''I don''t feel like eating anyway,'' I mumble as the image of the young woman''s body interrupts a piercing headache.


    I thought it had been another nightmare, mutilated corpses coming too easily for me in my sleep, but it was as real as the bare cupboard before me.


    I tense up as a knock thumps on my door.


    I limp out of the kitchen to see who it is.


    Cautiously, I grab the handle and pull, ready to defend myself if need be. But it''s only a vigil, a middle-aged man with bushy, wilding eyebrows. He''s carrying hundreds of small hemp bags laced on the stick he''s balancing on his shoulders.


    Rations.


    ''Here you go, sheriff,'' he strains, an old war injury making it hard for him to talk and breathe. He grabs a bag tied with a thin red string and yanks it free from the stick.


    Grabbing it, I ask, ''Anything good, Barth?''


    ''The usual shit. But I put an extra fatty chunk of salted beef in there for you.''


    I have no desire to eat another piece of salted beef ever again. Even if it was covered, wrapped in bacon, but I smile and bow at his goodwill. ''Thank you, Barth.''


    ''Have a good day, sir.''


    ''And you.''


    Barth leaves to carry on to the next home.


    My ears perk up at the sound of Able pounding away, hard at work once again. I then look down at the hemp bag and decide to give it to him.


    If I get peckish, which I doubt, I''ll just grab some food at Lorma''s.


    But as I''m about to go over, I see my elixirman strolling towards me. And when he graces my presence, I say, ''Still alive I see.''


    I want to add, ''What a shame,'' but bite the urge.


    He frowns. ''May we have a word inside.''


    ''If we must,'' I reply, gesturing him in.


    We go to the kitchen and sit down.


    ''I haven''t seen you for a while,'' I tell him. ''I guess I''ve been too busy that you''ve been unable to find me.''


    ''So my fear has been realized,'' he just responds. ''The Night Cleaver returns. I knew this would happen.''


    ''Really? And would you be so kind as to enlighten me?''


    ''I have dealt with many patients who have lived with madness. It never leaves. It can hide. Bide its time.''


    At this moment, Sir Blouf is still my only suspect and if he''s mad in the head, I wouldn''t be surprised.


    ''What are you going to do about it? my elixirman continues.


    ''Do what I can to stop this villain and make him pay.'' My thoughts turn to Fey.


    ''And do you think you''re the right man?''


    He pushes it too far now.


    I bolt to my feet and take a swing, striking him flush in the face. And still in his seat, he hits the floor with a crash, blood soon dripping from a gash in his head.


    ''I told you to keep your mouth shut,'' I yell. ''Test me any more and you''ll get more than a punch next time.''


    ******************************


    My leg pangs as I walk outside with the bag of food, soon trudging next door. And I have to pound it numerous times before I''m heard.


    Several moments later, Able greets me, his face as red as a forge.


    ''Good to see you, Pannor,'' he says. ''I hope there''s nothing wrong with the weapons I gave you.''


    ''Not at all,'' I reply. ''They are perfect.'' I then lie, lifting up the bag, ''The vigil gave me double rations by mistake. Here. This city needs our blacksmiths'' bellies full.''


    ''Are you sure?'' he asks.


    ''Quite.'' I hand the bag over.


    ''Thank you. And please, let me do something in return.''


    ''There''s no need. You''ve done more than enough.''


    ''I insist. May I see your sword.''


    I unsheath my companion and display it with a swoosh.


    ''Yes, beautiful,'' Able says. ''Even on his deathbed, my father had the strength to forge the divine.''


    ''Like father, like son,'' I reply.


    ''But a good sharpening it needs. The edges would have a tough go at cutting salted beef. I''ll make it sing if you like. I''ll give you another sword to hold you over until I''m done with it. I''ll get it back to you by the end of the day.''


    ''Deal,'' I say.


    ''Wait here.'' Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    With the hemp bag and my sword, Able disappears, coming back not too long after with a different blade.


    ''It''s not as long as yours but it will get the job done.''


    As I grab the hilt, Able notices my hand. It''s blackened with sooty ink. ''Just sent countless messages,'' I explain to him. ''The ink can be quite messy.''


    The messages are for the vigil leaders across the city, telling them to warn the public about the Night Cleaver''s return. They''ll send out the lower vigils, send them door-to-door as they do with our rations.


    But there is one vigil I want to tell personally. And while my men will be canvassing Regent Road for witnesses or clues today, I''ll be doing that. There''s also something else I''d like to tell her, to ask her.


    I sheath my new sword and say, ''Thank you. Oh, and have you witnessed any more of your weapons moving around?''


    ''Not since I last talked to you.''


    ''That''s good. But if they start again, please tell me.''


    ''Will do.''


    May''s still miffed at me for exerting her the previous day but comes when called and is still willing to take me wherever. I''m grateful. And today she''ll be taking me to the western wall.


    It takes longer than usual to get there, owing to the fact that if the Night Cleaver follows me I''d like to lose him before reaching my destination. I double back countless times and take alleyways the carriage is barely able to squeeze through. It''s slow but I reach the western wall and the small stone house built against it.


    Clambering off the carriage, I notice the residents of the street staring at me. They look shocked and confused. I''m probably the first man to come calling here.


    The second I knock on the home, a voice yells from within, ''Fuck off. I''m busy.''


    ''Trin, it''s Pannor,'' I reply loudly.


    ''Pannor! I''ll be there shortly.''


    I can hear mumbles inside. Trin''s talking to someone.


    Suddenly, the front door bursts open and a woman, not Trin, runs out, her curly fair hair and dress disheveled. She crosses the street and dashes into another stone house.


    Another woman then appears at the door, her freckled red cheeks glowing. With a swish of her short black hair, she gives me a smile.


    ''Trin,'' I just say.


    ''Pannor,'' the woman replies back.


    ''Sorry for interrupting.''


    ''No worries. I''ll see her again tonight.'' Her smile turns sheepish.


    ''In times like these, you always know how to make the most.''


    ''With husbands on the wall, wives aren''t getting what they want. I''m just doing my duty. Here to keep spirits up.''


    I frown disapprovingly.


    Trin raises her hands defensively. ''I''m joking, Pannor. That woman''s a vigil like me. I thought that would give you a chuckle.''


    ''But are you joking though?''


    Her smile widens from ear to ear. ''You know me too well.''


    ''I sure do. Glad to see you''re well.''


    ''Barely. That last attack was quite the barrage. We were extremely lucky down this street to not get hit. How did you fare?''


    ''The home''s fine but the sheriff''s keep was destroyed.''


    ''Shit. So what brings you here then?''


    ''Sorry to say but it''s of a serious nature. Can I come in?''


    Trin''s smile vanishes at my curt tone. ''Of course.'' She steps aside.


    A sitting room draped with colourful cushions and linen is where she leads me.


    ''Off you get,'' says Trin, waving at black cat lying on a chair. ''We have another guest.''


    The cat just stares at her owner smugly.


    ''Now, Pussy!'' Trin demands, her voice louder. ''Off!''


    The cat bolts from the chair and to a corner where she resumes her lying.


    ''Sit,'' Trin then demands me.


    Like the cat, I do as I''m told and she sits down beside me.


    ''Is this about the theft of the food?'' she asks. ''But I heard that you caught the culprit.''


    ''It''s not about that, Trinity,'' I say dolefully.


    ''Trinity? I don''t think you''ve called me that in years. This must be serious.''


    ''You and I share ties. The first working together when I was in the army and you a spy. And the second is having our loved ones taken away. What I have to tell you is something to do with the latter.''


    Trin''s face turns blank and her body tightens. ''He''s not back, is he?''


    ''I''m afraid so, Trin.''


    ''So there''s been another attack then?'' Trin''s voice quivers ever so.


    She''s trying desperately to keep it together I can tell.


    ''Yes,'' I reply.


    Trin digs her head in her hand. ''I thought that was over, Pannor. I thought the nightmare had ended.''


    ''I''m truly sorry.'' I take her other hand, put it into mine and give it a slight squeeze.


    She quickly drops the hand from her face and places it over mine. Then with a tear running down her cheek, she says, ''I don''t want to live through that again. I can''t. It''s too painful, Pannor.''


    I feel the same as her but reply, ''But you must make it through. Do it for her. Do it for Rachel.''


    Trin nods her head over and over.


    ''And I promise,'' I continue, ''I''ll get him this time.''


    ''You better.''


    We unwrap our hands and stare at each other fondly.


    With a deep breath, and after wiping her eyes, Trin then asks, ''Would you like something to drink? Tea?''


    ''Tea? Where''d you get that?''


    ''I have a few plants growing by my kitchen window. They''re a bit puny and leggy but they do throw a leaf out now and again.''


    ''I''d love some.''


    Trin leaves and is back a short time later with two mugs of steaming brew, handing me one. I give it a sip as she takes her seat again.


    ''Incredible,'' I say. ''I didn''t think I''d miss tea but I do. The bitterness is nice.''


    ''I miss a lot of things I didn''t think I would,'' says Trin. She gives her tea a puff and takes a gulp.


    ''There''s also another reason why I came to see you,'' I say.


    ''And what''s that?''


    ''It''s for a favour.''


    She gives me a sad smile and replies, ''I don''t think I can help you with that, Pannor. I haven''t been with a man since gods know when.''


    A soft chuckle escapes my lips and she apes it.


    ''You know it''s not that,'' I say, shaking my head. ''I need your other talents. Your spying prowess.''


    Trin leans back, an intriguing look gracing her features. She places her mug of tea down and says, ''Spill.''


    ''I need you to shadow someone for me – but I can''t tell you the reason.''


    ''Fair enough. So who?''


    ''The king''s advisor, Sir Blouf.''


    ''Sir Blouf?'' she spits. ''Is it that you suspect him of being the Night Cleaver?''


    ''He''s as likely as anyone else,'' I lie. ''And that''s all I''m going to say, Trin.''


    ''Ah, you can''t blame me for trying to get it out of you. So what do you want me to do?''


    ''I''d like for you to follow him if he strays from his residence or the palace. I need to know where he goes and if he meets anyone. Can you do that for me?''


    ''It''ll be like old times,'' Trin says. ''Something I miss dearly.''


    ''As I. As I. So you''ll help?''


    ''You don''t need to ask me again. I will.''


    ''I''m indebted to you as always.'' And I take another sip of tea.


    I only stay at Trin''s for a second mug before going to Lorma''s to see how my men have fared with the investigation. And sadly, they have found no clues and the only residents that witnessed anything were the children who came across the body. The examiner has nothing helpful for me either. I also tell Lorma about the Night Cleaver''s return. She doesn''t take the news well, locking herself away and wailing for hours.


    It''s night time when I return home. I park the carriage and free May from her reins, immediately remembering my sword and that Able had promised to sharpen it. It''s then that I notice no noise coming from the foundry.


    Strange. Able is usually still pounding away at this time.


    I slowly make my way to his front door and knock.


    There''s no answer.


    I knock again.


    Still nothing.


    I unsheathe the sword I was given, raise it and enter.


    A heat as hot as a flaming wooden dragon cascades over me, penetrating my cold bones. Numerous glowing forges and benches dot the spacious workshop. And apart from the flames and I, there is no movement, no noise.


    I raise the sword higher and meander between the benches, the hemp bag with the red string catching my eye. It''s been opened, its contents strewn on several stools.


    Getting closer, my eyes flash down to the ground and to a hammer lying on the floor. I reach to pick it up when I see boots, Able''s, their toes pointing to the ceiling. Then peering over an anvil, I see him.


    Dead.


    Congealed saliva clings to his mouth, blood weeps out of grotesque and engorged eyes and puss drips out of a mass of crust that are his ears.


    A loaf of bread sits beside him, a bite taken from it.