‘Look at 'im,’ said a young maiden with a basket full of carrots. ‘All them big words… 'e's barkin' at magicians out of spite, no doubt!’
‘Sure thing,’ agreed the mason. ‘Himself bald like an egg, beard tanglin' between his knees. And wizards neither grow fat nor go bald… And sorceresses, heh, what beauty…
‘For that beauty they sold their souls to the devil!’ cried a short man with cobbler's hammer hooked at his belt.
‘You're a fool, shoemaker. If not for kind ladies of Aretuza, you would've gone out of business long ago! Their money pays for your stew!’
Fabio pulled Ciri's sleeve and they dove back into the crowd which was moving to the centre of the square. They could hear the rumbling of the drums and loud calls for silence. The mob wasn't willing to obey but the town crier didn't seem bothered by it. He had a sonorous voice and experience in using it.
‘It is hereby announced,’ he shouted, unrolling a parchment. ‘That Hugo Ansbach, halfling-born, has become an outlaw, for he has given room and hospitality to elven bandits going by the name of Squirrels. The same applies to Justin Ingvar, a blacksmith, born a dwarf, who had been forging arrows for those scoundrels. Therefore, the Count has issued arrest warrants for both. Whoever captures them shall receive a reward: fifty crowns in cash. And whoever offers them shelter or food shall be regarded as an accomplice and punished as severely as the criminals themselves. And if they are found in a field or a village, then the whole farm or village shall be held accountable…’
‘Who would,’ yelled one of the spectators, ‘give shelter to a halfling? Search the farms of their brethren and you'll find them there, and then throw them all, nonhuman scum, in the scorpion pit!’
‘To the gallows with them, not the pit!’
The town crier continued reading announcements of the Count and town council, but Ciri lost interest. She was just about to leave the crowd when she felt a hand groping her bottom. It was in no way accidental, completely tactless and surprisingly skilled. The narrow space made it almost impossible to turn, but Ciri had learned in Kaer Morhen how to move in places where it's difficult to do so. She spun around, creating a bit of commotion in the process. The bald priest standing behind her grinned with arrogance. The grin appeared to say - What are you going to do now? Blush cutely and nothing more, yes?
The priest clearly never dealt with Yennefer's ward.
‘Keep your paws to yourself, baldie!’ Ciri hissed with fury. ‘Grab your own ass, you… you whitewashed grave!!!’
Taking advantage of the fact that priest couldn't move while trapped in the crowd, she tried to kick him, but Fabio prevented her, quickly drawing her away from the clergyman. Seeing her shake with anger he proceeded to calm her down with sugar-sprinkled funnel cake, the sight of which immediately turned Ciri's thought away from the incident. They stopped next to a stall which offered them a good view at the scaffold and pillory. The pillory, however, hoed no wrongdoer and the scaffold itself was decorated with flower garlands and was used by a troupe of wandering musicians, playing on fiddles and blowing bagpipes and shawms. A young, dark-haired girl in a sequin-embroidered jerkin was dancing and singing, shaking a tambourine and merrily stepping with her tiny boots.
A sorceress bit viciously by serpents cold and vile,
Observed the reptiles choke and die as she did herself smile!
The crowd around the scaffold cheered loudly and clapped to the rhythm. The seller of funnel cake threw a new portion in the boiling oil. Fabio licked his fingers and pulled Ciri by the sleeve.
There were plenty of stalls and many offered various snacks. They ate a creampuff each, then – together – a smoked eel, as well as some very peculiar thing, fried and served on a stick. Afterwards, they made a stop at the barrels with sauerkraut and pretended to be interested in buying to get a sample. When they stuffed themselves and left without buying anything, the merchant called them little shits.
They moved ahead. Fabio spent the rest of his money on a basket of bergamot pears. Ciri looked up at the sun but decided that it wasn't yet noon.
‘Fabio? What it's in those tents and booths under the wall?’
‘Various attractions. Would you like to take a look?’
‘I do.’
People standing before the first tent were all men, shifting their legs with excitement. Sounds of flute came from the inside.
‘Dark-skinned Leila,’ Ciri deciphered the lopsided sign on the side. ‘Reveals in her dance all secrets of her body… How silly! What kind of secrets…’
‘Let's go, let's go,’ urged Fabio, flushing pink. ‘Oh, look, this is interesting. It's the clairvoyant’s booth. I have two pennies left, it should be enough…’
‘Such a waste of money,’ scoffed Ciri. ‘A two-penny prophesy! One has to be a real prophet to know the future. Prophesying is a great talent. Even among the sorceresses only one out of every hundred has this ability.’
‘My oldest sister,’ disagreed the boy, ‘was foretold that she would marry and she really did. Don't be petty, Ciri. Let's go in….’
‘I don't want to marry! I don't want any prophecies! It's hot and this booth is stinking of incense, I'm not going inside. If you want to, then go alone, I'll wait. I don't know why you need a prophecy so badly. What do you want to know?’
‘Well…’ stammered Fabio. ‘What I want to know most is… if I will become an explorer. I want to be an explorer in the future. To travel the whole world…’
He will, Ciri realized suddenly, feeling her head spin. He will be sailing on huge white ships… He'll reach lands no one has seen before… Fabio Sachs, the great explorer… A cape will be named after him, a headland of a continent which is yet to be named. At fifty-four he will have a wife, son and three daughters, but he will die far from his home and family… Of a disease which is yet to be named.
‘Ciri! What's wrong?’
She rubbed her face with her palm. She felt like she'd just emerged from water, swimming towards the surface from the bottom of a deep, ice-cold lake.
‘It's nothing…’ she muttered, looking around. ‘I feel a bit dizzy… It must be the heat. And the incense…’
‘I think it might be that sauerkraut,’ said Fabio with seriousness. ‘We shouldn't have eaten so much. My tummy feels weird too.’
‘I'm fine!’ Ciri boldly raised her head, indeed feeling much better. The realization which had struck her now dispelled, lost from memory. ‘Come, Fabio. Let's go ahead.’
‘Want another pear?’
‘Sure I do!’
Under the wall, a group of youths were playing a spinning top game for money. The top was spun with a pull of the string in such a way that it rolled around the chalk circles. Ciri had outplayed most boys from Skellige and all girls at the Melitele Temple. She was considering the possibility of joining the game and taking from the urchins not just their money, but their patched breeches as well, when her attention was drawn away by loud shouts.
At the very end of the line of tents and booths, cramped between the wall and stone stairs, stood a curious, half-round construction, formed by sheets spanned over copper rods. Between two such rods was an entry, guarded by a tall, pockmarked man, dressed in gambeson and striped pants. Before him a crowd had formed. People lined up to throw a handful of coins into the man's hand and then disappear under the sheet. The pockmarked man put the money in a metal box and shook it crying hoarsely.
‘Come, good men! Come! See with your own eyes the most terrifying monster the gods have made! Shock and horror! A living basilisk, the venomous terror of Zerrikanian deserts, devil incarnated, hungry for human flesh! You’ve never seen a monster like it, men! A fresh catch from the Corrabian Seas! See him; see the living, stern basilisk with your own eyes, because you will never see another anywhere else! This is your only chance! Here, at my tent, for just three fivers! Two fivers for women with kids!’
‘Ha!’ exclaimed Ciri, brushing off the wasps buzzing around the pears, ‘A basilisk? A living o
ne too? I must see it. I’ve only seen pictures of it. Let’s go, Fabio.’
‘I don’t have any money left…’
‘But I do. I’ll pay for us both. Let’s make haste.’
‘That will be six fivers,’ the pockmarked individual peered at the coins dropped on his hand. ‘Three fivers each. Lower price only for women with kids.’
‘He,’ Ciri pointed her pear at Fabio, ‘is a kid. And I am a woman.’
‘Lower price only for women with kids in their arms.’ Growled the man. ‘Add two more fivers, witty lass, or make way for others. Make haste, people. Only three more tickets left!’
Under the canvas, spectators were gathered, surrounding a makeshift podium on which stood a wooden cage, covered with a carpet. When the tent was full, the pockmarked man stepped onto the podium, grabbed a long rod and knocked off the carpet. The stench of carrion sprawled around. The mob rustled and backed away.
‘Smart move, my good men,’ commented the man. ‘It’s not safe to get too close!’
Inside the cage, clearly too small for it, lay a curled up reptile, whose skin was covered in scales forming a curious pattern. When the pockmarked man poked the cage, the reptile tussled, stretched its neck and hissed furiously, exposing its pointy, sharp, white teeth. The spectators sighed loudly. A small, fluffy dog yipped from the arms of a woman, who looked like a merchant.
‘Observe it well, my good men,’ yelled the pockmarked man. ‘And be happy that abominations like this one don’t live in our vicinity! This is a monstrous basilisk from Zerrikania! Don’t come any closer, because even locked in a cage, it can still kill you with its breath!’
Ciri and Fabio made their way to the front.
‘The basilisk,’ the men on the podium went on, ‘is the most venomous creature in the world! For the basilisk is the king of all reptiles! If there were more of them around, the world would be doomed! Fortunately, it’s a very rare monster, because it can only be born from an egg laid by a rooster. And as you all know, no rooster lays eggs but for a deviant who offers his rump to another like a hen would.’
The spectators burst into laughter at the joke. The only one who didn’t laugh was Ciri, staring at the creature which attacked the bars annoyed by the noise, trying in vain to unfurl its maimed wings.
‘Eggs laid by this rooster,’ continued the pockmarked man, ‘must be brood by a hundred and one venomous snakes! And once the basilisk hatches…’
‘This is no basilisk.’ Stated Ciri, biting on the pear. The pockmarked man glared at her.
‘And once the basilisk hatches, I said,’ he repeated, ‘it devours all the snakes from its nest, absorbing their venom. It absorbs so much that it can kill not just with a scratch of its teeth and the touch of its scales, but even with its breath alone. And if a knight impales it with his spear, then the poison spreads all the way to his arm, killing the rider and the horse at the same time!’
‘That’s an untrue untruth!’ said Ciri, spitting out a seed.
‘It’s the truest truth!’ objected the man. ‘It will kill the rider and it will kill the horse!’
‘As if!’
‘Quiet, girl!’ scolded the merchantress with the dog. ‘Don’t interrupt! We want to hear more!’
‘Let it go, Ciri.’ Advised her Fabio, nudging her side. Ciri hissed at him, reaching for the next pear.
‘From the basilisk,’ the pockmarked man raised his voice, ‘runs every living thing, the moment they hear its hiss. Every living thing, even the dragon, even the crocodile, and the crocodile is a terrifying creature in itself, you know if you’ve seen it. There is just one animal which doesn’t fear the basilisk and that is the marten. The marten seeing the basilisk in the desert rushes quickly to the forest, searching for a secret herb known only to it and eats it. Then the basilisk’s venom no longer works on the marten and it can bite the monster to death…’
Ciri sneered loudly.
‘Oi, smartypants!’ the pockmarked man lost control. ‘If you don’t like it then get lost! There’s no point in listening and looking at the basilisk!’
‘It’s not a basilisk.’
‘Oh, yes? What is it then, miss know-it-all?’
‘A wyvern.’ Replied Ciri, licking her fingers. ‘A simple wyvern. Young, rather small, starved and dirty. But still just a wyvern.’
‘Oh, look!’ yelled the man. ‘What an expert! Better shut your mouth or…’
‘Enough!’ spoke a fair-haired youth in a velvet beret and squire’s clothes, who was supporting by the arm a fragile-looking lady in apricot-coloured dress. ‘Manners, sir monster-catcher. Do not threaten a lady or I’ll be forced to scold you with my steel. And the whole affair feels like a scam to me!’
‘What scam, honourable knight?’ the pockmarked man bridled up. ‘The brat is -- I mean, the young lady is wrong. It’s definitely a basilisk!’
‘It’s a wyvern.’ Repeated Ciri.
‘This is no vern! It’s a basilisk! Look how ferocious it is, how it hisses, how it bites the bars! Look what huge fangs it has. Fangs like a…’
‘Like a wyvern.’ Ciri pulled a face.
‘If you’re so knowledgeable,’ the man gazed at her like a true basilisk, ‘then come closer! Come and let its breath sweep over you! Do it and everyone will see you drop dead! Come on!’
‘Gladly.’ Ciri wrestled her arm from Fabio’s grip and took a step forward.
‘I won’t allow it!’ cried the fair-haired squire, leaving behind his apricot companion and standing in Ciri’s way. ‘I won’t let you endanger yourself, my lady!’
Ciri flushed at the title, gazed at the squire and fluttered her eyelashes at him in the way she had practiced on Jarre the scribe.
‘There is no risk, my chivalrous knight.’ She smiled seductively, forgetting Yennefer’s warnings and her story about the idiot and the cheese. ‘No harm will happen to me. That whole poisonous breath is a bluff.’
‘Nevertheless,’ the youth lay his arm on the hilt of his sword, ‘I wish to be by your side. For your safety and protection… will you let me?’
‘I will.’ Ciri couldn’t figure out why the expression of anger on apricot-lady’s face filled her with so much delight.
‘I’m the one who’s caring for her safety!’ Fabio threw the squire a challenging glare. ‘And I will go with her too!’
‘My good men,’ Ciri was swelling with pride, ‘Show some dignity. Do not fight. There’s enough room for you both.’
The surrounding crowd babbled when she approached the cage, almost feeling the breaths of both boys on the back of her head. The wyvern hissed furiously and tussled, its reptilian stench attacking their nostrils. Fabio grunted loudly but Ciri didn’t back off. She came even closer and reached to the cage, almost touching it. The monster threw itself on the bars, scratching them with its fangs. The crowd rustled, someone cried out.
‘So?’ Ciri boasted, turning around. ‘Am I dead? Have I been poisoned by his supposedly venomous creature? If this is a basilisk then I am…’
She paused, seeing her companions’ faces suddenly go pale. She spun abruptly and watched how the bars bend under pressure of the enraged beast.
‘Everyone escape!’ she yelled. ‘The cage is breaking!’
Screaming spectators ran to the exit. Some were trying to make way under the sheets but they only got themselves and others entangled in it. The squire caught Ciri’s arm at the exact same moment she tried to leap away; as a result they both lost foothold and fell down, taking Fabio with them. The merchantress’ fluffy dog was yipping, the pockmarked man was cursing and the apricot lady gave a piercing shriek.
The bars broke with a crack and the wyvern emerged from the cage. The pockmarked man jumped down from the podium and tried to keep it back with a stick but the monster disarmed him with one blow and whipped its spiky tail at him, making a bloody mess of his pockmarked cheek. Hissing and unfurling its maimed wings, the wyvern flew down from the podium and pounced at Ciri, Fabio and the squire, who were trying t
o pick themselves up from the ground. The apricot lady fell unconscious. Ciri considered leaping away but realized that she wouldn’t make it in time.
They were saved by the fluffy dog, which had escaped the merchantress, who was now entangled in the sheet and her own dresses. Yipping madly, the dog pounced at the monster. The wyvern hissed, raised its body, caught the dog in its claws and sunk teeth in its neck. The dog whimpered loudly.
The squire rose to his feet and reached to his side, but he didn’t find his sword, because Ciri was quicker. She drew the sword with one rapid move and made a roundhouse jump. The wyvern rose, dog’s severed head hanging from its jaws.
It seemed to Ciri as if all the moves she had learned in Kaer Morhen had executed themselves without her will. She cut the surprised wyvern in the belly and dodged when the reptile jumped at her. The beast fell onto the sand, bleeding profusely. Ciri jumped over it, aptly dodging the tail, walloped the monster in the neck with precision, swerved, performed an unnecessary dodge out of a habit, and gave the opponent another blow, this time crushing its spine. The wyvern curled up and lay motionless, with the exception of its tail, which still writhed and banged, raising a cloud of sand.
Ciri quickly shoved the blood-stained steel into the squire’s hand.
‘Everything’s alright!’ she yelled to the gathering spectators. ‘The monster is dead! This brave warrior killed it!’
Suddenly, she felt a clench in her throat and stomach and her vision darkened. Something had given her a mighty blow in the ass. She looked around disoriented and realized that said something was, in fact, the ground.
‘Ciri…’ whispered Fabio kneeling beside her, ‘What’s wrong? Gods, you’re pale as a ghost…’
‘It’s a pity,’ she muttered, ‘that you can’t see yourself.’
People were gathering around them. Some were poking wyvern’s corpse with sticks and brooms, some were checking on the pockmarked man; the rest was applauding the heroic squire, fearless dragon-slayer, the one who prevented a massacre. The squire was trying to revive the apricot lady, still staring with confusion at the hilt of his sword, covered in dried blood.
The Time of Contempt Page 8