‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ Yennefer sat on the edge of the bed. Dandilion, still smiling like a moron, groaned quietly. It was, without a doubt, a groan of bliss.
‘What’s this all about, Yennefer ? If it’s a game, I don’t know the rules.’
‘I told you,’ she began, ‘that I always get what I want. As it happens, I desire something that Dandilion has. I’ll get it from him and we can part ways. Don’t worry, he won’t come to any harm—’
‘The things you’ve set on the floor,’ he interrupted, ‘are used to summon demons. Someone always comes to harm where demons are summoned. I won’t allow it.’
‘—not a hair of his head will be harmed,’ continued the sorceress, without paying any attention to his words. ‘His voice will be even more beautiful and he’ll be very pleased, even happy. We’ll all be happy. And we’ll part with no ill-feelings or resentment.’
‘Oh, Virginia,’ moaned Dandilion without opening his eyes. ‘Your breasts are so beautiful, more delicate than a swan’s down . . . Virginia . . .’
‘Has he lost his mind? Is he raving?’
‘He’s dreaming,’ smiled Yennefer. ‘His dream wish is being satisfied in his sleep. I probed his mind to the very depths. There wasn’t much there. A few obscenities, several dreams and masses of poetry. But be that as it may. The seal which plugged the bottle with the djinn, Geralt, I know he doesn’t have it. You do. Please give it to me.’
‘What do you need the seal for?’
‘How should I answer your question?’ The sorceress smiled coquettishly. ‘Let’s try this: it’s none of your damned business, witcher. Does that satisfy you?’
‘No.’ His smile was equally nasty. ‘It doesn’t. But don’t reproach yourself for it, Yennefer. I’m not easily satisfied. Only those who are above average have managed so far.’
‘Pity. So you’ll remain unsatisfied. It’s your loss. The seal, please. Don’t pull that face, it doesn’t suit either your good looks or your complexion. In case you hadn’t noticed, let me tell you that you are now beginning to repay the gratitude you owe me. The seal is the first instalment for the price to be paid for the singer’s voice.’
‘I see you’ve divided the price into several instalments,’ he said coldly. ‘Fine. I might have expected that. But let it be a fair trade, Yennefer. I bought your help. And I’ll pay.’
She contorted her lips in a smile, but her violet eyes remained wide open and cold.
‘You shouldn’t have any doubts as to that, witcher.’
‘Me,’ he repeated. ‘Not Dandilion. I’m taking him to a safe place. When I’ve done that I’ll come back and pay your second instalment, and all the others. Because as to the first . . .’
He reached into a secret pocket of his belt and pulled out the brass seal with the sign of a star and broken cross.
‘Here, take it. Not as an instalment. Accept it from a witcher as proof of his gratitude for having treated him more kindly, albeit in a calculated manner, than the majority of your brethren would have done. Accept it as evidence of goodwill, which ought to convince you that, having seen to my friend’s safety, I’ll return to repay you. I didn’t see the scorpion amidst the flowers, Yennefer. I’m prepared to pay for my inattention.’
‘A pretty speech.’ The sorceress folded her arms. ‘Touching and pompous. Pity it’s in vain. I need Dandilion, so he’s staying here.’
‘He’s already been close to the creature you intend to draw here.’ Geralt indicated the patterns on the floor. ‘When you’ve finished your handiwork and brought the djinn here Dandilion is most certainly going to suffer despite all your promises, maybe even more than before. Because it’s the creature from the bottle that you want, isn’t it? Do you intend to master it, force it to serve you? You don’t have to answer, I know it’s none of my damned business. Do what you want, draw ten demons in if you like. But without Dandilion. If you put him at risk, this will no longer be an honest trade, Yennefer, and you don’t have the right to demand payment for that. I won’t allow—’ He broke off.
‘I wondered when you’d feel it,’ giggled the sorceress.
Geralt tensed his muscles and, clenching his jaw until it hurt, strained his entire will. It didn’t help. He was paralysed, like a stone statue, like a post which had been dug into the ground. He couldn’t even wiggle a toe.
‘I knew you could deflect a spell thrown straight at you,’ said Yennefer. ‘I also knew that before you tried anything you’d try to impress me with your eloquence. You were talking while the spell hanging over you was working and slowly breaking you. Now you can only talk. But you don’t have to impress me anymore. I know you’re eloquent. Any further efforts in that direction will only spoil the effect.’
‘Chireadan—’ he said with an effort, still fighting the magical paralysis. ‘Chireadan will realise that you’re up to something. He’ll soon work it out, suspect something any minute now, because he doesn’t trust you, Yennefer. He hasn’t trusted you from the start—’
The sorceress swept her hand in a broad gesture. The walls of the chamber became blurred and took on a uniform dull grey appearance and colour. The door disappeared, the windows disappeared, even the dusty curtains and pictures on the wall, splattered with flies, vanished.
‘What if Chireadan does figure it out?’ She grimaced maliciously. ‘Is he going to run for help? Nobody will get through my barrier. But Chireadan’s not going to run anywhere. He won’t do anything against me. Anything. He’s under my spell. No, it’s not a question of black sorcery. I didn’t do anything in that way. It’s a simple question of body chemistry. He’s fallen in love with me, the blockhead. Didn’t you know? Can you imagine, he even intended to challenge Beau to a duel. A jealous elf. That rarely happens. Geralt, it’s not for nothing that I chose this house.’
‘Beau Berrant, Chireadan, Errdil, Dandilion. You really are heading for your goal as straight as you can. But me, Yennefer, you’re not going to use me.’
‘Oh I am, I am.’ The sorceress got up from the bed and approached him, carefully avoiding the signs and symbols marked out on the floor. ‘After all, I did say that you owe me something for curing the poet. It’s a matter of a trifle, a small favour. After what I’ve done, what I intend to do here in a moment, I’m leaving Rinde and I’ve still got unpaid accounts in this town. I’ve promised several people here something, and I always keep my promises. Since I won’t have time to do so myself, you’ll keep those promises for me.’
He wrestled with all his might. In vain.
‘Don’t struggle, my little witcher.’ She smiled spitefully. ‘It’s pointless. You’ve got a strong will and quite a bit of resistance to magic but you can’t contend with me and my spell. And don’t act out a farce for me, don’t try to charm me with your hard and insolent masculinity. You are the only one to think you’re insolent and hard. You’d do anything for me in order to save your friend, even without spells at that. You’d pay any price. You’d lick my boots. And maybe something else, too, if I unexpectedly wished to amuse myself.’
He remained silent. Yennefer was standing in front of him, smiling and fiddling with the obsidian star sparkling with diamonds pinned to her velvet ribbon.
‘I already knew what you were like,’ she continued, ‘after exchanging a few words with you in Beau’s bedroom. And I knew what form of payment I’d demand from you. My accounts in Rinde could be settled by anyone, including Chireadan. But you’re the one who’s going to do it because you have to pay me. For your insolence, for the cold way you look at me, for the eyes which fish for every detail, for your stony face and sarcastic tone of voice. For thinking that you could stand face to face with Yennefer of Vergerberg and believe her to be full of self-admiration and arrogance, a calculating witch, while staring at her soapy tits. Pay up, Geralt of Rivia!’
She grabbed his hair with both hands and kissed him violently on the lips, sinking her teeth into them like a vampire. The medallion on his neck quivered and it felt to Geralt
as if the chain was shrinking and strangling him. Something blazed in his head while a terrible humming filled his ears. He stopped seeing the sorceress’s violet eyes and fell into darkness.
He was kneeling. Yennefer was talking to him in a gentle, soft voice.
‘You remember?’
‘Yes, my lady.’ It was his own voice.
‘So go and carry out my instructions.’
‘At your command, my lady.’
‘You may kiss my hand.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’
He felt himself approach her on his knees. Ten thousand bees buzzed in his head. Her hand smelt of lilac and gooseberries. Lilac and gooseberries . . . Lilac and gooseberries . . . A flash. Darkness.
A balustrade, stairs. Chireadan’s face.
‘Geralt! What’s the matter with you? Geralt, where are you going?’
‘I have to . . .’ His own voice. ‘I have to go—’
‘Oh, gods! Look at his eyes!’
Vratimir’s face, contorted with horror. Errdil’s face. And Chireadan’s voice.
‘No! Errdil ! Don’t touch him! Don’t try to stop him! Out of his way – get out of his way!’
The scent of lilac and gooseberries. Lilac and gooseberries . . .
A door. The explosion of sunlight. It’s hot. Humid. The scent of lilac and gooseberries. There’s going to be a storm, he thought.
And that was his last thought.
VI
Darkness. The scent . . .
Scent? No, smell. Stench of urine, rotten straw and wet rags. The stink of a smouldering torch stuck into an iron grip set in a wall of uneven stone blocks. A shadow thrown by the light of the torch, a shadow on the dirt floor—
The shadow of a grille.
The witcher cursed.
‘At last.’ He felt someone lift him up, rest his back against the damp wall. ‘I was beginning to worry, you didn’t regain consciousness for so long.’
‘Chireadan? Where – dammit, my head’s splitting – where are we?’
‘Where do you think?’
Geralt wiped his face and looked around. Three rogues were sitting by the opposite wall. He couldn’t see them clearly; they were sitting as far from the torch light as possible, in near complete darkness. Something which looked like a heap of rags crouched under the grille which separated them from the lit corridor. It was, in fact, a thin old man with a nose like a stork’s beak. The length of his matted stringy hair and the state of his clothes showed that he hadn’t arrived yesterday.
‘They’ve thrown us in the dungeon,’ he said gloomily.
‘I’m glad you’ve regained your ability to draw logical conclusions, ’ said the elf.
‘Bloody hell . . . And Dandilion? How long have we been here? How much time has gone by since—?’
‘I don’t know. I was unconscious, just like you, when I was thrown in here.’ Chireadan raked up the straw to sit more comfortably. ‘Is it important?’
‘And how, dammit! Yennefer—And Dandilion—Dandilion’s there, with her, and she’s planning—Hey, you! How long have we been in here?’
The other prisoners whispered among themselves. None replied.
‘Have you gone deaf?’ Geralt spat, still unable to get rid of the metallic taste in his mouth. ‘I’m asking you, what time of day is it? Or night? Surely you know what time they feed you?’
They muttered again, cleared their throats. ‘Sirs,’ said one of them at last. ‘Leave us in peace and don’t talk to us. We be decent thieves, not some politicals. We didn’t try to attack the authorities. We was only stealing.’
‘That be it,’ said another. ‘You’ve your corner, we’ve ours. And let each look after his own.’
Chireadan snorted. The witcher spat.
‘That’s the way it goes,’ mumbled the hairy old man with a long nose. ‘Everyone in the clink guards his own corner and holds with his own.’
‘And you, old man,’ asked the elf sneeringly, ‘are you with them or with us? Which camp do you count yourself in?’
‘None,’ he answered proudly, ‘because I’m innocent.’
Geralt spat again. ‘Chireadan?’ he asked, rubbing his temple. ‘This attempt on the authorities . . . Is it true?’
‘Absolutely. You don’t remember?’
‘I walked out into the street . . . People were looking at me . . . Then . . . Then there was a shop—’
‘A pawnbroker’s.’ The elf lowered his voice. ‘You went into the pawnbroker’s. As soon as you walked in, you punched the owner in the teeth. Hard. Very hard.’
The witcher ground his teeth and cursed.
‘The pawnbroker fell,’ Chireadan continued quietly. ‘And you kicked him several times in delicate places. The assistant ran to help his master and you threw him out of the window, into the street.’
‘I fear,’ muttered Geralt, ‘that wasn’t the end of it.’
‘Your fears are well founded. You left the pawnbroker’s and marched down the centre of the street, jostling passersby and shouting some nonsense about a lady’s honour. There was quite a crowd following you, Errdil, Vratimir and I among them. Then you stopped in front of Laurelnose the apothecary’s house, went in, and were back in the street a moment later, dragging Laurelnose by the leg. And you made something of a speech to the crowd.’
‘What sort of a speech?’
‘To put it simply, you stated that a self-respecting man shouldn’t ever call a professional harlot a whore because it’s base and repugnant, while using the word whore to describe a woman one has never knocked off or paid any money for doing so, is childish and punishable. The punishment, you announced, would be dealt there and then, and it would be fitting for a spoilt child. You thrust the apothecary’s head between his knees, pulled down his pants and thrashed his arse with a belt.’
‘Go on, Chireadan. Go on. Don’t spare me.’
‘You beat Laurelnose on the backside and the apothecary howled and sobbed, called to gods and men alike for help, begged for mercy – he even promised to be better in the future, but you clearly didn’t believe him. Then several armed bandits, who in Rinde go by the name of guards, came running up.’
‘And,’ Geralt nodded, ‘that’s when I made a hit at the authorities? ’
‘Not at all. You made a hit at them much earlier. Both the pawnbroker and Laurelnose are on the town council. Both had called for Yennefer to be thrown out of town. Not only did they vote for it at the council but they badmouthed her in taverns and spread vulgar gossip.’
‘I guessed that. Carry on. You stopped when the guards appeared. They threw me in here?’
‘They wanted to. Oh, Geralt, what a sight it was. What you did to them, it’s hard to describe. They had swords, whips, clubs, hatchets, and you only had an ash cane with a pommel, which you’d snatched from some dandy. And when they were all lying on the ground, you walked on. Most of us knew where you were going.’
‘I’d be happy to know too.’
‘You were going to the temple. Because the priest Krepp, who’s also a member of the council, dedicated a lot of time to Yennefer in his sermons. You promised him a lesson in respect for the fair sex. When you spoke of him you omitted his title and threw in other descriptions, to the delight of the children trailing after you.’
‘Aha,’ muttered Geralt. ‘So blasphemy came into it, too. What else? Desecration of the temple?’
‘No. You didn’t manage to get in there. An entire unit of municipal guards, armed – it seemed to me – with absolutely everything they could lay their hands on in the armoury apart from a catapult, was waiting in front of the temple. It looked as if they were going to slaughter you, but you didn’t reach them. You suddenly grasped your head with both hands and fainted.’
‘You don’t have to finish. So, Chireadan, how were you imprisoned ?’
‘Several guards ran to attack you when you fell. I got into a dispute with them. I got a blow over the head with a mace and came to here, in this hole. No doubt they’
ll accuse me of taking part in an anti-human conspiracy.’
‘Since we’re talking about accusations,’ the witcher ground his teeth again, ‘what’s in store for us, do you think?’
‘If Neville, the mayor, gets back from the capital on time,’ muttered Chireadan, ‘who knows . . . he’s a friend. But if he doesn’t, then sentence will be passed by the councillors, including Laurelnose and the pawnbroker, of course. And that means—’
The elf made a brief gesture across his neck. Despite the darkness the gesture left little doubt as to Chireadan’s meaning. The witcher didn’t reply. The thieves mumbled to each other and the tiny old man, locked up for his innocence, seemed to be asleep.
‘Great,’ said Geralt finally, and cursed vilely. ‘Not only will I hang, but I’ll do so with the knowledge that I’m the cause of your death, Chireadan. And Dandilion’s, too, no doubt. No, don’t interrupt. I know it’s Yennefer’s prank, but I’m the guilty one. It’s my foolishness. She deceived me, took the piss out of me, as the dwarves say.’
‘Hmm . . .’ muttered the elf. ‘Nothing to add, nothing to take away. I warned you against her. Dammit, I warned you, and I turned out to be just as big an – pardon the word – idiot. You’re worried that I’m here because of you, but it’s quite the opposite. You’re locked up because of me. I could have stopped you in the street, overpowered you, not allowed—But I didn’t. Because I was afraid that when the spell she’d cast on you had dispelled, you’d go back and . . . harm her. Forgive me.’
‘I forgive you, because you’ve no idea how strong that spell was. My dear elf, I can break an ordinary spell within a few minutes and I don’t faint while doing it. You wouldn’t have managed to break Yennefer’s spell and you would have had difficulty overpowering me. Remember the guards.’
‘I wasn’t thinking about you. I repeat: I was thinking about her.’
‘Chireadan?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you . . . Do you—’
‘I don’t like grand words,’ interrupted the elf, smiling sadly. ‘I’m greatly, shall we say, fascinated by her. No doubt you’re surprised that anyone could be fascinated by her?’
Introducing the Witcher Page 26