PROLOGUE

A fortune teller was sitting in front of a man who could not be anything less than a pirate captain. He had so many golden rings on his fingers that they had to make up a retirement fund together.

His large frame was a bit too big for the chair in the tent of the fortune teller, but he sat nicely and gracefully, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands with the ease of a professional gambler.

"What is your question to the spirits, Captain?" the fortune teller asked. The small sliver of her face that was visible under her veil expressed worry and nervousness, no doubt caused by the presence of this intimidating man.

He was soft and smooth in his movements, but it was the softness of big cats and rattlesnakes, he had a dangerous level of control over every little gesture, and his Karshaan skin, the color of dark sand, was almost red in the light of the thirteen candles that illuminated the tent.

"I don't care about the spirits. Tell me what the universe thinks." The man gave the pack of cards to the fortune teller. "I want to know how I will die."

The woman shivered visibly at the mention of death. One was never supposed to ask the cards to reveal such things. This could be bad for her, a curse upon her, not to mention the effect on the pirate captain.

The man leaned forwards, and his dark eyes glimmered in a threatening way as he said:"Ask them. I am not afraid of curses."

Now shaking and barely able to hold the pack of cards, the fortune teller shuffled them a few more times, and with great care and concentration, she pulled out two of them.

The cards almost dropped onto the table on their own, as if they had been given a semblance of a sentience of some sort, and the fortune teller hurried to turn them face up.

The pirate captain grinned as he saw the king of spades and two of clubs - the card of medicine - in front of him.

END OF PROLOGUE

Serenica Ingram stared at the pile of bills on the table. She stared at them past the hangman's noose that she had hung from the ceiling after receiving the latest mail, which had been more bills, of course.

The noose was poorly made.

Serenica opened the knot and took the rope in her hands.

Someone knocked on her door in a rapid burst, urgently, like a wounded person.

Still staring blankly at the letters, Serenica wondered whether she should open the door or not. It was likely that her friend Helen had come to visit her. Delightful as Helen was, she was unlikely to have the kind of coins that would help with the healer's bills. What she wanted was a patient, someone with money, and Helen was rarely ill. It was an even rarer thing for her to have gold.

Serenica was a healer, likely the best one in Neul. She posed as a doctor to the authorities, having forged a few documents to get away with things that mere witches couldn't manage on their own. Far from a humble wisewoman, she was something better. She was a witch with medical knowledge. She was known and she was popular, but unfortunately that wasn't enough to fill her pockets. Firewood was costly, rent was costly, supplies were costly and everything got more expensive as time passed by. Things were not helped by a certain businesswoman, Mariana Kinley, who hired more and more proper doctors who would then take Serenica's patients and treat them with strange and extreme concoctions.

Serenica was not in the position to deny a patient the loving care they deserved.

She opened the door.

In stepped a man with more gold hanging from his ears than Serenica had seen in the past three months. Still soaking wet from the heavy air that was actually more water than air due to the joys of the rainy season, the tattooed man pushed his way to the better armchair.

Serenica noticed his limping, the scarf on his head and his bruised knuckles. He was a sailor, for sure, perhaps even a pirate. Serenica had treated her fair share of pirates. They were secretive folk, but they did pay well.

"I have a bad knee," the man said, clutching said knee yet not displaying any pain.

"I can tell," Serenica said. It was no use marinating the sailor in false displays of empathy. He probably wanted a quick fix for his problem and to get on with his life.

Serenica had almost forgotten the fact that a moment earlier she had been ready and willing to put her own neck in a noose.

"Hurts when I walk. Hurts when I twist it in any direction. The name's Gadfly."

Realizing that the name was likely a fake one, Serenica flashed a quick smile, her heartbeat strong against her ribs, filling her entire body. It felt funny how coming so near to the ultimate solution made one so alive. Serenica was very much alive right now. Her heart, her lungs, everything pulsating to this unknown rhythm that only witches could play to their own liking.

"I am Serenica Ingram, which must be the reason you came here. You're looking for a healer, are you not?"

"Aye, I know your name. You're the best in Neul, they say. And my knee keeps me from working. Can you do something about it?"

"I need to see your knee now," Serenica said, regaining her natural confidence.

"I'll have to take off my pants."

"I've seen all kinds of organs and underwear. Go ahead."

The man took off his very worn trousers and revealed two very tattooed legs. To Serenica's great amusement, this sailor revealed himself to be the fancy type with his expensive underwear. It was quite silly – cheap and stained trousers, a shirt fit for a man doing harsh physical work, and then these little creations of blue silk guarding his most private places.

The knee itself was not visibly injured, but as Serenica touched it, Gadfly let out an involuntary moan.

Serenica flinched a little inside her head. She didn't like to see or hear people being in pain. It was the reason for her choice of profession. She had always hated suffering and illnesses with a burning passion. Having been tying bandages for wounded hunters in her childhood home from the age of five, she hated to cause harm to living beings as well, and it had felt like a fairly obvious choice to start helping others, to give out medicine when needed.

"It's bad," she lied. The knee was not that bad. It was a chronic thing, no doubt, and that was why she had to take care of it right now.

"I am no doctor, nor am I a Karshaan joint manipulator." She shook her head. "I fear causing more damage to the delicate structure of the knee if I start wringing it around like an old rag. You can put on your trousers now. I am no doctor. I don't need to touch you in order to heal you."

Clearly intrigued, Gadfly bent closer to her but did not proceed to put his trousers back on.

"You're a witch, that's for certain. Good. I don't want no doctor."

Serenica hummed as she prepared a classic spell. The knee was in a severe condition. It warranted the use of a throbstone.

Very much alike the colorless crystals used in decoration by the worldly types in Neul and other western cities, clear throbstones were somewhat of a rarity. In nature, they tended to be already tainted, as in nature, agony was everywhere, and these little bastards sucked it up and turned themselves orange and pinkish red. Serenica knew a man, though, and he knew a woman who had access to rather clear, affordable throbstones from a certain mine near Neul. They were worth every penny, even if the quality fell behind the ones found in areas frequented by the forest folk. Serenica had never seen the folk. She didn't want to. The stones from the mine had served her just fine. She wasn't a battle healer, her patients usually came to her with their own two legs.

"What is that?" the sailor asked.

"A throbstone." Serenica smiled a little. She liked it when patients had actual questions about her craft.

"No, I mean the rope on the table. You haven't been thinking of suicide, have you?"

The question pierced Serenica like a knife taken to a block of butter.

If she was this transparent, this naked, then what use were forgery and fake titles?

Gadfly didn't wait for her answer. The man started talking as if his words were gold coins dropping into a shared chest.

"Look, I won't say I haven't been there, life does it to everyone. See, I'm a pirate. I'm the fourth most feared pirate on the Sennitic Seas."

Serenica hated the fact that they were called the Sennitic Seas. Sure, neither Karshlands or Cross Islands dominated the ocean anymore, and her own people weren't seafaring in the slightest, yet the water was only partly cornered by the Sennitic continent. She would have still rather thought about semantic issues than the fact that she had nearly taken her own life a moment earlier.

As to whether that man was the fourth most feared pirate of all, Serenica was doubtful. She wasn't afraid of Gadfly, and she was afraid of nearly everyone.

"You don't have to believe a word I say. Just making a point here. Life does it to everyone. Some beautiful day you're going to have to do it back to life itself."

"Keep your mouth out of my noose. I am thankful for your suggestions. But keep your mouth out of my failed suicide attempts. They are not your business. I will treat you now."

Serenica took out her pipe, as she always did when she was under pressure.

"Right after this pipeful, of course. Want some?"

The patient shook his head.

Serenica rolled up little balls of tobacco to stuff in the nest of her pipe. When she was finished, she lit a match to bring a flame to what was about to become smoke and ash.

The supposed pirate stared at the healer as she smoked. He seemed to be in some kind of a hypnotic state.

Once Serenica was done, she cleaned her pipe onto a plate that she had as her designated ashtray.

"Now. The knee," she said, feeling much better.