Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 03] Read online

  ‘Stop blabbing, you little snot’ growled the old man ‘Say what happened next.’

  ‘I’m trying! So the witcher says this: the monster won’t leave but it’ll spend the whole night eatin’ the knight’s corpse - slowly, ‘coz it’s inside the armor, hard ter pick out. So then the merchants gathered and proposed collectin’ together hundred crowns. But the witcher said that the beast is called a manticore and it’s horribly dangerous, so they can shove those hundred crowns up their arses, ‘coz he won’t risk his own for this amount. It pissed the commander off and he yelled that such is the whores and witcher’s lot to risk their arses. But the merchants must have feared that the witcher will get pissed too and so they agreed on hundred and fifty. And then the witcher took out his sword and went after the manticore. And the commander made a sign against evil after him, spat over his shoulder and said that such devilish freaks ought not ter walk on this earth. To which one merchant said that if the army slew the monsters, instead of messing around with elves in the woods, then there would be no need for witchers at all and that…’

  ‘Stop wasting time’ interrupted the old man ‘Tell us what you’ve seen.’

  ‘I’ said the boy ‘was busy looking after the witcher’s mount, a chestnut mare with a white arrow.’

  ‘To hell with the mare! Did you see the witcher kill the monster?’

  ‘Errr… I didn’t. I was pushed behind. Everybody was shoutin’ and the horses were nervous, so…’

  ‘As I thought’ sneered the elderly ‘He didn’t see shit, the little snot.’

  ‘But I’ve seen the witcher come back!’ protested the boy ‘And the commander, who had watched the whole thing, was pale like a ghost and said to his soldiers that it must be some magic or elvish tricks, ‘coz a normal man can’t possibly be so bloody fast with his sword. The witcher then collected money from the merchants, jumped on his mare and rode away.’

  ‘Hmm…’ murmured Aplegatt ‘Which way did he go? To Carreras? If so, then maybe I could catch up and have a look at him.’

  ‘No’ said the boy ‘He went to Dorian. He seemed to be in a hurry.’

  * * *

  The witcher rarely dreamed of anything and even those infrequent dreams were quickly forgotten the following morning. Even the nightmares – and usually it was those that he had.

  This time it was also a nightmare, but the witcher could recall at least a fragment. From the whirlwind of unknown but unsettling figures, strange but alarming scenes and incomprehensible but disturbing words and sounds suddenly emerged a clear image. Ciri. Different from the one he remembered from Kaer Morhen. Her gray hair were longer – the same she had the first time he’d met her, in Brokilon. When she rode past him, he wanted to call her but couldn’t find his voice. He wanted to run after her but felt like he was sinking in tar. And Ciri didn’t seem to notice him, she kept galloping further in the night, between the old, twisted willows and alders which waved their limbs as if trying to catch her. And he could see that she was being chased. Pursued by a black horse with a rider in black armour, wearing a helmet adorned by the wings of a bird of prey.

  He couldn’t move, he couldn’t shout. He could only watch how the winged knight rides up to Ciri, catches her by the hair, pulls her off the horse and drags behind him. He could only watch how her face turns blue from the pain and her mouth opens in a silent scream. Wake up, he told himself, unable to withstand the terrifying vision. Wake up! Wake up right now!

  He woke up.

  He laid motionlessly for a long time, recalling the dream. Then he got up. He took a sack from under his pillow and recounted the money. Hundred and fifty for the manticore. Fifty for the fogger he killed in Carreras. And fifty for Burdorff’s werewolf.

  Fifty for a werewolf. It was a lot for such an easy job. The werewolf didn’t try to protect himself. Cornered inside a cave he kneeled and waited for the blow. The witcher felt sorry for him.

  But he needed this money.

  Less than an hour later he was travelling through the streets of Dorian, searching for the familiar alley and the familiar sign.

  The sign read ‘Codringher and Fenn, consultation and legal service’. Geralt however knew far too well that the service provided by Codringher and Fenn had little to do with law and the partners themselves had many reasons to stay away from its representatives. He also doubted that any of their clients knew the meaning of the word ‘consultation’.

  In the lower tier of the building there were no doors; just a solid, heavily locked gate, probably leading to the stables. In order to get to the doors one needed to go to the back of the house, upstairs and then walk through a dark corridor.

  Geralt knocked and backed away. He knew that a mechanism installed in doors could shoot twenty inch long spikes from the concealed holes. In theory, the spikes were shot only when someone tried to pick the locks or when Codringher or Fenn pressed the triggering device but Geralt often had the chance of finding out that there are no perfectly reliable mechanisms and every each one of them sometimes activates even when it ought not to.

  There was likely some device inside of the doors, probably magical in nature, which identified the guests. Nobody from the inside ever asked for a name. The door opened and Codringher stood at it. Always Codringher, never Fenn.

  ‘Welcome, Geralt’ said Codringher ‘Come inside. And there’s no need to be so nervous, I disassembled the device. Something broke inside it few days ago. It activated out of the sudden and finished off a salesman. Come! What sort of help do you require from me?’

  ‘No’ the witcher entered the gloomy anteroom like always smelling of cats ‘Not from you. From Fenn.‘

  Codringher laughed loudly, confirming the witcher’s suspicion that Fenn was an imaginary person, existing only to confuse the provosts, bailiffs, tax collectors and other unwelcome guests.

  They entered a room, a bit brighter than others. Geralt sat on the guest chair. On the armchair across from him settled Codringher, the man who demanded to be titled an ‘advocate’ and a man for whom there were no impossible things. Whenever someone had any troubles, problems, hardships – they went straight to Codringher. And then that troubled person suddenly acquired an indisputable proof of the treachery and dishonesty of their business partners. Got a bank loan with no unnecessary impediments. Collected money from a bankrupt debtor. Got inheritance, despite the rich uncle’s threats of not leaving him a penny. His son left prison due to the lack of evidence, and the witnesses withdrew their claims. His daughter’s untrustworthy admirer suddenly lost interest. His wife’s lover had an unfortunate accident. And the hated enemy or any other bothersome individual stopped bothering – as a rule they disappeared without trace.

  Yes, whenever someone had troubles, they rode to Dorian, run to the firm ‘Codringher and Fenn’ and knocked on the mahogany doors. Then they saw ‘advocate’ Codringher, short, thin, with greyish hair and unhealthy skin of a person who doesn’t get enough fresh air. Codringher led them to the room, sat in the armchair, put a big, black-white cat on his lap and stroked its fur. Both of them – Codringher and the cat – gazed at the guest with their creepy yellowish-green eyes.

  ‘I got your letter’ Codringher and his cat gazed at the witcher with their yellowish-green eyes ‘I was also visited by Dandelion. He was riding past Dorian a few weeks back. He told me a bit about your problems. But he said little. Very little.’

  ‘Is that so? What a surprise. That would have been the first time Dandelion didn’t say too much.’

  ‘Dandelion’ Codringher didn’t smile ‘said little, because he knew even less. And he didn’t say all that he knew simply because you forbade him to do so. Where does this lack of trust come from? Even towards a colleague in profession?’

  Geralt snorted. Codringher would have pretended not to notice but he couldn’t because the cat noticed. It opened its eyes widely, bared its fangs and hissed quietly.

  ‘Don’t tease my cat’ said the advocate petting the animal ‘Are you insulted
by being called my colleague? But it’s true. I am also a witcher. I also save people from monsters and from monstrous troubles. And I’m also doing this for money.’

  ‘There are differences’ uttered Geralt, still under cat’s unfriendly gaze.

  ‘There are’ agreed Codringher ‘You are an anachronistic witcher whereas I am a modern one. Which is why you will soon be left jobless while I shall prosper. Soon there will be no strigas, wyverns, endriags and werewolves left on this world. And bastards will always exist.’

  ‘But you save from trouble mainly those bastards, Codringher. The troubled poor men can’t afford your service.’

  ‘The troubled poor men can’t afford your service either. Poor men can never afford anything, which is why they get called poor in the first place.’

  ‘What an unbelievably logical conclusion. And such a breathtaking discovery at that.’

  ‘One of the aspects of truth is that it’s so breathtaking. And it is true that the backbone and foundation of both our professions is wickedness. Except yours is a diminishing relic of the past while mine is a reality and still growing.’

  ‘Fine, fine. Let’s get to business.’

  ‘Finally’ Codringher nodded, petting the cat which purred loudly ‘But let us start with the matters that are the highest in the hierarchy of importance. First thing: my fee, dear colleague, is two hundred and fifty Novigrad crowns. Do you possess that amount? Or could this be that you rank yourself among the troubled poor men?’

  ‘Before, I’d like to check whether you deserve such a fee.’

  ‘Checking’ said the advocate coldly ‘is something that you should be doing to your own pockets and doing it very quickly. And once you’re done, put the money on the table. Then we shall go on to other, less important matters.’

  Geralt untied the pouch at his belt and threw it onto the table. The cat abruptly jumped down from its master’s knees and ran from the room. The advocate put the pouch inside a drawer, without checking its contents.

  ‘You shooed off my cat’ he said with authentic displeasure.

  ‘Sorry. I was under the impression that the clink of coins is the last thing which could scare your cat. Tell me what you found out.’

  ‘That Rience’ started Codringher ‘whom you’re so interested in, is a rather mysterious person. I only know that he studied for two years in the Ban Ard school of wizardry. He was expelled after being caught committing petty thefts. As usual, in front of the school waited Kaedwenian intelligence agents looking for potential recruits. Rience let himself be recruited. I didn’t manage to find out what he had been doing for the Keadwenian Intelligence. But the wizarding school rejects are usually schooled to be murderers. Satisfied?’

  ‘Very much so. Tell me more.’

  ‘Second piece of information comes from Cintra. Master Rience spent some time in the dungeons there. During Calanthe’s reign.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For unpaid debts. He hadn’t been there for long because someone paid them off along with the interest. The transaction took place through a bank, with the sponsor’s full anonymity. I tried to track him down but I gave up after the fourth different bank. Whoever bought Rience out was a true professional. And really needed that anonymity.’

  Codringher coughed heavily, raising a handkerchief to his mouth.

  ‘And then, suddenly, right after the end of the war Master Rience showed himself in Sodden, Angren and Brugge’ he continued ‘Changed beyond recognition, at least in his behaviour and the amount of cash he threw around. The cheeky son of a bitch didn’t bother making up a new name – he still called himself Rience. And under this name he started an intense search for a certain person, or rather a certain child. He visited the Druids from Angren Enclave who were taking care of war orphans. The body of one of them was later found in nearby woods, massacred, showing signs of torture. Then Rience appeared in Transriver…’

  ‘I know’ Geralt interfered ‘I know what he did to the peasant family in Transriver. For two hundred and fifty crowns I expected more. For now, the only new information to me was the one about wizarding school and Kaedwenian Intelligence. I know of the rest. I know that Rience is a heartless murderer. I know that he’s an arrogant thug who doesn’t bother using an alias. I know that he’s working on somebody’s orders. But whose, Codringher?’

  ‘Some wizard, no doubt. It had to be a wizard that bought him out of the dungeon. You told me yourself, and Dandelion confirmed, that Rience is using magic. Real magic, not tricks known to expelled students. In that case someone has to be helping him, equipping him with amulets, probably also teaching him in secret. Some of the officially practicing magicians keep such secret students and factotums who are used for dirty and illegal jobs. In the wizard jargon it’s called working on somebody’s leash.’

  ‘if he were working on a magic leash, Rience would use camouflaging spells. Yet he changed neither his name nor appearance. He didn’t even get rid of the burn on his face, given to him by Yennefer.’

  ‘This only confirms that he’s working on a leash‘ Codringher coughed ‘Magic camouflage is no camouflage, only amateurs use something like that. Had Rience been hiding under an illusion he would’ve been immediately noticed by every magical alarm in town. Wizards can spot illusions perfectly. Even in the biggest crowd Rience would catch attention of a wizard as if he had flames coming out of his ears and smoke out of his rear end. I’ll repeat: Rience is working for a magician and he’s working in such a way so as not to bring on himself attention from other magicians.’

  ‘Some believe him to be a spy for Nilfgaard.’

  ‘I am aware of that. Such is the opinion of Dijkstra, the head of Redanian Intelligence. Dijkstra is rarely wrong, so we can assume that he’s right about this particular case as well… But one does not exclude the other. Factotum of a wizard can be at the same time a spy for Nilfgaard.’

  ‘In other words some officially practicing wizard is spying for Nilfgaard through his secret factotum.’

  ‘Rubbish’ Codringher coughed and looked carefully at the handkerchief ‘A wizard would be spying for Nilfgaard? What for? For money? Ridiculous. Hoping for some great power under the rule of emperor Emhyr? Even more ridiculous. It’s not a secret that Emhyr van Emreis keeps his magicians on a short leash. The wizards in Nilfgaard are treated with same respect as, let’s say, stable boys. And they have just as much influence as stable boys. Would any of our arrogant magicians decide to work for an emperor to whom he’s nothing but a stable boy? Philippa Eilhart who dictates the content of royal proclamations and edicts to Vizimir of Redania? Sabrina Glevissig who interrupts speeches by Henselt of Keadwen with a smash of a fist on the table and a demand that he shuts up and listens? Vilgefortz of Roggeveen who had recently told king Demavend of Aedirn that he had no time for him at the moment?’

  ‘What about Rience then?’

  ‘Nothing special. Nilfgaardian Intelligence wants to get close to the wizard by recruiting his factotum. Rience wouldn’t mind betraying his master for a handful of Nilfgaardian florins.’

  ‘Now you’re the one talking rubbish. Even our arrogant magicians would realize immediately that they were betrayed and Rience would go to the gallows. If he were lucky.’

  ‘You’re such a child, Geralt. Uncovered spies are not hanged but used. Fed lies and turned into double agents.’

  ‘Don’t tease the child, Codringher. I’m not interested in politics or the work of Intelligences. Rience is bothering me and I want to know why and on whose orders. The orders seem to be coming from a wizard. Which one?’

  ‘I don’t know it yet. But soon I will.’

  ‘Soon,’ uttered the witcher ‘Will not be soon enough for me.’

  ‘I suspected as much’ said Codringher ‘You sure got yourself in some serious trouble, Geralt. It’s a stroke of luck that you turned to me, I know how to pull people out of trouble. In fact, I pulled you out of it already.’

  ‘Is this so?’

  ‘Inde
ed, it is so’ the advocate brought the handkerchief to his mouth and coughed ‘You see, colleague, other than Nilfgaard and the wizard, there is also a third party in the game. Not long ago I was visited by king Foltest’s secret agents. They had a problem. The king ordered them to search for a certain lost princess. The job turned out to be more difficult than previously thought so the agents decided to seek help form a specialist for difficult jobs… While describing the problem, they suggested to the specialist that a certain witcher might know a lot about the missing princess. He may even know where she currently resides.’

  ‘What did the specialist do?’

  ‘Initially, he showed his greatest surprise. He was surprised that the aforementioned witcher had not been taken to the dungeons where traditional methods of questioning could be used in order to convince him to say everything he knows and even some things which he doesn’t know but will gladly make up in order to satisfy the interrogators. The agents answered that their king had forbidden them from doing so. Witchers, they explained, have such delicate nervous systems that under torture a vein bursts inside their brain causing instant death. Instead, they were ordered to follow the witcher, but this, too, turned out to be difficult. The specialist praised their common sense and asked them to return in two weeks time.’

  ‘Did they?’

  ‘Of course they did. And then, the specialist who already considered you his client showed them indisputable proof that witcher Geralt doesn’t have, never had, and couldn’t have had anything to do with the missing princess. For the specialist had found eyewitnesses for the death of princess Cirilla, daughter of Pavetta and granddaughter of Queen Calanthe. Apparently, Cirilla died of diphtheria three years ago in the refugee camp in Angren. The child suffered terribly before her death. Believe it or not, Temerian agents had tears in their eyes when they heard the testimonies of my eyewitnesses.‘

  ‘I have tears in my eyes as well. I gather, Temerian agents couldn’t or didn’t want to offer you more than two hundred and fifty crowns?’