Geralt came in sight of Mariboe a little before noon. He could stop here a day or two if he pleased. A highwayman had ridden up behind him two weeks before, put a blade at his back, and demanded that Geralt hand over his money or his life. The result of this had been Geralt gaining a meager coin purse, and a cheap sword to sell.
Roach pulled up sharply in front of the ford.
"Come on, you've done this ford before." She didn't move. "It's not even in spate." He touched his heels to her. "Come on." She laid her ears back. "Roach, get on." He smacked her across the quarters with one hand. She jumped forwards, landed in the middle of the river, then plunged forwards, ears still pinned back. She bucked a little as she cleared the water, pushing her head high as though she was about to bolt. Geralt let his breath go and looked around. "What was that about then, you silly girl?" The problem with horses was that they saw everything. Sometimes, particularly by night, Roach would shy before he saw something coming, but it was nearly noon. There was nothing. All Geralt could hear close to was rushing water and birdsong, the noise of the town was further away. The river smelled as he would have expected a river shortly downstream of a town to smell. He got off his horse. "Now, don't be a twit." He started to lead her up the hill towards town.
It troubled him, though. Roach was not usually a flighty horse. He'd put dead monsters on her back, that would make most beasts buck. For all he tried to keep her out of danger, he had fought a Devourer from her back once. She'd squealed and shaken, but she hadn't bolted. He'd expected her to.
If there was anything to it, he'd be told soon enough. Maybe it had just been the glare of the sun on the water in her eyes.
He felt people staring at him before he reached the first buildings. It didn't take long to turn to whispering behind hands, then pointing. He ignored them. If someone wanted to speak to him, they could speak to him. But Jaskier had been through here. That tended to make people stare at him.
Geralt hitched Roach to a post outside the inn, Six White Horses, and went for the door. Even before he opened it, he could hear somebody singing inside. As he stepped inside the nearly empty bar, he recognised the voice.
"Some like a girl who is pretty in the face,"
Geralt ignored him, and walked up to the bar.
"Others like a girl who is slender in the waist,"
"Stabling for a mare, food and a bed for a man."
"But I like a girl who will wrig- Geralt of Rivia!" The lute stopped and Geralt heard running footsteps from the corner of the bar.
"You heard our call then, Witcher." The barman said.
"Honestly, no."
"It's destiny, then. You were meant to help us."
Jaskier clapped Geralt on the shoulder. "Reeve wants to see you, Geralt. Something's eating people."
Geralt looked back at the barman. "Hold the food then," He pulled out a small handful of coin and set it on the bar- "but see to the mare." – and turned to follow Jaskier out.
"How long are you staying?"
"Depends what's eating people. Who blacked your eye?"
"A very rude woman." Geralt smirked.
.
Jaskier opened the door and left it for Geralt. He swung his lute around to his front and drew a breath.
"Toss a coin to your Witcher," Geralt sighed heavily. Jaskier ignored him.
"O valley of plenty, O valley of plenty, O
Toss a coin to your Witcher,
I told you he'd come!"
People were watching them. That made Jaskier happy. It was a portent of a very good night, assuming Geralt did his part. Which he would. He was Geralt of Rivia, legendary hero.
It only took about four repeats of the chorus to get to the Reeve's house, the only three-story building in this village, and with more stone than anyone else's. Geralt thumped twice on the door. Jaskier stopped singing. The door opened.
"Geralt of Rivia." Now that was a pretty face. A young girl, fair hair in plaits, unmarked skin, and eyes the colour of the midday sky. She curtseyed. "The White Wolf." She looked awestruck. If Geralt wanted to get under her skirts, all he'd need to do, probably, was kiss her hand and tell her she was pretty. The world was so unfair sometimes.
"The Reeve?" Geralt asked. Really, he had no grace.
"My father." Of course. Best looking girl he'd seen in this place so far had a powerful father. "Come in, he bade me make you welcome."
The Reeve's house showed his status in every detail. It was probably the only place in town that might consider hiring a musician for a private gig, but probably even this place wasn't rich enough. Bar tips then. Oh well. Geralt ought to be a good draw.
"May I ask your name, pretty one?"
She blushed a little and dipped her head. "Zofia. And you are Jaskier, The White Wolf's herald. Please, sit, both of you." She gestured to a long table. Geralt shot Jaskier a questioning look. "My father will not be long."
Zofia scampered out by another door.
"I didn't call myself that." Jaskier said as they sat down. "That just happened." Geralt didn't reply. The man was very hard to have conversations with sometimes.
After a moment, Zofia came back with two mugs of something. Jaskier kept his eyes on her as she leant forward to set the mugs on the table, and was rewarded. "Thank you kindly, Zofia." She blushed again. Geralt grunted in acknowledgement and took a mouthful of whatever was in the mugs as Zofia retreated, shutting the door behind herself. That would take work.
"Small beer." Geralt said, eyeing the mug.
"Well, if they're hiring you to kill something, they don't want you drunk, do they?"
Geralt grunted in assent and took another mouthful. Jaskier considered himself something of an expert at interpreting Geralt's grunts.
"So what do you think it is?"
"All you've told me is that something's eating people."
"And that's too vague?"
Geralt nodded. "Anything from a bear to an Ekimmara."
"What's an Ekimmara?"
"Lower vampire."
"Don't vampires just… bleed people rather than eating them?"
Geralt gave an odd half-laugh. "Only in songs. Most lower vampires don't leave their meals looking much like humans."
That wasn't a pleasant thought. "Right."
Another door opened. A man stood there. Jaskier stood up. Geralt didn't, of course.
"Geralt of Rivia, thank you for hearing our call." Jaskier supposed he would have to get used to being ignored in Geralt's presence. The man was older than Jaskier had guessed, probably nearing his seventh decade, and much wider than he had been in his youth. He was balding, and he gave Jaskier cause to wonder where that girl had got her good looks from. It seemed to take the Reeve a second to realize that Geralt wasn't going to reply. "My name is Alesky of Mariboe, we need your help." He sat down. Geralt still didn't answer. "Seven have died now, and traders fear to cross the water." Geralt tilted his head. The Reeve seemed to have run out of things to say.
"So tell me about the killings." Geralt said, without a shred of sympathy, or enthusiasm. Jaskier thought he'd better not get his book out and write details down.
The Reeve drew a breath slowly. "It started about a month ago; two girls about Zofia's age went down to the river to bathe and never came back. Then a herd boy about a week later, went to water his pigs, the pigs came back in a frenzy, the boy we never found."
"Any pigs taken?"
"Three. We found one of their carcasses, gutted."
"What were its injuries?"
The Reeve blinked at Geralt. "It was gutted, Witcher." Geralt grunted softly and took another draft of beer, still looking at the Reeve. "Then two in one night, a farmer called Jacek, he was seen leaving the inn going towards the river, then never since, and Minka, the baker's wife." Star-crossed lovers, Jaskier decided. Never mind that Minka had been another man's wife. A lonely widow looking to find love again would be better. "A trade caravan found her hand, with her ring on it, by the ford. After that people started avoiding the river, but a gypsy's boots washed up in the ford the night after he left town, with his feet still in them, and a young lad being chased away from some misdemeanor or other jumped in to the water. The two chasing him saw thrashing and the water being churned up, the lad never came up for air." Geralt sat back. "We are, of course, willing to pay you handsomely, Witcher, how much-"
"Give me today to work out what it is, I'll come back at sundown to discuss payment."
Geralt stood up and walked out – the man really had no grace. Jaskier got to his feet, clasped his hands together, thanked the Reeve warmly for the beer, even if it was small beer, and trotted out after Geralt.
"So what do you think it is?"
"Don't know. Could be a young Glustyworp, young Amphisbaena, never seen one in a river though, a pack of Drowners that are getting brave, Ilyocori…" He tailed off. He was walking back towards the inn, rather than straight for the river.
"So you think it's in the river then?"
"Makes sense."
Geralt did turn in to the yard of the inn, he seemed to be looking for his horse. He stopped, leaning over a stable door.
"Come on Roach, up you get." Jaskier heard the animal move. "Sorry I didn't believe you."
I notice that this story has followers, but no reviews.
Reviews are, for me, a good incentive to publish faster. All of this fic is written, I just need to bother to spend 15 minutes dealing with the interface to get chapters up.