The Time of Contempt

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  All the soldiers on their chest had a medallion with the eagle of Redania.

  ‘This is called “falling into the shit”’ Dijkstra quietly explained, while he approached. ‘And you, Witcher, seem to have a natural talent for getting into it. Stand still and try not to pay attention.’

  He finally saw the sorcerer being held by the arms. It was Artaud Terranova, a member of the Chapter.

  The light that allowed him to see the details came from a ball that hung over the head of Keira Metz, a sorceress that Geralt had spoken with that night at the banquet. He hardly recognised her. She had changed light tulle netting for rough masculine clothes and carried a dagger at her side.

  ‘Cuff him.’ She commanded briefly. In her hand jingled shackles made of bluish metal.

  ‘Do not dare to put those on me!’ Terranova cried. ‘Don not dare, Metz! I am a member of the Chapter!’

  ‘You were. Now you are an ordinary traitor. And you’ll be treated like a traitor.’

  ‘And you’re a mangy bitch, you…’

  Keira took a step forward; swaying slightly in the hips and with all her strength she slammed her fist into his face. The sorcerer’s head whipped back so far that for a moment Geralt had the feeling that it was going to detach from his neck. Terranova was hanging limply from the hands that held him, with blood running from his nose and lips.

  The Sorceress did not deliver another blow, but her hand was raised. The Witcher saw the flash of brass knuckles on her fingers. He was not surprised. Keira was tiny; such a blow could not have been given with only her bare fist.

  Geralt did not move. The soldiers held him tightly, and the tips of the triton poke his chest. Geralt was not sure that if he moved he could get free. Had he even known what to do.

  The soldiers put chains on the wrists of the sorcerer, which were placed behind his back. Terranova screamed, twisted, bent and tried to vomit. Geralt knew already, what kind of shackles they were. It was an alloy of iron and demeterium, a rare mineral, whose properties consisted of stifling magical abilities. This stifling accompanied rather unpleasant side effect for magicians.

  Keira Metz raised her head, pushing aside the hair on her forehead. And then saw him.

  ‘What is he doing here, damn it? How did he get here?’

  ‘He put his nose,’ Dijkstra replied impassively. ‘Where he has a talent for putting in. What would you have me do with him?’

  Keira growled and stamped several times on the floor with the heel of her boot.

  ‘Keep an eye on him. I do not have the time now.’

  She left quickly, behind her walked the Redanians, who dragged Terranova. The glowing ball hovered behind the sorceress, but dawn was already starting to shine. At a sign from Dijkstra, the soldiers released Geralt. The spy came and looked the Witcher in the eye.

  ‘Keep absolute peace of mind.’

  ‘What is happening here? What is…’

  ‘And absolute silence.’

  Keira Metz returned after a short time, not alone. She came accompanied with a sorcerer with hair the colour of flaxen that the previous day had been introduced to Geralt as Dethmold of Ban Ard. Upon seeing the Witcher, the sorcerer cursed and slammed his fist into his hand.

  ‘Damn it! Is this the one whom took a liking to Yennefer?’

  ‘This,’ Keira confirmed. ‘is Geralt of Rivia. The problem is that I do not know how he is with Yennefer…’

  ‘I also do not know.’ Dethmold shrugged. ‘In any case, he is already involved in this. He has seen too much. Take him to Philippa, she can decide.’

  ‘There is no need,’ Dijkstra said sleepily. ‘I can vouch for him. I’ll take him to where he belongs.’

  ‘Fine then.’ Dethmold said. ‘Because we do not have time. Come, Keira, up there things get more complicated…’

  ‘Beware those who are angry.’ The Redanian spy muttered, looking after those departing. ‘A lack of skill, nothing else. A coup like all coups are like gazpacho. It should be eaten cold. Come on, Geralt. And remember, peacefully, with dignity, without any fuss. Do not make me regret not tying you in chains.’

  ‘What is going on, Dijkstra?’

  ‘Have you not guessed?’ The spy walked beside him, three soldier hang behind them. ‘Tell me honestly, Witcher, how did it happen that you came to be here?’

  ‘I was afraid the nasturtium where drying up.’

  ‘Geralt,’ Dijkstra gave him an evil look. ‘You are up to your neck in shit. And you are just keeping your mouth above the surface, but your legs do not reach the bottom. Someone is giving you a helping hand, risking that they might also fall in and drown. Then stop these stupid jokes. It was Yennefer who told you to come here, right?’

  ‘No, Yennefer is still asleep in bed. Has this reassured you?’

  The huge spy turned sharply, seized the Witcher by the shoulders and pinned him to the wall of the corridor.

  ‘No, it has not reassured me, fucking idiot,’ he yelled. ‘Do you not understand, clown, that sorcerers honest and loyal to the kings do not sleep tonight? Have not even gotten into bed? Those who are sleeping in their beds are traitors bribed by Nilfgaard. Traitors who themselves have been preparing a coup, but for later. They did not know that there plans had been discovered we were warned of their intentions. And right now they are being pulled from their warm beds and being given a knuckle duster to the nose and their wrists are being put in demeterium shackles. The traitors are finished, understand? If you do not want to go down with them, stop pretending idiot! Where you recruited by Vilgefortz last night? Or were you recruited before by Yennefer? Speak? Hurry, because the shit has already started to reach your mouth!’

  ‘Cold gazpacho, Dijkstra.’ Geralt reminded him. ‘Lead me to Philippa. Calmly, with dignity and no fuss.’

  The spy let him go and took a step back.

  ‘Come on,’ he said coldly. ‘Up these stairs. But this conversation is finished. I promise you that.’

  * * *

  Where the four corridors joined beneath a column that supported the roof, had a clarity that came from Lanterns and magic globes. Soldiers and sorcerers gathered here. Among the latter were members of the Council: Radcliffe and Sabrina Glevissig. Sabrina, like Keira Metz, was also wearing gray men’s clothing. Geralt realised that the coup was taking place before eyes and could recognise the different factions by their uniforms.

  Kneeling on the floor was Triss Merigold, bent over a body lying in a pool of blood. Geralt recognised Lydia van Bredevoort. He recognised her by her hair and silk dress. The face he would never have recognised, because it was no longer a face. It was a hideous, gruesome death’s mask, with bared teeth gleaming through half of her check and the lower jaw was deformed, sunken, and badly swollen.

  ‘Cover her.’ Sabrina Glevissig said dully. ‘When she died the illusion dispelled… Damn it, cover her with something.’

  ‘What has happened, Radcliffe?’ Triss asked, removing the hand from the hilt of the dagger stuck below Lydia’s breastbone. ‘How could this happen? It was to be done without deaths!’

  ‘She attacked us.’ The sorcerer muttered, bowing his head. ‘When they took Vilgefortz they fell on us. There was an uproar… I myself do not know how… It is her own dagger.’

  ‘Cover her face!’ Sabrina turned sharply. Geralt saw her eyes gleam like charcoal.

  ‘How did he get here?’

  Triss jumped up quickly, and threw herself on the Witcher. Geralt saw her face before her hand. Then he saw a flash and went down softly into darkness. He felt hands on his neck and a violent jolt.

  ‘Hold him, because he’ll fall.’ Triss’s voice was unnatural, it sounded like it was feigning anger. She tugged at him again, so for the moment he found himself next to her.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he heard her quickly whisper. ‘I had to.’

  Dijkstra’s men held him down.

  He shook his head. He moved to his other senses. In the corridor there was movement, the air rippled, carried smells. And vo
ices. Sabrina Glevissig cursing, trying to calm Triss. The soldiers, smelling like barracks dragged along the ground a dead body, the silk dress whispering. Blood. The smell of blood. And the smell of ozone. The scent of magic. Raised voices. Steps, the nervous tapping of heels.

  ‘Hurry! This has been going on too long! We should already be in Garstang!’

  Philippa Eilhart. Nervous.

  ‘Sabrina, Marti Sodergren is faster. If necessary, get her out of bed. Something is wrong with Hen Gedymdeith. I think it’s a heart attack. Have Marti address it. But do not tell her anything about what is going on. Triss, you have locate and then take Dorregaray, Carduin and Drithelm to Garstang.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They represent the kings. Let Ethain and Esterad be informed of our action and it consequences. It will bring… Triss, you have blood on your hands! Who?’

  ‘Lydia.’

  ‘Damn. When? How?’

  ‘Does it matter how?’ said a cold, calm voice. Tissaia de Vries. Her dress rustled. Tissaia was dressed in an evening gown, not a rebel uniform. Geralt listened but could not hear the clink of demeterium chains.

  ‘You pretend to be affected?’ Continued Tissaia. ‘To be worried? When organising a revolt, when armed soldiers are entering in the night, you have to expect there will be casualties. Lydia is dead, Hen Gedymdeith is dying. I saw for a moment, Artaud, his face was butchered. How many more victims will there be Philippa Eilhart?’

  ‘I do not know.’ Philippa replied sharply. ‘But I will not go back.’

  ‘Of course. You do back off for anything.’

  The atmosphere trembled, heels hit against the floor at a familiar rhythm. Philippa was approaching him. He remembered the nervous rhythm of her steps when, the day before they walked together around the room of Aretuza to feast on the caviar. He remembered the smell of cinnamon and spikenard. Now the smell was mixed with baking soda. Geralt did not think he would participate in any coup, but if he were involved, he didn’t believe he would brush his teeth beforehand.

  ‘He cannot see you Phil.’ A seemingly sleepy Dijkstra said. ‘He sees nothing and saw nothing. The one with the pretty hair has blinded him.’

  He heard and felt the breath of Philippa, her every move, but shook his head awkwardly, feigning being perplexed. The Sorceress was not fooled.

  ‘Do not pretend Geralt, Triss has darkened your eyes, but do not get your head removed. How is it you have appeared here?’

  ‘I ran. Where is Yennefer?’

  ‘Blessed are those that do not know.’ Philippa’s voice held no mockery. ‘You will live longer. Say thank you to Triss. It was a weak spell, blindness, you will see again soon. And so you have not seen what may not be seen. Watch them, Dijkstra. I’ll be back.’

  Once again movement. Voices. The soprano sound of Keira Metz, the low nasal tone of Radcliffe. The tapping of soldiers boots. The raised voice of Tissaia de Vries.

  ‘Let go of her! How could you? How could you do it?’

  ‘She’s a traitor!’ said nasal, Radcliffe.

  ‘I do not believe it’

  ‘Blood is not water.’ Philippa Eilhart said coldly. ‘And Emperor Emhyr has promised the elves freedom. And an independent state of their own. And that was enough to immediately betray us.’

  ‘Answer!’ Tissaia de Vries said with emotion. ‘Answer her, Enid!’

  ‘Answer, Francesca.’

  The clinking of demeterium shackles. And the lilting elvish accent of Francesca Findabair, the Daisy of the Valley, the most beautiful woman in the world.

  ‘Me Va a Vort, Dh’oine. These N’aen and dice’n.’

  ‘Is that enough for you, Tissaia?’ said Philippa’s voice, like a bark. ‘Do you believe me now? You, me, we all are and have always been to her Dh’oine, human, which she being Aen Seidh has nothing to say to. And you, Fercart? What has Emhyr and Vilgefortz offered you to, to make you decide to betray us?’

  ‘Go to hell, perverted slut.’

  Geralt listened but did not hear the sound of the brass knuckles colliding with a jaw. Philippa had more control that Keira. Or did not have any brass knuckles.

  ‘Radcliffe, take the traitors to Garstang! Dethmold, offer you arm to the great teacher de Vries. Go now. I will join you.’

  Steps. The smell of cinnamon and spikenard.

  ‘Dijkstra.’

  ‘Here I am, Phil.’

  ‘Your subordinates are not needed here. Have them return to Loxia.’

  ‘Are you sure…?’

  ‘To Loxia, Dijkstra!’

  ‘At your service, noble lady.’ The spy’s voice was perceived mockery. ‘The footmen will have already done their share. It is now the exclusive domain of sorcerers. And so I promptly removed myself from the beautiful eyes of your Highness. I did not expect gratitude for the assistance and participation in the coup but I’m sure your Highness will keep me in grateful memory.’

  ‘Sorry, Sigismund. Thank you for your help.’

  ‘Not at all, it has been a pleasure. Hey, Voymir, gather the troops. Five will be with me. Bring down the rest are to wait down below and embark on the Waterfall. Of course, in silence, on tiptoe, without noise or fuss. Use the side corridors. Off to Loxia’s port and not a word! Off!’

  You have not seen anything,’ Philippa Eilhart said in a whisper to Geralt, the Witcher caught a whiff of cinnamon, spikenard and baking soda. ‘You have not heard anything. You have never spoken to Vilgefortz. Dijkstra will lead you to Loxia. I will try to find you there when… When everything is over. I promised you something yesterday and I will keep my word.’

  ‘And what about Yennefer?’

  ‘He is obsessed.’ Dijkstra returned, shuffling his feet. ‘Yennefer, Yennefer… I get bored. Do not worry about him, Phil. There are more important issues. Did you find in Vilgefortz’s belongings what you expected to find?

  ‘Yes. Here, this is for you.’

  ‘Oho!’ The rustle of paper. ‘Oho! Oho, oho! Beautiful! Duke Nitert. Excellent! Baron…’

  ‘Discreetly, without names. And I ask of you, when you return to Tretogor, do not start immediately with executions. Do not induce and early scandal.’

  ‘Do not be afraid. The big boys on this list, greedy for the gold of Nilfgaard are safe. For now. This will be my beloved marionette to pull the strings on. And then impose on them more strings… Out of curiosity, were there any other lists? Do Kaedwen, Temeria or Aedirn have traitors? I would be glad to take a look. Even half a glance…’

  ‘I know you’d be happy. But it is none of your business. These lists have been given to Sabrina Glevissig and Radcliffe, they will know what to do with them. And now, goodbye. Hurry.’

  ‘Phil.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Restore the Witcher’s sight. Let’s not have him stumble on the stairs.’

  * * *

  In the ballroom of Aretuza the banquet continued, but had changed its form to something more traditional and intimate. Tables had been removed, sorcerers and witches had brought into the room sofas, chairs, and stools from who knows where, they sat on the and engaged in various amusements. Most of the diversions might have been considered tactless. A large group sat around a huge barrel, drinking, chatting and occasionally bursting into raucous laughter. Those that had long exercised the search for appetizers with silver forks, now shamelessly gnawed mutton ribs that they held in both hands. Some played cards with passion, contempt for those around them. Some slept. In one corner, a couple was kissing passionately and with the eagerness with which they did showed they were not going to confine it to kissing.

  ‘Just look at them, Witcher.’ Dijkstra leaned over the balustrade of the gallery, watching the sorcerers from a height. ‘How they play happily, you’d think they were youths. Meanwhile, the Council has been pried and almost all of its members are on trial for treason for allying with Nilfgaard. Look at this park. Just seek a secluded corner, and before the end of a fuck, Vilgefortz will already be hanging from a rope. Ah, the pa
rty, a kiss and a flower…’

  ‘Shut up, Dijkstra.’

  * * *

  The road to Loxia was a zigzagging stair leading down the slope of the mountain. Stairs laced with terraces decorated with poorly maintained hedges, flowerbeds and potted dry agaves. Dijkstra stopped at one of the terraces they had just passed and approached the wall, lined with the stone heads of chimeras, from which water poured out from between their teeth. The spy bent down and drank for a long time.

  The Witcher came closer to the railings. The sea shone golden, the sky’s colour was even more trashy that the painting in the Gallery of Glory. Down below he saw detachments of soldiers that had come from Aretuza and hurried to approach the harbor. They crossed over a bridge that cross to the shore through the cleft in the rock.

  What suddenly caught his attention, was the lone colourful character. The figure was conspicuous because it was moving so quickly. And in the opposite direction that the Redanians. Up to Aretuza.

  ‘Come.’ Dijkstra , hurried him with a cough. ‘He who rises early, the gods help.’

  ‘If you are in such a hurry, go alone.’

  ‘Well, of course,’ sneered the spy. ‘Then you can go back to the top and save your Yennefer. And fuck like drunken gnomes.’ We go to Loxia, witcher. Do you have delusions or something? Do you think I pulled you out of Aretuza because I’m secretly in love with you? Of course not. You are out of there because I need you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Are you pretending? Studying at Aretuza are a hundred ladies from the best families of Redanian. I cannot risk a conflict with the esteemed rector, Margarita Laux-Antille. The rector did not give me Cirilla, Princess of Cintra, who was brought to Thanedd by Yennefer. However, they will release her to you. When you ask her about it.’

  ‘Where did you get this funny idea that I’m going to ask?’

  ‘From the funny assumption that you want to ensure the safety of Cirilla. Under my protection, under the protection of King Vizimir, she will be safe. In Tretogor. On Thanedd it is not safe. Refrain from malicious comments. Yes, I know that initially the kings intentions were not exactly the cleanest in the world about the girl. But it has changed. It is now clear that Cirilla alive, healthy and safe can be, in the coming war, more valuable than ten heavy cavalry detachments. Dead she is not worth a damn.’