said with a broad smile, to which Weber’s clerk just gave a short nod. “What do you say, esteed Monsieur Harcourt?”
The man gave a heavy sigh and, striving to imitate a welcoming tone, replied:
“Indeed... I must have forgotten about that decree... Thank you for reminding , ssieurs. In point of fact, I am actually happy it all worked out this way and would be glad to see a family heirloom return to its rightful owner. How about I sell it to you for the sa price as the other gentleman offered? Naly — one thousand silver crowns.”
What a rat... And his ugly mug was positively beaming!
“I see surprise on your faces, sirs,” Harcourt continued as if nothing had happened. “But alas, the law is on my side. You have another few months. That is true. But I get to set the price.”
He spoke with a cold tone. The mask of kindhearted respect slipped to reveal his true form. Even the resolute Dormael let himself snort.
What was going on? And what was this whole song and dance around so little dallion? A regular trip to the pawn shop had turned into yet another of Max’s family secrets. Well, rat, you asked for it…
“One thousand crowns?” I asked calmly.
“To the obol,” Harcourt responded in a harsh tone.
Dormael wanted to say sothing, but I gestured for him to stop.
“I hear you, Monsieur Harcourt,” I nodded. “I have to think.”
“If you like, chevalier. But bear in mind — the clock is ticking.”
“Of course,” I said, maintaining my unflappable facial expression. “Let’s go, Monsieur Dormael.”
We turned and headed for the exit. As an aside, no one entered the pawn shop that entire ti. Which was a big help.
Opening the front door and letting Dormael go ahead of , I said:
“Wait for in the coach, my good man. I just rembered another valuable I’d like to redeem.”
Dormael gave an unflappable nod while I, after looking down the street, shut the door carefully behind and turned all three locks. Now we could have a proper chat.
Harcourt saw that, frowned and, walking back to a small door behind him, exclaid in a demanding tone:
“Chevalier! What do you think you’re doing?!”
He wanted to give off a fearso air but failed. On the last word, his voice gave a treacherous crack.
I closed the gap between the door and counter in a matter of seconds, but still was nearly too slow. Harcourt was a nimble fellow. As I hopped over the counter, he was already closing the door to the back room behind himself.
The thrill of the hunt awoke within . No, rat! You won’t be getting away from the Fox so easily!
Harcourt fumbled with the lock, which I imdiately seized upon.
With a kick, reinforced with a small mass of energy, I blasted straight through the little door. Harcourt got sowhat lucky — the door only hit him on the shoulder.
While he fell back on the floor and spewed curses, I took a quick look around. A small windowless room with a wide table piled high with papers and various objects against the wall. A little sofa and chair at the opposite wall, and yet another door a bit beyond that. I pulled the handle — locked.
I heard rustling behind the sofa and a plaintive sob. I glanced there and smiled. Harcourt’s son was pressed up in the corner and staring hauntedly at , hugging his knees. Tears welled up in his eyes.
“Jaco, do not fear,” I said calmly. “I just need to have a talk with your father, then I’ll be on my way.”
“Renard!” Harcourt barked through his teeth, trying to stand up. “You’ll pay for that! I will sue you! You’ll spend the rest of your days working the mines!”
I walked over to the pawn broker, grabbed him by the collar, and shoved him into a chair.
Baptiste Harcourt wailed in pain and clutched his left shoulder with his right hand. I looked at him using true vision.
“Quit your whining,” I said. “It’s just a scratch. You’ll be fine.”
“You’re done for, Renard...” Baptiste hissed. “Abbeville’s most senior judge is best friends with my uncle the second councilman! You’ll be in shackles by this evening with a one-way ticket to the northern mines!”
“These are supposed to be different worlds, but you people are all the sa,” I whispered to myself with a smirk. “One might think you were being grown in a lab.”
Harcourt frowned and listened in.
“What are you whispering?”
“I’m saying you’re greedy and over-confident,” I smiled. “Your impunity has dulled your edge. You’re also phenonally stupid. What makes you think your uncle’s buddy would bring charges against ? Have you forgotten who I am? I am a nobleman from an ancient and influential house. The only person here who can bring charges against is the Count de Brionne, not so lowly commoner. And think about the trial... Especially considering the lord of these lands’ ‘love’ for your brother. I for one can’t wait to see the look on the Count de Brionne’s face when I tell him how you were planning to rob . Based on your sour face, you’ve already realized how badly you miscalculated.”
Harcourt froze. He looked like a plucked rooster who’d suddenly lost his voice. In his eyes, I could see sorrow and a realization of his error. He had done business with impunity for a long ti thanks to his relative. But now he’d t his match.
“And now tell ,” I continued pressing. “What made you get so excited over so little dallion?”
He shuddered and squird. Then he glowered at but was in no rush to speak.
I snorted and took my dagger from its sheath. Candlelight glinted off its predatory curved blade. That really got to Harcourt. He started hurriedly muttering sothing, shifting to a more respectful tone:
“Monsieur, I beg of you... I really do have a buyer lined up, who is willing to pay one thousand silver crowns for that dallion! I have nothing more to say!”
I snorted to myself. Such great acting talents going to waste in a small-town pawn shop. The sudden changes in personality were striking. Just one minute prior, he was burning with righteous fury, and now he was ready to lick my boots.
“Well, you know...” I sighed, taking a step forward. “The gods will see I tried to play nice...”
“Monsieur Renard!” Jaco exclaid, jumping out from behind the sofa. “I’ll tell you everything! Just have rcy on my father!”
“Silence, whelp!” Harcourt senior shrieked.
“Your dallion is an artifact of the Forgotten!” the boy shot out in a single breath.
“What have you done...?” Baptiste rasped, lowering his head fatedly. “Foolish child...”
“The dallion cos from the Forgotten?” I asked.
“Yes!” Jaco nodded and started speaking quickly, fearing that his father would shut him up again: “It was created in one of the ancient kingdoms which are now covered by the Shadow of Strix. My father was unable to determine which one but has no doubt it was one of the northern kingdoms.”
“Hm... That’s a surprise. I didn’t know that...”
“Of course you didn’t!” Jaco took my very simple bait. “Then you’d never have pawned it for a pittance.”
Ahem, kid, you might not be cut out for the pawn business. Your dad is wasting his ti on you. You’d better start looking for another line of work.
“Aha,” I drawled, watching out of the corner of my eye as Harcourt’s face went pale. “And who might this mystery buyer be?”
“We don’t know,” Jaco shrugged. “He approached my father while he was researching artifacts of the Forgotten, offering one thousand crowns for the dallion in a letter. He didn’t ntion his na...”
I quickly glanced at Baptiste Harcourt, shrinking on the chair. He appeared to have lost his footing.
Oh, kid, looks like your dad does know who he’s dealing with. He just isn’t telling you. And based on his fearful face — this mystery buyer will not forgive his error. But I don’t care. It’s not my problem.
“Monsieur Harcourt,” I said in an icy tone. The sound of my voice made him shiver and raise his head. I saw a fated look in his eye. “I must have my dallion.”
One hour after my more exhaustive talk with the pawn broker, I was sitting in the coach as it rolled down the road, looking thoughtfully at the dallion, which sent shivers through my body. Scanning showed that in my hands was a magic artifact the very existence of which disproved the local theory of the origin of the gifted. Seemingly, magic did exist in this world, and long before the Shadow ever ca to be.
Honestly, inside I was ready for a reminder or even simple greeting from my mysterious benefactor. And now, the thing I was intuitively expecting had co.
In my hand was a small round piece of gold the size of a quail’s egg depicting a grinning fox’s face on the back side. Though its predatory grin was more reminiscent of a happy smile.
The other side anwhile was decorated with a coat of arms: a triangular shield held up by a pair of foxes standing on hind legs and a serrated crown on top.
But that wasn’t what caught my eye... Beneath the shield I saw a motto which sent a chill running down my spine. It was a short phrase in the ancient witching tongue, which read:
“Here and now!”
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