Autumn morning light spilled into the forge. After Victor and Angoulême left early, Yoana was talking with Fergus, and no one noticed that the apprentice Luf disappeared briefly before returning again.
The injuries he had suffered over ten days ago, when those thugs beat him and dragged him through the street, had mostly healed by now. Partly because the damage had not been truly crippling, and partly because the salve his employer provided worked wonders.
Then there was the restorative tonic his employer gave him to drink every morning, which was proving just as effective. Luf no longer looked sallow and half-starved. Now he seemed full of life. At this rate, it would not be long before he was back to being a fierce, hard-bitten son of Skellige, ready to grab a blade and get right back to killing, burning, and robbing.
Glancing at Yoana, who was still deep in conversation, Luf picked up the shovel and began feeding charcoal into the forge, one scoop at a time. The life of an apprentice was full and busy.
...
At the same time, the Produce Market beside Tretogor Gate was just as crowded as ever. Low- and mid-priced food and goods changed hands there in great volume every day.
Having changed into what the boss insisted on calling the Doppler Detection Set, Angoulême stood atop the raised platform feeling slightly embarrassed.
It was not because there was anything wrong with the outfit itself. It was nothing indecent like Catwoman's costume. In fact, the clothes were basically a women's version of Victor's Van Helsing-style hunting gear, and looked undeniably stylish.
The problem was that Victor had made her wear two swords on her back, drape a cloak over them, and on the cloak, in large letters, were the words: DOPPLER KILLER.
He had instructed her to stand up on the raised platform where everyone could see the cloak. Then every fifteen minutes, a few beggars temporarily hired by the boss would gather around the platform and shout out the lines he had prepared for them beforehand.
"Doppler! Look over here! I know you're here! You can't escape me! I'll find you and chop you into lumps of yellow muck so you can go back to what you really are!"
In short, the so-called Doppler Detection Set was really just an ordinary outfit. It had been designed attractively to draw attention, and most people would not take offense at the title of Doppler Killer.
But if the doppler noticed Angoulême, saw the cloak, and had some emotional reaction to it—if hostility began to stir—then Angoulême would feel it immediately. That was the unique method the Phantom Troupe's chief enforcer used to locate enemies.
Though she found the wording on the cloak ridiculous and the beggars' shouting rather idiotic, she had to admit the plan should work. She had always been alert and perceptive by nature, and ever since Catherine had acknowledged her, that ability seemed to have grown even sharper. More than once, ambushes meant for the troupe had been exposed early because of it.
Standing on the raised platform usually used to watch for thieves, with Catherine perched on her shoulder, Angoulême carefully surveyed the entire market like a king inspecting his domain.
...
Near the entrance to the market, Victor was dressed much more modestly, because he was not the star of the show. He wore only plain leather armor reinforced with iron plates. Besides his silver sword and steel sword, he had also brought Moon Dust bombs, ready to subdue the doppler.
Yes, subdue, not kill.
Because the ability to mimic others was incredibly useful. Both his remaining impressions and the written accounts he had read described the species' astonishing racial gift.
After observing a person for a while, a doppler could become that person. Not just the body, but the clothes as well, and even the tools the target carried. The only real limitation was that the other person's weight could not differ too much from the doppler's, because a doppler could not alter its size without limit.
Victor intended to capture the doppler and find it a new job—working for the Phantom Troupe. That seemed far more promising than stealing food.
And according to witchers' principles, a doppler, being a humanoid being, was not truly a monster and therefore not something that had to be exterminated.
A witcher like the White Wolf, Geralt, who held himself to a stricter moral standard, would not kill intelligent creatures such as succubi, dragons, or higher vampires without cause either.
According to the merchant Sylvester, the imp came around about once every three days. Based on that pattern, it should appear today. It might already be here.
Thinking that, Victor leaned against the wall with one hand resting on his sword, coiled and ready to spring.
...
Angoulême closed her eyes, then opened them again. She released Catherine into the air, fixed her gaze on a certain point in the crowd, and leapt down from the platform. Her right hand settled on the hilt of her anti-flea Skellige steel sword, ready to draw at any moment, and she strode forward with complete confidence.
The moment Victor noticed her movement, he started circling in from the other side with the same quick steps. Soon enough... the two of them drew closer and closer to their target... and then, without meaning to, both of them slowed.
Finally, they stopped.
Angoulême froze where she stood, hardly believing her own eyes. For a moment, she even wondered if she had sensed wrong. Because the "target" her instincts had identified was currently scolding a market official dressed in rich clothes, while twelve Temple Guards in full plate armor stood beside him.
And she knew who he was.
Aside from the exalted Hierarch Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart himself, he was one of the men in Novigrad whose power rivaled the Big Four—a man of immense authority who controlled the city's apparatus of force through the Temple Guard.
Commander Chappelle.
It had been... Chappelle.
The target who had just felt hostility toward her not long ago was actually Chappelle. For a man of that stature to feel hostility toward her made no sense at all.
Noticing Angoulême's flashy gear and the cautious distance she was keeping, one of the armored guards approached them.
"I am Caleb Menge. Is there a problem, madam?"
Angoulême was caught off guard and had no idea how to answer. Was she supposed to tell the guard that his superior had just looked at her with open dislike?
"Forgive us. Mr. Menge, is it? My sister is simply stunned to find herself in the presence of so distinguished a lord under the Eternal Fire's protection."
Victor arrived at her side just in time and offered the explanation in a respectful tone.
After giving the pair a careful look, Caleb Menge decided there was probably no problem. "His Excellency is very concerned with the market's prosperity and security." Then he waved them away.
Victor immediately dragged Angoulême off at a rapid retreat, and only when they reached the wall at the other end of the square did he lower his voice and ask, "Who?"
"...Chappelle."
Victor's pupils widened. He rubbed his beardless chin with his left hand. "That was my guess. You wouldn't have looked that shocked otherwise. Forget it for now. We can't prove anything."
Angoulême nodded in agreement.
Then, as if sensing something else, she suddenly turned and fixed her stare on someone in the crowd behind them.
Victor followed her gaze, and his eyes met the man's at exactly the same moment.
He was wearing rough homespun clothes. Bald, with small eyes and a pig-like nose. And the expression on his face was unmistakable. It was broadcasting a profound, unmistakable hatred toward Victor.
"Doppler, I see you! You fake thing made of mud and flour paste! Stop right there!"
Because of the false alarm last time, Angoulême hesitated for a second before shouting this time.
The boss had already explained the plan to his crew in advance. Angoulême had to draw the doppler's hatred onto herself. As long as it continued harboring malice toward her, then no matter how it changed shape from that point on, it would never escape her pursuit.
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