Rewrite That Witch
CH542 · Rewrite
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Chapter 542: The Wicked Journey

“Sister, we’re here!” Cole burst through the cabin door, grinning.

Edith raised her head from the document she’d been reading. “I’ve told you twice during this voyage not to call me that.” A measured pause. “Have you forgotten?”

“No — no, I remember.”

“Then who am I?”

“My — my Clerk. Miss Edith.”

“And who are you?”

“The… the ambassador sent by Calvin Kant, Duke of the Northern Region.”

“Good. Don’t let me correct you a third time.” She rose, rolled her shoulders against the stiffness of the journey, and moved toward the door. “Call the delegation together. We’re going to the inner city.”

This was a habit she’d cultivated — arriving before herself.

She liked to observe a person before they knew she was watching. By the time she revealed who she was, she already knew what she was dealing with, and the surprise on their face gave her an opening. If the man she was meeting found her attractive, so much the better. The Pearl of the Northern Region had not earned that name by ignoring her advantages.

“The heads,” Cole said, trailing her down the gangplank. “Should we—”

“Leave them on the boat.” She glanced at him sideways. “Unless you want them in your bedroom. They’ve started to turn.”

At the dock, the crowd surprised her. The canal was thick with vessels; the quayside churned with people carrying large bundles — neither the slack posture of slaves nor the purposeful dress of merchants. She stood a moment, studying them.

“Go ask where they’re headed,” she told a servant.

“What does it matter?” Cole asked.

“Roland Wimbledon has been in this city less than a month. Whatever policies he’s announced to mark his authority will tell us what sort of man he is.” She watched the dockside crowds. “A few gold royals to the Rats buys secondhand intelligence. First-hand costs nothing but attention. Which would you prefer?”

Cole had nothing to say to this.

The city gate opened onto streets she half-recognized from her last visit — her father’s hand on her shoulder, years ago, leading her to the fifth princess’s coming-of-age ceremony. The city had not changed much. Vendors called out from both sides of the road; the foot traffic was thick and purposeful.

What had changed was the noise.

A man stood on a corner box addressing a loose crowd: “Can you cut wood? Can you lay brick? Can you tend livestock? Whatever your skill, His Majesty is looking for you — go to the Western Region, go to the City of Neverwinter, where your talent will be rewarded!”

“A new king’s city?” Edith murmured. “In the Western Region?” She had heard no intelligence about this. “There is no Neverwinter on any map I’ve seen.”

Twenty paces on, a second speaker — this one holding a document overhead: “Witches are innocent. The High Priest wrote this himself, before his execution. They may be your daughter, your sister. Send them to Neverwinter — they will be safe. Come with them if you cannot bear to part. His Majesty promises shelter and honest work for the families of witches.”

Cole’s eyes had gone wide. “The High Priest has been executed?”

Edith said nothing for a moment. He’s declared the witches innocent and invited their families to follow. He’s moving the seat of power to an unbuilt city in the wilderness. And he’s made all of this into street theater. “If this is Roland Wimbledon’s policy, he courts the Church’s full response. Not a quarrel between nobles — a heresy war.” She kept walking. “Whether that makes him brave or reckless, I haven’t decided.”

She did not need the Rats after all. She walked the streets for an hour and heard everything: the conquest of the king’s city, the High Priest’s end, the new capital taking shape in the Western Region. All of it delivered corner by corner, in plain language, to anyone who passed.

“My Lady.” The servant she’d sent out caught up with them, panting. “The people at the dock — they’re all heading to the City of—”

“Neverwinter,” Edith said. “I know. Don’t look for a hotel. We’re going to the palace to present our documents.” She felt the unease gather in her chest. “Move quickly.”

“His Majesty left the king’s city a week ago,” the attendant reported, “without an inauguration ceremony. He left his chief minister, Barov Mons, to manage daily affairs — but Barov Mons departed yesterday as well. The palace is empty save the servants. If the delegation wishes to speak with the City Hall—”

“That will be all,” Edith said.

When the attendant was gone, Cole stared at her. “What do we do?”

She did not answer immediately. She had traveled without stopping, had come as fast as a delegation of this size could move, and she was still a week behind a man who apparently needed no ceremony and no audience to do exactly as he intended.

He had abandoned a splendid capital — a city it had taken generations to build — and walked away to plant a new one in the wilderness.

What kind of mind does that?

“We turn around,” she said at last. “We go to the City of Neverwinter.”

Cole’s expression curdled. “They’ve already gone. There’s no need to rush. I haven’t bathed in a week — I’m certain I have lice—”

Edith looked at her own collar. Sniffed it. Sighed. “One night. We leave at first light.”

In the morning, they returned to the dock to find their boat a charred skeleton.

Edith stood very still, looking at what remained.

“Ahem.” Cole cleared his throat. “Don’t be angry. Observe. Think. You said so yourself.” He stepped aside and stopped a passer-by. “The dock catches fire too?”

“Oh, that.” The man was cheerful about it. “Someone found bodies hidden on the boat — the Rats smelled them when they went to have a look. After the Church’s plague last year, everyone’s careful. Bodies mean burning. The captain’s been taken in for questioning.”

Edith waited until the man moved on.

“We need to find a new boat,” she said finally.

”…Yes, Miss Edith.”

I had a feeling this loyalty mission would not be simple. She turned and walked back toward the city. I simply did not expect it to begin quite this badly.

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