As de Glenham sat there with a bloddy face on the bench, the crowd had calmed down as they restrained with some rope le Taverner. From the crowd, one went after the Sheriff, one went after a priest, one after a jury of good men and one after a doctor. From the chatter it seemed that there were quite a few of de Glenham’s colleagues in law. The rest started looking for de Oxen, only to realize he had squeezed in through the crowd and left. My thoughts started running wild as I could not fathom what just happened in front of my eyes, again. Bringer of death, I hear a familiar voice whisper. What? I ask as I turn around to see a bald head with a grin on his face. It seems wherever you go, death follows, lad, says the Bald man. What are you doing here? I ask. Aye, well, I was bout to visit you at the Newgate, yet the Sheriff told me you were free. And when I heard a commotion I knew it was bound to take me to you, lad, says the Bald man. I start to look around behind him. Who are you looking for? The fat man? I wouldn’t worry. He was busy stuffing his face, says the Bald man laughing as he goes to sit right across from me. So why does death follow you? asks the Bald man. Death is everywhere. People die every minute. That doesn’t mean that death is following me, I try to explain. And how would you know that? asks the Bald man. It is simple, everything that was born, dies. Trees, bees, humans, fish, you and me, I tell the Bald man. But somehow, lad, wherever you stepped foot death followed, says the Bald man. Not everywhere, I rebuttal telling him about the Stephen’s Inn as the Sheriff enters the tavern.

I should have known you two are here witnessing this as well, says the Sheriff as he looks at me and the Bald man. I can’t help but let my head down as he looks directly at me. As the people explain to him the situation, the Doctor makes his way in to de Glenham. It seems I might have been wrong, lad. He might just survive this, says the Bald man. For how long? I ask as I watch the Doctor wrap some bandages around his forehead. Can’t you heal him, since you’re a wizard? asks the Bald man. Not unless you have the power of gods. Otherwise you’d have to give your own flesh, skin and blood of your own to help heal him. Or if there’s a good Samaritan that would do that instead, but otherwise no, I explain. What about those freshly dead? asks the Bald man. You’re quite imaginative, but no. It would just get infected and the wound would get worse. When the genocide of everything magical broke out, master told me that they tried healing magic and experimented. The only way to help is willingly give up what the other needs. We can’t take it, we can’t force it, I tell the Bald man. Quite inconvenient, I’d say, says the Bald man. Magic protects against magic. We can’t harm the man that slashed his forehead to heal the wounded, even if we wanted to and it was the right thing to do, I tell him. This magic of yours seems to be quite useless, says the Bald man. I give you that if you put a fish to climb a tree, it will do a terrible job. But have it swim, and he’ll do just what needs to be done, I tell the Bald man. I don’t care much for your riddles, lad, he says as he turns towards the crowd.

Take him to Newgate, says the Sheriff to a couple of watchmen that arrived to the tavern. Well glad to see this get solved this quickly and no particular drama come out of it, I tell the Bald man. Somehow that feels like you’ve sealed your own deal there, lad, says the Bald man. Please try and stay out of trouble, the Sheriff says looking at me. I don’t know how, apparently, I respond. You better stop talking before you find yourself in your own grave, says the Bald man. I don’t want no one young like you be burnt at stake, says the Sheriff as he leaves. I would not want that either, I respond. So what are you going to do next? asks the Bald man. Pay and leave. I do feel quite tired after everything that happened, I explain as I get up. As I pay the Lady I tell her how sorry I am for what perspired here and wish her calmer days. Out the door I turn to go towards Stephen’s Inn, but following me is the Bald man. Do you have anymore questions for me? Or why are you following me? I ask. We simply walk in the same direction, says the Bald man. I forgot to ask you. What is your name? I ask the Bald man. Names matter not these days. It is what you do with yourself that counts. A man with nothing to his name went to do a job, and a servant to a duke slashed a man’s forehead. A wizard brings death everywhere he goes, and a man simply follows to see the destruction. If the wizard perishes, so shall it be. If the man perishes whilst with the wizard, then so shall it be. Yet there is always the uncertainty of what lays before us, says the Bald man as we reach a man sleeping by a house. Quite poetic, I respond. Well, let’s see what the future holds for the wizard and the man, says the Bald man as he pulls out a knife.

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