‘That’s the falsest lie,’ said Ciri aloud, spitting out a pip.
‘It’s the truest truth!’ protested the pockmarked man. ‘He kills them; he kills the horse and its rider!’
‘Yeah, right!’
‘Be quiet, miss!’ shouted the market trader with the dog. ‘Don’t interfere! We want to marvel and listen!’
‘Ciri, stop it,’ whispered Fabio, nudging her in the ribs. Ciri snorted at him, reaching into the basket for another pear.
‘Every animal,’ said the pockmarked man, raising his voice against the murmur which was intensifying among the spectators, ‘flees the basilisk as soon as it hears its hiss. Every animal, even a dragon – what am I saying? – even a cockrodile, and a cockrodile is awfully dreadful, as anyone who’s seen one knows. The one and only animal that doesn’t fear the basilisk is the marten. The marten, when it sees the monster in the wilderness, runs as fast as it can into the forest, looks for certain herbs known only to it and eats them. Then the basilisk’s venom is harmless, and the marten can bite it to death . . .’
Ciri snorted with laughter and made a long-drawn-out, extremely rude noise with her lips.
‘Hey, little know-it-all!’ burst out the pockmarked man. ‘If it’s not to your liking, you know where the door is! No one’s forcing you to listen or look at the basilisk!’
‘That’s no basilisk!’
‘Oh, yeah? So what is it, Miss Know-It-All?’
‘It’s a wyvern,’ said Ciri, throwing away the pear stalk and licking her fingers. ‘It’s a common wyvern. Young, small, starving and dirty. But a wyvern, that’s all. Vyverne, in the Elder Speech.’
‘Oh, look at this!’ shouted the pockmarked man. ‘What a clever clogs! Shut your trap, because when I—’
‘I say,’ spoke up a fair-haired young man in a velvet beret and a squire’s doublet without a coat of arms. He had a delicate, pale girl in an apricot dress on his arm. ‘Not so fast, my good animal catcher! Do not threaten the noble lady, for I will readily tan your hide with my sword. And furthermore, something smacks of trickery here!’
‘What trickery, young sir knight?’ choked the pockmarked man. ‘She’s lying, the horri— I meant to say, the high-born young lady is in error. It is a basilisk!’
‘It’s a wyvern,’ repeated Ciri.
‘What do you mean, a Vernon! It’s a basilisk! Just look how menacing it is, how it hisses, how it bites at its cage! Look at those teeth! It’s got teeth, I tell you, like—’
‘Like a wyvern,’ scowled Ciri.
‘If you’ve taken leave of your senses,’ said the pockmarked man, fixing her with a gaze that a real basilisk would have been proud of, ‘then come closer! Step up, and let it breathe on you! You laughed at its venom. Now let’s see you croak! Come along, step up!’
‘Not a problem,’ said Ciri, pulling her arm out of Fabio’s grasp and taking a step forward.
‘I shan’t allow it!’ cried the fair-haired squire, dropping his apricot companion’s arm and blocking Ciri’s way. ‘It cannot be! You are risking too much, fair lady.’
Ciri, who had never been addressed like that before, blushed a little, looked at the young man and fluttered her eyelids in a way she had tried out numerous times on the scribe Jarre.
‘There’s no risk whatsoever, noble knight,’ she smiled seductively, in spite of all Yennefer’s warnings, and reminders about the fable of the simpleton gazing foolishly at the cheese. ‘Nothing will happen to me. That so-called poisonous breath is claptrap.’
‘I would, however, like to stand beside you,’ said the youth, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘To protect and defend . . . Will you allow me?’
‘I will,’ said Ciri, not knowing why the expression of rage on the apricot maiden’s face was causing her such pleasure.
‘It is I who shall protect and defend her!’ said Fabio, sticking his chest out and looking at the squire defiantly. ‘And I shall stand with her too!’
‘Gentlemen.’ Ciri puffed herself up with pride and stuck her nose in the air. ‘A little more dignity. Don’t shove. There’ll be room enough for everyone.’
The ring of spectators swayed and murmured as she bravely approached the cage, followed so closely by the boys that she could almost feel their breath on her neck. The wyvern hissed furiously and struggled, its reptilian stench assaulting their noses. Fabio gasped loudly, but Ciri didn’t withdraw. She drew even closer and held out a hand, almost touching the cage. The monster hurled itself at the bars, raking them with its teeth. The crowd swayed once more and someone cried out.
‘Well?’ Ciri turned around, hands proudly on her hips. ‘Did I die? Has that so-called venomous monster poisoned me? He’s no more a basilisk than I’m a—’
She broke off, seeing the sudden paleness on the faces of Fabio and the squire. She turned around quickly and saw two bars of the cage parting under the force of the enraged lizard, tearing rusty nails out of the frame.
‘Run!’ she shouted at the top of her voice. ‘The cage is breaking!’
The crowd rushed, screaming, for the door. Several of them tried to tear their way through the canvas sheeting, but they only managed to entangle themselves and others in it, eventually collapsing into a struggling, yelling mass of humanity. Just as Ciri was trying to jump out of the way the squire seized her arm, and the two of them staggered, tripped and fell to the ground, taking Fabio down with them. Anxious yaps came from the stallholder’s shaggy little dog, colourful swearwords from the pockmarked man and piercing shrieks from the disorientated apricot maiden.
The bars of the cage broke with a crack and the wyvern struggled free. The pockmarked man jumped down from the stage and tried to restrain it with his pole, but the writhing monster knocked it out of his hand with one blow of its claws and lashed him with its spiny tail, transforming his pockmarked cheek into a bloody pulp. Hissing and spreading its tattered wings, the wyvern flew down from the stage; its sights were set on Ciri, Fabio and the squire, who were trying to get to their feet. The apricot maiden fainted and fell flat on her back. Ciri tensed, preparing to jump, but realised she wouldn’t make it.
They were saved by the shaggy little dog who, still yapping shrilly, broke free from its owner’s arms – she had fallen and become entangled in her own six skirts – and lunged at the monster. The wyvern hissed, rose up, pinned the cur down with its talons, twisted its body with a swift, serpentine movement and sank its teeth into the dog’s neck. The dog howled wildly.
The squire struggled to his knees and reached down to his side, but didn’t find his hilt. Ciri had been too quick for him. She had drawn his sword from its scabbard in a lightning-fast movement and leapt into a half-turn. The wyvern rose, the dog’s severed head hanging in its sharp-toothed jaws.
It seemed to Ciri that all the movements she had learned in Kaer Morhen were performing themselves, almost without her conscious will or participation. She slashed the astonished wyvern in the belly and immediately spun away to avoid it. The lunging lizard fell to the sand spurting blood. Ciri jumped over it, skilfully avoiding its swishing tail. Then, with a sure, accurate and powerful blow, she hacked into the monster’s neck, jumped back, and made an instinctive – but now unnecessary – evasive manoeuvre, and then struck again at once, this time chopping through its backbone. The wyvern writhed briefly in pain and then stopped moving; only its serpentine tail continued to thrash and slap the ground, raining sand all around.
Ciri quickly shoved the bloodied sword into the squire’s hand.
‘Danger over!’ she shouted to the fleeing crowd and the spectators still trying to extricate themselves from the canvas sheeting. ‘The monster’s dead! This brave knight has killed him dead . . .’
She suddenly felt a tightening in her throat and a whirling in her stomach; everything went black. Something hit her in the bottom with tremendous force, making her teeth snap together. She looked around blankly. The thing that had struck her was the ground.
‘Ciri . . .’
whispered Fabio, kneeling beside her. ‘What’s the matter? By the gods, you’re as white as a sheet . . .’
‘It’s a pity,’ she muttered, ‘you can’t see yourself.’
People crowded around. Several of them prodded the wyvern’s body with sticks and pokers. A few of them began dressing the pockmarked man’s wounds. The rest cheered the heroic squire: the fearless dragon killer, the only person to keep a cool head, and prevent a massacre. The squire revived the apricot maiden, still staring somewhat dumbstruck at the blade of his sword which was covered with smeared streaks of drying blood.
‘My hero . . .’ said the apricot maiden, coming to and throwing her arms around the squire’s neck. ‘My saviour! My darling!’
‘Fabio,’ said Ciri weakly, seeing the city constables pushing through the crowd. ‘Help me get up and get us out of here. Quickly.’
‘Poor children . . .’ said a fat townswoman in a cap as she watched them sneak away from the crowd. ‘Oh, you were lucky. Were it not for this valiant young knight, your mothers would be sorely grieving!’
‘Find out who that young squire serves!’ shouted a craftsman in a leather apron. ‘That deed deserves a knightly belt and spurs!’
‘And to the pillory with the animal catcher! He deserves a thrashing! Bringing a monster like that into the city, among people . . .’
‘Water, and quickly! The maiden’s fainted again!’
‘My darling Foo-Foo!’ the stallholder suddenly howled, as she leaned over what was left of the shaggy little dog. ‘My poor little sweetheart! Someone, please! Catch that wench, that rascal who infuriated the dragon! Where is she? Someone grab her! It wasn’t the animal catcher; she’s to blame for all this!’
The city constables, helped by numerous volunteers, began to shove their way through the crowd and look around. Ciri had overcome her dizziness.
‘Fabio,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s split up. We’ll meet up in a bit in that alleyway we came along. Go. And if anyone stops you to ask, you don’t know me or anything about me.’
‘But . . . Ciri—’
‘Go!’
She squeezed Yennefer’s amulet in her fist and murmured the activation spell. It started working in an instant, and there was no time to lose. The constables, who had been forcing their way through the crowd towards her, stopped, confused.
‘What the bloody hell?’ said one of them in astonishment, looking, it would have seemed, straight at Ciri. ‘Where is she? I just saw her . . .’
‘There, over there!’ yelled another, pointing the wrong way.
Ciri turned around and walked away, still a little dazed and weakened by the rush of adrenaline and the activation of the amulet. The amulet was working perfectly; no one could see her and no one was paying any attention to her. Absolutely no one. As a consequence she was jostled, stamped on and kicked innumerable times before she finally extricated herself from the crowd. By some miracle she escaped being crushed by a chest thrown from a cart. She almost had an eye poked out by a pitchfork. Spells, it turned out, had their good and bad sides, and as many advantages as disadvantages.
The amulet’s effects did not last long. Ciri was not powerful enough to control it or extend the time the spell was active. Fortunately, the spell wore off at the right moment, just as she left the crowd and saw Fabio waiting for her in the alley.
‘Oh my,’ said the boy. ‘Oh my goodness, Ciri. You’re here. I was worried . . .’
‘You needn’t have been. Come on, quickly. Noon has passed. I’ve got to get back.’
‘You were pretty handy with that monster.’ The boy looked at her in admiration. ‘You moved like lightning! Where did you learn to do that?’
‘What? The squire killed the wyvern.’
‘That’s not true. I saw—’
‘You didn’t see anything! Please, Fabio, not a word to anyone. Anyone. And particularly not to Madam Yennefer. Oh, I’d be in for it if she found out . . .’
She fell silent.
‘Those people were right.’ She pointed behind her, towards the market square. ‘I provoked the wyvern . . . It was all my fault . . .’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ retorted Fabio firmly. ‘That cage was rotten and bodged together. It could have broken any second: in an hour, tomorrow, the next day . . . It’s better that it happened now, because you saved—’
‘The squire did!’ yelled Ciri. ‘The squire! Will you finally get that into your head? I’m telling you, if you grass me up, I’ll turn you into a . . . a . . . well something horrible! I know spells! I’ll turn you into—’
‘Stop,’ someone called out behind them. ‘That’s quite enough of that!’
One of the women walking behind them had dark, smoothly combed hair, shining eyes and thin lips. She had a short mauve camaka cape trimmed with dormouse fur thrown over her shoulders.
‘Why aren’t you in school, novice?’ she asked in a cold, resonant voice, eyeing Ciri with a penetrating gaze.
‘Wait, Tissaia,’ said the other woman, who was younger, tall and fair-haired, and wore a green dress with a plunging neckline. ‘I don’t know her. I don’t think she’s—’
‘Yes, she is,’ interrupted the dark-haired woman. ‘I’m certain she’s one of your girls, Rita. You can’t know them all. She’s one of the ones who sneaked out of Loxia during the confusion when we were moving dormitories. And she’ll admit as much in a moment. Well, novice, I’m waiting.’
‘What?’ frowned Ciri.
The woman pursed her thin lips and straightened her cuffs.
‘Who did you steal that amulet of concealment from? Or did someone give it to you?’
‘What?’
‘Don’t test my patience. Name, class, and the name of your preceptress. Quickly!’
‘What?’
‘Are you acting dumb, novice? Your name! What is your name?’
Ciri clenched her teeth together and her eyes flared with a green glow.
‘Anna Ingeborga Klopstock,’ she muttered brazenly.
The woman raised a hand and Ciri immediately realised the full extent of her error. Only once had Yennefer, wearied by Ciri’s endless complaining, showed her how a paralysing spell worked. The sensation had been extremely unpleasant. It was the same this time, too.
Fabio yelled weakly and lunged towards her, but the fair-haired woman seized him by the collar and held him fast. The boy struggled but the woman’s grip was like iron. Ciri couldn’t budge an inch either. She felt as though she were slowly becoming rooted to the spot. The dark-haired woman leaned over her and fixed her with her shining eyes.
‘I do not approve of corporal punishment,’ she said icily, straightening her cuffs once more. ‘But I’ll do my best to have you flogged, novice. Not for disobedience, nor for theft, nor for truancy. Not because you are wearing non-regulation clothing. Not for being in the company of a boy and not even for talking to him about matters you are forbidden to speak of. You will be flogged for not recognising an arch-mistress.’
‘No!’ shrieked Fabio. ‘Don’t harm her, noble lady! I’m a clerk in Mr Molnar Giancardi’s bank, and this young lady is—’
‘Shut up!’ yelled Ciri. ‘Shut—’ The gagging spell was cast quickly and brutally. She tasted blood in her mouth.
‘Well?’ the fair-haired woman urged Fabio, releasing the boy and tenderly smoothing his ruffled collar. ‘Speak. Who is this haughty young maid?’
Margarita Laux-Antille emerged from the pool with a splash, spraying water everywhere. Ciri couldn’t stop herself looking. She had seen Yennefer naked on several occasions and hadn’t imagined anyone could have a more shapely figure. She was wrong. Even marble statues of goddesses and nymphs would have blushed at the sight of Margarita Laux-Antille undressed.
The enchantress took a pail of cold water and poured it over her breasts, swearing lewdly and then shaking herself off.
‘You, girl.’ She beckoned to Ciri. ‘Be so good as to hand me a towel. And please stop being angry with me.’
C
iri snorted quietly, still piqued. When Fabio had revealed who she was, the enchantresses had dragged her half the length of the city, making a laughing stock of her. Naturally, the matter was cleared up instantly in Giancardi’s bank. The enchantresses apologised to Yennefer, asking for their behaviour to be excused. They explained that the Aretuza novices had been temporarily moved to Loxia because the school’s rooms had been turned into accommodation for the participants of the mages’ conclave. Taking advantage of the confusion around the move, several novices had slipped out of Thanedd and played truant in the city. Margarita Laux-Antille and Tissaia de Vries, alarmed by the activation of Ciri’s amulet, had mistaken her for one of their truants.
The enchantresses apologised to Yennefer, but none of them thought of apologising to Ciri. Yennefer, listening to the apologies, simply looked at her and Ciri could feel her ears burning with shame. But it was worse for Fabio; Molnar Giancardi admonished him so severely the boy had tears in his eyes. Ciri felt sorry for him but was also proud of him; Fabio kept his promise and didn’t breathe a word about the wyvern.
Yennefer, it turned out, knew Tissaia and Margarita very well. The enchantresses invited her to the Silver Heron, the best and most expensive inn in Gors Velen, where Tissaia de Vries was staying, delaying her trip to the island for reasons known only to herself. Margarita Laux-Antille, who, it turned out, was the rectoress of Aretuza, had accepted the older enchantress’s invitation and was temporarily sharing the apartment with her. The inn was truly luxurious; it had its own bathhouse in the cellars, which Margarita and Tissaia had hired for their exclusive use, paying extortionate sums of money for it. Yennefer and Ciri, of course, were encouraged to use the bathhouse too. As a result, all of them had been soaking in the pool and perspiring in the steam by turns for several hours, gossiping the entire time.
Ciri gave the enchantress a towel. Margarita pinched her gently on the cheek. Ciri snorted again and dived with a splash into the rosemary-perfumed water of the pool.
‘She swims like a young seal,’ laughed Margarita, stretching out beside Yennefer on a wooden lounger, ‘and is as shapely as a naiad. Will you give her to me, Yenna?’
The Saga of the Witcher Page 42