The roar of trumpets announced the end of the official part. The royal procession began to leave the park. Among the guests, Geralt had come to consider some pretty suspiciously behaving coteries. He especially did not like one of them, because they did not bow as low to the procession, and tried to force their way towards the gates of the palace. He moved a little closer to the ranks of red and blue soldiers. Lytta walked alongside.
Belohun walking, looked straight ahead. The bride looked around, sometimes nodding her head to the congratulations from her guests. A gust of wind lifted the veil for a moment. Geralt saw huge blue eyes. He saw those eyes suddenly discover Lytta Neyd among the crowd. And hatred burned in those eyes. Clean, uncomplicated, downright distilled hatred. It lasted a moment, then with the sound of trumpets, the procession passed surrounded by marching guards. The suspiciously behaving group, as it turned out, had a sole purpose of getting to the table with wine and snack, which they immediately occupied and devastated, ahead of the others.
In improvised scenes here and there began performances: and ensemble played harps, lyres, flutes and horns and sand choruses. Jugglers replaced jugglers, strongmen gave way to acrobats, tightrope walkers were replaced by nude dancers with tambourines. It became more cheerful. Ladies cheeks were flushed, men’s faces glistened with sweat, and voices grew louder and louder. And a little vague.
Lytta caught up to him at a pavilion. They chased away a couple who were hiding there with a clearly sexual purpose. The enchantress was not embarrassed and paid them no attention.
‘I don’t know what is gearing up,’ she said. ‘I don’t know, but I can guess what for and why you are here. You looking round, all that you do, you are doing because the royal bride is none other than Ildiko Brackley.’
‘I won’t ask if you are familiar wither her. I have seen her look at you.’
‘Ildiko Brackley,’ repeated Coral. ‘That’s her name. She was kicked out of Aretuza in her third year. For petty theft. I can see she has succeeded in life. She didn’t become an enchantress, but in a few hours she will be queen. And the cherry one the cake, she isn’t seventeen years old. The old fool. She is twenty-five.’
‘And she does not like you very much.’
‘It’s mutual. She was always a schemer, always stretching her pile of problems. But that is not all. The frigate that entered the port under black sails. I already know which ship this is; I’ve heard about it. It called the “Acheron”. It has a very bad reputation. Where it appears, as a rule, things happen.’
‘For example?’
‘It is crewed by mercenaries, which, apparently, can be hired for anything. And what do you hire mercenaries for? Laying bricks?”
‘I have to go. Excuse me, Coral.’
‘Whatever happens,’ she said slowly, looking into his eyes. ‘Whatever happens, I cannot be involved in this.’
‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to call you for help.’
‘You misunderstood me.’
‘Of course. Excuse me, Coral.’
***
Just behind the colonnade overgrown with ivy he found Mozaïk. Surprising calm and cool amid the heat, hustle and bustle.
‘Where’s Dandelion? He left you?’
‘He left,’ she said. ‘But politely apologized and told me to give you too a sorry. He was asked about a private performance. In the palace rooms, for the queen and her ladies in waiting. He could not refuse.’
‘Who asked him?’
‘A man, like a soldier. With a strange look in his eyes.’
‘I have to go. Sorry, Mozaïk.’
Behind the colourfully decorate pavilion was a large crowd, being served food: pies, salmon and duck. Geralt made his way, looking for Captain Ropp or Feraant de Lettenhove. Instead he ran into Febus Ravenga.
The restaurateur looked like an aristocrat. He was wearing a brocade doublet, on his head as a hat decorated with ostrich feathers. He was accompanied by the daughter of Pyrall Pratt, who wore an elegant black suit.
‘Oh, Geralt,’ said Ravenga gladly. ‘Let me, Antea, introduce you to Geralt of Rivia, the famous witcher. Geralt this is Miss Antea Derris, reseller. Have some wine with us…’
‘Unfortunately,’ he apologised, ‘I’m in a hurry. Miss Antea, I’m already familiar with you, but not in person. Being in your place, Febus, I would not buy anything from her.’
At the portico at the entrance to the palace some linguist had adorned the inscription: Crescite et multiplicamini. Geralt was stopped by the shafts of two crossed halberds.
‘No Admittance.’
‘I have to see the Royal Instigator.’
‘No Admittance.’ The chief of the guards walked over. In his left hand he held a spontoon. His dirty finger of his right hand was aimed right at Geralt’s nose. ‘No one is allowed; didn’t you know?’
‘If you don’t move that finger from my face, I’ll break it in several places. We’ll, that’s better. Now take me to the Royal Instigator.’
‘Whenever you come across guards, scandal follows,’ said Ferrant de Lettenhove from behind the witcher, he was apparently following him. ‘This is a serious character flaw. There may be unpleasant consequences.’
‘I don’t like it when someone tells me not to enter.’
‘And for this there exists a city watch and guard. They would not be needed if the entrance was free to everyone. Let him pass.’
‘We have an order from the King,’ the commander frowned. ‘Let no one in without an inspection.’
‘Then inspect him.’
The inspection was thorough; the guards were not lazy and search everywhere, not limiting themselves to a cursory feeling. They did not find anything, not even the stiletto that Geralt wore strapped to his ankle, which he had not taken off for the wedding.
‘Satisfied?’ the Royal Instigator looked at the commander of the guard from top to bottom. ‘Then move over and let us through.’
‘I apologise to your honour,’ the command muttered. ‘The order from the King was clear. It applies to all.’
What? Do you forget yourself? Do you know wo it is that you stand before?’
‘No one is admitted without an inspection,’ the chief nodded. ‘The order was clear. If you are not satisfied with the challenges…’
‘What can I do today?’
‘On this issue, contact the authorities. I was ordered to inspect.’
The Royal Instigator swore softly and agreed to the inspection. He was not even in possession of a penknife.
‘What’s all this about, I’d like to know,’ he said, when they were finally let through the gate. ‘I am seriously concerned. Seriously concerned, Witcher.’
‘Have you seen Dandelion? It seems he was summoned to the palace to perform.’
‘I don’t know anything about that.’
‘Did you know that in the port a ship called the “Acheron” has arrived? Do you know that name?’
‘Very much. And my concern is increasing. With every minute. Hurry!’
In the lobby – the former courtyard of the temple – stood armed guards, there blue and red uniforms as colourful as a gallery. From a corridor cam the clatter of boots and loud voices.
‘Hey!’ The Royal Instigator stopped a passing soldier. ‘Sergeant! What’s going on here?’
‘I’m sorry, your honour… I’m in a hurry with orders…’
‘Stop, I say! What is going on here? I demand an explanation! Is something wrong? Where is Prince Egmund?’
‘Ferrant de Lettenhove.’
At a door, under the banner of the blue dolphin, guarded by four tall fellows in leather armour, stood King Belohun himself. By ridding himself of his royal attributes, he no longer looked like a king. He looked like a farmer who had just calved a cow.
‘Ferrant de Lettenhove,’ the voice of the king did not resound with joy. ‘The Royal Instigator. So, my Royal Instigator. Or maybe not mine? Maybe my son’s? You appear
even though I did not call you. In fact, here with your official duties, even though I did not call you. Suppose, I thought, Ferrant was off having fun, eating, drinking, grabbing some woman and fucking in the gazebo. But I didn’t call you, Ferrant, because I didn’t want to see you here. You know why I didn’t want to? Because I’m not sure whom you serve. Who do you serve, Ferrant?’
‘I serve,’ The Royal Instigator bowed, ‘Your Royal Highness. I am fully committed to Your Majesty.’
‘Did everyone hear that?’ the king looked around theatrically. ‘Ferrant is committed to me! Well done, Ferrant. I was waiting for such a response from the Royal Instigator. You may come in handy. I’ve got quite a few assignments for you, Instigator… Hey! And who is this here? Who is he? Wait, wait! Is this not the witcher who cheated us? Who was pointed out by the sorceress?’
‘It turns out that he was innocent, the sorceress was mistaken. It was all in my report…’
‘Which does not convey innocence…’
‘It was the court’s decision. The case was dismissed for lack of evidence.’
‘If that was the decision, then it stinks. Judicial decisions and judgements come from the imagination and whim of court officials, and that court case stunk. Enough of this, I will not waste time on lectures on jurisprudence. On the day of my wedding, I can afford some indulgence, I will not throw him in jail, but let the witcher immediately get out of my sight. And hope that my eyes never come across him again.’
‘Your Majesty… I am concerned… At the port, allegedly there has arrived a ship called the “Acheron”. In this situation, the security considerations dictate the need to ensure the protection of… the witcher could…’
‘What could he do? Screen me with his chest? Conquer villains with his witcher spells? Was this task given to him by my loving son, Egmund? Protect my father and keep him safe? Follow me, Ferrant. And, hell, if it pleases you, the witcher. I’ll show you something. You will see that I can take care of my own safety and ensure my protection. Look. Listen. Maybe I’ll have something to teach you. And you may learn something. About myself. Come on, follow me!’
They walked, spurred on by the king and surrounded by guards in leather armour. They entered a large hall, under the ceiling painted with the sea and monsters, stood a throne on a dais, on which Belohun went and sat. Beneath the fresco depicting a stylized map of the world, on a bench, under the protection of other guards, were the royal sons. The Princes of Kerack. Black as raven, Egmund and white as an albino, Xander.
Belohun collapsed on his throne. He looked down at his sons with a triumphant glance, which was saved for enemies defeated in battle who had fallen on their knees and begged for mercy. In pictures, that Geralt had seen of winners, the faces tended to have dignity, generosity and respect for the defeated. On Belohun’s face it was pointless to look for these feelings. It was painted only with a venomous sneer.
‘My court jester,’ said the king, ‘became ill yesterday with diarrhoea. I thought it was unlucky, that there would be no jokes, not funny sketches. But I was wrong. I am laughing. Laughing so much my stomach will burst. Because it is you, both of my sons, that are funny. Pathetic, but funny. For many years, I promise you, when in bed with my wife, after making love, we will remember both of you on this day and we will laugh until tears. Because, in the end, there is nothing funnier that fools.’
Xander, it was easy to see, was afraid. He ran his eyes over the room and was sweating heavily. Egmund, on the contrary, showed no fear. He looked his father straight in the eye with reciprocal acrimony.
‘Popular wisdom says: hope for the best – prepare for the worst. And I was ready for the worst. Because can there be nothing worse that treason from one’s own sons? Among my most trusted colleagues, you have introduced your agents. Your accomplices have betrayed you, as soon as they clicked. Your collaborators and favourites have simply fled the city.’
‘Yes, my sons. Did you think that I was blind and deaf? That I am old, decrepit and weak You think I don’t see how you both seek to gain the throne and the crown? That you crave them like pigs crave truffles? But pigs, when they smell truffles, grow stupid. From desire and greed, lust and wild appetite. Pigs will grow frantic, snorting and digging the ground, in spite of everything, to try and get that truffle. To drive them off, you need to beat them with a club. And you, my sons, are those pigs. Sensing a truffle, you have gone mad with greed and appetite. But you’ll get shit, not a truffle. And the clubs too. You went against me, sons, encroached on my power and my lady. The health of people who are against me, as a rule, deteriorates rapidly. It is a fact, confirmed by science.’
‘Anchored at the port is a frigate call “Acheron”. It sailed here on my orders, I hired the captain. The court will convene tomorrow morning, and a decision will be made before noon. And in the afternoon you both will be on board the ship. From the deck you will pass by the lighthouse. What this means is that your new residence will be Nazair. Ebbing, Maecht. Or Nilfgaard. Or the very edge of the world or purgatory, if you choose to go there. Because here, in these lands, you will never return. Never. If you want to keep your head on your shoulders.’
‘You want to exile us?’ Xander howled. ‘As you exiled Viraxas? Our names will be forbidden to be said at court?’
‘Viraxas, I exiled in anger and without judgement. This does not mean that I will not order his execution if he dared to return. Both of you will be condemned to exile by a tribunal. Legally and lawfully.’
‘Are you so sure? We will see! Let’s see what is the will of the court!’
‘The court knows what sentence I expect them to make. Unanimously.’
‘Just so, unanimously! But in this country, the courts are independent.’
‘The court, yes. But the judge is not. You are stupid, Xander. Your mother was stupid, like a cork. You take after her. Even this plot you didn’t come up with, it was all masterminded by your accomplices. But overall, I’m glad that you conspired, and it will be a pleasure to get rid of you. Another matter is Egmund. Egmund is smart. He hired a witcher to protect his father like a caring son, ah, how cleverly you concealed your secret, so nobody knew about it. The contact poison. The tricky thing was that I have a taster for my food and drink, but who would have thought of touching the handle of the fireplace poker in the royal bedroom? The poker, which only I use and don’t let anybody else touch? Cunning, my sly son. Only your poisoner betrayed you, so it is: traitors betray traitors. Why are you silent, Egmund? Have you nothing to say?’
Egmund’s eyes were cold, but they still held not the slightest fear. He was not frightened by the prospect of exile, Geralt knew, he was not thinking about being expelled and living a life in a foreign country, was not thinking about the “Acheron” or the lighthouse. So what was he thinking?
‘Have you,’ repeated the king, ‘nothing to say, son?’
‘Just one thing,’ muttered Egmund. ‘Also from the popular wisdom that you love so much. There is no worse fool, than an old fool. Remember my words, dear father. When the time comes.’
‘Take them and lock them up under guard,’ ordered Belohun. ‘This is your job, Ferrant, as Royal Instigator. Call in here the Marshal, and a notary, everyone else out. And you, witcher… You’ve learned something today, right? Learned something about yourself? That you are a naïve simpleton? If you understand this, then there is at least some benefit from your visit here today. Which just ended. Hey, you two, too me! Escort this witcher to the gate and throw him out. And search him to make sure he didn’t steal any of the silverware!’
***
In the hallway leading away from the hall they crossed paths with Ropp. In the company of two people with the same eyes, movements and posture. Geralt was willing to bet that all three had once served in the same unit. And suddenly he realised. Suddenly he knew what would happen next, how the events would unfold. So he was not surprised when Ropp accepted responsibility for Geralt and ordered the other guards to lea
ve. He knew that the captain would order him to follow him. As he expected, the other two men took up positions behind him.
He foresaw what he would see in the room into which they just entered.
Dandelion was pale as a corpse, and clearly terrified. But seemingly unharmed. He sat on a chair with a high back. Over the chair stood a skinny man with a braid in his hair. The man held in his hand a long, thin four-side blade. The tip was pointed at the poet’s neck, under the jaw, the blade slanting upwards.
‘No nonsense,’ warned Ropp. ‘No nonsense, witcher. One hasty movement, even a little on and Master Samsa will butcher the musician like a hog. Have no doubt.’
Geralt knew that Master Samsa would not hesitate. Because Master Samsa’s eyes were even nastier than Ropp’s. They were the eyes of a very unusual expression. People with eyes like these could be sometimes be found in morgues and coroners. They were not hired to make a living but because they realised that they had latent tendencies.
Geralt already knew why Prince Egmund was calm. Why he did not fear the future…
Or looking into his father’s eyes.
‘It is my assumption that you will be obedient,’ Ropp said. ‘If you obey, you both stay alive.’
‘If you do what we tell you,’ the captain continued to lie, ‘we will let you go. But if you are stubborn – we’ll kill you both.’
‘You’re making a mistake, Ropp.’
‘Master Samsa,’ Ropp ignored the warning, ‘will stay here with the musician. We, that is, you and I will go to the royal apartments. There will be guards. I, as you can see, have your sword. I’ll give it to you, and then give those guards time to call out, then kill them all. Hearing the noise, the valet will take the king to a secret exit, and there these two gentlemen will be waiting, Richter and Tverdoruk. They will change the order of succession to the throne and change the regional history of the monarchy.’
Stephen Hulin Page 28