Roy was checking the items on the table, the light in the lab illuminating his face. “Two Dancing Stars.” Roy held two green glass containers and tossed them into the air. When they came down, he grabbed them and opened his palms, then the canisters were gone.

He turned to the blue bottle with yellow bands tied around it. “One dimeritium bomb. Didn’t have enough dimeritium.” He pointed at the bomb, then it disappeared, just like the Dancing Stars.

“Two Dragon’s Dream, two Swallows, five doses of paralyzing poison, and five marigold potions.” He brushed his hand across the crystal clear potions and five yellow potions. “Everything is accounted for.” Roy looked at Letho, who was meditating, and smiled. It took them a week of nonstop work, but they’d finally restocked their item supply.

During that time, they’d gone to take the crossbow bolts and Letho’s sword at the smithy, then they’d taken the leather armor sets from the clothes shop, though they were shabbier than Roy had thought. And then all that was left was the trial.

Letho stopped meditating, though he had a concerned look on his face. “Alright, leave me alone now, boy. I’ll be staying here for a few days to process the ingredients for the decoction. Do not disturb me. Take a stroll around Ellander.”

Roy heaved a sigh of relief, though he was curious about the potion. He wouldn’t push his luck though, since he was on the verge of breaking down. “I can assist you, though.”

“Not at your level,” Letho refused. “And this is important. We can’t afford any mistakes, or the potion’s going to end up killing you.”

The news shocked Roy. “So why do I have to wait until we get to the temple then?”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Letho answered. “You’re taking the potion the moment it’s done. Like I said, I’m just processing the ingredients. I’m not cooking it up yet.”

He paused for a moment. “I left that part out for a reason. The head priestess has a greenhouse, and I need some of the herbs there. Also, their lab is better than whatever we have here. You’ll need her help for the trial too. She’s a sorceress.”

“What if she refuses you?”

“She owes me one, and I have an ace up my sleeve,” Letho replied. “She will help out. Alright. Take your potion of the week and get out. Come back in three days.”

***

Roy exited the lab wearing a black leather armor set, and he was sweating.

Ellander was a bustling city. The sun was shining warmly, and the people were frolicking around the streets. Compared to the people in villages and small towns, Ellander’s citizens had a better fashion sense. Instead of the usual grey and black, the people wore colorful clothes and stylish accessories, like hats, necklaces, rings, belts, and brooches.

Roy took a deep breath and stretched himself. That hits the spot. He would’ve liked to have gone to an inn for some Gwent, but he had a more pressing matter at hand. Since he was alone for the time being, he wanted to accept a request all by himself, but not long after he’d gotten out to the streets, a temptress beckoned him. She had heavy makeup, a luscious smile, and her hair tumbled down her shoulders.

Roy looked at her, but he turned away and left after a moment. Young ladies would braid their hair, married women would cover themselves with a hat or a headscarf, while noble ladies would perm their hair. Warriors, on the other hand, would cut it short. The only women who’d let their hair stay the way it was were druids and prostitutes. It was a show of freedom and independence.

The woman who was trying to seduce Roy was the latter, but Roy didn’t give in. He didn’t want to get into a bad habit.

***

Roy eventually arrived at the bulletin board in the city center, but it was dusty and filled with cobwebs. He thought he could get some great requests, but reality was often disappointing. 

“What the heck is this? They want me to find their missing cat?” He shook his head in disgust. “I’m not a firefighter. I don’t have time for this. This woman wants me to catch her cheating husband in the act?” Roy mocked, “An eye for an eye, then. Just start an affair yourself.” He looked at another request and balked. “And this wants a caretaker for a paralyzed lady? Nope, sorry. I’m not a caretaker. Oh, this one’s interesting.” Roy looked at the lower right, where a new request was posted. “A missing boy, huh?” He finally got serious.

The request read, “Look ye! This is an emergency! Help needed! Bounty hunters, witchers, or whoever you are, I shall pay you a hundred and fifty crowns for this job. My son, Berschel, went missing after he went to fish at a river outside the city. If anyone wants to help, come to the bakery in eastern Ellander. For experienced people only. Amateurs back off.”

The kid went missing in a rural area when he was fishing. Roy rubbed his chin, pondering the case. That doesn’t narrow it down much. Could have been human traffickers or something, but this is promising. I’ll look into this.

***

The bakery was sweltering, but Huckle didn’t care. He was neatly putting dough and more dough into the elliptical oven. Huckle had been working as a baker for twenty years, and at least a third of the citizens were his customers. Baking used to be the thing he liked to do the most. It was gratifying to see raw dough turn into brown, fluffy bread. Every time he saw them come out perfectly, it brought a smile to his face.

But no longer. He had been gloomy over the last couple of days. He liked bread, but his son was more important. Every time he thought of his missing son, he would start to shake, and an urge to cry would seize him. Huckle knew what every missing person in Ellander would end up as: a corpse, or a chewed-out corpse. Not many came back alive. I’ll keep looking after this.

“Hello. Might you be Huckle the baker?” someone called out, snapping him out of his nightmare.

Huckle composed himself and took his mittens off. “Yes, but the kitchen is off limits. Go to the storefront for the bread. You won’t find a better offer. Twenty crowns is all you need for one satisfying loaf of bread. It’s all dough and nothing else. No sawdust, no clay, no potash.” He reflexively promoted his bread. “I also accept payment in terms of flour. Any type of flour. I’ll keep some, but you’ll get most of it back as bread.”

“Sorry, but I’m not a customer.” Roy put on a smile. He noticed the baker’s bloodshot eyes, and the fact he was wearing nothing but thin clothes. “Mr. Huckle, I’m Roy, a witcher. I came for the request you put up. Can you tell me what happened?”

Huckle froze for a moment, then he sized Roy up. Crude leather armor and long boots, trimmed hair, nice nose, good eyes. Good looking, approachable, muscular, and tall. But his skin is smooth, and he looks like a kid. He’s probably not even fifteen. Huckle waved him down. “You’re pulling my leg, boy. I need an experienced one, not a kid like you. And I’m not taking any disciples now. I don’t need any help around the shop.”

Roy slammed his weapons on the baker’s workstation, much to Huckle’s shock. The sight of the crossbow and the steel sword made the baker retreat, then he picked up his baking implement.

“Calm down. You would have been dead if I wanted to rob you. I’ll let you in on a secret.” Roy wanted that effect. Then he kept on lying, “I’m a part-elf, so I look younger than I am. I’m of age now, and I’ve taken on my fair share of requests.” He showed Huckle his ears. The moment Huckle took a look, Roy hid his ears again. “Your son’s disappearance smells fishy, doesn’t it?” he asked seriously. “That’s why you need an experienced witcher. The earlier he’s found, the higher the chances of survival. If you give up now, it might be a month before the next witcher comes around.”

The baker finally wavered, since Roy was right. He was running out of time.

“I’m not here for the deposit. Just tell me what I want to know.” Roy raised his head confidently and went closer to Huckle. “You can keep the money if I fail to find your son.”

The baker finally stopped frowning. No harm in telling him. I lose nothing, and I get a free helper. Huckle took a deep breath before leading him to the storefront. He took off his hat, revealing his unkempt hair underneath. Then, he sat down. “Want some bread, Roy? Fresh out the oven.”

“I had something to eat just now, so thanks for the offer. Let’s talk business.” Roy crossed his arms sternly as he tried to put on airs.

“Your eyes are different from the other witchers, though. Everyone says witchers have the eyes of a beast, but your eyes look the same as mine.”

“Because I’m a part-elf. All the witchers you’ve seen used to be human,” Roy answered forcefully, staring at Huckle. “Now talk.”

Huckle wiped the sweat off his face. “Very well, then.” Deciding to trust Roy for the time being, he said, “My son, Berschel, just turned eighteen this year — ”

“Yes, you said that in the request. When and where did he go missing?”

“Twenty-seventh of December. That was two days ago. Berschel went fishing at Wigan outside southern Ellander at one in the afternoon. It had been his usual hunt. He goes there once every fortnight and spends most of the day there. Fishing’s his only hobby. He lives with me and is still single, so he has nowhere else to go,” Huckle bemoaned. “Berschel always comes home before seven, but he didn’t come back that day, even after nine.” Huckle slammed the chair with his fist. “I knew something was wrong.” He looked fearful. “Ellander’s curfew starts at nine.”

“Or maybe he stayed the night at his friend’s place,” Roy speculated. “He’s eighteen. He’s come of age. It’s normal to stay the night somewhere else.”

“I asked his friends, but none of them saw him.” Huckle looked worried. “I even bribed the patrols so they’d help me. They told me they saw him going out that day, but he never came back.”

“Ellander receives a lot of people every day, so maybe the guards missed him.”

“No, no,” Huckle denied it. “I have proof. I saw his fishing rod at the riverside. There’s a red cloth on it. It’s Emti, his beloved rod. He’s been using it for ten years. That’s the only thing I found.”

Roy asked, “Did you find anything else? Blood, handkerchief, or anything that he brings with him?”

“I got some old-timers to look around last night, but we got nothing.” Huckle was getting frustrated. “That’s why I posted that request. Have you ever run into something similar, Roy?” Huckle was going to panic. He wanted to use an honorary title for Roy, but he was too young for Huckle to do so. “Do you think my son is still alive?”

“I can’t be sure about that, since I don’t have enough information for now,” Roy answered calmly. “What about the knights? They should be responsible for you guys, no?”

Huckle spat indignantly. “The order is only loyal to the king. Their job is to protect the king and his family, not peasants like us. They put me on the waiting list. Said they’d only help after they’re done with the problems in the city.” Huckle had beef with the knights. “The bread would have gone moldy by then. My poor Berschel’s going to end up dead, or worse.” Huckle shivered. The thought of his son being dead tortured him.

“I see. That’s how nobles are.” Roy shared Huckle’s sentiment, since he felt disgust toward Tailles. He tapped the chair’s armrest and asked, “Does Berschel have any enemies?”

Huckle denied it fervently. “Impossible! He spends most of his time in the bakery with me. All he does is help out with the mice problem and housekeeping. He never complains and is always happy. There’s no way he’d have beef with anyone. I’d know if he got into trouble with someone in the city. Even if he did have an enemy that I didn’t know about, there’d be no reason for them to kill him.”

“Very well. Let’s assume he went missing at the riverbank, then.” Roy stood up and strapped his weapons to his back. “Let’s take a look at the crime scene.”