Chapter 121

Taking advantage of the early hour, he stepped out and made his way to the second victim’s home, that of a Vivaldi Bank employee.

The deceased, Faquir, was thirty-three. He lived in a tasteful three-storey red town house in Ellander’s middle-class quarter. He had two adorable children and a pretty wife, Misha.

A man who seemed to have it all.

Faquir had not foreseen falling where he did; he had no chance to set his affairs in order.

As the household’s only breadwinner, his death was nothing less than ruin for the family.

Misha, the housewife, collapsed at once; she did not know how she had endured the last few days. “Faquir’s gone, there’s no income at all, how will the two children survive?”

The woman clutched her two bewildered children by the hand and wandered dazedly at her own gate, her pale face shifting like weather.

“Madam, forgive me for asking—are you Mr. Faquir’s widow?”

A gentle voice cut through. She looked puzzled. The stranger before her had hair so short it was almost a shaved head, and dark-gold pupils that looked bestial; one glance was enough to set nerves on edge.

His face, though, wore a friendly smile.

She tensed and drew the children behind her, asking nervously, “You are ... you are a witcher?”

He stood out terribly in that neighborhood.

Roy sighed inwardly and half-truthfully answered, “Yes. I’m Roy, witcher of the Viper School. A friend of mine suffered the same fate as your husband; I want to find the real killer and avenge him. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?”

The two five- or six-year-old children clung to the woman’s arm at the sound, and fear shadowed her face as she studied him for a long moment.

“A witcher ... so, your investigation ... do you have any leads on the killer?”

“Sorry, not yet.” Roy shook his head. He noticed the children’s and the woman’s ashen faces and gaunt frames. “I should be clear: if you answer my questions, I’ll give you a small sum of consolation,” he said, glancing at the two children, “I imagine you need it badly right now. Months have passed with no explanation; it’s only a little money, but perhaps it will help.”

Her crying stopped abruptly and suspicion crossed her face until Roy solemnly handed over a small purse containing roughly five Crowns—he had to be careful where he spent his coin.

Once the purse changed hands she no longer cared what his true station was. She hurriedly bowed to the youth and, barely able to speak, sobbed, “Thank you, thank you, Sir Witcher. We have nothing in the house, the children have missed meals for two days! Quick, Litte, Colin, bow to Sir Witcher!”