Boy, wait a bit, the Sheriff calls to me. What is it? I ask. The Judge wants to talk to you, says the Sheriff. As I make my way towards him all manner of thoughts rush through my head. Listen here, lad, says the Judge squinting at me. Be wary of what you say or do here in London. We got a keen sense of trouble and we quickly burn anything that is foreign or strange to our noses. Your master probably told you what happened last time a wizard was here. I am not telling you this out of compassion towards your kind, I am telling you this as a warning. I do not wish to see you in my court again if you do not want me to live up to my name, says the Judge as he turns to leave. What’s his name? I ask the Sheriff. It’s Stephen Gravesend, says the Sheriff. Stephen Gravesend, I repeat with shivers going down my spine in terror. Listen, is there an Inn around here? I need some lodging, I ask the Sheriff. There is down the street from the pub we came from, says the Sheriff. Thank you, I tell him as I leave. Just as I get out of the court Richard approaches me. Listen, I am truly sorry for what I said and done. Can you find it in your cold devil heart to forgive me? he asks. No. You must jest, otherwise you wouldn’t simply say what you just said, I brush him off and leave. I was right about your cold dead heart, shouts Richard after me.
As I walk down the dark streets of London, I remind myself to make a bit of light to carry in the palm of my hand. I just hope the Inn won’t be a deadly one, because this start of the journey really isn’t what I thought it would be. And if there’s a lesson to learn here, I don’t really want to learn it, I tell myself as I see the light to the inn. Welcome, welcome in the dead of the night, says the Innkeeper. Thank you, do you have a free room for the night? I ask. They always have free rooms since that one woman died by the bridge, says a man with his back turned towards me. Oh, it is you., the wizard. Not even hours here in London, and you’re already of fame in this part of town, says the Innkeeper. You are not considering letting him stay here after that last one? asks the man angrily. Calm down, Arcus. The man was freed by the notorious Gravesend. Sorry for my friend here, he is a bit in a mood. My name is Stephen, don’t worry not like the judge, I am Stephen of Lynn. My name sounds nicer and it is fun since I am also an Innkeeper. And this is Arcus of Rikelinge, I know, strange name. But he is good company. We do have a free room, as long as you promise not to entice women with your magic, says Stephen with a nervous laugh. Do not worry, magic does not work that way, I try to reassure him. Sure it doesn’t, says Arcus. Do not be intimidated by him, Stephen tells me. Do you want to know the story of the woman that killed herself for a wizard? asks Arcus.
No, not really, I respond. It was the 25th of December a year ago, when Johanna of Charing, a beautiful woman, was found dead. She drowned between the Tower of London and the Hospital of St. Kathrine in the parish of St. Botolph. That beautiful woman was found blue to her face, her skin now slimy and her beauty of a body now round and pudgy from puss and water. The story goes that the jury had found Laurence the Poulter, who had spent the previous night here with her. That night I was here too. It was just me and him the whole night. At some point we started hearing strange noises, a strange language we have not heard before until that night. And we should know. Before his father died and left him the inn, we roamed Europe. So we know some French, some Latin, but we never heard the tongue he spoke. That night before long, we saw her leave this place without any expression on her visage. Like, like… he bewitched her or put her under a spell. And since she died, we keep hearing strange noises in the attic of this inn and rumors spread and soon no one came here no more. All because of that wizard and his tongue, says Arcus. But that Laurence was acquitted after they looked at her body and found it had no wounds on her. Here’s your key, says Stephen. What a fascinating story, I have yet to see a ghost with my own eyes. From what Master told me, they are very rare as they usually travel to the other side unless they die of natural causes and have regrets left. Now excuse me while I go have nightmares of the stories you told, I tell Arcus as I take my leave to go get some sleep. Close that door well if you wanna wake up tomorrow, says Arcus. Well, fuck… I tell myself as I go up the stairs…
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