Chapter 40: I'm sorry Edmund

So as I write this I am back in that place that I still, even though I've tried really hard, think of as my father's castle. I have been given an office of my own which is kind enough, it has a desk and a couple of comfortable chairs so that I can sit with visitors if they come. I have a couple of shelving spaces to store anything that I want but it still feels a little empty to me. What it does do though is give me a nice quiet place for me to sit with some paper and set my thoughts down.

It is winter now and outside the snow is falling carrying it's normal feeling of peace as the snow deadens the sound for miles around while also making it all but impossible for large scale armies to march through the white wildernesses that greet them. I'm told that the autumn harvests have been bountiful enough this year to feed everyone that they need to feed over the winter and into spring so that with a little bit of luck, the famine that always greets the end of a significant war will be drawing to a close. It only took four years this time rather than the three years it took after the second Nilfgaardian conflict.

It has been pointed out to me that a possible reason for this is that this time, the Northern Realms lost their battles and as such it might have taken longer.

There is even talk among some of the brasher northern lords that I have met that now would be a good time to start thinking of some kind of Rebellion. That now would be a good time to try and “Throw of the yolk of southern Oppression.” Personally I remain sceptical of that especially as there doesn't seem to be that much oppression as far as I can see. Having now had the chance to read up a bit about King Radovid the Stern I am not entirely sure that his rule would have been any the less...oppressive. Even now some chroniclers are trying to have him re-labeled from “the stern” to “the mad” and I am not sure that they are incorrect to do so but that isn't my province. If there is one thing that I am learning in my self-appointed role of scholar to the Witchers, then it is that there is nothing that I hate more than someone else muscling in on my area of expertise and as such I am trying not to be rude in return.

Certainly, under Nilfgaardian rule, the other borders are returning to their original states, client Kings and Queens are swearing their oaths of fealty at the feet of the Imperial throne. People are getting paid and commerce is recovering. Like many I believe that this should be a time of peace. A time for recovery and reflection. The world has changed, it has moved on and as such we need to accept that this is the new normality. That this is the new status quo.

One of the events that mark this new status is still to come. We have received notice that we are invited as a family to witness the coronation of the new Empress of Nilfgaard in the spring. Of course I'm going. I'm a scholar and a historian and the opportunity to witness actual history in the making is impossible to turn down. Especially as I strongly suspect that if anyone can unite the fractious kingdoms of the North and the South then it will be this young woman. Especially as it will give me the opportunity to see Francesca who I haven't seen since she left for the south. We are told that she has become a firm friend of the Empress to be and is therefore predicted to become a person of note in the future.

Good for her. If there's any member of my family that deserves the rise to greatness then it is her.

The coronation is going to take place in Toussaint as that, most fairy tale of places, is still a Nilfgaardian protectorate but is so separated from the rest of the world that it's as neutral as anywhere can be. I was once told that the reason that Toussaint can afford to be the way it is is because no-one would dare interrupt the flow of Toussaint wine. We are still several weeks from having to even begin preparing though. One of the benefits of having a Sorceress involved in the family is that we can now just teleport to a local area with all of our goods and belongings.

Kerrass never approved of travelling by portal but I must admit to looking enjoying it a little.

Ah well.

But anyway.

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I had wanted to start talking about the adventure that Kerrass and I had after we had dealt with my families problems. Those events are still sore in my memory and as such I am ready, if not eager, to move on. Certainly, all of the important information has now been published, but the magazine editor who publishes these works, as well as my sister, inform me in no uncertain terms that if I leave things there then I can expect to be lynched next time I go to Oxenfurt.

“It's called a Denouement,” my sister yelled at me as she read the last article. “Where's the ending?” she cried at me. “You can't just leave it there, people will go mad not knowing what happened to us all after that and I'm not spending the next several months answering letters about whether or not we're all ok and do I need somewhere to live and how's mother and all of those kinds of things. So damn well write them down.”

I'm paraphrasing you understand. She was actually using a lot of language that I was mortified to learn that my big sister knew but there you go. There's no accounting for class or sub-standard educations.

Please don't take offence at that dear reader. That comment was meant for my sister and I am currently chuckling at the thought of the noises that she is currently making as she reads this.

Not a great deal happened after my mothers “trial”. That day was spent in preparation for the following one. I had already bathed that day and my stomach was still roiling from the after effects of the last few days discoveries. I got the castle barber to shave me and give me a proper hair-cut. It's all very well shaving myself, and I can, but I never get quite as close a shave as I should with my own razor as I always end up tilting my head at so strange an angle that I can't see properly and miss bits. For tomorrow I needed to look my best so I had a professional do it.

Kerrass would approve.

I also had a meeting with our Chamberlain. The truth about our Chamberlain is that he's a man of 60 trapped inside the body of a much younger man. He's a traditionalist and as such he dislikes anything being out of place. He demands that everything be done properly and according to proper etiquette and style. He believes that people should know their place and their place is to be wherever he tells them to be. He rules the keep's servants with an iron fist and nothing escapes his notice. I've caught him walking around with white gloves in the early hours of the morning inspecting underneath and behind various bits of furniture in corners of the castle that no-one else ever goes, to see if they had been cleaned properly. He has a piece of wood that he carries around with him like a field marshal carries a military baton. On it are a series of notches that he himself has carved that dictate measurements regarding the proper distance of plates and cutlery from the table edge and the positioning of candlesticks.

I called him up and told him what I required for the evening meal.

It was one of the few times that I have ever seen him smile. He told me that he would see to all details.

That evening's meal was as informal as it ever is in our household.

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I should talk about this.

There is a modern method for seating people at a dining table which is that people are seated opposite their partners, spouses or guests. For example, mother would sit opposite father, I would sit opposite Kerrass or Ariadne should she visit and so on. Father didn't like this as it can often mean that people end up sat with complete strangers and as a result, on those occasions where formality is less of an issue, he makes sure that we all sat next to our partners and friends so that we have someone to talk to.

But I had decided to take certain steps.

That evening as we all went down to dinner there was an extra place set for dinner. After the family and Kerrass had taken our places I caught the Chamberlain's eye and he nodded. He gave a hand gesture to one of the other servants who vanished into a side door and two minutes later I was rewarded by Laurelen arriving in the room. She looked a little bewildered and bemused. The others were clearly as surprised as she was although I could tell that all of the other servants were already aware of what was happening.

I rose and approached Laurelen as formally as I could manage and bowed deeply.

“Madam,” I said, projecting properly so that everyone in the room could hear me. “Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you to your place at the table?” I held out my hand.

I saw her eyes widen a little in surprise. I hadn't expected much else all things considering. She is a trained Sorceress after all. She gently placed her hand atop mine and I walked her over to the extra place which had been set next to Emma. I held the chair for her and pushed it back in when she was seated.

I then walked back round the table to take my own seat as the servers started bringing in the food giving no-one any time to protest before the food was served.

The plan hinged on my behaving, and the servants behaving as though nothing was out of the ordinary and as such I made no eye contact with any of the other members of my family and just ate my food calmly and quietly.

There wasn't really any conversation anyway although later I was able to pump Kerrass for information and I'm told that Emma's expression was priceless.

As was Mark's.

Apparently Sam watched it happen for a moment before shrugging and then eating his food.

Mother didn't react.

The crisis point was past. Laurelen was one of the family now.

Flame help her.

I had also left instructions that said that Laurelen and Emma would be sharing a bedroom from now on and that if anyone objected then they could come and see me.

The chamberlain told me in no uncertain terms that I might have to get in line.

I was pleased to see how much the household approved of Emma and her romantic choice. I had been concerned but it would seem that the servants, at least, were on my side.

There were two comments that rose up from my little stunt. The first was from Mark as we had withdrawn to a different room to chat and while the rest of the evening away. He just looked at me and muttered “Well played,” as he was still managing to ignore the two women who were sat on the couch enthusiastically chatting to Kerrass about something or other while holding hands.

The second was from Emma who wordlessly gave me the fiercest hug that I have ever received as she past me on the way to bed.

I remember little else about that evening.

The following day, the day of the internment, mostly passed in a blur. I was up early to get to use the bathhouse unhindered. Guests started to arrive almost immediately to pay their respects with barely hidden contempt. Father's debtors where there of course, vainly hoping that the debt might be forgiven in the wake of his death. A possibility that was unlikely. Also in attendance were a lot of merchants who had built up, if not friendships, working relationships with father. You could tell who they were due to the smugness which they exuded as they walked around, rubbing shoulders with their “betters”. Emma was in her element here, talking to people, shaking hands and accepting condolences. It did not go unnoticed that she knew everyone's name as well as how they were related to each other and to father and was able to do that oh so special little trick which was to make everyone there think that they were the most important person that she had to speak to today.

Unfortunately there was one other group in attendance. That was the group that had relatives in the cells in Oxenfurt. More and more I found that I was having to field questions about what was happening as well as criticism about what had happened and what was going to happen. My previous plan of telling everyone that the matter was still under investigation by the church and by the sheriff kind of backfired as the Sheriff had chosen to attend. He was one of the few people who seemed genuinely upset about my Fathers death after all the aid that Father had given the Redanian military during the war. But rather than pay his respects in the way he wanted to he had to deal with all of those angry relatives. I do not envy him.

Mark was in a similar position. He was also let down by the fact that he was the presumptive heir to Father's position and fortune so he was having to deal with people who wanted to press on him the details of agreements that had been made under the strictest of confidences with Father before he died (mostly false), angry relatives of those people arrested as well as his own feelings regarding the death of his father and brother.

Kerrass though, did me proud. He was the master of the menacing stare, the sly comment and the cutting barb. He was playing the “Witcher friend” card for all it was worth in my support. He made sure that I was never without a drink of some kind and I don't think I was imagining the fact that the levels of water and wine changed according to whatever he thought I needed at the time. He had this trick that whenever someone was talking to me who I didn't like or didn't want to talk to, he would just stare at them and start smiling. The thing was that he wasn't staring into their face, what he was staring at was their throats. Then he would occasionally lick his lips. The effect must have been extremely off-putting because no sooner had he started doing this than the person that I was talking to would give up and go elsewhere.

Eventually though, the critical moment occurred and six members of Father's guard each sealed the coffins properly and carried them up on their shoulders. With fathers coffin leading we followed them out of the keep, down the steps and through the many courtyards. Where the condolence and grief had been carefully measured and acted out in the main halls with the “nobility” the surround townsfolk, farmers and villagers had gone all out. All of them appeared and stood, heads bared and lowered as the coffins were carried down and through the throngs.

Looking back, I kind of wish that I had been able to look up and notice the reaction of my fellow noble at the display but the truth is that I was too busy maintaining what my brother would call “proper decorum”. The funeral procession wound it's way down, snaking through the crowds. I've spoken to several people who have complimented me on my displays that day but the truth was that I had locked up. I suppose I felt numb to it all. The disassociation that I had felt through the more horrific parts of the investigation into my brothers death was still there. I hadn't come back into my own body yet. I remember little of what I said or did that day but apparently, what I did was very good and especially “decorous” so there you go.

The family crypt was built in a small hill, maybe ten minutes walk away from the outside castle gate. You get there by walking through a small copse of trees which is where you will find a small stone archway with a metal gate. Normally that gate is locked but today it was open and guarded by two men in their full “Coulthard house livery.” You go through the gate and walk down a flight of stairs where you come to a large room with niches in the walls. What happens is that the body gets slid into the niche head first and the hole is then plugged by a stone, on which is carved the name of the person who lays there as well as a small picture that is supposed to represent the person. A small picture to sum up the persons character.

The only occupants of the vault (so far) where Grandfather and Grandmother. They had been placed there when we moved here from our old castle. There are plenty of other spaces though which had always left me feeling maudlin. I always thought that it was tempting fate a little bit to have so many spaces for the dead as though you are inviting death to fill them up for us.

My own niche has already been picked out. Third column from the left, second from the bottom. It had been the first time I had visited since leaving on my adventures with Kerrass and for the first time I wondered what would happen should I not make it back to the castle. What would happen if there wasn't a body and I ended up residing in the belly of some great beast. Do they just seal it up and hope for the best? I also wondered what my little carving on the stone would be. Grandfathers was a kind of artful piece about a man, working with a farm implement of some kind but looking up into the distance. It was meant to signify hope for a better future as well as representing his ambition and rise to prominence. I always thought that he would have hated it.

I suspect that mine will show a man sat at a desk writing.

I will be alright with that.

The other thing that I should say is that when you imagine crypts you imagine somewhere dark, dank and foreboding. While it is true that there is no natural light down there, this is in fact rather far from the truth given that our family crypt is almost brand new. The head stones are carved from a local quarry which has produced a rather lighter stone which can be polished into a smooth, white surface by the dwarves that work there. The floor is well swept and properly clean and there are plenty of wall brackets for torches. In the middle of the room there are a series of benches with cushioned seats meant for people to come and pay their respects. Father was not all that religious, or at least, he never talked about it but I do know that he viewed the crypt as being more for the living than the dead. A place for the living to come and gain comfort or inspiration from the presence of their ancestors. As such he insisted that the crypt be open and you can view it at any time if you go to the castle and ask for the key from the Commander of the Watch.

The coffins were carried down into the crypt where the torches had already been lit. Waiting for us down there was a small silver tray with five cups on it and a crystal decanter with red port in it.

The five of us, Mother, Mark, Emma, Sam and myself descended into the firelight while our fellow mourners waited for us at the entrance. The guards slid the coffins into the holes that were prepared for them and lifted the sealing stones into place. At first, I had wanted to do that as I had heard that some people carry their parent's or friends coffins and then seal them inside their tombs but apparently most guards dislike this as there is a possibility that the bearers get upset and drop the coffin or seal the tomb improperly which can lead to the body being subject to possession or getting up and wandering about if it's buried in a place with a bit more background magic than normal.

When they had done their work the guards left, I had bent to have a look at the pictures that had been carved into the headstones with astonishing artistry. Father had been depicted on horseback with one of his beloved falcons on his wrist and a hunting dog playing around his horses feet. All of them looked as though they had just caught the scent of some kind of prey. As though the carver had just managed to catch them in the pose before they shot out of view, chasing after whatever had caught their attention.

My brothers picture depicted a stranger to me. The figure was sat in a chair, leaning back with his legs outstretched. He was smiling happily and toasting the unseen artist with a mug of ale. The figure looked like my brother but was so utterly unlike him that it was startling. After a while I decided that this person was who Edmund should have been rather than who he had become. If he had made some different choices or if he had been born after Mark or Emma.

My hard won numbness and distance shook as I felt a lump rise in my throat.

Mark was pouring some of the red liquid into the five waiting cups.

One of the traditions about going hunting, for those of you who have never known it or have never been near a hunting pack as that form of hunting is going out of fashion, is that the hunters are brought a small cup of an alcoholic drink to fortify them. I always thought it a little silly in truth as it seemed the height of stupidity to hand out strong alcohol to people who were hunting game with weapons but there you go. This is called a stirrup cup and it was five of these vessels that we would drink port from as it was Father's favourite drink. I took my cup, still looking at the carvings and sipped the liquid which I always found surprisingly sweet. It's as though my mouth goes into shock as it was expecting something almost sour like a good red wine and then the sweetness hits it and it's too busy being shocked to react quickly.

We stood there, awkwardly looking at each other.

“Well,” said Mark after a long time. “I've officiated many of these as priest but never as a mourner.”

“Does it feel different?” Emma asked, she had sat next to Mother who was staring into space.

“Yes and no.” He said, “There's a certain amount of distance from everything. I absolutely expect to go into shock later and just fall asleep for a few... you know... years.”

“It's been a hell of a week,” said Sam. He'd been looking at the graves, same as I had.

“Hasn't it though?” Emma said with a weary smile.

We all managed some awkward tittering before silence fell.

“How long do we have to stay down here?” Sam asked. “No that I'm eager to leave but... Oh dammit that came out wrong, I'm just wondering if there's some kind of etiquette to this entire thing.”

“Not really,” Emma spoke up. “This is our time and if we want to leave quickly saying that we wanted to celebrate life rather than death then we can. Likewise, if we decide that we want to stay down here until tomorrow then we can do that too.”

“I don't think we need to, or even should, stay down here too long.” Mark suggested. “People want to talk to us and Dad would be furious if he thought we were passing up the opportunity to make contacts and network amongst the other nobles.”

Sam laughed genuinely and even Mother managed to smile. “He would at that.”

“Well then,” said Emma standing and helping Mother to her feet. “Mark, do you want to do the honours?”

“No,” Mark answered, “but I will.” He raised his cup. “To Father. For the running head start in life that he gave us.”

“For the tasks still ahead of us.” Emma added

“And for the things that he did for us,” Sam's toast.

We drank. I bent to inspect the picture on Edmund's stone again. I wanted to feel something, anything, but it was warring with the desire to stay... stoic.

“So I suppose there's someone else we need to talk about,” Sam said. He was right. We had toasted father the way we were supposed which meant that we could leave but none of us had moved. “Does anyone want to say anything?”

There was a long pause.

“I do,” I said. I think that I was as astonished at hearing my voice as everyone else was. I held my cup out for more port and Mark refilled it.

“I didn't know Edmund very well. Now that I have found out more, I find that I am glad. People have said that he was sick somehow, that he had an illness of the brain. I can't answer for that. But I wonder what I would have done in his place. If I had gone through what he did.”

“You would never have done what he did,” Emma said.

“Wouldn't I? I wonder. Anyway. If he was sick in some way that we can't fathom yet, then we should all count ourselves lucky that it didn't happen to us. If it was his circumstances that made him that way, whether intentional or not, imagined or not. Then we should count ourselves lucky that it was him that had to go through those things and not us. If it was a combination of both things, sickness and circumstance. Then we are all doubly lucky.”

I stopped and looked again at the picture of the brother that I had nearly had.

“I suppose what I'm saying is. It's only by the grace of the Holy Flame that it's not me lying there.”

Mark nodded. “I'll drink to that.”

“So will I,” Sam added.

Emma nodded and Mother had already raised her own cup in a silent toast.

“I'm sorry Edmund,” I said as I raised my cup.

We left and went back to the party.

I've been to a couple of wake's now. Mostly due to the fact that I've been so involved with the monster slaying business that we tend to get invited to them, either as part of the “investigation” part of the monster hunt, or because we get invited after the dead party has been avenged. Kerrass accuses me of “gentrifying” him as he claims that he's been invited to many more parties after his association with me than he ever was before but I think that is more down to the fact that I've been trained from a young age to talk to nobility and express proper condolences and as a result they always feel guilty for not inviting him.

I must say that he doesn't complain too much. He always seems to “get lucky” at these things as his air of danger attracts young and impressionable nobility to him like moths to a flame. There is something to be said about the life affirmation of it that acts like an aphrodisiac.

I find wake's fascinating. It's a morbid subject I will admit but there might be something to the suggestion that you can tell a lot about a culture by the way they mourn the dead.

Relatively recently I had the opportunity to attend a wake for a Nilfgaardian coastal lord. He was a naval officer charged with policing his particular patch of coastline against pirates. To no-one's surprise, the vast majority of those pirates were Skelligan.

His keep was situated over the top of small bay and harbour that was used for his fleet and a sizeable merchant and fishing docks. A large sea monster of some description that has, thus far, escaped classification had started to attack passing ships. The Lord had led his knights out to fight the beast and had been pulled into the water.

In his armour.

Kerrass had been hired to destroy the beast. He had failed to kill it but had succeeded in chopping large chunks of it off, setting fire to, and poisoning those wounds so there was every possibility that it would die out at sea after being driven off. To be fair to the Lords widow she still paid a considerable chunk of the fee and invited us to the wake. Everyone was astonished when several large Skelligan longships turned up at dock. Paid the docking fees and marched up to the castle to, politely, ask if they could help honour their fallen enemy.

It was an education to watch. The normally stoic and withdrawn Nilfgaardians who were stood around muttering to each other along with wailing and gnashing of teeth combined with the boisterous and cheerful Skelligan pirates who had brought their own beer as apparently they didn't care to toast the man with wine.

At one point I found myself sitting next to a group of Nilfgaardian noblemen who were arguing over who should talk to the Skelligans to get them to quieten down and pay proper respect. I was forced to step in and point out that what the Skelligans were doing was paying proper respect. Indeed, in their culture, what they were doing was considered a high honour.

The Skelligans left as peacefully as they came, nursing huge hangovers as well as several bruises and broken noses that had been inflicted during some good natured tussling with the Nilfgaardian landsknechts that lived at the castle. They had also promised the widow of the castle that they would refrain from attacking her fallen husbands stretch of coastline for a year and a day out of respect and had gifted her with a large and obviously expensive, well crafted golden torque.

But now, in my father's castle, I was one of the people that was close to the fallen. I hadn't met them then but I suspect that I might have enjoyed the Skelligan version of a wake a bit more. My head swam with eating not enough food and drinking a little bit too much wine despite constant effort to moderate myself.

My mother, Emma and Mark retired early and so I took the position of host upon myself. I made sure that I was there to personally thank every guest as they were leaving and to console everyone who was upset whether they were crying genuine tears or not.

Eventually the “party” wound down somewhere around midnight. Those guests who were spending the night went to their beds while Sam and I took one of the last couple of bottles of my fathers wine that had been opened but unfinished to a quieter sitting room and sat together, staring at a fireplace.

Despite my drunkenness I still felt relatively sober though, my mind still racing in the way that it often does after a fight. Sam had started to snooze so I helped him up to his room and went to my own bed to stare at the ceiling for a bit.

I couldn't sleep.

In the end I gave up, changed clothes and went back downstairs. Commandeering a couple of the remaining bottles of wine I went off to the barracks and handed those bottles off to the Sergeant at arms so that the men could have proper vintage with which to celebrate my fathers passing. The gesture was cheered, much to my amusement as father would have been absolutely mortified at the gesture. Not that he would have thought it wrong but at the rate with which the men drank the wine.

“Proper wine should be savoured,” he would say in horror watching one of those men grab a bottle by the neck and lifting it to his mouth.

I grinned at the thought and left as quietly as I could.

It was still the height of summer and I was quite warm as I picked a patch of the wall to sit and watch the sunrise with one of those bottles as my company.

I must have dozed because I woke up stiff and hungry.

Barnabus, the family lawyer hadn't stayed long the previous day as he had to return to Oxenfurt to collect Father's will and to receive final authority to enact it's contents. He was expected in the new day to read the will and so that we could all find out what would happen.

I was confident that my lot wouldn't change very much although I suspected that my student days would now be behind me. I thought that I could rely on a small sum that could be used or invested as I saw fit and a share of the family business that could provide a small income. It kind of all depended on what would happen to the rest of the business though as to what I would do with it. I had no idea what Mark, a churchman through and through, would do with so large a merchant enterprise as he rejected physical wealth but I had no idea what else could happen. I thought I would reinvest my sum into the family business and continue my travelling for a while before the spectre of marriage, to a vampire or not, became a little more real.

Kerrass eventually found me. In a mirror of an earlier scene he had woken up the kitchens and brought me a huge bacon sandwhich along with a hot drink of some description.

“Good morning.” he said grinning that special smile that told me that he got laid last night.

“Is it?” I asked.

“Not bad if you go for that kind of thing. You didn't sleep last night.”

“Are you going to tell me that it's some kind of special Witcher thing that you can do to tell you such things.”

Kerrass had his own drink and took a long gulp.

“Nah, I have spies.”

“Really? It took you that long to infiltrate my fathers castle?”

He just grinned at me.

“Serious question though,” he said after snagging a piece of bacon from between the two slices of bread. “How long are you planning on staying? It's just I thought I might go for a ride and see if I can find some work in the local area if we're going to be here more than a couple of days.”

“So keen to get going?”

“My aren't we touchy today. Should have found yourself a nice warm woman to keep you company. Anyway, I get that you might want to stay for a bit but time's a wasting and although your family has been more than generous. I'm beginning to get itchy feet. Also there's the matter of that favour you owe me.”

“So quickly given and already your chasing me for that?”

Kerrass looked at me for a long time.

“You know what? If you're going to be this miserable then I'm going back to see if I can find that woman I was talking about.”

I sighed.

“I'm sorry.”

“I know. Grief makes people say odd things. Just get it out of your system before we head off though right?”

“I will. I've had some thoughts in that direction anyway.”

“Will I be needed for them?”

“You might want to be.”

“Oh good.”