Every inch of the city was used, every corner held something a shrine to the Eternal Fire, the Temple Isle rose above it all, visible from every street, from every square, from every alley. The Eternal Fire was everywhere. Statues of the Flaming Rose stood at intersections, their bronze faces frozen in expressions of righteous fury. Braziers burned outside every corner, their flames guttering and dancing in the wind. Priests in white robes moved through the crowds like sharks through water, their eyes scanning for heresy, for sin, for anything that might be purified by fire.
Sebastian's hand drifted to his medallion. It was still, there was no magic here, but he could still sense evil.
He guided the mare deeper into the city. The street widened into a square, not the main square, not the grand square where the Hierarch spoke to the masses on holy days, but a smaller one, ringed with taverns and inns and the kind of shops that sold things people needed rather than things they wanted. A farrier's forge. A cooper's workshop. A butcher's stall, the hooks still wet with blood.
People noticed him. The swords. The medallion. The eyes, if he let them see his eyes. Some looked away quickly, pretending they hadn't seen. Some stared, curiosity warring with fear. Some crossed the street to avoid him. One child, a boy of perhaps seven, with a runny nose and a cap that was too large for his head pointed and said, "Mama, look, a witchman!"
His mother slapped his hand down and dragged him away without a word.
Sebastian did not react, he passed a tavern called The Nowhere a name that made him wonder what it actually meant. He passed a fountain where a group of fishwives were gutting their morning catch, the guts slopping into the water, the gulls screaming overhead. He passed a bookbinder's shop with a sign that promised 'TOMES, CODICES, & GRIMOIRES: NO QUESTIONS ASKED.'
He passed a narrow alley where a group of children were playing at being knights but not Temerian knights, not Redanian knights. They were playing at being the Temple Guard. One child wore a paper crown and pretended to be the Hierarch. Another child lay on the ground, playing dead.
'Burn the heretic,' the crowned child chanted. 'Burn the heretic. Burn them all in the heat of the Eternal Fire!'
The other children laughed.
Sebastian rode on.
He found an inn eventually a place called The Kingfisher, three stories tall, with a painted sign showing a bird with a fish in its beak. It was not the nicest inn in Novigrad, but it was not the worst either. The stables looked secure. The windows were intact. The door was solid oak, banded with iron.
He dismounted, his legs ached from riding. His lower back complained and he ignored both.
The mare snorted and nudged his shoulder with her nose.
"I know," he said quietly. "You want oats and a warm stall. You'll get both, I also need to find work and a certain Idiot."
The mare flicked an ear, unimpressed.
'Still can't believe I'm in Novigrad,' he thought.
He heard and read the stories and now he was living them, he led the mare toward the stable and then he entered the inn.
The Kingfisher was warm, that was the first thing Sebastian noticed as he pushed through the oak door, the warmth, a stark contrast to the grey chill of the Novigrad streets. The second thing he noticed was the smell: roast meat, fresh bread, mulled beer, and beneath it all, the clean scent of woodsmoke and the faint, pleasant mustiness of old timber.
The common room was long and low-ceilinged, with dark beams overhead and a fireplace at the far end that could have roasted a whole ox. The fire was modest now, morning fire, but it threw enough heat to take the edge off the chill. The floor was strewn with fresh rushes, a sign that the innkeeper cared about such things.
A handful of patrons dotted the room and none of them looked up when Sebastian entered. That was unusual. Witchers drew eyes like flies drew honey. But Novigrad was a city of strangers, and the patrons of The Kingfisher had learned to mind their own business.
Sebastian approached the bar.
The innkeeper was a barrel of a man, short, wide, and red-faced in the way of people who spent their days next to hot ovens and open flames. His hair was a fringe of grey around a bald pate, and his apron was stained with a dozen different colors that might have been wine or blood or beetroot or all three. He had a cheerful face.
"Morning, traveler," the innkeeper said, wiping his hands on his apron. "Come in from the cold, have you? Sit, sit. Warm yourself. What can I get you? We've got stew that'll stick to your ribs and ale that'll put hair on your chest.. not that you need it, mind you. Look at you. Young and hale. The girls in the city'll be fighting over you, they will."
Sebastian blinked. He was not accustomed to this much of.. friendliness. Most innkeepers looked at his medallion and his swords and saw trouble walking through their door. This one looked at him and saw a paying customer.
"A room will do," Sebastian said. His voice came out rougher than he intended, too many days on the road, too few words spoken aloud. "And a stable for my horse outside."
The innkeeper nodded, unbothered by the curtness. "Aye, we can do that. How long you staying?"
"I don't know yet. A few days, maybe more."
"Right you are. Right you are." The innkeeper reached beneath the bar and produced a heavy iron key, which he slid across the worn wood. "Room seven. Top of the stairs, end of the hall, good view of the courtyard, if you like watching people come and go. I don't judge."
Sebastian picked up the key.
"How much?"
"Twenty crowns a night. That includes the stable and a hot meal in the evening. Breakfast is extra, but I'll throw it in free tomorrow since it's your first night. Call it a welcome to Novigrad." The innkeeper winked. "Business has been good. I can afford to be generous."
Sebastian reached into his coin purse, a worn leather pouch that had seen better days and pulled out a handful of coins. He looked at them, then looked at the innkeeper, then looked back at the coins. His jaw tightened.
"Shit," he muttered. "I forgot to exchange my currency."
The innkeeper let out a low chuckle. "That's a common mistake for travelers new to the city. Novigrad mint's its own coin, you see. Temple won't take nothing but crowns , and the merchants get twitchy if you hand them anything with a king's face on it."
Sebastian held up the coins. "Kaedweni marks."
Willy leaned over the bar, squinted at the coin, and shrugged with the easy pragmatism of a man who had seen every kind of currency pass over his counter and a few things that weren't currency at all, if the suspicious stain on his ceiling was any indication.
"It's okay," Willy said, waving a thick hand. "I'll take whatever."
Sebastian blinked. "Really?"
"Fine by me." Willy plucked one from Sebastian's palm, held it to the light, and bit down on the edge. He nodded approvingly. "Coin's coin. And Henselt's ugly mug is good enough for my pocket. Besides," he dropped the coin into his apron with a clink, "...I can go and exchange them later, you should do so as well if you have more coin at the Vivaldi's bank. The old dwarf is one greedy bastard, but he is one of the decent bankers around."
Sebastian counted out two hundred marks and placed them on the bar for two nights, stable included, breakfast thrown in as a welcome.
The innkeeper swept them up with a smile. "Pleasure doing business with you, Master...?"
"Just the witcher is fine."
The innkeeper's smile did not falter. If he had any reaction to the word witcher, he hid it well. "Just the witcher it is. Welcome to The Kingfisher. If you need anything, extra blankets, hot water, directions to a good brothel.. you just ask. Name's Willem. Everyone calls me Willy, though. Don't ask why."
Sebastian almost smiled.
"Thank you, Willy."
The innkeeper beamed.
Sebastian turned away from the bar, the key clutched in his gloved hand. He scanned the room again, the merchant, the dockworkers, the widow, the fireplace, the stairs at the back that led to the upper floors.
He took a step toward the stairs.
Then he heard it.
"Sebastian."
The voice was strange, it was a man's voice, but there was something off about it. Something that made the hair on the back of Sebastian's neck stand up. Too smooth, maybe. Too calm.
Sebastian froze.
His first thought was that he had misheard. His second thought was that someone else in the room was named Sebastian, a ridiculous notion perhaps. His third thought was that the voice had come from somewhere behind him, somewhere near the fireplace, somewhere in the corner where the shadows were deepest.
No one in Novigrad knew his name, other than a few friends. No one in Novigrad even knew he existed. He had been on the Path for less than a season. He had not made a name for himself and he had not earned a reputation, he was no one.
And yet someone had called him by name.
Sebastian turned.
The man was smiling.
"What the..." Sebastian breathed.
The man simply smiled and raised a single finger to his lips. 'Shh.'
/-\
If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch: In One Piece / Shadow Monarch in DC
&
If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my pat-reon / FrenzyAren"
You can Get Access to More Chapters Ahead of Release on All of My Stories!