‘What news from Kaedwen?’ asked Yennefer, pretending not to notice what Geralt was staring at. ‘Is your king, Henselt, still wasting money and time on hunting Squirrels in the forests? Is he still considering a punitive expedition against the elves in Dol Blathanna?’
‘Let us forget politics.’ smiled Sabrina. The predatory look in her eyes and the slightly longer than regular nose resembled the classic portrayal of a witch. ‘Tomorrow, at the convent, we will spend enough time discussing it. And listening to plenty of moralising About peaceful coexistence… About friendships… About the need to take a solid stance in the face of plans of our kings… What else are we going to hear about, Yennefer? What else do Vilgefortz and the Council have in store for us?’
‘Let us forget politics.’
Sabrina Glevissig laughed and her earrings jingled loudly.
‘Rightly so. Let's wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow… Tomorrow everything will be explained. Ah, politics, never ending disputes… They have a terrible effect on beauty. Fortunately, I have a wonderful cream; trust me, darling, it works magic on wrinkles… Would you like a recipe?’
‘Thank you, dear, but I don't need it. Really.’
‘Ah, I know. I've always envied you skin back in school. Dear Gods, how many years has it been?’
Yennefer pretended to greet back someone in the distance. Sabrina, on the other hand, smiled at the witcher and with one swift move presented everything the black chiffon didn't cover. Geralt swallowed, trying his hardest not to gape too much at the pink nipples, perfectly visible under the transparent cloth. He looked with fright at Yennefer. The sorceress was smiling but he knew her too well to be fooled. She was furious.
‘Oh, forgive me.’ she said suddenly. ‘I see Philippa; I have something urgent to discuss with her. After me, Geralt. Bye, Sabrina.’
‘Bye, Yenna.’ Sabrina Glevissig looked the witcher straight in the eyes. ‘Let me congratulate you on your… taste.’
‘Thank you.’ Yennefer's voice was suspiciously cool. ‘Thank you, my dear.’
Philippa Eilhart was accompanied by Dijkstra. Geralt, who had met him before, had something to be thankful for – he finally saw a familiar face, someone who wasn't a wizard. But he was far from happy.
‘I'm happy to see you, Yenna.’ Philippa kissed the air next to Yennefer's earring. ‘Welcome, Geralt. You both know count Dijkstra, am I right?’
‘Who doesn't know him.’ Yennefer nodded and offered Dijkstra her hand, which the spy kissed with reverence. ‘I'm glad to meet you again, count.’
‘It's a pleasure,’ stated the chief of king Visimir's secret service, ‘for me as well, Yennefer. Especially in such a pleasant company. My deepest regards, mister Geralt…’
Geralt, failing to ascertain that his regards were even deeper, shook hands with the man – or at least tried to, because the size of the hand was well above the norm and made the handshake tough to execute.
The huge spy was dressed in a beige doublet, rather informally unbuttoned. It was plain that he felt at ease in it.
‘I thought I saw you talking with Sabrina?’ said Philippa.
‘I did talk with her,’ hissed Yennefer. ‘Did you see what she's wearing? One must have neither taste nor shame to… Gods, she's years older than me… Nevermind. If only she had anything to show! Damn bitch!’
‘Was she trying to interrogate you? Everyone knows that she's spying for Henselt of Kaedwen.’
‘Really?’ Yennefer feigned ignorance, which was rightly accepted as a great joke.
‘And how are you, count?’ inquired Yennefer, once Philippa and Dijkstra finished laughing.
‘Quite well.’ Visimir's spy bowed.
‘Considering,’ smiled Philippa, ‘that the count is here on a business trip, such statement is like a compliment. And, like all compliments, it's not very sincere. Barely a minute ago he confessed to me that he'd prefer a good familiar shadow, the smell of burning torches and roasted meet. He also misses the traditional table, soaked with beer and gravy, which he could bang on with his mug to the rhythm of indecent songs of the drunkards, and which he could gracefully pass out under to sleep among the dogs eating the scraps. And all my arguments proving the superiority of our feasting traditions were, believe it or not, dismissed.’
‘Is this so?’ the witcher gave at the spy a much warmer look. ‘And what arguments were those, if I may ask?’
This time, his question was treated as a wonderful joke, as both sorceresses burst into laughter.
‘Ah, men,’ sighed Philippa. ‘You don't understand anything. How is it possible to impress everyone with your dress and body shape while in the dark and half-hidden by the table?’
Geralt, unable to think of a retort, bowed. Yennefer squeezed his arm.
‘Ah,’ she exclaimed. ‘I see Triss Merigold over there. I have an urgent matter to discuss with her… Forgive us. See you later, Philippa. I'm sure we'll find enough time for chatting. Isn't that right, count?’
‘Certainly.’ Dijkstra smiled and bowed deeply. ‘I'm at your service, Yennefer. Just give me a nod.’
They approached Triss, who was sparkling with shades of blue and aquamarine. Upon seeing them, Triss cut the talk with two male wizards, laughed brightly, hugged Yennefer and performed the ritual of air-kissing. Geralt took the offered hand but decided to act against the customs – he embraced the sorceress and kissed her soft, peachy cheek. Triss blushed lightly.
The wizards introduced themselves. One was called Drithelm of Pont Vanis, the other was his brother Dethmold. Both in the service of Esterad of Kovir. Both very taciturn. Both hurriedly left.
‘You talked with Philippa and Dijkstra from Tretogor,’ noted Triss, playing with a heart-shaped necklace of lapis lazuli, framed in silver and diamonds. ‘You are, of course, aware who Dijkstra really is?’
‘We are,’ confirmed Yennefer. ‘He talked with you? Tried to interrogate you?’
‘He did,’ the sorceress giggled. ‘With significant caution. But Philippa was a great disturbance to him. I honestly thought they were in better terms.’
‘They're on great terms,’ Yennefer warned her. ‘Be careful, Triss. Don't let out one word about… you know whom.’
‘I know. I'll be careful. And by the way…’ Triss lowered her voice. ‘How is she? Will I be able to meet her?’
‘If you finally decide to teach in Aretuza,’ Yennefer smiled, ‘you'll be able to see her every day.’
‘Ah!’ Triss' eyes widened. ‘I see. Is Ciri…’
‘Quiet, Triss. We'll discuss it later. Tomorrow. After the council.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Triss smiled in a very strange way. Yennefer frowned, but before she had a chance to inquire, a disturbance reigned in the hall.
‘They're here,’ Triss coughed. ‘They've finally arrived.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Yennefer, moving her gaze from her friend's eyes. ‘They're here. Geralt, you finally have an opportunity to meet the members of the Chapter and the Highest Council. If we have time, I'll introduce you to them, but for now it will be good if you get to know who's who.’
The wizards stepped aside, bowing to the entering celebrities. The first one was an aged but robust man in surprisingly modest wool clothing. At his side was a tall woman with sharp features and dark, evenly combed hair.
‘This is Gerhart of Aelle, known as Hen Gedymdeith, the eldest of the living wizards,’ explained Yennefer. ‘The woman next to him is Tissaia de Vries. She's not much younger than Hen, but elixirs are not beneath her dignity.’
Behind the pair was an attractive woman with very long, golden hair, wearing a lace dress in the colour of mignonette.
‘Francesca Findabair, known as Enid an Gleanna, 'Daisy of the Valley'. Don't gape at her, witcher. She's commonly considered to be the most beautiful woman in the world.’
‘She's a member of the Chapter?’ he was surprised. ‘She looks quite young. Also the work of magic?’
‘Not in her case. Francesca is a pure-blooded elf. Take
note of her companion. It's Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. That one's young, indeed. But remarkably talented at the same time.’
The term ‘young’, as Geralt was aware, was used in reference to the wizards up to the age of a hundred. Vilgefortz looked no more than thirty-five. He was tall and well-built, he wore a short doublet in the style of a knight but without the coat of arms. He was also hellishly good-looking. It was striking even with Francesca Findabair at his side, with her huge, doe-like eyes and astonishing beauty.
‘The short man next to Vilgefortz is Artaud Terranova.’ explained Triss Merigold. ‘The five of them compose the Chapter.’
‘And that woman with a strange face behind Vilgefortz?’
‘It's his assistant, Lydia van Bredevoort.’ stated Yennefer coolly. ‘A person of no importance, but staring at her face is a big breach of etiquette. You should look at the three men behind her, instead, these are the members of the Council. Fercart of Cidaris, Radcliffe of Oxenfurt and Carduin of Lan Exeter.’
‘This is the whole Council? I thought it was bigger than that.’
‘The Chapter has five members and the Council likewise. Philippa Eilhart is also in the Council.’
‘There's still one person missing,’ he shook his head and Triss giggled.
‘You didn't tell him? You really don't know, Geralt?’
‘About what?’
‘Yennefer's a member of the Council. Since the battle of Sodden. You didn't want to brag, my dear?’
‘No, my dear,’ the sorceress looked her friend in the eyes. ‘Firstly, I don't like to brag. Secondly, I had no time to do so. I haven't seen Geralt for a very long time, there's a lot to catch up with. We have a long list of things to do and we will get things done in accordance to that list.
‘Of course,’ Triss nodded meekly. ‘Hmm… After such a long time… I understand. There's a lot to discuss…’
‘Discussions,’ smiled Yennefer, giving the witcher a lust-filled look, ‘are at the end of the list. At the very end, Triss.’
The auburn-haired sorceress flinched and flushed.
‘I understand,’ she repeated, playing with the heart-shaped jewel.
‘I'm glad to hear it. Geralt, bring us wine. No, not from this page. From the one further away.’
He obeyed, recognizing the tone of her voice. While lifting the goblets from the page's plate, he discreetly watched the sorceresses. Yennefer spoke fast, though quietly, Triss listened with her head low. When he returned, Triss was gone. Yennefer didn't show any interest in the wine, so he put the unnecessary goblets on the table.
‘I hope you weren't too harsh?’ he uttered. Yennefer's eyes glowed violet.
‘Don't try to fool me. You think I don't know about you two?’
‘If it's about that…’
‘Yes, that,’ she cut. ‘Don't make faces and refrain from making comments. But most of all, don't lie. I've known Triss for longer than I’ve known you, we like each other, we understand each other and we always will, regardless of any… incidents. Yet now I could sense she had some doubts. I dispelled them, that's all. Let's not divulge.’
He didn't wish to. Yennefer brushed hair from her face.
‘I'll leave you alone for a while, I must speak with Tissaia and Francesca. Eat something, I can hear your stomach growling. And be cautious. Someone will surely try to interrogate you. Don't let them trick you, and be sure not to bring me shame.’
‘Rest assured.’
‘Geralt?’
‘Yes?’
‘A moment ago you asked if you could kiss me here, in front of everybody. Does the offer still stand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mind the lip-gloss, please.’
He threw a glance at the rest of the guests. They watched the kiss but unobtrusively. Philippa Eilhart, standing in the distance with a group of young wizards, winked at him and pretended to clap.
Yennefer jerked her lips away from his and sighed.
‘Such a small thing and yet so satisfying,’ she murmured. ‘Well, I'll be going now. As for later, after the banquet… hmm…’
‘What is it?’
‘Don't eat any garlic, please.’
Once she was gone, the witcher relinquished formalities, unbuttoned the doublet, drunk from both goblets and tried to make a do with food. Ineffectively.
‘Geralt.’
‘Count.’
‘Don't use titles with me,’ Dijkstra winced. ‘I'm no count. Visimir ordered me to introduce myself as one so as not to irk the magicians with my plebeian descend. Well, how do you fare with impressing everyone with the dress and body shape? And pretending to be having fun?
‘I don't need to pretend anything. I'm not on duty.’
‘That's interesting,’ smiled the spy. ‘But this only confirms the rumours that you are unique and exceptional. Because everyone else here is, in fact, on duty.’
‘Just as I feared,’ Geralt didn't smile back. ‘I expected to be exceptional. As in, completely out of place.’
The spy inspected the plates, reached towards one and picked a big, green pod of a vegetable unknown to Geralt.
‘By the way,’ he said, ‘I must thank you for the Michelet brothers. Many in Redania sighed with relief after you butchered all four of them at the docks in Oxenfurt. I sure had a laugh when the medic called by the investigation, after having been shown the injuries, stated that the weapon used must have been a scythe arched edgewise.’
Geralt declined to comment. Dijsktra bit on the second pod.
‘It's a pity,’ he went on, chewing, ‘that you didn't contact the mayor afterwards. There was a reward for them, dead or alive. Quite a sum.’
‘Too much trouble with the tax return,’ the witcher also decided to try the green vegetable, which turned out to taste like a soaped celery. ‘Besides, I needed to make haste because… Oh, but I must be boring you, Dijkstra, after all you know everything already.’
‘Let's not exaggerate,’ grinned the spy. ‘Surely not everything. Where from, besides?’
‘From Philippa Eilhart's mouth, for one.’
‘Reports, stories, rumours. I must hear them out, such is my job. But my job also requires of me to sieve them all through a very dense mesh. Recently, for example, I've heard the news of someone killing the infamous Professor and his two comrades. Everything took place in a tavern in Anchor. The person responsible for that also didn't bother to seek the reward.’
Geralt shrugged.
‘Rumours. Sieve them through a dense mesh and not much will be left.’
‘I don't need to. I know exactly what will be left. Most of the time, what is left is an attempt of deliberate misinformation. Speaking of which, how's little Cirilla, the poor, sickly girl who died of dysentery? In good health, I hope?’
‘Cease while you're at it, Dijkstra,’ replied the witcher coldly, looking the spy in the eyes. ‘I know you're here on duty, but don't get too eager.’
The spy snickered. Two passing sorceresses gave them looks of confusion. And curiosity.
‘King Visimir,’ explained Dijkstra, ‘pays me extra for every uncovered secret. Eagerness secures my future. You may find it funny, but I have a wife and children.’
‘I see nothing funny about that. Work for securing your family's future, but not at my expense, if I may ask. This hall, it seems, doesn't lack in secrets.’
‘Not exactly. The whole Aretuza is a one big riddle. Surely, you've noticed? Something's up, Geralt. And I'm not talking about the candelabra.’
‘I don't understand.’
‘I do believe it. I don't understand either. But I truly wish to. Wouldn't you? Ah, sorry. You probably know everything already, don't you? From your charming Yennefer of Vengerberg, that is. And to think that there used to be time when I, too, learned things from the charming Yennefer. But, oh, how long has it been?’
‘I honestly don't know what you're going on about, Dijkstra. Could you speak your mind more clearly? Try. But not if it's a part of your duty. Forgive
me, but I'm not going to work on your extra pay.’
‘You think I want to deceive you?’ the spy pulled a face. ‘Trick you into providing me with information? You're hurting me, Geralt. I'm merely curious if you notice, in this hall, the same patterns I do.’
‘What patterns do you see?’
‘Aren't you surprised by the complete absence of the crowned heads at this convent?’
‘Not one bit,’ Geralt managed to pierce a marinated olive onto a stick. ‘The kings likely prefer the traditional kind of feasts, at the table, which they can gracefully pass out under in the morning. Moreover…’
‘What?’ Dijkstra devoured four olives he unashamedly picked from the plate with the use of fingers.
‘Moreover,’ the witcher pointed at the crowd, ‘the kings need not bother. They sent an army of spies in their stead. Those in the fraternity, and those excluded from it. Probably so that they would find out what is up.’
Dijkstra spit out the olive pips, picked up a long fork and started poking around a crystal salad-bowl.
‘And Vilgefortz,’ he noticed, ‘took a great care not to omit a single spy. He has all royal spies on one plate. Why would Vilgefortz need to gather all spies on one plate, I wonder?’
‘I have no idea. And I don't care. I told you I'm off duty. I'm, so to speak, beyond the plate.’
Visimir's spy fished a small octopus out of the bowl and studied it with revulsion.
‘They eat it,’ he shook his head with false compassion, then turned back to Geralt.
‘Listen carefully, witcher,’ he uttered quietly. ‘Your conviction to your impartiality, your conviction that you don't care about anything and don't need to care… It frustrates me and forces me to gamble. You like to gamble?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I'm proposing a wager,’ Dijkstra raised the fork with the octopus. ‘I'm betting that in the course of the following hour, Vilgefortz will ask for a talk with you. I'm betting that during this talk he will prove to you that you are not impartial and that you are, in fact, on his plate. If I'm wrong, then I'll eat this shit in your full view, with the tentacles and all. Do you accept the wager?’
Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 03] Page 12