Francis roared with laughter, and laugh lines appeared on his face. His fangs had already disappeared, and he didn’t seem furious about getting exposed either. It was as if Roy had told him a marvelously hilarious joke. “You shouldn’t be a witcher, boy. With that kind of imagination, you could have been a bestselling author. You can write an interspecies romance novel titled ‘A Loving Vampire and The Playful Lady.’ Has a ring to it, eh? I know a few guys who work in the industry. Sure, they don’t have the artistic sense to appreciate and publish my anthology, but boy do they know how to sell. I can introduce them to you.” His eyes gleamed with mockery. “The nobles love all things bizarre, boy. More than the peasants do. I have a feeling that the novel is going to be a hit. You’re going to be rich, witcher. Rich. You can say goodbye to the witcher life and be a bestselling author.”
Roy stared at Francis closely, but he didn’t see anything that indicated that the coroner was nervous. Either he’s a good actor, or he’s…
“Denying it, huh? I knew higher vampires wouldn’t reveal who they really were to a witcher, not even the moderates. Speaking of which, I happen to know quite a few higher vampires from the moderate faction, like Regis.” He continued the lie without batting an eye. “You wouldn’t believe it, but he actually lived in a village in Sodden, pretending to be a human. A four-hundred-year-old higher vampire, pretending to be a human. He worked as a healer and a barber. That guy’s one charming character. Knows how to make people laugh, too.”
Francis’ expression changed for a split second, but Roy shrewdly noticed it. He’s reminiscing about something. Good. Roy kept piling up the lies. “There’s only around two thousand higher vampires on the continent, and you’ve been around for three hundred years, so you probably know who Regis is. And there’s also a gorgeous one in Vizima’s Trading Quarter. The one they call Queen of the Night. She runs a brothel.”
Francis finally stopped smiling. He crossed his arms and looked at Roy seriously. “Seems like I’ve underestimated you, witcher. You know a lot for someone your age. Come with me. This is no place for a heavy conversation.” He left the inn, and Roy followed him reluctantly.
The silvery moonlight bathed down on them silently. Using his perception, Roy realized Francis’ true form — the bat — was starting to flap its fleshy wings, absorbing all the moonlight, as if it were a black hole. Higher vampires are really blessed. Roy was slightly envious of them, since they could grow stronger without any training at all. As long as they kept growing, they could keep getting stronger. If any higher vampire managed to survive for long enough, they could even become someone like the Unseen Elder.
Once they left the hustle and bustle of the urban area behind, Francis went into a silent alley and leaned against the wall. Then he rubbed his right hand with his left, as if it were a weapon. “Bold of you to come with me, witcher. I could just kill you here and now, you know?” The gigantic bat behind him opened its eyes maliciously. “And nobody would know I’m a higher vampire.”
Roy could feel a chill running down his spine as Francis’ killing intent came into contact with him, but he forced himself to shake his head. “Anyone who takes part in the Great Sun’s ceremony won’t spill any blood aside from the sinners’, because it ruins the ritual’s sanctity. I’ve looked into it. And that’s why you didn’t kill the pursuing knights. You’re one sinner away from completing the ritual, so I think you wouldn’t want to ruin it when it’s so close to completion.”
“I’m sorry?” Francis looked amused, as if it were all a big joke. “You think I’m the killer? You think I’m performing some sort of ritual? I’m sorry, but you got it all wrong.” Francis looked at him pitifully, as if Roy had walked straight into a trap unknowingly. “I’m not the killer you’re looking for, and I don’t care about having no blood on my hands. Also, the knights didn’t pursue me. You witchers did. Make one wrong step here, and I’ll…”
“Impossible.” Roy’s face fell. He clenched his sweaty fists and concentrated on the bomb in his inventory, ready to toss it at Francis at any moment. “Fine, keep your secrets. In the name of the Viper School, I can forget about everything and stay out of the case if you tell me where Letho is, so I can get him back.”
“Naive, aren’t you?” Francis shrugged. “And I don’t know where the witcher is right now, nor do I care about him.”
Roy was looking somber at that point. “But if you’re not the killer, why’d Letho set up an ambush then?” He had a bad feeling about it.
Francis stared up at the moon. “Just like you, Letho managed to find out what I truly was, but not as fast as you did. He wasted a month before catching up to me, and he wasn’t as polite as you are. Nay, he was brutish. Your mentor seemed to prefer talking through his blade. He held me at bladepoint, threatening to expose me to everyone if I didn’t fight him. There was nothing but rage and hatred in his eyes that night. I didn’t understand why a witcher would think a law-abiding vampire like myself would be more of a threat than a literal serial killer. But I went all out nonetheless. It had been a long time since I’d had such a satisfying battle, so much so that I wrote a lot of poems right after that. Couldn’t help it when inspiration overwhelmed me. I didn’t even care about my injuries, either.” Francis licked his lips, clenching his fists tightly.
On the other hand, Roy was utterly confused. He thought Francis had no reason to lie to a rookie witcher like him, but if he wasn’t the killer, why did Letho go after him? Francis made Letho look like a vampire hater, but Letho’s not someone who’d do anything rash. Roy had never seen Letho show any emotion over the months he’d spent with him, but then he remembered something, and Roy realized why Letho flew into a rage.
He told me a garkain slaughtered his friend before, and garkains were dangerous, low-ranking vampires. Since then, he held a grudge against all things vampire. “How did the battle go?”
“A draw, but a devastating one. He was out of commission, but I had enough strength to make an escape.” Francis was exhilarated. “The witcher came prepared. Very prepared. And he was the strongest one I’d ever seen.” He rolled back the lacy hem of his shirt, revealing two nasty scars on his stomach. “The oils are as hard to handle as they say.” Francis sounded fearful. “Even now, my injuries still hurt.”
The spindly scars spanned his stomach, and Roy could still see the pieces of flesh underneath squirming and squelching. They were trying to merge, but a layer of grey substance stood in their way. “The oil will last for a week, so you’ll have to live with it for a couple more days or longer.” Roy asked, “Was Letho badly hurt, then?”
“Yes. I’d say he was dying. Speaking of which, did he drink something before he came for me? I would have sucked him dry, but his blood was poisonous.” Francis half-goaded, half-provoked, “I’m still injured, young witcher. Injured and weak. Why don’t you kill me off and avenge your mentor?”
Roy cursed him silently. He couldn’t even see through most of Francis’ stats, and the injuries weren’t looking bad either, so Roy wouldn’t risk his life just like that. “Assuming everything you said was true, where did Letho go after your escape, then? The knights only found his sword where you two fought.”
“I thought you would have figured it out by now. The witcher was hidden away by the true killer,” Francis answered without hesitation.
Roy was thunderstruck, and he realized he had overlooked a clue. He saw two ribbons when he activated his senses back then. One belonged to Francis, while the other belonged to Letho, who was taken away by the killer. The ribbons went in two different directions after they exited the Hanged Man’s Tree. So Francis isn’t the killer, then?
“The witcher was interfering with the killer’s ritual, so of course the killer would be targeting him. They were looking for a chance to get rid of him, and they got their opening after our battle,” Francis said.
“Wait, what did you say?” Roy suddenly asked.
Francis was surprised, but he answered, “They were looking for a chance to get rid of him.”
“No. The first thing you said.”
“The witcher was interfering with the killer’s ritual, so of course they would be targeting him.”
Roy’s eyes gleamed as he finally managed to piece more of the puzzle together. “If the killer did abduct Letho, then Letho should be safe until the end of the ritual. So I guess Letho must be locked up somewhere right now,” Roy murmured.
“Yes, so stop bothering me, witcher. I’m a law-abiding vampire, thank you very much. Now, go and save your mentor.”
“You’re letting me leave, just like that?” Roy was surprised, but he was starting to get used to Francis’ eccentricity. “You’re telling me to save the witcher who tried to kill you?”
“You’re going to tell him he got the wrong vampire in the first place, and since I’m not the killer, he won’t come after me again.” He smiled mysteriously. “Inspiration’s everything for a poet like me. I’ve drafted a new poem, and the inspiration for it stems from the investigation the two of you have been doing. I’ll call it ‘Banquet.’ I’ve decided to spare your lives as thanks for the inspiration.” Francis dusted his sleeve off, and his face fell. “But keep this in mind, Roy. You and the witcher will keep my real identity a secret from the public, and remember to never disturb me again, or else I’ll hunt you down, no matter where you go,” he said coldly. “Do you see it, chap?” He stared into the night.
“See what?” Is something happening? Roy tensed up and took a step back. He put his hands behind his back and held a bomb and his crossbow.
“Keep quiet and listen. I can feel inspiration gushing out like a fountain.” Francis turned around and went back to the street without looking at him. The leaves were falling from the trees flanking the street and swirling around Francis, as if they were ribbons. He stood with his head held up high and strode ahead with elegance.
“Beneath the dark, gloomy sky
Lies the sun, waiting to rise
Beneath the tall castle walls
Lies the cage to enslave
Beneath the raging, boiling hatred
Lies a love, trampled and torn
Beneath the mask of life
Lies a death in wait”
The bloody bat whipped up a gust of wind, and Francis disappeared into the night, leaving the echo of his terrible poem trailing around the street.
***
“Finally. I thought I was going to die. That crazy poet.” A long, long while later, Roy plopped down on the ground and heaved a sigh, wiping the sweat off his hands and forehead. It was just a discussion, but every moment felt like torture. He’d been worried about saying the wrong thing and getting himself killed, but fortunately, he survived.
There was no time to pat himself on the back, for he had more mysteries to unravel. If Francis isn’t the killer, then who is? The killer got to the battlefield on the day of the ambush before Cranmer did. And then he took Letho away. Why’d he manage to pull that off at that exact time? He’s not quick enough, no. Roy thought long and hard, then he noticed a blind spot in his deduction. The killer’s a mole.
The more he thought about it, the more plausible it was. The killer managed to pull all the stunts off around the castle without leaving a single hint, and he managed to take Letho away before Cranmer’s arrival. None of that could have been done without inside intel. The killer’s either a knight or the king’s guard. They know the case like the back of their hand, and both sides are looking into it. Only a mole could do that without leaving a clue.
***
The killer is performing the Great Sun’s ritual. So he or his ancestors must have some connection with Nilfgaard, and they’re believers of the Great Sun. I should be able to find the suspect if I look into all the knights and guards. A knight who believes in the Great Sun, huh? Roy suddenly remembered what Cranmer told him before.
Patrigadin used to be a big noble family in Nazair, a country south of Cintra, but ever since Nilfgaard conquered it, a part of the family moved to Temeria and stayed there. Their family worked hard for the kingdom and managed to reclaim their status of nobility.
Roy thought about the handsome knight he’d seen. Simon Patrigadin’s ancestors came from Nazair, a colony of Nilfgaard, so he wondered if Simon was a believer. He could also be the killer.
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