Chapter 31

On the way to the baron's manor, Baron dismounted and walked alongside the peasants, asking them for anything they knew about Baron Cambera.

He kept pace with them, reins in hand, blending into their procession as naturally as one of their own. The farmers were flattered and flustered; to them, demon-hunters were lofty figures who rarely stooped to speak with common folk. This was especially true of a man like Baron—someone who had ridden with the Viscountess, who had faced a blood fiend alone with nothing but a sword. That such a person would willingly walk among them, willing or not to exchange gossip, struck them as remarkably unpretentious compared to the other hunters who hurried past as if the soil itself might taint them.

Baron paid their awe no mind. Rank, status—those were illusions. In his last life he had grown up beneath red flags and spring breezes; every man had two eyes, two ears, one mouth, one nose. Status was not a different species. Besides, his own mother had been a farmer's wife.

The peasants chattered like birds, eager to offer up every scrap of praise or rumor they had ever heard. They told him that as a boy in Mondra, the young Cambera had been brought to the Church of the Black Moon by his father and could recite poetry and song by the age of twelve. They said he had marched with the expeditionary hunters to Hweid, had driven his blade through the chest of a Fallen Knight during the War of Faith, and that the Empire had granted him his barony for that deed. They boasted that he was the greatest herbal merchant in Ford City, that he had once monopolized the supply of medicines in every town within three days' ride, and even the city lord had to bow to him. And—lowering their voices—they whispered that his wife had once been the most famed courtesan in Iron City. When a high official of the First Hunter Guild had desired her, Cambera had fled with her to the countryside around Mondra.

With every added detail, Baron built a picture in his mind: a gifted, dashing man, loyal to the woman he loved, forever dressed in an immaculate, ornate uniform, every hair of beard and sideburn trimmed to perfection...

That fantasy lasted until the manor gates swung open. There, beneath the linden-lined drive, stood a pot-bellied, weathered man leaning on a cane, who greeted them with a broad smile.

"Dufaux Cambera, at your service. Welcome, Viscountess, to my humble home..."

Illusion shattered.

Cambera's gaze shifted to Baron, who stood among the peasants, and the baron's creased face folded into an even broader grin. "You must be the one who solved the God's-Punishment-Fire case—Mister L, is it not?"

"You've seen me before?" Baron asked. He had no memory of ever meeting Baron Cambera.

At those words, Yalilan and Andre turned sharp eyes on the baron; they, too, sensed something amiss. Foreknowledge of Yalilan's arrival was understandable, but how could Cambera single out Baron from among the peasants without prior information?

The baron laughed. "Sheila told me."

He stepped aside, and a small maid curtsied nervously. She had been half-hidden behind his bulk, unnoticed until now. When Baron glanced at her, the girl flushed and lowered her head. "The cathedral has no place for maids to sleep..."

Baron stifled a chuckle.

"Night has fallen. Please, come inside and rest." The baron gestured for Baron and Yalilan to precede him.

Andre cleared his throat.

Cambera seemed to notice him only then. "Ah, of course—rest assured, the Viscountess's servant will be cared for. Bread and wine in plenty."

Andre: "..."

The manor's interior was far less grand than its façade suggested—comfortable, perhaps three hundred square meters, nothing ostentatious. Sheila poured red tea for Baron, Yalilan, and the suddenly taciturn, mysterious Andre.

The baron sat at the head of the table, frowning. "A blood fiend that drinks human blood? I never imagined such a thing in Mondra. We've always been peaceful. Now that one has appeared, Viscountess, I fear we must rely on your aid."

He caught Baron glancing—more than once—at his right leg beneath its tailored trousers, and explained with a rueful smile, "A relic of the Second Faith War. The seventy-second emperor ordered us to exterminate the Pure Church in Hweid. A Fallen Knight took the leg. An alchemist reattached it, but I can hardly walk."

"My apologies," Baron said.

"No matter. The fiend can mimic a human; Mister L is only protecting the people." The baron chuckled.

Andre shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. Cambera's easy frankness made his own suspicions feel petty.

But Baron, never one to miss an opening, pressed on. "Since Your Lordship knows I'm protecting the people, may I ask you a few questions?"

Surprise flickered across Cambera's face, but he nodded.

Baron did not mince words. "I've heard your lady praised far and wide for her virtue, yet since entering I've heard no mention of her. The hour is still early—perhaps she has not retired. Would you allow us the honor of meeting her?"

Andre choked on his tea.

Though last night and this morning had proved the Fern was no coward, he had never imagined Baron would be so blunt—asking after another man's wife within minutes of entering his house.

"Andre, mind your manners!" Yalilan shot him a glare. "This is the baron's home—show some respect!"

You... I... He...

Andre goggled at Baron and the baron in turn, then muttered a reluctant, "Yes... my apologies."

Baron lifted his cup, sipped, and—when no one watched—discreetly spat the tea back into the saucer. Suspicion was suspicion; it never hurt to take precautions.

"Not at all," Cambera said. "My wife has been unwell of late, but if Mister L has a reason..." He rose. "Please, follow me."

He led them to his wife's chamber.

Inside sat a pale, faded woman. Hands folded over her lap, she regarded the unexpected visitors with a quiet dignity. Had the peasants not gossiped, who would guess that the highborn lady of the manor had once been a courtesan?

Cambera knelt by the bed, apologizing softly for the intrusion. She nodded, then pulled the blanket over her head.

"Elisa is mute," the baron said. "On the day we fled together, the brothel keeper poisoned her throat. The antidote could only be had by returning, but Elisa chose to come with me."

"People call her a former prostitute, but I care nothing for that. She had two children to feed; selling her body was the only way to survive.

"There are women outwardly respectable—petty, selfish, taking lovers, even stealing their husbands' fortunes—yet because of their lofty station, they are thought nobler than Elisa and countless others like her.

"That is the world we live in," he finished, voice heavy.

Andre asked, "Those two children..."

"Killed by fiends on the road," the baron said, grief clouding his face. "I failed her. I swore I would atone by living childless all my days."

He gestured to the carpet, littered with children's toys. "My lady buys them to ease her loneliness."

Yalilan and Andre bowed their heads, solemn; only Baron remained detached. After sweeping his gaze across the open wardrobe, he suddenly pointed at the floorboards and muttered, "Do you hear that? Someone is weeping below."

Weeping?

Andre and Yalilan tensed.

Baron pressed a finger to his lips, then tilted his head. "It sounds... like a child crying."