The Divine Hunter

The time was eleven, and the sun was shining bright. And yet Seven Cats Inn was still dark and dreary. The dilapidated inn located in Novigrad’s southeast outskirts rose to fame thanks to the seven stray cats roaming around the premises.

Naturally, the number of cats exploded over the years, though the thugs and goons would kidnap many of the new kittens every year. Still, even more kittens were born, keeping the number of cats roaming around the place at a consistent ten or so.

Jurgen was in his usual black, greasy cloak, and the bounty hunter trudged down the path filled with feces and potholes. His face was covered in bruises, and a visible scab formed on the bridge of his nose.

There was a heavy sack hanging from his shoulders, and his mustache was untrimmed. He looked just like a hunter who came back from a hunt in the woods. Every step he took made a sickening quelch, and he eventually arrived at the inn. Underneath the peeling white wall, a fat tabby cat meowed with every step Jurgen took. For a moment, it felt like an unskilled musician was holding a mini-performance outside the inn.

Jurgen looked unfazed as he made a slow turn into the dark, dank alleyway. He left the drawing of a dagger on the moss-filled walls with a charcoal pencil and advanced deeper into the alleyway. Then he leaned on the wall and rested his eyes.

Sounds of hurried footsteps traveled through the air, and in came a man fully covered in a black cloak and hood. He went past Jurgen and left through the other end of the alleyway, and then the man circled the inn for five minutes before returning to the alleyway.

“Take the child and come with me, Muskrat,” he whispered quickly at the bounty hunter as he pulled his hood off. Underneath it was a fair, pudgy, and solemn face. His eyes were slanted, but the look in them was as sharp as a knife. His cheeks were so heavy they were jowls.

A frown furrowed Jurgen’s brows, and he opened his eyes, though there was anxiety within them.

Before he could say anything, the fat man had already glanced at the sack on his shoulder, but there was no child within. The only thing inside was yellowing hay. Shocked and alarmed, the pudgy man tried to run, but a silhouette leapt down from the walls and stopped him from escaping.

The first thing the pudgy man saw was a pair of amber, viper eyes and a scowl of fury. He then heard someone jumping down behind him, and the man realized he was surrounded. He hung his head low in defeat and raised his hands to surrender.

***

Jurgen and his correspondent were tied to a chair in a dark chamber sleeping in rural Novigrad. He was looking around nervously only to see a few men glaring at him. Letho, Auckes, and Gawain were contemplating what to do next.

“This is Sebastian,” Gawain said. “He’s one of the council members and the owner of two boutiques in the business district. His clientele? The rich and the powerful.”

Sebastian was nervous.

“He acquired a spot on the council through his donations,” Gawain said, raising his voice to let the man hear him. “It’s been less than two years since his addition to the council. And now I ask you, Sebastian, why did you come after my orphanage? And why do you think you can challenge the witchers and me? Just because you have a bounty hunter on your side? Or do you think your businesses can support your endeavor?”

Sebastian chose to remain silent.

“I’ve told you everything I knew, witchers. Please, spare me!” the pale, gaunt Jurgen begged.

“Shut up, you!” Auckes taped Jurgen’s mouth and turned his deathly sharp look to the pudgy man. If looks could kill, Sebastian would have died. “You’re not making things easy for us, Mr. Senator. We might be forced to take some… extreme measures. Witcher Signs, so to speak. Oh, no, wait. That’d make things too easy for you. Bear with us here, for soon you’ll lose control of your own bowel movements. Imagine this: your immaculate, bespoke attire soiled and caked in your own shit and piss…”

“No, wait, I’ll talk!” Sebastian shouted. “Orloff, witchers, please, calm down.” Sebastian tried to force a smile, but it was stiff. His eyes were glinting with cowardice and fear. “You got me. I’ll tell you whatever I know.”

The witchers nodded at him, and the men stared at the senator.

And then the door was shut. But then the screams started.

“No! Not there! NOOOOOOO!”

Gawain leaned on the wall and closed his eyes. The screams and howls of terror were like nectar to his ears. He felt his chest heave, and his cheeks were getting red with indulgence, but Gawain quickly shook his head and slapped himself.

He muttered something under his breath and left the place.

***

Half an hour later, the witchers emerged from the chamber looking all solemn.

“Did you find anything, witchers?” Gawain approached them. “Is he related to Bedlam, Cleaver, or someone in the council?”

Letho shook his head, the look on his face grim. “We used Axii on him and subjected the guy to torture, but his answer is still the same.”

“Maybe we made a mistake.” Gawain rubbed his chin. “Perhaps he was telling the truth.”

“No. Something’s telling me he has a secret.” Auckes looked sure of himself.

Letho rubbed his shiny head. “There’s another possible explanation for this: Sebastian is a master at keeping secrets because he was trained for it. Neither Signs nor torture can affect him, but only the people of an ancient, gigantic kingdom have the resources to build an intelligence department capable to administering that kind of training.”

Something somber was hanging in the air. They could smell the coming of another crisis, and Gawain turned his gaze to the ground. Is there no avenue to make the man tell us his true goal?

“Witchers, I have an idea.” Gawain balled his fists and loosened them up. There was a hint of trepidation hanging on his face. “I can mimic Sebastian and read his memories. I am a doppler after all. And I can find out why he’s really here.”

Delighted, the witchers were about to ask Gawain to go on with it, but they noticed the dilemma in his eyes.

“There’s a restriction to that, isn’t there?”

“I am a relatively young doppler, and my powers are limited,” Gawain answered bitterly. “Once I change into someone else, switching back to Orloff will prove to be a difficult task, unless I can witness his corpse again. His complete corpse. Alas, you’ve tossed him into the waters.”

If Gawain changed into Sebastian, he would never be able to change back into Orloff. He would lose his life of luxury and all the power he had, while the witchers would lose a powerful ally.

“Forget it. There must be another way.” Letho shook his head. “At least we have a lead now. I’ll scour his house and see if there’s any other clue.”

Auckes said, “Gawain, contact the other gang lords and find out what they’re doing. See if they’re related to this guy.”

***

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