Stephen Hulin

  ‘No,’ said the sorceress. ‘With her, nothing will happen. She took a check, not gold.’

  ‘Understood. The Witcher’s swords, you’ll take them I suppose? They after all are his…’

  ‘Everything,’ said Yennefer, ‘is connected by destiny. I know, I know, of course. He told me. And I’m even starting to believe. No, Molnar, today I will not take away the swords. Let them remain in the safe room. Soon I will send someone on his behalf. I am leaving Novigrad today.’

  ‘I too. I’m going to Tretogor, and checking at the same time the local branch. Then I’ll go back, to Gors Velen.’

  ‘Well, thanks again. Farewell dwarf.’

  ‘Farewell sorceress.’

  ***

  Interlude

  Exactly one hundred hours

  After receiving the gold

  From the Giancardi bank in Novigrad

  ‘You’re not allowed to go up,’ the bouncer Tharp said. ‘You know it well. Get away from the stairs.’

  ‘Can you not see, pig?’ Nikefor Mus shook the pot-bellied money bag with a clatter. ‘Have you ever in your life seen so much gold at once? Out of the way, I’m coming through! A rich man! Slave!’

  ‘Let him in, Tharp!’ Febus Ravenga said. ‘I do not want the noise to worry the guests. And you will see. Once time you deceived me – the second time you will not. It would be better this time if you pay, Muus.’

  ‘Master Muus,’ the Official pushed past Tharp. ‘Waiter!’

  ‘Wines,’ he cried, lounging at the table. ‘The most expensive!’

  ‘The most expensive,‘ the waiter had the courage to answer, ‘is sixty crowns…’

  ‘Bring it here, bring a pitcher immediately!’

  ‘Quiet,’ Ravenga said. ‘Slow down, Muus.’

  ‘Do not silence my mouth, griper! Crook! Upstart! Who are you to silence me? A gilded signboard, and dung stuck to his boots! Shit will always be shit! Look here! Have you ever seen so much gold at once? Have you seen?’

  Nikefor Muus reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of gold coins and with a sweeping gesture, threw them on the table.

  The coins sprayed out in a brown liquid. They rang with the stench of excrement.

  The guests of the “Natura Rerum” jumped up, rushed to the door, coughing and covering their noses with napkins. The waiter bent over and retched. Someone shouted, someone swore. Febus Revenga did not flinch. He stood like a statue, with his arms crossed.

  Muus stunned, shook his head, rubbed his bulging eyes and looked at the stinking heap on the tablecloth. Finally, he regained consciousness and reached into his bag. And pulled out a handful of dense substance.

  ‘You’re right, Muus,’ said Febus Revenga icily. ‘Shit will always be shit.’

  The magistrate did not resist when he was dragged away, he was too stunned by what had happened. Tharp dragged him to a latrine. At a signal from Ravenga the bounce lifted the wooden lid. Seeing this, Muus came to life and began to squeal and kick. But it did not help much. Tharp dragged him to the pit and dropped him down. The young man flopped down into the liquid stool. But he did not sink. He straightened his arms and legs and supported himself on a surface of mash made up of abandoned buddles of straw, rags, sticks and the crumpled pages torn from a variety of scholars and pious books.

  Febus Ravenga grabbed from the wall of the shed a wooden pitchfork.

  ‘Shit will always be shit,’ he said. ‘And it always ends up that shit falls.’

  He leaned on the fork and pushed Muus. On his head. Muus splashed out up to the surface, coughing and spitting. Ravenga allowed him to cough a bit and take a breath, then dipped him again. This time, very deep.

  Repeating this operation several times, he threw down the pitchfork.

  ‘Leave him there,’ he ordered. ‘Let him climb out.’

  ‘It won’t be easy,’ said Tharp. ‘And will take a long time.’

  ‘Then it will take a long time. Let’s go.’

  ***

  A mon retour, hé! je m’en desespere,

  Tu mas reçu d’un baiser tout glacé.

  Pierre de Ronsard

  Chapter Sixteen

  Under full sail, the schooner “Pandora Pavi” out of Novigrad was a truly beautiful ship.

  Beautiful and fast, thought Geralt, descending the ladder to the lively promenade. He had seen the schooner in Novigrad, made inquiries and learned that she was to sail from Novigrad two days later than the galley “Stinta” on which he had arrived. Despite this, it had reach Kerack at almost the same time. Maybe it would have been worth the wait, he thought. Two extra days in Novigrad, who knows, might have been able to get more information.

  Useless doubts, he decided. Maybe, who knows, what if… What had happened had happened, nothing could change that. And there was no use pondering over this.

  He glanced at the schooner, the lighthouse, the sea and the darkening storm clouds on the horizon. Then walked briskly towards the city.

  ***

  Towards the villa, porters carried a sedan chair, of an elegant design with purple curtains. Apparently it was Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. These were the days that Lytta Neyd took patients, and patients were usually wealthy ladies of high society, to use such a litter. The porter let him in without a word. And this was good. Geralt was not in the best mood and probably would have said a word or two. Or maybe three or four.

  The patio was empty, the water in the fountain gurgled softly. On the malachite table was a decanter and glasses. Geralt unceremoniously poured for himself.

  When he looked up, he saw Mozaïk. Dressed in a white doctor’s coat and apron. Pale. With slicked hair.

  ‘Is that you?’ she said. ‘You’ve returned.’

  ‘It is, and I have,’ he confirmed dryly. ’There is no doubt, I’ve come back. And this wine is undoubtedly a little soured.’

  ‘I am glad to see you.’

  ‘Is Coral home? And if she is, where in the house?’

  ‘She was a minute ago,’ she shrugged her shoulders. ‘I could see her between a patient’s legs. No doubt, she is still there.’

  ‘Have you really no escape, Mozaïk?’ he said quietly, looking into her eyes. ‘You could be a sorceress. Indeed, you have the predisposition and the inclination. Your smashing wit would not be an asset in a textile factory. Even less so in a brothel.’

  ‘I am learning and developing,’ she lowered her eyes. ‘I’m not crying in a corner. Learning from her. That phase is done.’

  ‘No, you’re kidding yourself. You have more to come. And sarcasm will not protect you from it. Especially if it is artificial and poorly performed. But enough about that, I won’t teach you about life. Where is Coral?’

  ‘Here. Hello.’

  The sorceress appeared like a ghost from behind a curtain. Like Mozaïk, she wore a white doctor’s coat, her red hair was pinned beneath a linen cap, which under normal circumstances would have looked ridiculous. But the circumstances were not normal and laughter would have been inappropriate, he needed a moment to understand.

  She walked over and silently kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were cold. And under her eyes were dark circles.

  She smelled of drugs. And something else that was used for disinfection. It was nasty, repulsive, an ill smell. An odor that caused an alarm.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said quickly. ‘Tomorrow I will tell you everything.’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  She looked at him, and it was viewed through a distance separating them, through the abyss of time and events. It took him a second to realise how deep the abyss had become and how alienating the events.

  ‘It might be better the next day. Go into the city. Meet with the poet, he is very worried about you. Now, please, go. I have to take care of a patient.’

  When she was gone, he looked at Mozaïk. Perhaps, eloquently enough, because she did not hesitate with explanations.

  ‘In the
morning we had a birth,’ she said, her voice changing a bit. ‘There were complications. She decided to use forceps. All that could go wrong, went wrong.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mozaïk.’

  ‘You were gone a long time,’ she raised her head. ‘Much longer than she had expected. In Rissberg I don’t know, or pretend to know. But something happened, right?’

  ‘Something happened.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ***

  Dandelion amazed him with cleverness. He confirmed the fact that the evidence that Geralt had brought was not fully understood. And the whole not accepted.

  ‘Ended, huh? Carried away by the wind? It is obvious that you were needed by her and the wizards, you’ve done your job, and now you can go. And you know what? I’m glad that it has happened. I’d like to put an end to this bizarre affair, the longer it lasted the more dangerous became its consequences. You too, if you want my opinion, should be happy that you can put it out of your head and everything went smoothly. Therefore, your face should shine with a joyful smile, not this dark and gloomy grimace, which, believe me, doesn’t suit you. You look like a man with a serious hangover, who in addition has eaten something terrible, and does not remember when he broke his tooth or how he got traces of semen in his pants.’

  ‘Maybe,’ continued the bard, completely undeterred by the lack of reaction to his other words, ‘your depression stems from something else? Maybe because you were put out the door when you were planning on saying farewell in your own style? A kind of departure early in the morning leaving flowers on the table? Ha, ha, in love as in war, my friend, your darling entered as a true strategist. Proactive, a preventative attack. Perhaps she has read “The History of Wars” by Marshal Pelligram. Pelligram gives many examples of victories achieved by a similar foretelling.’

  Geralt still did not react. Dandelion, it seemed, was not expecting a reaction. He finished his beer, and nodded to the innkeeper to bring another.

  ‘Taking into account the above,’ he continued, twisting the tuning pegs on his lute. ‘I’m all for sex on the first date. I recommend it for the future, in all cases. This eliminates the need for further meetings with the same person, which are sometimes tedious and time consuming. Since we are on the subject, I praise you for the lawyer, she was really worth the effort. You will not believe…’

  ‘I believe,’ the witcher could take no more, and abruptly interrupted. ‘I believe no story, so you can skip it.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ concluded the bard. ‘Depression, anxiety and soul-searching, because of this, you are hot-tempered and rude. This is not just because of the woman; it seems to me. There’s something else. I know, damn it. I understand. Nothing came of Novigrad? You did not get back your swords?’

  Geralt breathed, but promised himself not to sigh.

  ‘They were not returned. Was too late. There were difficulties, a lot of things happening. Caught in a storm, then the boat began to drift… The tanner became seriously ill… I won’t torment you will all the details. In short, I did not get there in time. When I reached Novigrad, the auction had already passed. The conversation at the House of Borsodi was short. The sales at auction are confidential, to protect the buyers and sellers. To unauthorized persons the company won’t provide any information, blah, blah, blah, goodbye. I didn’t find anything. I don’t know whether the swords were sold, and if so, who bought them. I don’t even know if the thief brought the sword to be an exhibit at the auction. He could have ignored the advice of Pratt and found another opportunity. I know nothing.’

  ‘Same here,’ Dandelion shook his head. ‘A series of unsuccessful matches. The investigation of cousin Ferrant seems to be stuck at an impasse. Cousin Ferrant, since we are talking about him, asks about you. Where you are, is there any news of you, when are you coming back, if you have time for the royal wedding, and if you have not forgotten your promise to Prince Egmund. Of course, I told him nothing, and did not say a word about your business or the auction. But I’ll remind you that the feast of Lammas is approaching, just ten days remaining.’

  ‘I know. But maybe something will happen in the meantime? Something good, maybe? As long as the string of unsuccessful coincidences doesn’t mind some variety.’

  ‘I don’t deny it. What if…’

  ‘I think I will make a decision,’ Geralt did not let Dandelion finish. ‘I’ll participate in the royal wedding as a bodyguard, in principle, it does not require anything as Egmund and the Instigator have not found my swords, and it was part of the condition. But I will not rule out fulfilling the wish of the Prince. At least from a material consideration. The Prince boasted that the money would be considerable. And all indications are that I will need it to by completely new swords, made by special order. And it will cost dearly. What can I say. Let’s go somewhere to eat. And drink.’

  ‘To Ravenga at the “Natura Rerum”?’

  ‘Not today. Today I want something simple, natural, uncomplicated and sincere. If you know what I mean.’

  ‘Of course. I understand.’ Dandelion stood. ‘Let’s go to the sea, to Palmyra. I know a place. They serve herring, vodka and fish soup which they call a cockerel. Don’t laugh! It is really called that.’

  ‘Let them call it what they want. Let’s go.’

  ***

  The bridge over the Adalatte was blocked, on it moved a convoy of loaded carts and a group of horsemen who rode bareback on their horses. Geralt and Dandelion had to wait off to the side of the road.

  From the cavalcade role a lone rider on a bay mare. The mare shook her head and greeted Geralt by neighing.

  ‘Roach!’

  ‘Hello, Witcher,’ the rider threw back his hood, revealing his face. ‘I was looking for you. But I did not expect to meet you so quickly.’

  ‘Hello, Pinety.’

  Pinety jumped from the saddle. Geralt noted that he was armed. It was quite strange, magicians rarely carried weapons. On a bound brass belt, the sorcerer wore an ornate sword scabbard. There was also a dirk, solid and wide.

  The Witcher took Roach’s reins, stroked the horses nose and the back of her neck. Pinety took off his gloves and tucked them in his belt.

  ‘Excuse me Master Dandelion,’ he said. ‘But I would like a word with Geralt alone. What I have to say is intended only for his ears.’

  ‘Geralt,’ Dandelion puffed up, ‘has no secrets from me.’

  ‘I know. Many details of his personal life I have learned from your ballads.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Dandelion,’ interrupted the witcher. ‘Go for a walk.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said when they were alone. ‘Thank you for bringing my horse, Pinety.’

  ‘I noticed,’ said the wizard, ‘that you are attached to her. So when I found her at Pine Copsea…’

  ‘You were in Pine Copse?’

  ‘I was. I was summoned there by Constable Torquil.’

  ‘Did you see…’

  ‘I saw,’ Pinety interrupted. ‘We’ve all seen. I don’t understand, witcher. I don’t understand. Why didn’t you cut him down? There, on the spot? What you did, let me say, was not very wise.’

  I know. Geralt thought, refraining from comment. I know, of course. I was too stupid to use the provided chance of fate. And what would it have hurt me, just one more corpse on my account. What does it matter to a paid killer. And why does it sicken me to be your instrument? I have always been someone else’s weapon. I should have sucked it up and do what I should.

  ‘You’d probably be surprised,’ Pinety looked into his eyes, ‘but we immediately rushed to your aid. Harlan and I. We assumed you were in need of help. Degerlund was captured he next day when he disposed of a random gang.’

  ‘You caught him,’ the witcher responded. ‘and without delay snapped his neck? Being smarter than me, you didn’t repeat my mistake.’

/>   ‘We are not killers,’ the magician stammered, blushing. ‘We took him to Rissberg. And there was a commotion… Everyone was against us. Ortolan, surprisingly, keep a low profile, and we on his side expected the worst. But Biruta Icarti, Sandocal, even Zangenis who supported us before… We were made to listen to a speech on community, solidarity, of brotherhood and loyalty. We were told that only scum sends an assassin on their fellows, and how could we have employed a witcher against a companion. For low motives. Out of jealousy for the talent and authority of our colleague and envy for his scientific achievements and success.’

  The mention of the incident in the foothill and of the forty-four corpses did not produce any reaction and the witcher again refrained from comment. Except to shrug. And to think on the notation of science that requires sacrifice. And the purpose that sanctifies the means.

  ‘Degerlund,’ continued Pinety, ‘stood before the commission and listened to a harsh scolding. For practicing goetia, for killing people with a demon. He behaved arrogantly, apparently counting on the intervention of Ortolan. But Ortolan seemed to have forgotten about him completely, surrendering to his latest passion: designing a formula that was incredibly effective as a universal fertilizer, which would revolutionalise agriculture. Releasing that his hope was gone, Degerlund changed his tone. To whiny and plaintive. He portrayed himself as a victim. A victim to his own ambitions and magical talent, thanks to which he summoned a demon that was too powered and was impossible to deal with. He vowed that he would cease to engage in goetia ever again. And that he would devote himself to research in the field of the improvement of the human race, transhumanism, speciation, introgression and genetic modification.’