.XX. Scent of Blood.
The dark-red substance dripping on the wooden floors of the hallway in which several people gathered to see what the earlier racket was all about, began to collect into a small puddle around the corpse of the mage.
A woman's quick and stumpy steps made themselves heard from the left side of the corridor where the stairs were, and not a moment later she squeezed herself through those curious few that arrived before she did. Among them was Helena, her best girl and help.
'What the fuck' happened ?', she asked Helena, who didn't know either, nor did she know how to answer that question. Though, they both knew it was the room the witcher spent the night in. 'I leave for a mere half an hour and when I come back I find in my brothel a dead man, bleeding on my floors ?'.
'I, don't know what happened, madam.'.
'Well, lucky for us there is someone that does. Is he in there ?'. Helena nodded softly while looking down at her shoes. The madam was angry, as her eyes narrowed, and she kept clenching her right hand into a fist, like she wanted to punch someone. But, luckily for all the people that gathered in the hallway, the witcher just stepped out of the room. 'You !', she yelled, as she bolted towards him. 'What is the meaning of this !?', she said while turning her head, looking inside the room. 'Oh ! It's not just one, but, four dead men in my brothel...'. She took a deep breath, then lifted her head looking the witcher straight in the eyes. 'What the fuck happened here ?!', she asked, entering the room. Which was trashed, bit's of glass near the windows, the walls barely recognizable from all the blood that was spilled on them, a hole in one, where beneath it laid the corpse of a man, and worst of all, was that smell, which she thought would never leave the room, no matter how much one would clean, scrub and wash.
'They had a contract on me...', said Gerd, standing behind the madam.
She exhaled then scoffed. 'I...', she whispered, turning. 'I'll fucking kill you !', trying to punch Gerd in the jaw, who caught her arm right before she would make contact. Out of fear she would hurt her hand, or worse, break it. 'Let go of my arm !', she said, while unnoticed by Gerd, she struck him with her left foot right in between the jewels.
'Oh !', whispered Helena, making a wry face, standing beyond the door jamb.
The witcher's face didn't change but he did move a bit to his right, placing one hand on the wall, swallowing, while the madam, went after, and stopped in front of him, smiling.
'How are they to blame...', Gerd said.
'They're not. I just wanted to hurt you a bit...'.
'Mhm...'.
'I'll make it up to you, later.', she said, placing her right hand on his crotch. 'For now, you and I have some unfinished business...', she continued, kissing his chin.
'We do ?'.
'Yes, we do. Now, stop whining and clean this up. Then, when your finished come downstairs.'.
She was a piece of work, beautiful, even though she was almost in her forties. She was a successful business-woman, who made this old abandoned home into one that could easily be said is among the most successful brothels in Novigrad. Made with a bit of help from the man himself, Zedt Verner, who used her and other courtesans as spies, for many years.
Gerd, met her some time ago, when she was still in her twenties, and worked at the Passiflora, while doing a contract on a Higher Vampire, that liked to fornicate and then drain the victims of their blood. A contract that did not end well for Gerd, but he managed to make a deal with the vampire. Badly injured, he had stayed in Novigrad for a while, and Ingrid, looked after him, while developing a short relationship with her during his lengthy stay in the city.
Finally, when Gerd regained his full mobility, and after some chatter that could be noticed coming from below, two men belonging to the city's guard came up the stairs and one walked inside the room.
'Mornin'. I am Klaus von Rothnheim, captain of the city watch, There is my officer, Yuri Wollach.', said the guard that just entered the room.
'Gerd, witcher.'.
'Short and to the subject.', replied the captain. 'Alright then. What actually happened here ?'.
'A failed assassination attempt.', replied Gerd, pulling out a piece of paper that he found on one of the assassins within the room. The captain took the sheet of paper and glanced over it.
'Do you know who might want your head, master witcher ?', asked the guard giving the paper back to Gerd.
'Not at this moment, no.'.
'By any chance...Aren't you withholding information vital to this case ?'.
The officer, who until now stared at the corpse of the mage, entered the room his captain and the witcher were in. 'By the Holy Flames...', he whispered, pushing his helmet upwards, with his index finger.
'I do not. I guess you'll handle the bodies from here on out ?'.
'Yes.'.
'You'll take them to the morgue, right ?'.
'Yes.', responded the captain, once again.
'Is there anything else you'd want to know ?', asked the witcher.
'That's all. If there will be further questions, someone will be sent to pick you up.'.
'Farewell, then.', replied Gerd, getting out of the room, walking towards the stairs.
The buyer, was as described by Francess, to be a man, around his fifties, dark haired, sturdy, handsome, with a scarred left ear, and who had his right hand's middle finger missing. And, that he mentioned to another man, a Vasyl Schaltz, a scholar, before walking in his shop, a village, south-east of Novigrad, called Erde.
So, he planned to hear what the scholar had to say about the man, after which he'd ride to Erde, and see if he could find anything of use there.
'Hey !', said Ingrid, the madam, as soon as she saw him come down the stairs. 'You are lucky the guards showed up. So, where to ?'.
'The residence of a scholar, Vasyl Schaltz.'.
'I know that egotistic prick. He used to come here a while ago, and once asked for me to pose nude for one of his paintings...'.
'Huh, did you do it ?'.
'I wanted to, but he wanted me to do it gratis. Hah, he said the honor to be in the painting should be a reasonable price. I told him to shove that honorable painting up his arse, and show me some gold. I won't uncover all of this for honor. But, for the lack of it, and if I do, you better pay me some good coin.', she said laughing, then resumed. 'Anyway, do you know where he lives ?'.
'I do.'.
'Well, then don't forget to come back here after you finish. Alright ?'.
'Sure.'.
'See you soon, then.'.
'See you.'.
…
Vasyl Schaltz's residence was in Novigrad's northern district, in Gildorf, west of St. Gregory's Bridge. He was a well known and respected individual among Novigrad's social elite, for his research, scientific papers and for his renown little hobby, nude paintings. Which, he would gift or sell to noblemen, at their grand feasts and parties. The latest, entitled 'Principessa', sold at Borsodi's auction, for one thousand and sixty crowns.
The house itself was enough proof of his wealth, and greed...
As any men or women of his social renown, there was little chance Gerd would get to knock on his door without the Temple Guard getting in the way.
…
And as expected...
Halt !', said a man, belonging to the Temple Guard, extending his arm, as Gerd approached the door of the scholar's house. 'State your business !'.
'I want to talk with the owner.'.
'That can't possibly happen-'.
The door of Vasyl Shaltz's home opened before the guard could even finish his sentence, and a woman leaved the house. 'Have a nice day, my dear.', said the host, following closely behind her.
'Ah, the witcher about whom rumors say has an important contract in the city. Please, do come in.', he said. 'But, where are my manners. Vasyl Schaltz. Scholar, painter, and philosopher.'.
'Gerd. Witcher.'.
Then he entered the home of the scholar. Who's hallway and rooms were crowded with immense book shelves, maps and paintings from the entrance all the way to the chamber he took the witcher in. His home was filled with his work, most of it finished and some not. From murals to landscapes to portraits and then finally to those that presented nudity in such a natural way you couldn't peel your eyes off them. Showing wonderfully, the well crafted work of the painter, from who's eyes seemed to escaped no small detail. Adding life to the painting with each slight touch of his brush.
While the painter, dressed in his typical black Nilfgaardian, day to day clothes, that combined perfectly with his dark hair, and put in evidence his bright blue eyes seemed to deviate a bit from the image the witcher had in mind. But, as most of the people with a high status, he had theatricality as another lesser known hobby.
Kissing one cheek while slapping the other...
'If I may, what is the reason for this visit of yours to my humble home ?', asked the scholar, sitting down, near an unfinished canvas.
'Have you by any chance helped a man to find the shop of a herbalist recently ?'.
'Odd inquiry. But, I did. Why ?'.
'Did you manage to catch the name of that man ?'.
'He didn't speak much. But, I think his name was Reginald, sadly I don't believe he did mention anything about his surname. Though, I did hear him say that he was from a small village east of here, Erde...And that's pretty much what he told me on our way to the herbalist.'.
'Nothing else ?'.
'Not a thing. I spoke the most, if I remember it correctly.'.
'About ?'.
'The greatness of this magnificent city, of course. It's Architecture, and it's northern influences, mostly...Then, for some reason the discussion took a turn towards the most unhospitable areas of Novigrad that induce social anxiety to the people that reside there and how it affects their day to day activities. After which I slipped again, towards...'. He kept mumbling word after word, making Gerd to lose interest in whatever the scholar was so passionately talking about, tuning him out, as he began to admire a painting presenting the image of a naked, red-headed, blue-eyed woman, whose red locks of hair resembled a fierce roaring fire, while the look her blue eyes gave seemed to defy the thunder itself. Her gorgeous breasts, and delicious thin waist seemed to invite one's wondering eyes to explore every single line and beauty spots of her lower areas. At the same time revealing to the admirer a fact or conclusion, that the scene presented within the painting was contradicting itself, leaving once again the mind of the viewer to imagine himself\herself spending a mere night with such a woman and how would it turn out.
Thus, after analyzing every line of the painting, he resumed his attention towards the scholar.
A waste of time. Erde it is then...
So, he thanked the scholar for letting him enter his home and ask his questions, then stepped out of his residence. Heading towards the stables near the Tretogor Gate, from where he'd ride all the way to Erde. Where he hoped to find the buyer or at least something of use, preferably, the man's whereabouts...