Chapter 3 - Well That Was Awkward

The room was small, drafty and moist, but it had a bed and clean sheets. Yes, he had spent a full night in a gorgeous bed ten days before, but during the subsequent days he worked his ass off and slept in temporary arrangements like barns or on benches in filthy inns, and the prospect of having a real mattress beneath his back that night was more than welcome. He basically collapsed on it the same moment he shut the door of the room.

The next morning, when he woke, he was greeted by an obtrusive ray of light straight in his eyes and the scent of freshly baked oat bread, flavored with honey. His stomach grumbled as he realized he was hungry. He quickly washed himself with the little water the maid had left in a jug by his bed, regretting it wasn't enough to shave, but got dressed and strapped his swords to his back and the dagger to his belt, then went downstairs. He ordered breakfast, ate calmly while writing a bit more then headed to the temple. He spent most of the day in the library of the Temple of Melitele, surrounded by tomes.

Apparently, in the last year many books had been published about monsters, with updated information he definitely needed to know to succeed in his job. New potions formulae had been created, in order to double the effects but reduce the side effects and new blade oils that gave an edge in fighting against certain monsters had been found and there was so much stuff to memorize - or take notes - before he went back on the road. It would take him at least a week to read through them, and he still had to apply to be allowed in the royal library.

He would probably need to stay a little longer, if he found more books. He also wanted to find a couple of contracts in the city, so that would take more time too. Not that he had somewhere to be – he could spend a whole here in Vizima, picking up contracts here and there. It wasn't like there was a lack of monsters in the area, but he liked to travel. It gave him a different perspective on the world and what was going on and to learn something new every day.

When night fell, he walked back to the inn and sat at the same spot as the night before, with a tankard of ale and a bowl of soup. As he read through his notes, he watched the people around him again. That night, there were many new faces he hadn't seen the night before. A small group of elves sat at the table beside him, and one of them was trying to convince the others to go with him as he was planning to leave and join a Scoia'tel band that hid in the caves. Then there were dwarves sitting together and playing dice and gwent, and their accent, so tight and recognizable, made him smile. They inserted expletives, very gross expletives, every three words and they were damn funny people as a whole. Rarely dwarves treated him like scum, quite the contrary, so he enjoyed their company from time to time. Then there was a band of thugs betting on each other in a brawling contest in the far corner of the inn.

Ah, taverns looked all the same all around the world.

Except in Nilfgaard. He hated taverns in Nilfgaard. Down south in the Empire, everything was so perfect and neat and sparkly shiny that it was almost unbearable. Witchers were frown upon, but not discriminated, yet rarely they found work. It wasn't like there was a lack of monsters in Nilfgaard, they just preferred to ignore the problem and they called professionals only when the issue had gone overboard.

It was one of the reasons Witchers rarely dealt with Niflgaardians. Except for his brother. He wandered around the empire a lot, when he was alive.

God knows why he did, but hey… if he liked it that way…

He was in the middle of his second tankard when a group of off duty guards entered the inn. Among the different voices, he caught that of a woman and looked up from his notes. The mysterious woman was back. A regular maybe? She probably came there when she finished her shift to blow off some steam with her friends. The blond blue eyed guy and the muscular hunk were with her again, but the blonde girl that was with them the other night had been replaced by a gorgeous dark skinned woman that evidently came from Zerrikania, the kingdom south of Nilfgaard, given her skin tone.

They all set at the same table and ordered both dinner and drinks, and Castle went back to his notes. Only one day and he had filled half a ledger of new notions and he was trying to go through what he could confirm with his personal experience - he was always a little wary of scholars, as they rarely had first hand experience with monsters - and what was rubbish added just to make it look like it was something new. Vesemir had taught him that technique, the meticulous review of new notions, when he was a teen and had found himself baffled by the stark differences in the descriptions of ekkimaras, the most common, and monstrous, bloodsucker in the world. The old and wise Witcher had taken three different tomes, one of them from his private library, and told him to look for the differences and write them down, then had described the creatures himself, from his own encounters. Criss-crossing the different details of all four sources, he found out that there was truth in all the three books, and some trash too.

From that moment on, he never took what he read in books for granted, he used them more to find a confirmation of his own observation, and not the sole source of his knowledge.

He was more interested in the new variations of potions though. Though toxic, there were potions that were absolutely essential in his line of work. Witchers were trained to kill monsters, but they weren't infallible. They made mistakes, took a bad step, they could find an opponent stronger than they had thought or worse, more monsters than initially expected… incidents and problems were a staple of a monster slayer field day, and potions and oils gave them the edge they needed to gain the upper hand and overcome monsters.

Sometimes men too.

A sharp dressed man appeared in his field of view and threw a heavy leather bag on the table. By the heavy thud and clinking sound it made when it landed on the flat wood surface, it was full of money. "Five hundred orens. They're yours, if you beat that guy."

Oh, the brawlers.

Castle looked up at the man he was supposed to beat. Short, definitely overweight, round head and sunken eyes. His nose had been broken multiple times and he limped slightly. A soldier wounded in battle?

"Why should I accept it?" he asked.

"Gregor wants to see if he can win a fight against a Witcher. That's all. Free to accept or decline."

By the tone in his voice, he clearly wasn't free to decline. They'd probably force him to fight anyway, be it in a honest one-on-one brawl for the bets or an ambush outside the inn, one day or another.

He sighed. "Alright. Rules?"

"No bites. No magic. No weapons. Fight's won when one gives up or goes down and stays down for longer than ten seconds."

"That easy?" The man nodded. Castle closed the ledger and put it away in his backpack, along with the inkwell and the pen. "I need someone to keep my things."

The blond guy with the mysterious woman held up his hand. "We'll keep them, Witcher."

Castle took his things and handed them to the off duty guard. "You bet?"

The blond guy shrugged his shoulders. "A little. Just enough that if you win I will have enough to pay dinner and drinks for us."

The Witcher nodded. "I'll make sure you win."

With that, he approached the makeshift ring.

"Gentlemen…" the sharp dressed man started. "We have a new participant to our little tournament. Sir…"

"Richard Castle."

"...Sir Richard Castle versus our champion, Gregor. Chivalrously challenged, the Witcher here decided to accept the contest. You both know the rules. Let the best of you win."

He stepped back and let the fighters do their thing. Gregor's style was nothing more than drunkenly sway his huge fists as if they were hoes in a cornfield, he was powerful but really slow and predictable. Considering his body mass, it was more than comprehensible.

Castle swiftly evaded his assault, stepping laterally a couple of times before landing a jab to Gregor's nose. The massive man, taken by surprise, nearly stumbled on his feet as he held his bleeding nose. A thunderous roar started from the crowd as they cheered for the first blood.

He chuckled as the man, now extremely angry, assaulted him once again. He parried a couple of mean hooks that could have dislocated his jaw if they had landed and avoided a third one, ducking beneath it. He exploited the momentum to push his knee deep in his protruding stomach, full of beer, and immediately landing a punch to his solar plexus. The combined force of both the knee kick and the punch forced Gregor to double over, holding his belly and howling in pain.

Castle wiped his hair away from his face and studied his adversary. Gregor was clearly not a match for a Witcher and had bit more than he could actually chew. There was no need to humiliate him more in front of his friends. He went for one last punch to his face. His clenched fist collided with his cheekbone, hardened knuckles shattered his facial bones and split the soft tissues. Blood spurted from his face, a couple of teeth landed on the floor and then Gregor fell hard on the wooden tiles, grunting as he hit his head on the wooden floor.

He stayed down.

Everyone in the inn, even those not interested in betting on the brawls, was now watching the downfall of the local champion, by the hand of a stranger that had barely broke a sweat while beating his adversary to unconsciousness. He looked around and saw the guy that had offered to keep his things safe baffled beyond reason, same went for the other man and the black haired woman. But apparently, the mysterious guard that had caught his eye the other night was rather interested in his display of brutal force. He felt her piercing eyes delving deep into his soul, as if she was looking for the answer to a question she only knew.

"Well…" he said. "Guess I earned those orens…"

The guy that had recruited him handed him a heavy leather bag. He opened it, took some coins out and threw them at the innkeeper. "Next round's on me." The he took his backpack and his swords from the still astounded guard. "Thank you for you help, Officer."

"Ryan…" he added. "Kevin Ryan."

"Nice to meet you, Officer Ryan. And thanks again." He ran a hand through his hair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I will retire to my room. Ladies, gentlemen…" He tipped his head and headed to the stairs.

Once there, he shut the door behind him and threw his things on the bed, then proceeded to take off his shirt and boots, throwing them at the foot of the bed.

Sighing, he realized he smelled like a stable, and some of Gregor's blood had stained his pants and his face too. He definitely needed to pay a visit to the public baths, but for the moment, the water in the jug left by the maid and the little soap he had with him would have to suffice. In the small, chipped mirror attached to the wall, he noticed he definitely needed to shave too, the brisk white stubble covered his chin and cheeks, scratching as he ran his hands on his face.

Ah, so many things, so little time… he thought as he removed his pants and undergarments, then he splashed some cold water on his face, neck and chest, felt it trickle down his abdomen, giving him an invigorating ticklish feeling on the marred skin. He took the small soapbar he always carried with him and dunked it in the bowl of water, then fiercely rubbed the wet bar on the critical spots to wash away some of the dust and blood that had accumulated on his skin after a long day in the library and after that fight. The droplets quickly became darker as they washed away the grime from his skin. He gathered some more water from the bowl and wetted his hair and beard and when he added the soap the lather that formed quickly turned into a sickly pinkish gray from all the dirt and blood plastered in it. The little water he had at his disposition wasn't nearly enough to clean himself as he wished, but it was something. He'd give any sum of money for a hot water tub, but it wasn't the time nor place.

Most of all because someone was approaching the door of his room. Light steps, swift movements. The sounds were muffled, he was probably wearing frayed leather boots. There was a slight hitch in the gait, either caused by a limp or by a sword hanging from the left hip.

Probably one of the friends of Gregor, downstairs, that wanted revenge for his humiliation.

Not even caring about his state of undress and the fact that he was still in the middle of his makeshift shower, Castle grabbed the knife he kept behind his back and hid behind the door.

The person on the other side knocked. At the lack of an answer, he knocked again. And again. After the third knock, left unanswered, he opened the door and stepped in.

Not even looking who the intruder was, the Witcher pounced like a cat stalking his prey. He silently moved from his hideout and grabbed the intruder from the back, his left hand holding him by the jaw and the knife pressed at the throat.

Only that, when the cold steel of the blade had already nicked the skin, he realized there was something wrong.

The intruder had long, wavy hair. It tickled his chest as he kept him locked in what could have been a deadly hold. No one among the brawlers downstairs had long hair. Also, he smelled like wild cherries, not exactly a manly fragrance. And it wasn't a cheap perfume, that he could tell for sure as a small cloud lifted off the person he was threatening to kill.

He looked down and saw the mystery woman, her beautiful face distorted by terror and shock, tears brimming in her eyes as she tried to remain as still as possible while his blade pressed against her pulse point.

As if electrocuted, Castle let her go and pushed her away, bewildered and terrified by his own behavior. He planted the knife in the wooden frame of the door and shut it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The woman coughed and pressed her hand at her neck. A rivulet of blood oozed from her throat. "Do you threaten to kill everyone looking to hire you?" she asked, her voice broken and hoarse. "Hey, you're naked!"

He mentally smacked himself and walked to the bed where his towel lay, still unused, and wrapped it around his hips to cover at least the essential. "I'm sorry I… I thought you were one of the guys downstairs."

"Who? Those idiots that fight for money? They're still trying to set Gregor's nose," she explained, still pressing on the wound.

"I'm sorry." He fumbled around a pouch he kept attached to his belt and pulled out a small Celandine flower and a clean piece of cloth. He crushed and twisted the flower with his fingers and let the thick yellow liquid drip on the cloth, the held it close to her mouth. "Spit."

"What?!"

He groaned. "I'm trying to stop the bleeding. Spit, for fuck's sake!"

Not exactly happy, she obeyed. "That's disgusting…"

"Yeah, but effective," he said. Then he rudely pulled her hand away from her neck and pressed impromptu salve to the wound.

She grimaced. "It stings."

"It's mildly toxic, that's why it stings, but it will stop the bleeding and close the wound, leaving no scar behind."

"How do you even know it?"

"Witcher, remember?" He walked past her and pulled a chair from the corner of the room, then gestured her to sit down. When she was settled, he stood a few feet away from her. "So, you said something about hiring me?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, well… Now I'm not exactly sure I still want to hire you, after the stunt you just pulled."

He chuckled and folded his arms across his bare chest. "I wouldn't be surprised. It was incredibly rude and definitely awkward, I am deeply sorry it happened."

That tore a smile from her. "And they say Witchers have no feelings."

Castle shrugged his shoulders. "Common misconception. We're just better at hiding them than the normal population. By the way, I'm Richard Castle, professional monster slayer."

He extended his hand. Shifting her hold on her neck, she grabbed and shook it. The strength of her handshake surprised him. "Kate Beckett. City guard."

"Nice to meet you. So? The job?"

"Ah… yes… I want you to help me catch my mother's killer."

Quite a blunt request. "Uhm… isn't that the role of a City guard? Or of a detective?"

She nodded. "I hired Raymond Maarloeve and he failed miserably. Or more likely, he got too scared. Waste of money, I tell you."

"Where do I come in? I'm not a detective."

"You see… my mother was killed ten years ago. By a monster."

That caught his attention. Not the fact that the murder had happened a decade before, but the monster part. "How can you be sure?"

"The autopsy report states so, and I saw the body myself: mangled and half eaten. There were bite marks as big as a bear, but they seemed shaped like a human mouth. She was found a week after her disappearance in an Elven ruin beneath the City."

"Couldn't ghouls or drowners have caused the marks on the body?"

She shook her head. "No. The medical examiner determined all the bites and wounds were inflicted ante mortem. Groups of people stalked the sewers around the entrance of the ruin for weeks, but nothing came up."

"And you think a Witcher can find something normal humans can't? Hey, it's been ten years. Maybe the monster that killed your mother is dead."

"It wasn't the first time it killed, and it wasn't the last. In the past years, more than twenty people died by the hands of the same monster. One turned up just this morning, same marks, same place. The body is in the morgue at the moment."

That was interesting. Very interesting.

"Tell me more about it."

"Simple as it gets. Sometimes a body is found around town. Some in the sewers, some in the outskirts, some have been found in the swamp just north of here… it's never the same though, but it's always close to water. They all disappear and then, a week later, the body comes up somewhere, fresh and with no sign of decomposition. No traces to be found, no dragging marks, nothing. The alderman told the guards to stop looking for the responsible and put up a contract, but no one ever found anything."

"No Witchers claimed that contract in the past?" he asked.

"No, no one. Not that many of them come to Vizima these days, the ink on the parchment has now faded, I think, as it's been pinned to the notice board for years now. So? I'm going to pay you, and you can claim the contract too. Just help me find my mother's murderer, please. I can't do it on my own."

Castle thought about it for a long while before giving her an answer. A monster that had been in the same area for so many years… that acted always the same way, with so many victims… that was a dangerous kind of monster. A highly intelligent one, it seemed, as it kept its victims alive for a time before killing them. It didn't look good for the city.

Bitterly, he thought about his dead brother. He was the one specialized in the weird things. Together, they had seen the best and the worst the world had to offer in matters of monsters, and his big brother was like a magnet for the strange stuff. He had almost forgot the "normal" stuff, to the point he often asked his help to deal with more mundane curses.

He would have loved thisone.

"Let's say I help you. What do you mean bythat? Witchers usually work alone."

"Mister Castle…"

He stopped her. "Castle will be just fine."

She nodded. "Castle, I want to know what happened. And I don't want to hear a summary of it. I want to know, I want to see. That's why I want to follow you. I became a guard because I wanted to catch the bastard that killed my mother and threw my father down the rabbit hole of alcoholism. Is it too much to ask?"

"No, not at all. Just… I will need to examine the body and the place it was found. And the other spots, if you remember them. I can't ask to look at older bodies as I assume they've already been buried but…"

"Anything you want. I'm off duty tomorrow, we can start whenever you want."

She looked so eager to start, it was almost touching. Of course, it was a sore spot for her, as her mother had been killed, but she looked extremely interested in catching the monster no matter what. She took her job pretty seriously, apparently.

"Alright. Tomorrow morning then. I usually wake up pretty early, you'll find me downstairs at the usual table."

"You're not even going to haggle about the money?"

Castle scratched his chin, amused by the comment. "I have other sources of income. And considering how long that monster has been around, I highly doubt they are going to pay me one hundred orens or less."

She chuckled. The sound was like a melody to his ears, so used to people wishing he would die as they saw him. On the contrary, she was at ease with him, didn't treat him like an outcast. That was new.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow then." She stood and walked to the door. "Goodnight, Castle."

"Goodnight, Beckett." And then she was gone.

He remained there, as if stuck to the wooden floor, naked except for the gray towel around his hips, thinking.

There was something strange about that woman, that Kate Beckett. He understood why she had decided to turn down the perks of being highborn, because she clearly was by the way she walked, spoke and acted, and become a humble city guard, but what he couldn't understand was her attitude towards him.

Rarely normal people like her acted so at ease with Witchers. Mostly, mages and sorceress treated them as human beings, and not even all of them were so well disposed towards his caste. But she was. Even after he had pressed a freshly sharpened knife at her neck, actually wounding her. Not to mention the blatant display of nudity, that let her see not only his private parts, but also the scars left on his body by more than half a century on the road fighting monsters and demons. That alone would have driven even the kindest person away. He was a grizzly sight, he knew it, and though he couldn't do much about it except for covering the marks with appropriate clothing, he was a little self conscious about it.

That woman was a mystery, he had guessed just right the night before down in the tavern, as he made up stories about her to fill the void of a dull evening. Stories that, fuelled by alcohol and weariness, had quickly become the source of his new novel. He had also guessed the reason she had become a guard. Not a small feature, that was sure.

He had her name now, he could stop fantasizing about a nameless woman that could or could not be a sorceress. Because that thought kept nagging at him. Usually sorceress released a magical aura, something he was trained to sense, but they also knew how to dampen it, so others couldn't pick it up, therefore there still was a chance she actually was one of the few female mages that roamed around the world, just like Witchers did.

This was going to be an exciting contract.