Chapter 3

The third time Julian met a Witcher he was fourteen and newly arrived in Oxenfurt. As one of the youngest students ever invited into the college, Julian had been requested to arrive three weeks ahead of the next session in order to move in, meet with several of the professors and become oriented to both Oxenfurt the city and Oxenfurt the College.

Julian had been there one week and already knew that he wanted out of the housing provided to the noble sons and daughters attending the college and wanted in the dormitories provided to the more common students even if it meant giving up some of the comforts provided to those nobles, and secondly, that he was going to have problems with some of the older students who saw his age, talent and intelligence as threats to their own standing. He'd already had two run-ins with a group of early returning third year students. The four to one odds had not gone in his favor. The fact that the group had also consisted of noble sons meant that Julian's recourses for stopping the harassment were somewhat limited. As the de Lettenhove heir, he did have some privilege and leverage that could be brought to bear against second and third sons, but he was loath to use that power. It left a bad taste in his mouth and there might come a day in the next four years when he would really need it. It was best not to squander resources to quickly.

Now that he was settled in the tiny university apartment assigned to him, complete with two rooms – one tiny one for a servant Julian refused to bring along – and trying to avoid his tormentors, Julian had taken to roving the city in the early morning hours as tradesmen and shopkeepers were opening the shops for the day. He especially enjoyed visiting Violetta's as the owner had taken a liking to Julian and let him snag any of the previous days pastries if he was willing to help her set up the tables and chairs outside her bakery.

Julian had just waved goodbye to Violetta, four slightly stale pastries in hand, when one of the grates to Oxenfurt's sewer system abruptly exploded upwards. Stumbling backwards before landing on his ass in the street with a startled and rather undignified squawk, he just managed to thankfully save breakfast. Violetta's pastries were not to be wasted.

Before he could get back up to his feet, a dirty hand shot up out of the hole to grasp the edge. A second hand covered in something slimy came into view and with a heave, a thoroughly disgusting looking Master Vesemir climbed into view.

Julian just sat and stared for a long moment. He knew he looked ridiculous sitting on his ass in the middle of the street, his mouth open in shock and pastries in one hand, but all his thoughts had just shuttered to a halt. At least until Vesemir raised his head and where Julian would normally expect two piercing yellow gold eyes, all-encompassing inky black stared back at him, faint black lines trailing from across his temples. For some reason, that kickstarted Julian's brain – and tongue – back into gear.

Scrambling up to his feet, he gave the Witcher a short bow. "Good morning, Master Vesemir. I'd offer you a hand, but I'm afraid even good manners will only go so far when you are covered in" – he gestured with the hand holding the pastries and wrinkled his nose – "whatever that is."

Vesemir cocked his head to the side, eyes squinting against the early rising sun. "Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. Once again in a place I least likely expect you to be."

Julian grinned widely, some at the Witcher's dry sarcasm, but mostly at being remembered. It had been four years after all. The Witcher could have met thousands of people in that time. That he remembered Julian set off something warm beneath his breastbone.

Vesemir levered himself up to his feet and Julian realized the man was truly covered in filth. "Master Vesemir, not to presume to much on our short acquaintance, but what are you doing here?" He waved a hand at the open sewer cover and added, "In the sewers of Oxenfurt."

"Contract," he said, flicking a wrist covered in slime at the ground, leave a wet splat against the cobbles that made Julian swallow hard against revulsion.

"Ah, something creeping beneath the school and city."

"A whole lot of somethings," the other man sighed, wrinkling is nose is obvious disgust.

Julian looked around the street, a few others up at this early hour were beginning to stare and knowing that soon it would be filled with people, a somewhat mad, but possibly brilliant idea, occurred to him. "Um, Master Vesemir, not to state the obvious, but people will soon be out in the streets." He jerked a chin in the direction of the lookers. "You are already beginning to attract attention. My rooms are but a short distance away. I can offer a bath." He held up the pastries. "And some slightly stale but still exceedingly delicious pastries."

Black eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And why would do you do that?"

Julian fidgeted a bit under that inky black stare and cleared his throat a bit nervously. "It would be my honor to provide assistance. You did save my life last we met."

Those eyes narrowed even more, and one grey brow went up.

Julian lasted only a few seconds before he broke. "Okay fine. I have questions. Lots of questions. Questions from when I was FIVE. And . . . and, ahhh, why are your eyes black? Have you ever been a blacksmith? And why two swords and are the stories true that Witcher's age slower than humans and you said that you heal faster and how does that even work?" Julian slapped his free hand over his mouth to stop the thousand other things we wanted to ask. "Sorry," he murmured from behind his fingers.

Both of Vesemir's brows were now raised, the expression on his face unreadable, but then the Witcher snorted in clear amusement. "Very well, boy. A chance to clean this muck off would be appreciated. Lead on."

Julian grinned, bouncing slightly on his toes, a habit he'd never outgrown much to Father's consternation. He led the Witcher to his small apartment, keeping up a steady stream of chatter about what he'd done since the warg incident, his plans for university, his love for the city he'd only been in a week and anything else that crossed his mind. That Vesemir was largely silent except for the occasional hum of acknowledgement didn't bother him in the slightest. The older man showed none of the signs people usually showed when Julian's exuberance became annoying, so he felt free to continue.

Finally, back to his apartment, he ushered the Witcher inside with a bow and grand flourish. It was small; the Witcher's considerable bulk and sheer presence making it seem even more so, but Julian was thrilled. "The rooms aren't grand but appointed well enough." He pointed to a wooden divider screen. "Tub and wash basin behind there. There is some kind of magic something or another in the depths of the basement that controls hot and cold water. Spigots over the tub control it. It's probably the one luxury I'll miss when I ask to move rooms over to the dormitories." He pointed again, "Main room, two sleeping rooms through there. Each floor has a dining hall. We are responsible for keeping our own rooms cleaned but there is basket that can put out in the hall, and they will clean clothes and return them. Small but home."

The quick tour over, Julian fidgeted a bit before setting the pastries down on his small table, very aware that the Witcher was staring at him with an intensity that Julian could practically feel against his skin. It was rather unnerving to be the focus of that regard. "Master Vesemir?"

The Witcher shook himself, as if roused from deep thoughts. "A bath sounds good," he said and began stripping off his weapons and armor, there in the main room. Julian's eyes grew wide as the pile grew larger with the sheer mass of destructive weapons. Not, Julian decided, that the Witcher needed any of it. Even down to his begrimed pants and shirt, Julian knew the man could kill him with one hand.

With a nod, Vesemir slipped behind the screen on noiseless feet and Julian heaved a sigh before whispering to the empty room, "Melitele preserve me, I have no idea what I'm doing."

Rousing himself to do something useful, Julian surveyed the stacked pile of armor and truly mountainous pile of weapons – he counted six different daggers of different varieties – all of it as slimy and dirty as the Witcher had been. He would start there. Well, certainly not start. Even he knew that touching Vesemir's weapons and armor was a sure way to get himself killed in painful and probably messy fashion. He wasn't completely stupid.

He started opening cabinets in the small area he used to store various items and brought out a wash basin, several cleaning rags, soap and the bottle of oil he used for his instruments. If it was good enough for delicate woods, it should work well enough for leather. He laid it all out on the small table with the pastries.

He turned as Vesemir stepped back into the room, a bathing sheet wrapped around him, his rinsed and wrung out clothing in one hand. Julian stared. Naked, but for the sheet wound around him, Vesemir looked even larger, like one of the statues of the old heroes that lined the bridges. The scars painting his skin lending him a dangerous air even more that the pile of knives and swords decorating his floor.

Julian noticed with an embarrassed flush that Vesemir was regarding him with amusement again, like he was a particularly entertaining puppy. Mortification got him moving. "Hand me your clothes and I'll hang them to dry, if you like." He gestured to the cleaning supplies laid out on the table. "While you wait, I figured you'd want to clean your gear. I may have been terrible at swordplay, but the Swordmaster at Lettenhove did at least beat into my head the necessity of cleaning my weapons clean."

Vesemir passed his clothes over with a hum of appreciation and Julian wanted to beam at the Witcher, feeling very much like that entertaining puppy.

After taking care of the clothes, he took a seat across from the man, watching as his hands methodically cleaned his gear. He wanted to offer to help but figured he'd not earned that trust. Yet. He so desperately wanted to.

"Ask boy." The words were blunt almost harsh, but Julian could still hear the amusement.

He let out a huff of breath. Vesemir clearly knew his name. "I'm fourteen. I'm not a boy."

Vesemir let out a bark of laughter. "I've seen over two hundred long years. You could be an old man in your dotage, and you'd still be a boy."

Two hundred? The words seem unreal. To live that long seemed to Julian to be both a blessing and a curse – to be able to see all the wonders of the world and yet know that everyone and everything will disappear to dust long before you will. It sounded lonely to Julian. Yet, the thought births Julian's second brilliant idea of the day, one that has him practically vibrating with excitement."

"You said you are on Contract for the University?"

Vesemir grunted something that Julian took to be an affirmative, his gaze still on his armor. "Joint Contract for the city and University. Zeugls in the sewer. They feed on waste and filth. Hard to kill. Reproduce easily and if it overruns its environment, it will come up above to start hunting. Wolf School has a standing Contract to come pare down the numbers every decade or so."

Julian gets distracted from his purpose by the thought of monsters running around in the sewers. "Why not just eradicate them once and for all?"

Vesemir runs a finger along a loose piece of boiled leather and scowls. Julian is fairly sure – okay, sort of sure – that the scowl is directed at the weak point in the pauldron and not at his question. "In small numbers they keep the sewers clean. It's a beneficial symbiosis."

He thinks of creatures coming up from the sewers into hundreds of students ill prepared to handle them. "Until it's not."

He gets a rumbling hum in return. "It's easy enough work. Good coin though. City and University historically honor the Contract." He glances pointedly down at his armor. "Just messy."

"How long will it take?"

Tilting his head, Vesemir considers as he puts down the armor and picks up one of his knives. "Two, maybe three weeks."

"Are they putting you up somewhere? Providing food and a bath?"

He gets a snort at that. "It's a good Contract. Not that good. I've got a room at an inn on the east side of the city."

Julian breaths out, trying hard to control his rising excitement. He tried for nonchalant but isn't sure he made it. He knows the east side. It's the poorer side, probably chosen to keep the cost of lodging and food down. It's also far from the main branches of the sewer system. "Do Witchers take Contracts for things other than coin? Maybe in trade?"

The black eyes from before had faded back to amber gold and they met his squarely. "Are you propositioning me, boy?"

Only then does Julian realize how his words could be taken. He flails back in mortification. "No, I didn't mean . . . I'm not trying to . . ." His head dropped into his hands, his face and ears burning in embarrassment. He peeks at Vesemir through his fingers, somewhat encouraged that the man looks amused rather than offended or angry. Julian gets the distinct impression that Vesemir had just teased him deliberately. "Can I start over?"

"Please do." The words dry like the unwatered white wine Julian is only now beginning to appreciate.

Julian sucked in a breath and held it before letting it out again in a whoosh, hoping that he wasn't still pink cheeked, but doubting that the gods had that much mercy on him. "If you are amendable, I would like to offer you a Contract. Unfortunately, I don't have a lot of extra coin, but if you are willing, I would offer you an exchange instead. You mentioned you were staying in one of the inns on the outskirts of city. I have two rooms here. I have access to the student dining hall so free food. This place is close to one of the sewer entrances and most importantly, I have a bath. I would like to offer room, food and bath as payment for the Contract."

Sitting back, Vesemir crossed his arms across his chest, in total command, like he wasn't sitting at Julian's small table, naked except for a bath sheet wrapped around himself. One day, Julian vowed he would be that confident in himself.

"And what are you requesting in exchange for this food, room and bath?"

"Two things."

That expressive grey brow went up again. Julian was beginning to think that with just that brow and a frown, Vesemir could carry on whole conversations.

"There is a class that all incoming first year students must take. It's a history class taught by Professor Clairdorn. Clairdorn and the class are legendary, mostly for all the wrong reasons." Julian reached out to one of the cleaned pieces of leather, toying with it between his fingers. "There is an oral report that must be presented at the end of term, presented to Clairdorn and your fellow students and pretty much half the faculty as they all come to see us all sweat. That report is worth half your grade. Most fail the class the first time. I've heard it's over half now."

He uses one nail to scratch at something that looks like black blood on the leather piece he's holding. "I want to pass," he said, voice low and earnest. "I want to pass with honors."

Vesemir reaches out and take the leather piece from Julian's fingers. "And what do I have to do with that?"

"Everyone I've talked with, they all say that students pick an event, a point in history, and report on it, droning on in front of Clairdorn and the others. It's boring and it shouldn't be. It's a history class and history doesn't happen in a vacuum, it breaths, it moves, it shapes music, fashion and language. I want to graduate as a Master of the Seven Arts. So, I had the brilliant idea to present my topic through all seven arts – Grammar, Logic, Rhetoric, Arithmetic, Geometry, Music and Astronomy."

"And?"

Julian puffed out a bit of air, leaning towards the Witcher in his excitement of his idea. "You said it, yourself, Master Vesemir. You are over two hundred years old. It's not just dry history found in a moldy book. You were there. You know the songs that were sung at the time, the rumors going around, what the latest fashion were and advances in science and mathematics at the time and what people actually thought about them."

Julian waved a hand. "I'm mean, yes, I'll have to find documenting sources and all that, but with your help Master Vesemir, I could weave it all together into a whole. This is the start of my training for what I want to be; a trial, if you will. Will you help me pass my first trial and prove that I'm just as good as the rest of them." Julian frowns as Vesemir flinches hard for some reason.

"Your first Trial."

There is something different in the way Vesemir says the word, like he means something different than Julian, but he nods anyway. "Will you help? Will you make the trade?"

Vesemir hums again, neither agreement nor dismissal. "What is your second request?"

Julian focuses on the small pile of knives laid on the table to be cleaned. "I want to learn how to knife fight."