Agloval looked at her for a moment with a cold and indifferent expression.
‘The fishermen who died had wives and children,’ he finally said in a voice that was much more measured and calm. ‘The others will return to the sea when hunger tightens their bellies. The pearl divers, oyster- and lobstermen, fishermen, all of them. They will return to the sea sooner or later, but will they come back safe and sound? What do you think, Geralt? And you, Miss Daven? Your ballad will undoubtedly be interesting: idling on the beach, the witcher watches the children crying over blood-covered boats.’
Essi paled even more. She pushed back her circlet, blew on the band as she prepared to retort, but the witcher took her hand before she could open her mouth.
‘Enough,’ he said. ‘In this outpouring of words, only one thing is really important: you hired my services, Agloval, and I accepted the mission. I will fulfill it if it is feasible.’
‘I look forward to it,’ the duke responded in a whisper. ‘Goodbye. My regards, Miss Daven.’
Essi did not bow, only nodded. Hunched over the stones, with his clothing drenched, Agloval left in the direction of the port. Geralt realized then that he still held the poet's hand and that she was not trying to get free. He let go. Regaining her normal colors, Essi turned her face to him.
‘It doesn't take much for you to agree to take risks,’ she said. ‘A few words on the subject of women and children were enough. And yet we still talk about the insensitivity of witchers, Geralt. Agloval doesn't care about children, women, or the elderly. All that matters to him is that fishing and pearl-diving resumes, because every day off is synonymous with a loss of profit for him. He only has to use starving children as bait for you to agree to risk your life…’
‘Essi,’ he interrupted. ‘I'm a witcher. Risking my life is my job. Children have nothing to do with it.’ ‘Stop pretending.’
‘Why should I?’
‘If you were really the cold professional you pretend to be, you would have tried to bargain. You didn't even mention money. But enough on that subject. What now?’
‘Let's keep walking.’
‘Gladly. Geralt?’
‘Yes…’
‘I told you that I was raised by the sea. I can steer a boat…’
‘Forget it.’
‘Why?’
‘Forget it,’ he repeated firmly.
‘You could tell me more politely.’
‘I could, but you would think… ah, devil only knows why. I'm nothing but an insensitive witcher. I risk my life, no-one else's.’
Essi clenched her teeth and gave her head a shake. The wind ruffled the wind once more. Her face was covered for a moment by a tangle of golden locks.
‘I only wanted to help.’
‘I know. Thank you.’
‘Geralt?’
‘Yes…’
‘What if there's some truth to the rumors concerning Agloval? You know that sirens aren't always friendly. There have been cases…’
‘I can't believe that…’
‘Sea witches,’ continued Little-Eye, deep in concentration. ‘Naiads, tritons, sea nymphs. Who knows what they're capable of. Sh'eenaz had a motive.’
‘I don't believe it,’ he interrupted neatly.
‘You don't believe it or you don't want to believe it?’
Geralt didn't respond.
‘And you try to pass yourself off as a cold professional?’ she asked with a strange smile. ‘As someone whose purpose is driven by the sword? If you want, I'll tell you who you really are.’
‘I know who I really am.’
‘You are sensitive,’ she said softly, ‘worried to the very depths of your soul. Your stony face and your glacial voice don't fool me. Your sensitivity puts you in fear of raising your sword against an opponent who has a moral advantage over you…’
‘No, Essi,’ he said slowly. ‘Don't look to me for the subject of a moving ballad: that of the internally conflicted witcher. I might like that to be the case, but it isn't. My code and my training resolve every moral dilemma. In that, I am well prepared.’
‘Don't say such things!’ Essi burst out. ‘I don't understand why you try to…’ ‘Essi,’ he interrupted again, ‘I don't want you to imagine things about me. I'm not a knight errant.’
‘You aren't a cold and ruthless killer either.’
‘No,’ he answered calmly. ‘I'm not, contrary to what some people think. It is not my sensitivity and the quality of my character that make me more than that, but the pride, the egotism, and the arrogance of a professional convinced of his valor. Of someone instilled with the belief that the code and cold routine are superior to emotion and prevent him from committing errors, from getting lost in the Manichean maze of Good and Evil, Order and Chaos. No, Essi, the sensitivity is on your part. It's characteristic of your profession, isn't it? You think that the siren appears sympathetic, but you worry that with her pride wounded, she could attack the pearl divers in a desperate act of revenge. At first, you look for justification, extenuating circumstances… You tremble at the idea of a witcher hired by the duke to assassinate a beautiful siren, only because you have succumbed to your emotions. The witcher is deprived of such contradictions, Essi, and and of emotions. If it turns out that the siren is to blame, the witcher will not kill her, because his code forbids it. The code resolves all my dilemmas.’
Little-Eye lifted her head suddenly and looked at him.
‘All your dilemmas?’ she asked in a whisper.
She knows about Yennefer, he thought. She knows everything. Dandelion, damned loudmouth…
They looked at one another.
What is hidden in your azure-blue eyes, Essi? Curiosity? Fascination with the 'other?' What are the other sides of your talent, Little-Eye?
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘The question was stupid and naïve. It suggested that I believe what you say. Let's go back. The wind cuts me to the marrow of my bones. Looks like the sea is rising.’
‘I see. You know, Essi, it's interesting…’
‘What's interesting?’
‘I could have sworn that the rocks where Agloval met the siren were larger and closer to the shore. I don't see them anymore.’
‘The tide is rising,’ Essi said. ‘The water will reach the cliff soon.’
‘It will rise up the cliff?’
‘Yes. The water rises and falls here by more than ten cubits, because the inlet and the estuary are influenced by tidal echoes. That's what the sailors call the phenomenon.’
Geralt looked toward the cape and the Dragon's Teeth battered by the foaming waves.
‘Essi,’ he asked, ‘when does the tide start to recede?’
‘Why?’
‘Because… That's it, I understand. Yes, you're right. The tie goes out along the line of an underwater plateau.’
‘The line of what?’
‘A sort of plateau formed by the sea floor that emerges like a peak…’ ‘And the Dragon's Teeth…’
‘… are located exactly on the ridge line.’
‘And will be accessible by wading…’
‘How much time will I have?’
‘I don't know.’ Little-Eye's face wrinkled. ‘You could ask the people here, but I don't think it's the best idea. Look: there are rocks between the shore and the Teeth. The whole bay is riddled with gaps and fjords. At low tide, they form ravines and basins filled with water. I don't know if…’
A splashing sound reached them from the side of the rocks that were barely still visible, and then came a loud modulated cry.
‘White-haired one!’ called the siren, floating gracefully on the crest of the waves and elegantly lashing the water with her tail.
‘Sh'eenaz,’ replied Geralt, lifting his hand in greeting.
The mermaid swam up to the rocks. She held herself upright in the deep sea foam, drawing her hair back with both hands and presenting in this position all the charms of her chest. Geralt cast an eye toward Essi whose face was slightly flushed. The gi
rl had an expression of regret and embarrassment and looked down at her own charms, forming a ridge under her dress.
‘Where is my beloved?’ sang Sh'eenaz, coming closer. ‘He should be here.’
‘He came, waited for three hours and then left.’
‘Left?’ the siren trilled in surprise. ‘He didn't wait for me? He could not endure three lousy little hours of waiting? That's what I thought: not an ounce of self-sacrifice! What a monster! And you, what are you doing here, white-haired one? You came to take a walk with your lover? You make a lovely couple. Too bad your legs spoil the sight.’
‘This isn't my lover. We hardly know each other.’
‘Is that so?’ Sh'eena said, surprised. ‘That's a pity. You really do make a beautiful couple. Who is she?’
‘My name is Essi Daven, I am a poet,’ sang Little-Eye, modulating her voice in a melodious and expressive air next to which Geralt's inflections sounded like a croak. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Sh'eenaz.’
The young siren struck her hands flat on the water, laughing loudly.
‘How beautiful!’ she cried. ‘You know our language! Really, you humans amaze me. We are not so different after all.’
The witcher was no less surprised than the siren, though he could have guessed that the girl, more educated than he, would know the Old Tongue, the language of elves that sirens, sea witches, and naiads used in their melodies. He also noticed that the complexity of the melodies that were so difficult for him presented Little-Eye with no major difficulty.
‘Sh'eenaz,’ he said. ‘Some things do separate us, even if blood flows through us both! Who… Who killed the pearl divers near the two stones? Tell me!’
The siren dived, disturbing the water before reappearing at the surface. Her pretty face suddenly contorted into a terrible grimace:
‘Don't tempt fate!’ she cried in a shrill voice. ‘Don't go near the Steps! Not you! Don't enter into conflict with them! Not you!’
‘What? Why not us?’
‘Not you!’ repeated the siren, falling back against the waves.
Water rose up from the splash. They saw her tail once more, her narrow fin spread to strike against the surface of the waves. The siren disappeared into the depths.
Little-Eye smoothed her wind-blown hair. She remained motionless, lost in thought.
‘I didn't know,’ said Geralt, clearing his throat, ‘that you knew the Old Tongue so well, Essi.’
‘You couldn't know,’ she replied with bitterness in her voice. ‘You hardly know me, isn't that right?’
VI
‘Geralt…’ Dandelion said, looking around and sniffing the air like a hunting dog. ‘What is that stench, do you smell it?’
‘No, not really…’ said the witcher, sniffing. ‘I've been to smellier places. It's only the smell of the sea.’
The bard turned his head to spit between the rocks. The water foamed and churned in the gaps between the stones, revealing sandy ravines washed by the waves.
‘Looks like everything is perfectly dry, Geralt. But where did all that water go? How does the tide bloody work? Have you ever asked yourself that?’
‘No. I've had other things on my mind.’
Dandelion trembled slightly:
‘I think the lowest depths of the bloody ocean hide an enormous monster, a revolting scaly beast, a huge toad with horns on its repulsive face. From time to time, he swallows the water along with everything that lives in it: fish, seals, turtles, everything. After he swallows it all, he makes water: that's the tide. What do you think?’ ‘I think you're a complete idiot. Yennefer explained to me once that the tides are linked to the moon.’ ‘What nonsense! What do the sea and the moon have to do with each other? Only dogs howl at death under the moon. She was mocking you, Geralt, the little liar. I know it wouldn't be the first time, after all.’
The witcher did not comment on Dandelion's words. He watched the rocky ravines, gleaming with moisture after the sea's retreat. The water continued to rise and fall, but it seemed that they would be able to pass.
‘Well, time to get to work,’ he said, rising and adjusting the sword carried on his shoulder. ‘We can't wait around for high tide. Dandelion, you still insist on going with me?’
‘Yes. Subjects for ballads don't lie around like pine cones under a Christmas tree. Besides, it's Doll's birthday tomorrow.’
‘I don't see the connection.’
‘Pity. We, the normal people, are in the habit of giving gifts at birthdays. Since we don't have the money to buy something, I'll find something at the bottom of the sea.’
‘A herring? A cuttlefish?’
‘You can be such an idiot. I'll find amber, a seahorse, or perhaps a pretty shell. It's the symbol that's important: a sign of thoughtfulness and affection. I like Little-Eye and I want to make her happy. Don't you understand that? That's what I thought. Come on. You first, because a monster could strike at any instant.’
‘Fine.’ The witcher descended the stone wall covered with slimy algae. ‘I go in front to protect you from harm. That will be my sign of thoughtfulness and affection. Just remember: if I shout, run for your life and don't get in the way of my sword. We're not here to look for seahorses, but to size up a killer monster.’
They descended to the bottom of the ravine, at times paddling through the water in the cracks and pools filled with sand and seaweed. To improve the situation, it began to rain: Geralt and Dandelion were soon soaked from head to toe. The troubadour was constantly stopping to search the sand and seaweed with a stick.
‘Oh, look, Geralt, a fish. Completely red, by the devil. And here, a little eel. And that? What's this? It looks like a translucent louse. And this… Oh my! Geralt!’
The witcher turned abruptly, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.
It was a human skull, white, polished by sand, embedded in a crack filled with sand. Dandelion trembled at the sight of an annelid wriggling in the eye socket and gave an unpleasant cry. The witcher shrugged and led the way to the stone platform unveiled by the waves. Ahead, the two Dragon's Teeth were as imposing as mountains. He watched cautiously. The ground was littered with sea cucumbers, shells and seaweed. In the puddles and potholes large jellyfish waved and echinoderms undulated. Small crabs as colorful as hummingbirds flew by, waving their legs.
In the distance Geralt saw a corpse, lying among the stones. The ribcage of the drowned man, infected by crabs inside and out, moved strangely from the algae. The corpse could not have been there for more than a day, but the crabs had already shredded it so that any closer visual inspection would produce nothing conclusive. The witcher, without a word, veered to avoid the corpse. Dandelion didn't notice.
‘It stinks of decay,’ he said, joining Geralt. Dandelion spat, wringing his drenched hat. ‘And it's pouring rain. It's cold. I'll catch cold and lose my voice, damn it…’
‘Stop complaining. If you want to go back, all you have to do is follow our footsteps.’
Behind the base of the Dragon's Teeth lay a limestone plateau ending in a pit that opened onto the tranquil waves of the sea: the tide's edge.
Dandelion looked around them.
‘Ah, witcher! Your monster has enough sense to retire to sea with the tide. You must have thought he would wait belly-up for you to come along and gut him.’
‘Shut up.’
The witcher approached the edge of the plateau and knelt carefully while holding the tapered shells that covered the rock. He saw nothing. The water was dark and its surface disturbed and opaque from the drizzle.
Dandelion entered one of the recesses in the stone, pushing the most insistent crabs with his foot; he looked around and ran his fingers over the walls, dripping with water and covered with loose algae and rugged colonies of shellfish and mussels.
‘Hey, Geralt!’
‘What?’
‘Look at these shells. They're pearl mussels, aren't they?’
‘No.’
‘Would you know?’
‘No.’
‘Then wait until you know more before forming an opinion. They are pearl mussels, I'm sure. I'll gather some pearls. At least our expedition will bring us some profits, not just a vicious cold. Right, Geralt?’
‘Gather away. The monster attacks pearl divers. Collectors fall in the same category.’
‘You want me to act as bait?’
‘Go on, gather away. Take the larger shells. If they don't contain any pearls, we can always use them for soup.’
‘And what then? I only want the pearls… The shells can go to hell… Plague take it! How the hell do you open these? Don't you have a knife, Geralt?’
‘You don't even have a knife with you?’
‘I'm a poet, not a cut-throat. Oh, nevermind, I'll put them in my bag; we'll get the pearls out later. Hey, you! Get out of my way!’
The crab caught by Dandelion's kick flew over Geralt's head and plunged into a wave.
Intrigued by the black mass of water, the witcher slowly followed the edge of the plateau. He heard Dandelion pounding the stone to detach the mussels.