"Books and Scrolls" was the largest bookshop around Hierarch Square, with the most complete collection for miles.
Its proprietor—Marcus T.K. Hodgson—was a middle-aged man with spectacles and a neatly kept goatee. He liked wearing a double-breasted wool coat, and he carried himself with a calm, gentle air.
A fortnight ago, an unfamiliar young man had stepped into the shop for the first time. Marcus, who had a real feel for poetry, quickly became acquainted with the young Victor, and the two soon settled into an easy, aboveboard relationship of simple trade.
…
Among dust-sealed shelves and heaps of brittle old paper, Victor let out a long breath. Satisfied, he closed Notable People of the North, then stretched and rolled his shoulders to work the stiffness out of his limbs.
This book wasn't for sale at Books and Scrolls. Reading it in the shop's collection room had cost him three afternoons.
Inside were commentaries on many outstanding figures long dead—Raffard the White, who had mediated the War of the Six Kingdoms; Bienvenu La Louve, held up as a model of a queen who truly knew how to rule; Radovid III the Bold, credited with proclaiming Novigrad a free city; and Queen Calanthe, the Lioness of Cintra, famed for her courage and brilliance in war.
The book didn't only praise. It also condemned. Queen Calanthe's stubborn, overbearing nature—and her refusal to honor the Law of Surprise by giving Princess Cirilla to a witcher—was presented as the primary reason Cintra fell.
Or take Raffard, who refused the crown: the book painted him as a rigid, decaying worshiper of royal authority, and described his death as a treacherous assassination carried out by the Temerian royal house in collusion with other mages.
Typical of Novigrad—here you could read books that many other kingdoms would never allow to be printed. The contents might not be entirely true, but perspectives outside the official line still had their value.
Victor slid the book back into its exact place on the shelf. As he searched for the next piece of knowledge worth his time, someone else entered the stacks, their footsteps tapping out a flat, steady rhythm—clack, clack—across the floor.
The corridors between shelves were narrow. Victor pressed himself close to the bookcase to let the person pass, but the footsteps stopped behind him instead.
"I didn't expect you to take an interest in history as well, apprentice. But the past is the past—we should be looking to the future. I recommend White Frost: A Mysterious Cataclysm or a Natural Phenomenon. Its analysis of Ithlinne's prophecy has a few truly original insights."
The voice wasn't loud. The tone was mild, even courteous. Yet the moment it reached his ears, Victor's hands and feet went rigid.
Since arriving in the world of witchers, he'd faced plenty of vicious monsters and crossed paths with more than a few powerful people. With the bombs in his alchemical pouch, Victor had always believed that even if he lost, he could make the other side pay for the win.
But there was one person—only one—whose very presence made him feel utterly outmatched. Beneath his clothes, the School of the Wolf medallion began to tremble at high speed. In the silence of the sea of books, its vibration and his thundering heartbeat were both painfully clear.
Jacques de Aldersberg—the Grand Master of the Order of the Flaming Rose. He wasn't merely a knight of superb skill. He was also a terrifyingly powerful Source mage.
The thick, viscous magic filling the air was so heavy it almost tricked the body into thinking it couldn't breathe. Only a Source mage could explain that sensation. And judging by how effortlessly he moved, Jacques didn't just endure that unruly power—he could command part of it, or at least exist in harmony with it.
Victor turned and bowed. "My respects, Grand Master Jacques."
The corridor was tight, and this was the first time Victor had stood so close to him. Jacques was a full head taller, forcing Victor to tilt his chin up slightly.
"I didn't expect to meet you here. The trouble you caused in Vizima was hardly small. I hear Thaler swore he'd chase you to the ends of the earth just to put his hands on you." The Grand Master sounded almost amused, as if he were telling a good joke.
Reading the room, Victor's thoughts raced. Thaler couldn't command Jacques—and Jacques wouldn't waste time on someone like him. A far more natural explanation was that the Grand Master, as a devoted believer in the Eternal Fire, had come to the Holy City on routine pilgrimage.
This, then, was nothing more than chance—running into him while browsing a bookshop. Arresting Victor could go either way. And judging by the words just spoken, Jacques had even been recommending his next reading.
With those pieces clicking into place, Victor forced himself calm. "There's a misunderstanding between me and the head of the intelligence service. I'm not the criminal he thinks I am."
Jacques chuckled. "The real question is whether you took part in the bank robbery of your own will, or whether you were dragged into it. Don't be nervous—I'm inclined to believe it was the latter. You're familiar with Yaevinn's methods, yes?"
Victor nodded to show he understood.
"Using the sewers—humanity's blind spot. A brilliant idea. When the Order investigated afterward, we discovered something unexpected: a bruxa had been there.
I went to see it myself. A very powerful creature—no one but a professional witcher could stand against it. Yet the suspect Thaler handed us was only a witcher apprentice.
With no other option but to fit you into that criminal puzzle, I'll admit—you surprised me. Mutations or not, your fighting strength deserves a better appraisal."
The praise contained a few distortions—such as the matter of a Viper School witcher being involved—but Victor had no intention of getting into details.
"And so we return to the beginning," Jacques continued. "Tell me, apprentice Victor—when you helped the elves clear out that passage for their crime, was it deliberate? Or accidental?
If it was accidental, then as a monster slayer your actions are beyond reproach. In fact, City Hall ought to hand you a commendation.
But if it was deliberate, then I must place you under arrest."
Victor held the Grand Master's gaze. Jacques's eyes were mild and upright, yet there was a flexibility there, too. His words made it plain he intended to let Victor go—but Victor couldn't understand why.
A man of Jacques's station had no reason to help him. Their paths had barely crossed, and they knew almost nothing of each other.
And yet here Jacques was, making it openly clear that regardless of what Victor had truly intended, so long as Victor said now that it had been accidental, the matter would be buried on the spot.
"It was accidental," Victor answered without hesitation. "Before it happened, I didn't know their plan."
Jacques patted Victor's shoulder. "Then you did well—especially with the bruxa."
"Why are you willing to believe me?"
"Because I like what you've been doing. Not long ago I heard you dealt with a grave hag in Lindenvale as well. Humanity needs more talented people like you.
And it's not a bad thing to step away from the whirlpool in Vizima for a while. Better to stay clear of troubles you have no business being pulled into."
With that, the Grand Master turned to leave. At the doorway, he paused.
"If I count it up—first time at the Order's headquarters, second time at the banquet in the White Hall—this should be our third face-to-face meeting, shouldn't it?"
"I also saw you giving a sermon in the square once," Victor said. "For me, this is the fourth."
"Then that's enough. To think I've only met you three times—unbelievable. Every tiny difference is precious."
The remark was oddly phrased, and Victor couldn't quite grasp what he meant.
Jacques went on, "Remember this: I admire you. When you're able to return to Vizima, you'll know when—and when that time comes, I want you to help me."
He didn't stop again. Long after Jacques vanished from sight, Victor still felt as if he'd just woken from a half-real dream.
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