‘I thought,’ the Witcher lifted himself up on an elbow, crunching bean straw, ‘you’d go and sing serenades beneath the window of Miss Veverka, at whom your tongue has been hanging out the whole evening like a pointer at the sight of a bitch.’
‘Ha, ha,’ the bard laughed. ‘But you’re so oafishly stupid. You didn’t understand anything. Veverka? I don’t care about Veverka. I simply wanted to stab Miss Akeretta with jealousy, as I shall make a pass at her tomorrow. Move over.’
Dandelion collapsed on the palliasse and pulled the blanket off Geralt. Geralt, feeling a strange anger, turned his head towards the tiny window, through which, had it not been for some industrious spiders, he would have seen the starry sky.
‘Why so huffy?’ the poet asked. ‘Does it bother you that I make advances to girls? Since when? Perhaps you’ve become a druid and taken a vow of chastity? Or perhaps . . .’
‘Don’t go on. I’m tired. Have you not noticed that for the first time in two weeks we have a palliasse and a roof over our heads? Doesn’t it gladden you that the rain won’t be dripping on us in the wee small hours?’
‘For me,’ Dandelion fantasised, ‘a palliasse without a girl isn’t a palliasse. It’s incomplete happiness, and what is incomplete happiness?’
Geralt groaned softly, as usual when Dandelion was assailed by nocturnal talkativeness.
‘Incomplete happiness,’ the bard continued, engrossed in his own voice, ‘is like . . . a kiss interrupted . . . Why are you grinding your teeth, if I may ask?’
‘You’re incredibly boring, Dandelion. Nothing but palliasses, girls, bums, tits, incomplete happiness and kisses interrupted by dogs set on you by your lovers’ parents. Why, you clearly can’t behave any differently. Clearly only easy lewdness, not to say uncritical promiscuity, allows you musicians to compose ballads, write poems and sing. That is clearly – write it down – the dark side of your talent.’
He had said too much and had not cooled his voice sufficiently. And Dandelion saw through him effortlessly and unerringly.
‘Aha,’ he said calmly. ‘Essi Daven, also known as Little Eye. The alluring little eye of Little Eye fixed its gaze on the Witcher and caused confusion in the Witcher. The Witcher behaved like a little schoolboy before a queen. And rather than blame himself he is blaming her and searching for her dark side.’
‘You’re talking rubbish, Dandelion.’
‘No, my dear. Essi made an impression on you, you can’t hide it. I don’t see anything wrong with that, actually. But beware, and don’t make a mistake. She is not what you think. If her talent has its dark sides, they certainly aren’t what you imagine.’
‘I conjecture,’ said the Witcher, trying to control his voice, ‘that you know her very well.’
‘Quite well. But not in the way you think. Not like that.’
‘Quite original for you, you’ll admit.’
‘You’re stupid,’ the bard said, stretching and placing both hands under his neck. ‘I’ve known Poppet almost since she was a child. To me she’s like . . . well . . . like a younger sister. So I repeat, don’t make any silly mistakes about her. You’d be harming her greatly, because you also made an impression on her. Admit it, you desire her?’
‘Even if I did, unlike you I’m not accustomed to talking about it,’ Geralt said sharply. ‘Or writing songs about it. I thank you for your words about her, because perhaps you have indeed saved me from a stupid mistake. But let that be an end to it. I regard the subject as exhausted.’
Dandelion lay motionless for a moment, saying nothing, but Geralt knew him too well.
‘I know,’ the poet said at last. ‘Now I know everything.’
‘You know fuck all, Dandelion.’
‘Do you know what your problem is, Geralt? You think you’re different. You flaunt your otherness, what you consider abnormal. You aggressively impose that abnormality on others, not understanding that for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everybody was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells? Big deal. I, my dear, once knew an innkeeper who could fart for ten minutes without stopping, playing the tune to the psalm Greet us, greet us, O, Morning Star. Heedless of his – let’s face it – unusual talent, that innkeeper was the most normal among the normal; he had a wife, children and a grandmother afflicted by palsy—’
‘What does that have to do with Essi Daven? Could you explain?’
‘Of course. You wrongfully thought, Geralt, that Little Eye was interested in you out of morbid, downright perverted curiosity, that she looks at you as though you were a queer fish, a two-headed calf or a salamander in a menagerie. And you immediately became annoyed, gave her a rude, undeserved reprimand at the first opportunity, struck back at a blow she hadn’t dealt. I witnessed it, after all. I didn’t witness the further course of events, of course, but I noticed your flight from the room and saw her glowing cheeks when you returned. Yes, Geralt. I’m alerting you to a mistake, and you have already made it. You wanted to take revenge on her for – in your opinion – her morbid curiosity. You decided to exploit that curiosity.’
‘You’re talking rubbish.’
‘You tried,’ the bard continued, unmoved, ‘to learn if it was possible to bed her in the hay, if she was curious to find out what it’s like to make love with a misfit, with a witcher. Fortunately, Essi turned out to be smarter than you and generously took pity on your stupidity, having understood its cause. I conclude this from the fact you did not return from the jetty with a fat lip.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Goodnight, then.’
‘I know why you’re furious and gnashing your teeth.’
‘No doubt. You know everything.’
‘I know who warped you like that, who left you unable to understand a normal woman. Oh, but that Yennefer of yours was a troublemaker; I’m damned if I know what you see in her.’
‘Drop it, Dandelion.’
‘Do you really not prefer normal girls like Essi? What do sorceresses have that Essi doesn’t? Age, perhaps? Little Eye may not be the youngest, but she’s as old as she looks. And do you know what Yennefer once confessed to me after a few stiff drinks? Ha, ha . . . she told me that the first time she did it with a man it was exactly a year after the invention of the two-furrow plough.’
‘You’re lying. Yennefer loathes you like the plague and would never confide in you.’
‘All right, I was lying, I confess.’
‘You don’t have to. I know you.’
‘You only think you know me. Don’t forget: I’m complicated by nature.’
‘Dandelion,’ the Witcher sighed, now genuinely tired. ‘You’re a cynic, a lecher, a womaniser and a liar. And there’s nothing, believe me, nothing complicated about that. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Geralt.’
V
‘You rise early, Essi.’
The poet smiled, holding down her hair, which was being blown around by the wind. She stepped gingerly onto the jetty, avoiding the holes and rotten planks.
‘I couldn’t miss the chance of watching the Witcher at work. Will you think me nosey again, Geralt? Why, I don’t deny it, I really am nosey. How goes it?’
‘How goes what?’
‘Oh, Geralt,’ she said. ‘You underestimate my curiosity, and my talent for gathering and interpreting information. I know everything about the case of the pearl divers, I know the details of your agreement with Agloval. I know you’re looking for a sailor willing to sail there, towards the Dragons Fangs. Did you find one?’
He looked at her searchingly for a moment, and then suddenly decided.
‘No,’ he replied, ‘I didn’t. Not one.’
‘Are they afraid?’
‘Yes, they are.’
‘How, then, do you intend to carry out an exploration if you
can’t go to sea? How, without sailing, do you plan to get at the monster that killed the pearl divers?’
He took her by the hand and led her from the jetty. They walked slowly along the edge of the sea, across the pebbly beach, beside the launches pulled up on the shore, among the rows of nets hung up on stilts, among the curtains of split, drying fish being blown by the wind. Geralt unexpectedly found that the poet’s company did not bother him at all, that it was not wearisome or intrusive. Apart from that, he hoped that a calm and matter-of-fact conversation would erase the results of that stupid kiss on the terrace. The fact that Essi had come to the jetty filled him with the hope that she did not bear him a grudge. He was content.
‘“Get at the monster”,’ he muttered, repeating her words. ‘If only I knew how. I know very little about sea monsters.’
‘Interesting. From what I know, there are many more monsters in the sea than there are on land, both in terms of number and variety of species. It would seem, thus, that the sea ought to be a great opportunity for witchers to show what they can do.’
‘Well, it isn’t.’
‘Why?’
‘The expansion of people onto the sea,’ he said, clearing his throat and turning his face away, ‘hasn’t lasted very long. Witchers were needed long ago, on the land, during the first phase of colonisation. We aren’t cut out to fight sea-dwelling creatures, although you are right, the sea is full of all sorts of aggressive filth. But our witcher abilities are insufficient against sea monsters. Those creatures are either too big for us, or are too well armoured, or are too sure in their element. Or all three.’
‘And the monster that killed the pearl divers? You have no idea what it was?’
‘A kraken, perhaps?’
‘No. A kraken would have wrecked the boat, but it was intact. And, as they said, totally full of blood,’ Little Eye swallowed and visibly paled. ‘Don’t think I’m being a know-all. I grew up by the sea, and I’ve seen a few things.’
‘In that case what could it have been? A giant squid? It might have dragged those people from the deck . . .’
‘There wouldn’t have been any blood. It wasn’t a squid, Geralt, or a killer whale, or a dracoturtle, because whatever it was didn’t destroy or capsize the boat. Whatever it was went on board and carried out the slaughter there. Perhaps you’re making a mistake looking for it in the sea?’
The Witcher pondered.
‘I’m beginning to admire you, Essi,’ he said. The poet blushed. ‘You’re right. It may have attacked from the air. It may have been an ornithodracon, a gryphon, a wyvern, a flying drake or a forktail. Possibly even a roc—’
‘Excuse me,’ Essi said, ‘Look who’s coming.’
Agloval was approaching along the shore, alone, his clothes sopping wet. He was visibly angry, and flushed with rage on seeing them.
Essi curtseyed slightly, Geralt bent his head, pressing his fist to his chest. Agloval spat.
‘I sat on the rocks for three hours, almost from daybreak,’ he snarled. ‘She didn’t even make an appearance. Three hours, like an ass, on rocks swept by the waves.’
‘I’m sorry . . .’ the Witcher muttered.
‘You’re sorry?’ the duke exploded. ‘Sorry? It’s your fault. You fouled everything up. You spoiled everything.’
‘What did I spoil? I was only working as an interpreter—’
‘To hell with work like that,’ Agloval interrupted angrily, showing off his profile. His profile was indeed kingly, worthy of being struck on coinage. ‘Verily, it would have been better not to hire you. It sounds paradoxical, but while we didn’t have an interpreter we understood each other better, Sh’eenaz and I, if you know what I mean. But now – do you know what they’re saying in town? Rumours are spreading that the pearl divers perished because I enraged the mermaid. That it’s her revenge.’
‘Nonsense,’ the Witcher commented coldly.
‘How am I to know that it’s nonsense?’ the duke growled. ‘How do I know you didn’t tell her something? Do I really know what she’s capable of? What monsters she chums around with down in the depths? By all means prove to me that it’s nonsense. Bring me the head of the beast that killed the pearl divers. Get to work, instead of flirting on the beach—’
‘To work?’ Geralt reacted angrily. ‘How? Am I to go out to sea straddling a barrel? Your Zelest threatened the sailors with torture and the noose, but in spite of that no one wants to sail out with me. Zelest himself isn’t too keen either. So how—?’
‘What does it bother me how?’ Agloval yelled, interrupting. ‘That’s your problem! What are witchers for if not so that decent folk don’t have to wrack their brains about how to rid themselves of monsters? I’ve hired you to do the job and I demand you carry it out. If not, get out of here before I drive you to the borders of my realm with my whip!’
‘Calm down, Your Grace,’ Little Eye said softly, but her paleness and trembling hands betrayed her irritation. ‘And please don’t threaten Geralt. It so happens that Dandelion and I have several friends. King Ethain of Cidaris, to mention but one, likes us and our ballads very much. King Ethain is an enlightened monarch and always says that our ballads aren’t just lively music and rhymes, but a way of spreading news, that they are a chronicle of humankind. Do you wish, Your Grace, to be written into the chronicle of humankind? I can have it arranged.’
Agloval looked at her for a while with a cold, contemptuous gaze.
‘The pearl divers who died had wives and children,’ he finally said, much more quietly and calmly. ‘When hunger afflicts the remaining ones they will put to sea again. Pearl, sponge and oyster divers, lobster fishers, fishermen; all of them. Now they are afraid, but hunger will overcome their fear. They will go to sea. But will they return? What do you say to that, Geralt? Miss Daven? I’d be interested to hear the ballad which will sing of that. A ballad about a witcher standing idly on the shore looking at the blood-spattered decks of boats and weeping children.’
Essi blanched even more, but raised her head proudly, blew away the lock of hair and was just preparing a riposte, when Geralt seized her hand and squeezed it, stopping her words.
‘That is enough,’ he said. ‘In this entire flood of words only one has true significance. You hired me, Agloval. I accepted the task and shall accomplish it, if it is feasible.’
‘I’m relying on it,’ the duke said curtly. ‘Then goodbye. My respects, Miss Daven.’
Essi did not curtsey, she only tilted her head. Agloval hauled up his wet trousers and headed off towards the harbour, walking unsteadily over the pebbles. Only then did Geralt notice he was still holding the poet’s hand, but she was not trying to free herself at all. He released her hand. Essi, slowly returning to her normal colours, turned her face towards his.
‘It’s easy to make you take a risk,’ she said. ‘All it takes is a few words about women and children. And so much is said about how unfeeling you witchers are. Geralt, Agloval doesn’t give a hoot about women, children or the elderly. He wants the pearl fishing to begin again because he’s losing money every day they don’t come back with a catch. He’s taking you for a ride with those starving children, and you’re ready to risk your life—’
‘Essi,’ he interrupted. ‘I’m a witcher. It’s my trade to risk my life. Children have nothing to do with it.’
‘You can’t fool me.’
‘Why the assumption that I mean to?’
‘Perhaps because if you were the heartless professional you pretend to be, you would have tried to push up the price. But you didn’t say a word about your fee. Oh, never mind, enough of all that. Are we going back?’
‘Let’s walk on a little.’
‘Gladly. Geralt?’
‘Yes.’
‘I told you I grew up by the sea. I know how to steer a boat and—’
‘Put that out of your head.’
‘Why?’
‘Put that out of your head,’ he repeated sharply.
‘You might,’ she s
aid, ‘have phrased that more politely.’
‘I might have. But you would have taken it as . . . the Devil only knows what. And I am an unfeeling witcher and heartless professional. I risk my life. Not other people’s.’
Essi fell silent. He saw her purse her lips and toss her head. A gust of wind ruffled her hair again, and her face was covered for a moment by a confusion of golden curls.
‘I only wanted to help you,’ she said.
‘I know. Thank you.’
‘Geralt?’
‘Yes.’
‘What if there is something behind the rumours Agloval was talking about? You know well that mermaids aren’t always friendly. There have been cases—’
‘I don’t believe them.’
‘Sea witches,’ Little Eye continued, pensively. ‘Nereids, mermen, sea nymphs. Who knows what they’re capable of. And Sh’eenaz . . . she had reason—’
‘I don’t believe it,’ he interrupted.
‘You don’t believe or you don’t want to believe?’
He did not reply.
‘And you want to appear the cold professional?’ she asked with a strange smile. ‘Someone who thinks with his sword hilt? If you want, I’ll tell you what you really are.’
‘I know what I really am.’
‘You’re sensitive,’ she said softly. ‘Deep in your angst-filled soul. Your stony face and cold voice don’t deceive me. You are sensitive, and your sensitivity makes you fear that whatever you are going to face with sword in hand may have its own arguments, may have the moral advantage over you . . .’
‘No, Essi,’ he said slowly. ‘Don’t try to make me the subject of a moving ballad, a ballad about a witcher with inner conflicts. Perhaps I’d like it to be the case, but it isn’t. My moral dilemmas are resolved for me by my code and education. By my training.’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ she said in annoyance. ‘I don’t understand why you try to—’
‘Essi,’ he interrupted her again. ‘I don’t want you to pick up false notions about me. I’m not a knight errant.’
‘You aren’t a cold and unthinking killer either.’
Introducing the Witcher Page 51