Geralt noted with interest that the path leading to the castle was churned up by hooves and carriage wheels just as much as the highway. It was clear someone had been heavily using the road to the castle. He bit back his curiosity up to the moment that he saw a dozen huge, robust, canvas-covered wagons, like those used for long distance transport.
"Merchants," said the steward in reply to his question. “Wine merchants."
"Merchants?” Geralt was surprised. "How so? I thought the mountain passes are blocked by snow and Toussaint is cut off from the outside world. So how have the merchants reached here?"
"For merchants”, the steward Fierabras said profoundly, "there are no blocked passes or bad roads - at least not for those who take their job seriously. They, Mr. Witcher, have such a principle: When a goal beckons, a way must be found."
"Indeed,” Geralt said slowly, "an admirable principle, one which we should emulate. In all situations."
"Without a doubt. But in truth, the fact of the matter is that some of the merchants have been stuck here since fall and cannot get out. But they don’t hang their heads; they say ‘Pah, now we will be the first ones here in the spring, before the competition shows up’. They call this principle: ‘positive thinking.’ ”
Geralt nodded. "One can hardly object to this principle. Though one thing still amazes me, Mr. Steward. Why are these merchants sitting out here and not in Beauclair? Is the princess not willing to grant them the right to hospitality? Does she perhaps have something against these merchants?"
"Not at all”, replied Fierabras. "The princess increasingly extends invitations to them, and they increasingly and politely reject them. And stay at the winery."
"Why?"
"They say that Beauclair is home to perpetual banquets, balls, feasts, revelry, and flirtation. They say those activities are just lazy, stupid, and a waste of time that could be spent thinking about business. They say you have to focus on what is really important. On the goal that beckons you, constantly. Incessantly. Without wasting any thoughts on frippery. Then and only then can you reach your goal."
"Truly, Mr. Fierabras," the witcher said slowly. "I'm thankful for our common journey. Our conversations were very beneficial to me. Really."
Contrary to the expectations of the witcher, they rode not to Castle Pomerol, but a little further onto the ridge behind the valley, where the next castle stood, a little smaller and much more neglected. This was Castle Zurbarran. Geralt was looking forward to the prospect of getting to do something soon, because the dark, serrated battlements of ruined Zurbarran looked like a textbook example of a haunted ruin, which was no doubt swarming with magic, marvels, and monsters.
When they reached the courtyard however, instead of marvels and monsters he saw a dozen people at such magical pursuits as rolling barrels, planing boards, and nailing these boards together. It smelled of fresh wood, fresh mortar, a few less fresh cats, sour wine, and pea soup. The pea soup was served immediately.
The wind and cold during their journey had made them hungry, and they ate quickly and silently. One of Steward Fierabras’ subordinates in the company made it for them. It was served by two light-haired girls with braids a good three feet long. Both stared at the witcher so provocatively that he decided to eat as quickly as possible and get to work.
Simon Gilka had not seen the monster. He knew its appearance exclusively from second hand stories.
"It was black, ha, pitch black, and when it crawled across the wall, you could see the bricks through it. It was like a jelly, you know what I mean, Mr. Witcher, or maybe something like a glob of snot. But it had long legs, and a lot of them, eight or even more. And Yontek stood there, stood there and watched, until he finally wised up and screamed, 'Get away, Get yourself away!' and an exorcism too: ‘Thee shalt croak, you son of a bitch!’ And then the monster went darting! Whoosh, whoosh, up and away. Into the depths of the abyss and was gone. And the boys says: If there’s a monster here, we want hazard pay, and if we don’t get it, we’ll complain to our union. Your union, I tell them, can go and ...”
“When”, interrupted Geralt, "was the monster was last seen?"
"Three weeks ago. So just before Yule."
The witcher looked at the steward. "You told me it hasn’t been seen since Lammas."
Alcides Fierabras blushed at the points that weren’t covered by his beard.
Gilka snorted. "Well, well, Mr. Steward, if you want to manage, you have to be around more often, you can’t just sit at the office in Beauclair, polishing the chairs with your butt. I think ...”
"I'm not interested," Fierabras cut him off fiercely, "in what you think. Tell the story of the monster."
"I've already told it. That’s all there was."
"There have been no victims? No one has been attacked?"
"No. But last year a servant disappeared without a trace. Some said the monster dragged him to the depths and killed him. Others said that it certainly wasn’t any monster, but that the servant had killed himself, because of debts and payments. The fact is that he played dice like the devil, and then he had a child with the miller's daughter, and she has since gone to court and the court ordered the servant to make support payments ...”
"So," Geralt interrupted, "the monster hasn’t attacked anyone? And no one has seen it since?"
"No."
One of the local girls pouring wine brushed Geralt’s ear with her breast and winked encouragingly.
"Let's go," Geralt said quickly. "There’s no reason to dawdle and talk. Lead me to the cellar."
Unfortunately, it turned out that Fringilla’s amulet could not fulfill the hopes he had placed in it. Geralt had not believed for a moment that the polished chrysoprase could replace his
silver, witcher’s wolf medallion. Fringilla had not promised anything like that at all. However, she had assured him - with great conviction - that the amulet, once attuned to the mind of the wearer, could do different things, including warning the wearer of danger.
But either Fringilla’s magic had failed, or Geralt and the amulet had different views of what was dangerous and what was not. On his way to the cellar, the chrysoprase shrugged almost imperceptibly when a large orange cat ran in front of him, lifted its tail rebelliously, and defiled the yard. The cat must have received some signal from the amulet, because it jumped away and gave a penetrating meow.
But when the witcher entered the cellar, the medallion started vibrating annoyingly, over and over, in the dry, neat, clean storage rooms where the only danger emanated from the large wine casks. Someone who lay down with no self-control and his mouth open under the casket might have been threatened with severe intoxication. But nothing more.
On the other hand, the medallion did not flinch when Geralt left the still used part of the cellar, descended the stairs, and entered the long, deep tunnels. The witcher had long since realized that most of the vineyards of Toussaint had old mines below them. No doubt as the planted vines began to bear fruit and yield better profits, the exploitation of mines had been abandoned to create tunnels and corridors that could be used as wine cellars. The castles Pomerol and Zurbarran stood on top of an old slate mine. It was swarming with tunnels and holes; it would only take a moment’s inattention to end up at the bottom of a hole with broken bones. Some of the holes were covered by rotten boards that were so thoroughly coated in layers of shale dust that they were indistinguishable from the ground. The area was very dangerous so he needed the medallion to warn him. It didn’t.
It didn’t even warn him when an indistinct gray figure jumped out from a pile of slate rubble ten steps in front of Geralt, kicked up dust with its claws and wildly wringing legs, gave a piercing wail, ran down the tunnel whistling and giggling, and disappeared into a gaping hole in the wall.
The witcher cursed. The magic trinket reacted to orange cats, but it didn’t respond to Gremlins. I'll have to talk with Fringilla about it, he thought as he walked towards the hole where the little creature had disappeared.
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The amulet twitched vigorously.
A bit late, he thought. But immediately afterwards he thought better of it. Perhaps the medallion was not so stupid. The usual tactic of Gremlins was to flee and then ambush their pursuers with a blow from its sickle-sharp claws. The Gremlin waiting in the dark - that was what the medallion signaled.
He waited and waited, holding his breath, pricking his ears alert. The amulet was quiet and lifeless on his chest. A dull, unpleasant odor emanated from the hole. But it was dead silent. And no Gremlin would have stayed silent for so long.
Without thinking, he ducked into the hole and crawled on all fours, scraping his back against the rough rock. He did not travel very far.
Something began to creak and snapped. Then the floor gave way and down fell the witcher - along with several hundred pounds of dust and debris. Luckily he didn’t fall for long - it was not a bottomless pit, but a normal dungeon. He shot out like shit from the sewer pipe and smashed into a pile of rotten wood. He spit something out, shook the dust from his hair, and swore very blasphemously. The amulet shook incessantly, it trembled on his chest like a sparrow inserted under his shirt. The witcher resisted the impulse to tear it off and throw it away into the darkness, never to seen again. First, Fringilla would have been furious. Second, the chrysoprase was supposed to have other magical properties. Geralt hoped it would be more reliable at the others.
As he started to stand, he groped a round skull. And he realized that what he had crashed into was by no means a pile of wood.
He stood up and quickly studied the pile of bones. They were all human. All these people were in chains at the moment of their deaths, and had most likely been naked. Their bones were crushed and chewed. They might have already been dead when they were bitten. But he was not sure.
A corridor led out of the tunnel, long and straight. The slate wall had been processed very smoothly – it no longer looked like a mine.
It ended suddenly in a huge cavity, whose ceiling sank in the obscure darkness. The center of the cavern was a huge, black, bottomless pit, above which hung a dangerous, delicate-looking, stone bridge.
Water dripped from the walls, echoing. A cold stench blew from the abyss. The amulet was quiet. Geralt stepped onto the bridge, alert and focused, trying to stay away from the crumbling balustrades.
After the bridge came another corridor. On the smooth processed walls, he noticed rusted torch brackets. There were also niches here; some were filled with small statues made of sandstone, but over the years the dripping water had worn them down to shapeless boulders. Plates and reliefs had also been inserted into the walls. He was able to identify this sturdier material better. Geralt saw a woman with a horned moon, a tower, a swallow, a boar, a dolphin, and a unicorn.
He heard a voice.
He stopped and held his breath.
The amulet twitched.
No, it was no illusion; it wasn’t the crunch of slate rubble or the echo of dripping water. It was a human voice. Geralt closed his eyes and strained his hearing. He tried to pinpoint the noise.
The witcher could have sworn that the voice came from the next niche, from behind a statue that was worn down, but not so much that it had lost the rounded shape of a woman. It stood equal to the height of his medallion. It flashed, and Geralt suddenly noticed a reflection in the wall. He vigorously hugged the woman with his arms, and sharply turned her. It creaked, then the whole niche turned on a steel hinge and revealed a spiral staircase.
The voice sounded again, from the top of the stairs. Geralt did not hesitate.
At the top he found a door that opened without any resistance, not even squeak. Behind the door was a small room with a vaulted ceiling. Four enormous brass tubes towered on the walls, their ends were expanded like trumpets. In the middle, between the openings of the tubes, stood an armchair, and on that armchair sat a skeleton. On its skull, slid down to its teeth, hung the remains of a beret. Its body carried fragments of once-rich clothes, now eaten away. Around its neck hung a gold chain. Its feet rested in high topped boots, strongly corroded by rats.
From one of the tubes came a sneeze, so loud and unexpected that the witcher almost jumped. Then someone blew their nose, and the amplified sound from the brass tube was downright hellish.
“Bless you", came out of the tube. "That was some sneeze, Skellen."
Geralt moved the skeleton out of the chair, without forgetting to first remove its gold chain and stick it in his pocket. Then he sat down at the listening space. At the opening of the tube.
One of the men Geralt was eavesdropping on had a bass voice, deep and booming. When he spoke, the brass tube actually vibrated.
"That was some sneeze, Skellen. Where did you get such a cold? And when?"
"Not worth talking about”, said the sneezer. "Some damned disease has caught me and adheres. As soon as I get rid of it, it comes right back. Not even magic helps."
"Maybe you should change magicians?" Said the next voice, creaking like a rusty hinge. "Truly, this Vilgefortz can’t yet point to any particularly great successes. I think ...”
"Forget it," interjected one who stretched his syllables in a characteristic way. "That is not the reason we have organized this meeting here in Toussaint. In the middle of nowhere, in the ass of the world."
"This ass of the world," said the sneezer, "is the only country I know of that does not have its own security service. The only corner of the empire that is not riddled with agents of Vattier de Rideaux. This principality is seen by all as a hilarious and perpetually drunken state operetta, which nobody takes seriously."
"Such little countries," said the syllable stretcher, "have always been havens for spies, and their preferred venues. Therefore, they attract counterintelligence service and spies, eavesdroppers, and all sorts of private detectives."
"That may have once been the case.” said the sneezer “But not under the rule of a woman, which has lasted for almost one hundred years in Toussaint. I repeat, we are safe here. Here, no one will track us down or overhear us. We can act as merchants and calmly discuss the questions that are of vital interest for your princely graces. For your personal assets and estates."
"Truly, I hate private interests!" ranted the creaking. "We are not here for personal reasons! I am concerned solely about the good of the Empire. And the good of the Empire, gentlemen, is in a strong dynasty! Therefore, it would be a great evil and harmful for the kingdom if any mongrel, any spoiled scion of bad blood ascends the throne, a descendant of the physically sick and morally inferior kings. No, gentlemen! I, a De Wett of the family De Wett, will not stand by idly and watch! In addition, my daughter was promised ...”
"Your daughter, De Wett?” roared the booming bass voice. "And what about me? I, who at the time supported Emhyr in the fight against the usurper? It was my residence from which the cadets launched their assault on the palace! And what did that earn me! At that time, the swindler looked at my little Eilan, smiled graciously at her, complimented her, and took her behind a curtain, I know, to feel her tits. And now what - another empress! Such an affront? Such shame? The emperor of the eternal empire, who prefers the daughters of Cintra to those of the ancient families! What? He sits on the throne by my grace and dares to reject my Eilan? No, I will not tolerate it!"
"Nor I," cried another voice, high and exalted. "He has disrespected me, too! Leaving my wife for this Cintran nobody!"
"By a lucky coincidence," said the syllable stretcher, "the nobody has been promoted into the afterlife. As follows the report of Mr. Skellen."
"I’ve listened to this report very attentively," said the creaky, "and I’ve concluded it follows that the nobody has simply disappeared. And if she has simply disappeared, then she may yet reappear. Because she disappeared and reappeared several times last year! Truly, Mr. Skellen, you have disappointed us. You and your magician, this Vilgefortz!"
"But now is not the right moment, Joachim!” said the bass “Now is not the time to blame each other and to a
ccuse, to drive wedges between us! We must be strong and united. And determined. Therefore, it is unimportant whether the Cintran is alive or not. An emperor who insults the old families with impunity once, will continue to do so in the future! The Cintran has disappeared? Then in a few months he can present an empress of Zerrikanian or Sangwebarian origin! No, by the Great Sun, we cannot let him!"
"Truly, we cannot! Right you are, Ardal!” said the creaky. “The Emreis dynasty has been a disappointment ever since they took the throne. Each moment Emhyr sits on the throne does
the empire harm, truly. And there is someone else who could sit the throne. The young Voorhis ...”
A loud sneeze rang out like a trumpet.
"Constitutional monarchy", said the sneezer. "It is high time for a constitutional monarchy, a progressive order. And then democracy ... a government of the people ...”
"Emperor Voorhis," repeated the bass voice with emphasis. "Emperor Voorhis, Stefan Skellen. He will be married with my daughter Eilan, or with one of Joachim's. And then I will be the Chancellor of the Crown and De Wett will be the Field Marshal. And you, Stefan - the Foreign Minister and a count. If you abandon your idea of granting titles and offices to the peasants. What?"
"Forgot about historical development," the sneezer’s voice said soothingly. "For the moment, at least. First, let me draw Your Excellency Chancellor aep Dahy’s attention to the person of Prince Voorhis - mainly the fact that he is a man of iron character, proud and stubborn, who will be difficult to influence."
"If I can make a comment," the syllable stretcher came forward to speak. "Prince Voorhis has a son, the little Morvran. He is a far better candidate. First, he has a better claim to the throne, both on his fraternal side and maternal side. Second, he is a child, so the Regency Council will rule in his place. So, us."
"Nonsense! We will deal with the father! We will find a way!" said the bass.
"We push," suggested the exalted, "my wife under him!"
"Be still, Count Broinne. That is not what we are talking about.” said the creaky “Gentlemen, we should discuss other matters, truly. I would like to point out that Emhyr var Emreis still prevails."
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