Chapter 12: Witch Hunt

Inside the infirmary, the smell of antiseptic clung to the air like wet paint, sharp and suffocating. It drowned out every other scent, leaving Hugo’s nose tingling with irritation. Hugo nursed a cup of herbal tea, handed to him by Sister Lydia Grimmel. She loomed over him with a scowl that said if he so much as moved, he’d be in a lot of pain, and not because of his wounds.

Lydia was a striking figure: middle-aged, with vibrant red hair that cascaded down her back in waves. Her emerald-green eyes glinted with authority, framed by faint lines etched into her stern face. She wore her usual warrior habit with chainmail underneath and plate armour on her shoulder. A beautiful, intricately designed gorget covered her neck with the crest of the church on it.

Hugo knew Lydia well, too well for comfort. They had crossed paths on several missions, and she possessed insights into his methods that made him uneasy. Yet, despite her disapproval of his tactics, she couldn’t deny his effectiveness. And so, she tolerated him, hiding behind a façade of righteousness while grappling with her own darker impulses. Over the years, Hugo had learned much from observing her, particularly how to feign guilt and remorse convincingly. By mimicking her subtle expressions, he had honed this skill dramatically.

For these reasons, Hugo found her useful, not just as a healer, but as a study in human complexity. Thanks to her divine connection, or whatever force fueled it, his injuries were already healing rapidly. His leg would take time to mend, but the rest of his wounds were now little more than scars. Still, Hugo remained skeptical about the source of her abilities. Was it truly divine intervention? Or had the Church secretly bestowed upon her some artifact of power? Such gifts weren’t unheard of among loyal servants.

“You got bested by one witch,” Lydia said coldly.

Hugo nodded with a neutral expression. He had underestimated that witch, letting his superiority complex cloud his judgment. That mistake had cost him dearly. For now, though, he maintained an eerie calm, studying Lydia carefully. His dominance, so painstakingly cultivated, had been shattered in a single night. Going forward, caution was essential.

“Is there any news of her whereabouts? Did we catch her yet?” Hugo asks.

Lydia's lips curled into a thin smile. “We have the bloodhounds after her and Aldric. They will track them down. No one escapes the justice of the church.”

At that moment, Conrad entered the room, followed by another man, Hugo recognized as Voric, one of the higher-ranking Inquisitors. Lean and muscular, with frizzy black hair and piercing blue eyes, Voric exuded a stoic coldness that commanded respect. His presence filled the room, overshadowing even Lydia’s imposing demeanour.

“How is your patient, Lydia?” Voric asked, his tone clipped.

Lydia rose from her seat to greet them. “What a delight to see you here. Hugo is recovering, but he won’t be walking without crutches for a while.”

Voric frowned. “Get him on crutches, then. We need a skilled interrogator for this operation. The bishop has ordered the formation of a task force to hunt down Aldric and the witch. You and Hugo will accompany me.”

Hugo sat up straighter at the announcement. “A task force? Interesting. Do we have any leads?”

Voric nodded curtly. “Perhaps our hounds are tracing something. We’ll know soon enough.”

With careful precision, Lydia helped Hugo out of bed, handing him two sturdy crutches. Leaning heavily on them, Hugo hobbled after Voric, wincing only slightly. As they moved, he turned to Conrad. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for saving me,” he said, offering a polite smile. Hugo understood the value of calculated gratitude—it could go a long way in securing alliances. Without Conrad’s intervention, he might very well be six feet under.

Conrad returned the smile, his voice steady. “The divine guided me.”

Hugo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he widened his grin. “Then I should thank the divine.”

Together, they exited the room and made their way toward the chapel. The dimly lit aisles were lined with rows of wooden pews, where a handful of worshippers knelt in silent prayer. Faint beams of light filtered through stained-glass windows, casting colourful patterns across the stone floor. The air carried the faint scent of incense, mingling with the quiet rustle of robes and whispered prayers.

At the front of the chapel sat a warrior nun, her posture rigid as she knelt in fervent prayer. She wore attire similar to Lydia’s, chainmail under a white habit. Her flaxen hair peeked out from under her coif. Her hands clasped tightly around a rosary, beads clicking softly as she murmured devotions.

“Sister Constanza,” Voric whispered to the girl.

Her ice-blue eyes opened slowly, sharp and piercing as they scanned the group. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties. Rising gracefully to her feet, she fixed her gaze on Voric. “Yes?”

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“By order of the bishop, you are tasked to join us in hunting down two dangerous fugitives.”

“I heard what happened,” She said looking at Hugo’s injured leg. “Interesting. To think a witch would so blatantly attack an inquisitor inside Bramholt.”

She got up from her seat and picked up her backsword, sheathed in its scabbard.

“Any leads?”

Voric nodded, “Conrad saw the witch get into a carriage, our bloodhounds have been sniffing every carriage in the city. We’ll get the suspect soon enough.”

Sister Constanza smirked, “Then hopefully the witch will soon be brought to justice. What about Aldric? Any leads?”

“None so far. But he is only a secondary concern.”

Constanza nodded. She knew Aldric well, since she had been to his mansion multiple times as a child. She had been a childhood friend of his daughter Jenny. She knew of Aldric and his habits. That the man finally fell out of grace with the church put a smile on her face. From what she knew, he had not been a good father to her friend.

By afternoon, word of a lead reached them. They were all summoned to a dingy room that smelled faintly of dust and confinement. A lone, young chauffeur was there, tied securely to a small wooden chair before a scarred desk. He appeared sweaty and dishevelled, his eyes vacant and his lips moving in a silent, continuous mutter as he rocked gently. The flickering flame of a single candelabra cast long, dancing shadows, offering barely enough light to see.

"What's the matter with him?" Constanza asked Lydia, her gaze fixed on the chauffeur.

"We don't quite know. It could be magic affecting him, but if so, it's unlike any I've encountered before," Lydia replied.

Hugo hobbled forward on his crutches, a polite smile fixed on his face. He settled into a chair and, with a smooth motion, produced his mother's music box. "Allow me some privacy with him," he requested of the group.

"We should try to heal him first," Constanza countered, a subtle unease prickling at her. "Perhaps he was cursed. Allow us to cleanse him."

Hugo pondered her suggestion, finding no issue with the Sisters ensuring the captive could speak clearly. Indeed, it would only simplify his task. "Very well, make it quick."

Constanza and Lydia took positions on either side of the young man. The older woman laid a hand on his shoulder, channelling divine energy into him. She detected faint traces of darkness, confirming his connection to the incident, even if he had been coerced. Such nuances, she knew, rarely factored into the Church's judgment.

"I think his memories might have been altered," Lydia murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Hugo's eyebrow lifted. "That's seriously powerful magic. I don't believe the witch I encountered yesterday was capable of that. It seems our witch friend might have some coven allies." He offered Lydia a knowing smirk. "Can you restore his memories?"

Lydia slowly shook her head. "Unfortunately, whatever magic caused this is far beyond my abilities."

"So, you're telling me we have nothing," Hugo said, leaning back and idly spinning his music box. "Even so, we can still discover his most frequent customers and generate a lead from there. Give me some time alone with him.” He made a shoo-shoo motion with his hand.

Lydia was more than familiar with his tricks. “I’m staying.”

“That won’t be necessary. I work best alone,” Hugo smirked while adjusting his gloves. He glanced over at Voric. “Tell her to give me some space. I need to conduct my interrogation in private.”

Voric nodded and said, “Let him do his job.”

Lydia shook her head and sighed, “We don’t need to torture him. The boy is probably going to spill everything he knows if we look at him wrong.” She couldn’t in good conscience leave the poor man in the hands of that monster.

Hugo suppressed a grin. “I am hired for the explicit purpose of interrogation, Sister.” He looked up at Voric again. “You can leave things up to Lydia and get maybe half the information you need from him. Or you can let me do my job, and I’ll be sure to extract every single piece of information he has, no matter how important. The choice is up to you, Voric.”

Voric did want to see how good Hugo’s interrogation skills were. He had hired him for that exact purpose after all. “Lydia, give the man some room to work,” Voric said while beckoning the others to follow him out of the room with a hand gesture.

Lydia thought about protesting further, but Voric was the leader. Not following the chain of command could land an inquisitor in all sorts of trouble. Thinking better of it she followed Voric out of the room, along with the others.

Hugo was the only one left with the sweaty and pale young man. He finished cranking up the music box and sat it on the table. The haunting melody filled the silence between them. He took out his sketch book next and flipped it to the page where he had drawn Anna Seris.

He held it up for the man and asked, “Do you recognize her?”

The man, still looking dazed, squinted at the paper, trying to focus. He shook his head.

Hugo sensed no lie in his demeanour. He leaned forward, “Mr. Schaber. That’s your name, isn’t it? You can still remember your name?”

The young man nodded.

Hugo grinned. “Mr. Schaber. Do you realize the situation you are in? You are suspected of aiding and abetting a witch. A serious charge. And all the evidence we need is in that carriage of yours.”

Cold sweat ran down the chauffeur’s temple, glistening in the pale candlelight. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Of course you don’t,” Hugo smiled sympathetically. A fake smile, but it looked genuine. “But just because you don’t remember doesn’t mean you didn’t commit the crime. We know you did. That’s not why you are here.” He points at the drawing of the woman again. “We need to find her, and right now you are only lead. What do you remember from the last few days. Who were all your clients. Give me everything.”

It didn’t take any torture to get all of the information Hugo needed. But he did it anyway, because he could. Conrad, Lydia and Constanza had all heard the screams through the wall, but under Voric’s silent stare they all remained outside of the chamber. The young man was left a hollow husk, one who would soon be burned at the stake.

Hugo had gotten a list of names, the young man’s usual clients. He reported everything to Voric, who soon would no doubt have all of them investigated one by one. And if they found so much as an inkling of suspicion that any of those mentioned where engaged with the supernatural or even just heretics, they would be dragged away into the dungeons.