That house at the top of the rock
"Blundering blistering bluebottle! What have we here, a pair of stranded love-birds? Hands up, landlubbers!"
"One false move and you're dead as the doldrums!"
Yennefer starts from her sleep just to look a long and sharply pointed harpoon in the eye that is trained on the very centre of her breastbone. Fuck! She blinks blearily and the person holding the deadly object comes clearer into focus. An astonishingly short person in a bulky oilskin cape. A dwarf? No, not a dwarf as there is no beard, and female dwarves have beards, too, don't they? Although it is difficult to tell from the clothes and black rain hat that are the typical attire of a fisherman, her plump and decidedly female build as well as her alto voice give her away. However, the fact that the harpooneer is a woman, and a very short one to boot, not much taller than a ten-year-old, does not make her and her weapon look less threatening, not in the least. A halfling perhaps? They are known to be peaceful and calm rustic folk but, when need arises, show exceptional agility, incredible speed and a talent at throwing all sorts of missiles unerringly. As harpoons are certainly firmly logged in the missiles category, they better be extremely cautious. Allegedly, various thugs have drawn their last breath because they underestimated a halfling.
The sorceress slowly lifts her hands over her head not daring to look away from the woman and her weapon, not even to steal a quick sideways glance at her companion. He won't try anything stupid, will he? She does not need to worry, though. The faint clinking noise of chains tells her that Cahir is also complying with the woman's clear order, probably facing a similar threat to his life as the witch.
"My, my, jail-birds more like! Which clink did you two bust out of? Accommodations not to your liking?"
"And now you're off to steal our vessel!"
Slowly and cautiously Yennefer turns her head toward the second, equally short and chubby, similarly dressed, but indisputably male speaker who is sporting a pair of impressive, curly, slightly greying muttonchops. The tip of his sturdy double-flue harpoon is resting against the Nilfgaardian's throat in such a way that he can barely breath or swallow without the danger of drawing blood, let alone answer the fisherwoman's questions. Which might not be a bad thing as thus he cannot say anything rash that might enrage the obviously outraged owners of the boat even more.
"Please, we never meant to steal anything. We just needed a place to rest for a while," Yennefer starts to explain, making an effort to sound genuinely contrite and inoffensive. "We are very sorry to have inconvenienced you. It will never happen again. We'll be on our way promptly." She slowly begins to rise.
"Stay down, missy, or I'll stick you like a porpoise!" the plump fisherwoman warns, her words accompanied by a quick thrusting motion with her harpoon that brings its pointed tip so close to Yennefer's bosom that she has to shrink back to avoid being grazed. "Everything on our boat is our property and we do with it as we please. Including trespassing, thieving vagabonds. There's sure to be a nice bounty on your heads, I wager."
"A little extra coin wouldn't go amiss," the bearded man, presumably her husband, agrees, his brow furrowed. "There seems to be less cod, mackerel, swordfish, even herring every year."
"Or we could use them for bait." A third, even shorter albeit much younger person in disproportionally large boots is clattering down the ladder into the hold. "That giant kraken's still out there attacking peaceful fishermen. And you know it won't take anything but human meat."
"That's my daughter, as crafty as a fox!" The older woman smiles at her delightedly, dimples forming on her weather-beaten face. "A kraken hunt! Brilliant! We'll have to talk to the Queen, though."
A sly grin creeps over her husband's face as he nods in confirmation while not taking his eyes nor his weapon off the much taller Nilfgaardian who does not seem to be amused by the girl's idea at all, quite on the contrary. He looks alarmed and terrified, not much less so than when his head was on the executioner's block. Well, having a harpoon almost pierce your throat as well as the dismal prospect of ending up as feed for a monstrous cephalopod with not a chance in hell of fighting your way out of it, at least not at the moment, might do that to the bravest of soldiers, Yennefer surmises. An easy conjecture as she does not feel any more confident or less anxious herself. However, after everything the both of them have gone through in the aftermath of that blasted Battle of Sodden Hill, the entire situation is so ridiculous, the Nilfgaardian commander general and the hero of said battle captured and threatened to be sacrificed to a man-eating kraken by three mere midgets, that she is close to bursting into laughter. Or tears.
"Pimpinella, tie up our guests, then tell your brothers to set sail for the castle," the older woman orders. "Not a moment to be lost!"
"Aye-aye, captain!" Agilely the chubby girl grabs some hemp rope and, while her parents keep their harpoons firmly trained on their so-called guests, trusses them up with expert sailor's knots. Then she climbs up the ladder and disappears. Soon after, the crew hoist anchor and the boat starts to move, sluggishly at first, but then it gathers speed and propels its tightly bound and closely guarded 'guests' toward the unknown destiny awaiting them.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
It is not a long journey. Which is fortunate for the 'guests' as it is a rather uncomfortable and disconcerting one. In spite of still being weary to the bone, neither Cahir nor Yennefer manage to rest for even a second. Nor can they discuss their dire situation as either the captain or her husband are keeping their eyes as well as their ears glued to their unusual catch at all times. No chance to hatch an escape plan, to plot a strategy on how to deal with this mysterious queen who seems to be the very person to decide their fate, not even the possibility of spinning a believable backstory about who they are and why they ended up on the boat. Of course, Yennefer knows that the queen referred to cannot possibly be a real queen as King Foltest of Temeria never married. Maybe some halfling thing that nobody outside their community knows about? A clan leader of sorts? Yennefer scowls at the thought of that woman, totally fed up with others making decisions about her life, her future - Tissaia, King Virfuril, the Brotherhood, Geralt, just to mention a few, and now this queen. And it's entirely their own fault this time. The Nilfgaardian's, hers ... Lost in dark brooding both captives keep silence, cursing themselves for having fallen so fast asleep that they did not hear their tiny captors coming until it was far too late. Now the fat's in the fire and they have to count the cost.
When the boat comes to a sudden halt, not much more than an hour can have passed. On her mother's orders Pimpinella, who has reappeared together with another halfling, probably one of her brothers, removes the ropes around Yennefer's and Cahir's feet and legs so that they are able to walk by themselves and, with astonishingly strong and nimble hands, together they half push, half drag their captives up the ladder where yet another halfling is waiting.
Judging from the position of the sun it is not even ten in the morning. No wonder the captured fugitives are still worn out, they have hardly had two hours of sleep after their long and near fatal nightly swim. At least it is not raining again and their hair and clothes are semi-dry by now. They look around. This is not a bustling harbour but a privately owned jetty with only one other boat tied to the pier. There is a nice little beach and then cliffs much like the ones on Thanedd. Maybe not quite as steep and forbidding, but it definitely does not look like anybody lives out here. Let alone a queen in a castle. There is not much time to wonder though, as their captors urge them off the boat, onto the wooden jetty and onwards toward the cliffs. Casting a quick glance back over her shoulder at the boat that, within less than two hours, has turned from welcome hideout into yet another prison cell, Yennefer sees the name written on its prow in bright turquoise letters.
The Blue Sea Cat.
It got them after all. Destiny must be killing itself laughing right now.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
"Where're you taking us?" the Nilfgaardian asks speaking up for the first time as they trudge along the beach, their hands bound behind their backs and their muscles stiff and unpleasantly sore from the night's strain, the fisherman with his harpoon walking right behind them.
"See that?" Smiling brightly, Pimpinella points at a spot high up on the cliff. "That's where we are going. It's where the Queen lives."
And indeed, precariously close to the cliff's edge there is a building, but nothing even remotely reminiscent of a castle or manor or anything an actual queen would willingly reside in. It looks like an ordinary one-story fisherman's or farmer's house, maybe a bit bigger than average, half-timbered with a thatched roof. Grey wisps of smoke are rising from one of the two high stone chimneys. Can't be much of a queen, then, Yennefer concludes, but does not say so aloud. Luckily, Cahir also refrains from any condescending remark that might be on the tip of his tongue as the girl is obviously quite fond, even proud of that mysterious lady. Angering one of their captors would certainly not be a good idea. Especially since their survival and future, or, let's face it, the absence of it, seems to depend on the decision this 'queen' would make.
This queen in that house at the top of the rock.