The Witcher 2.5: Between the Storms
Chapter 6: Triss – 6
A spicy aroma stirred Triss from her sleep. As she came awake, she automatically stretched her arms and legs under the covers to loosen up the ache in her muscles. She blinked her eyes several times before lifting her head to see Percival with his back to her near the table in her bedroom.
"That smells incredible," she said, causing the gnome to quickly turn.
"Well, well. Good morning, Sunshine. Welcome back to the land of the living. I hope the bed was to your liking."
"It must have been. I slept like a log."
She couldn't even recall having any of the nightmares that normally haunted her sleep.
"Indeed, you did. Would you like some tea? Don't worry. It's not malomile. I bought some Duke Green for you yesterday. I figure it's more to your liking. And, just in case you prefer it sweet, I was even able to procure some of this…"
At that point, he held up a small glass container of honey. Triss was about to protest that he shouldn't have gone to the trouble, but before she could even reply, he began talking again.
"It was difficult to come by, but there's a black market for such things, which can charge quite exorbitant prices, if you must know. It is a matter of supply and demand, after all. But that's neither here nor there. I have plenty of coin. In fact, I've got more customers than I know what to do with…"
While he continued to prattle on, Triss stretched again. She was still clearing the cobwebs from her mind so Percival's initial words didn't immediately register. But when they did, she raised up in bed and glanced at the closed curtains. She could see dim, ambient light sneaking into the room around the edges of the fabric.
"What time is it?" she asked, interrupting the gnome from his non-stop chattering.
"Just after sun-up."
"But you said that you bought the tea yesterday."
"That's right. You've been asleep for over thirty hours straight."
"Oh my gosh. I…I guess I really was exhausted."
"Indeed. And now you must be starving, so here you go. A hearty breakfast in bed."
He brought over a tray containing a cup of steaming tea, utensils, and a plate filled with scrambled eggs and diced kielbasa, potatoes, onions, and peppers. Triss sat up straight and leaned back against the wall so that he could place the tray in her lap.
"Percival, you really shouldn't -" She then shut her mouth, not bothering to finish her thought.
'Don't insult him. It's clearly pleases him to be a good host. So just be grateful.'
"Thank you. I appreciate your kindness."
"It's my pleasure. Now, eat up while it's still hot."
"Gladly. I'm ravenous."
For the next ten minutes, Triss scarfed down her breakfast while Percival and Field Marshal Windbag brought various items up to her room – including a water pitcher, a wash basin, a towel, a hair brush, and a vanity mirror. He placed them all in neat order atop the dresser. He chatted with his parrot the entire time, who'd answer back at random points. Afterwards, he hopped into the nearby chair, his feet dangling above the floor.
"What are your plans for the day?"
"Well, I've decided to stay in Novigrad for a while…"
"Wonderful!" he exclaimed.
"…so, I guess I need to find more permanent lodgings. I mean, I don't want to be a nuisance."
"Nonsense! I told you already, it's practically impossible to find rooms in the city right now. Besides, we'd love to have you for as long as you'd like to stay. Isn't that right, Windbag?"
"Pretty bird, pretty bird."
"See, even Windbag wants you to stay. That is, if you don't mind living with a squawking parrot and a fussy, old gnome."
"Are you serious?"
"Indeed. Just don't expect breakfast in bed every morning," he answered with a smile.
"That's an incredibly generous offer. Thank you. But I am going to pay you for room and board, and that's non-negotiable."
She was peering intently into his face to show that she truly meant it.
"Very well. How about…" he paused as he scratched his whiskered chin and looked up in thought. "…ten crowns a month? That sounds fair."
"Ten crowns? Percival, that's barely anything. I-"
"Well, that's the most I'm willing to take," he said, cutting her off. "And that's non-negotiable."
"Very well," she said with a smirk before finishing off her tea. "In that case, I better find a job."
He slapped his hands together, causing Windbag to squawk.
"Splendid! I could use another assistant. A non-cursing one. With your looks and charm, you'd be a dynamite saleswoman. There's not a man in this city who could say no to you."
Triss couldn't help but laugh.
"Percival, I've never sold anything in my life."
"It matters not. You'd be a natural. I can tell."
"Well, I thank you for the vote of confidence…and the job offer, but I am a healer so how about we leave the salesclerk position as a back-up plan for now? I'm hoping to find employment at the hospital here in town."
"Which one?"
Triss furrowed her brows. Shani had only mentioned one hospital when discussing her contact in Novigrad.
"I didn't know there were multiple."
"Aye. There are two in the city. Saint Anselm's Hospital is the nicer of the two, where the well-to-do go for treatment. It's located up on Temple Isle, near the Grand Temple."
"That name doesn't sound familiar."
"There's also Vilmerius Hospital in the Bits."
"That's the one. Vilmerius. A friend of mine knows the head doctor there."
Percival grimaced.
"What? What's wrong."
"Be wary. Even during the daytime, the Bits isn't the safest part of the city."
"Why is that?"
"It's the slums. Incredibly overcrowded, and crime is rampant there. The Temple guard rarely even patrol the area since it's controlled by two different gangs – the Cutups and the Blindeyes."
"Huh. Well, that's good to know. I'll be careful, but, honestly, it can't be any more dangerous than what I've faced in the past few months."
"Let's hope you're right."
Later that morning, Triss was walking the streets of Novigrad with a visible spring in her step. Being forced to survive in the middle of a war zone for so long had taken a serious toll on the sorceress in every aspect of her life. She hadn't realized just how worn down she'd become physically, mentally, and emotionally. But, now, for the first time in weeks – perhaps, even months - she was truly rested and well-fed, and that fact had improved her mood, as well. Not only that, but while she'd slept, the weather had turned for the better. There were no storm clouds hanging overhead, and she caught herself constantly peering upward, smiling at the sun shining brightly in a clear, blue sky. What's more – the temperature was finally above freezing. The thousands of icicles hanging from the eaves all over the city were slowly melting, their little drops of water splashing on the streets below.
She paused for a moment and glanced down at the paper in her hand. Earlier, Percival had sketched out a rudimentary map and some basic directions on how to find Vilmerius hospital. He'd offered to escort her, but she'd declined. He had his own business to run, and she hadn't wanted to take him away from that. Plus, she knew that sometimes the best way to learn the lay of the land was to simply roam around and get lost, finding various points of interest along the way.
Triss scanned her surroundings to get her bearings, making sure she was still on the right path. She knew for sure that she was in the Bits. The smell alone had clued her into that fact. For the gnome had been truthful about it being the slums. Unlike the pristine cobblestones of both the Gildorf district and Hierarch Square, its stone streets were covered in mud and animal feces – which made sense given the number of pigs, goats, and chickens that were loitering here and there. She didn't see any pens anywhere so she assumed that the animals' owners brought them indoors during the nighttime hours. She had no doubt that if the creatures were ever left unattended, they'd be stolen in a blink of the eye.
As she continued to gaze about, she noticed that most of the buildings were run down. Foundations were cracked, walls needed a fresh coat of paint, and many windows were broken and had simply been boarded up. And, to Triss' eye, the inhabitants appeared more or less the same. She saw homeless men sleeping in alleyways. The children wore shabby, stitched-up clothing. She couldn't see a speck of make-up on any of the weary-looking women who were out on their doorsteps, hand-washing large piles of soiled clothing in wooden buckets. Everyone looked dirty and tired, and Triss' heart went out to them. For, now and only now – after living a hard-scrabble existence in war-torn Vizima - could she finally relate.
The sorceress was reminded again of just how spoiled she'd been throughout her life. She'd grown up in the royal palace of Maribor, spent her teenage years at the luxurious school of magic at Aretuza, and then lived almost all of her adult years as a member of Foltest's court in Vizima. She had become accustomed to elegant balls; dressing in the latest fashions; feasting on gourmet meals with silver cutlery, and drinking expensive, Toussaint wine from crystal goblets. Looking around at the run-down neighborhood, she doubted that there was a single garment of silk or satin in the entire district.
'But that's fine. It doesn't make them any lesser than you.'
Her father had always taught her that everyone, regardless of status, inherently possessed equal dignity and worth, and throughout her life, if anyone would have asked her, she would have said the same. But she saw now that, deep down, she hadn't truly believed it. She had too often thought she was better than others, carrying herself with the typical haughtiness of a sorceress, and it shamed her. It had only been in the last few months – when all of her privilege, position, and wealth had been stripped away from her – that she had finally learned the truth and wisdom in her father's teaching.
'Everyone matters,' she could still remember him saying. 'Everyone matters.'
With that thought, she nodded her head and continued on her journey. Eventually, she came upon The Nowhere Inn, which Percival had marked on her make-shift map. When she glanced across the road to see Marabella's School for Tots, she knew she was close. She walked around the corner to see the three-story tall Vilmerius hospital, situated just a stone's throw from the high, outer wall of the city. She guessed that it had only taken her about a half an hour to walk there from Percival's home.
Triss headed for the front door, and when she stepped inside, she was immediately reminded of the hospital in Vizima, but not because the two buildings looked alike. It was the smell – an astringent odor of disinfectants and alchemical potions battling the stench of excrement, disease and death. She figured that all hospitals in the world must smell the same.
She was standing in a large room filled with several rows of chairs, and each one was occupied by a sniffling or coughing patient. On the far side of the room was a desk, but no one was sitting behind it at the moment. To Triss' left, in one corner stood a life-sized statue of Melitele. Or, at least, a statue of one of her forms – the beautiful, young Maiden. At the foot of the statue was a pewter bowl for alms, and there were desiccated flower petals and numerous, lit candles placed haphazardly around it. Triss recognized the small altar not because she was a follower of the goddess but, rather, because she'd seen one very similar to it every day for the past few months. St. Lebioda's hospital had been a former temple to Melitele, and it still possessed an altar in what had once been the main area of worship. But the statue in Vizima had been much larger and represented all three of the Melitele's forms – the Maiden, the pregnant Mother, and the wise Crone.
"Good morning. I'm Sister Jasia. May I help you?"
Triss was suddenly pulled out of her memories to see a nurse approaching. The middle-aged woman had steaks of gray in her dark hair and was wearing the habit of a Melitelen priestess.
"Good day, Sister. I'm here to see Dr. von Gratz."
"Of course, what are your symptoms, please?"
Triss shook her head.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't clear. I'm not ill. I'm here on a personal matter."
"Oh, in that case…" The priestess motioned a hand towards the waiting room. "As you can see, we're quite busy, but perhaps I can squeeze you in after the next patient."
Triss didn't immediately answer. Instead, she simply glanced around the room at all the infirmed. It was mostly mothers with their young children. They were a weary and pitiable lot. The sorceress shook her head and looked back at Sister Jasia.
"No. I can wait my turn. These folk need to see him more urgently than I do. Thank you, though."
"Very well. You do realize that it may be a couple of hours."
"I understand. I'll wait."
The priestess gave a short nod of her head and was just about to turn away, when Triss suddenly called out to her.
"Sister Jasia? I've changed my mind. I'm actually a healer, looking for a job. And it looks like you could really use the help. So, maybe the sooner I can speak with the doctor, the better."
"Of course. Have a seat and I'll call you in a few minutes. Can I get your name please?"
Triss hesitated for a moment. She remembered what Percival had told her about the dangers of being a magic-user in Novigrad.
"Just…tell him my name is Mary. And that I'm a friend of Shani Laska."
"Shani Laska. Got it," she said with a smile before leaving.
Triss found a seat in the corner next to a mother with a squirming, sniffling young boy. She greeted the pair and then searched through her satchel to see if she happened to have a spare healing potion but came up empty. It wasn't long after that Sister Jasia returned.
"Mary, the doctor will see you."
Triss knew that many in the waiting room were probably glaring daggers at her for 'cutting the line' so she didn't even bother looking around. She simply followed Sister Jasia down a hall to an open door.
"Right in here," the priestess said as she motioned toward the room. As soon as Triss entered, Jasia shut the door behind her.
The head doctor was in his office, sitting behind a large desk cluttered with open ledgers and parchments. He was furiously scribbling notes in one of the ledgers. Von Gratz was an older man with a receding hairline and a graying mustache and mutton-chop sideburns. He glanced up and said, "Have a seat. I'll be right with you." He didn't bother to wait for a response before resuming his task at hand.
Triss sat in one of the two chairs facing the desk and then took the opportunity to scan the room. It was clear that it was the doctor's private office and not a suite for patients. There were several tall bookshelves along the walls, all filled with thick medical textbooks.
A moment later, von Gratz put his pen down and looked Triss in the eyes.
"Sister Jasia said you're here for a job. Mary, is it?"
"Yes and no. I am here for a job, but my name's not Mary."
Upon hearing that, he peered hard at Triss, suspicion etched across his face.
"Then, what is it?"
"I apologize for the subterfuge, but…I'm Triss Merigold."
The doctor cocked an eyebrow at that news. It was clear he recognized her name.
"I guess I can understand not wanting your name announced in a room full of Northerners. I've heard all kinds of rumors about you in the past six months. Conflicting rumors, but most not very flattering. You said that you're a friend of Shani Laska. Or was that subterfuge, as well?"
"No, that part was truth. I've got a letter of introduction from her right here."
She leaned forward and handed him a sealed parchment. She waited and watched his face while he read Shani's note, but it betrayed nothing. Eventually, he finished and placed the missive on the desk in front of him. He slowly rubbed his hand down his mustache and chin before speaking. To Triss' eyes, he looked haggard.
"I trust Shani completely. She's one of the best healers I've ever trained. And she's one of the most honorable souls I've ever known. And she vouches for you. So, it appears I can disregard most of those rumors." He pointed at the letter. "What's more, according to her, you're exceptionally talented in the area of medicine. I could definitely use you here, but, truthfully, you'd be better off going to St. Anselm's hospital."
That certainly wasn't the reaction she'd expected.
"And why is that? You just said that you could use me."
He sighed deeply and again ran a hand down his cheeks.
"Oh, I could use you. I can definitely use you, but the problem is that I can't pay you. Not what your worth anyway. I'm barely keeping this place solvent as is."
"How can that be? It looked like you had plenty of patients down stairs."
He let out a mirthless laugh.
"Sure, we have plenty of patients. But few who can pay. But we treat them anyway, just like Mother Vilmerius would want."
"Mother Vilmerius?"
"One of Melitele's most devoted disciples and the founder of this hospital. Along with a soup kitchen and an orphanage. She had a heart for the poor. Wanting to serve them without charging them."
"That sounds honorable."
"Oh, it is. But honor doesn't pay the bills. Unlike St. Anselm's, which is private and charges customers for their medical services, we run strictly on donations. We were doing well until a few months ago. But, now, with so many refugees flooding the city and with the awful winter we just had, I barely have enough money to stay stocked in basic medical supplies. Bandages. Simple healing potions. Bottom line is – there's no way I can pay you what you're worth."
There were several long seconds of silence in the office as Triss considered everything the doctor had just told her. She had no doubt that she could find employment at St. Anselm's hospital, for she was quite confident in her skills. But is that what she really wanted? She heard her father's voice again.
'Everyone matters.'
"Well, I appreciate your honesty, Doctor von Gratz, but why don't you let me decide if you can pay me what I'm worth?"
"Fair enough. So, just what kind of salary are you expecting?"
He was already shaking his head, as if he knew it was a waste of time.
Triss thought of her conversation with Percival earlier that morning, and she couldn't keep a small smile from coming to her lips.
"I won't take anything less than…ten crowns a month."
Von Gratz didn't immediately speak. He just stared at her with furrowed brows.
"You're serious?" he finally asked.
"Very."
A smile matching Triss' creased the surgeon's face. He stood and put out his hand.
"Then, welcome aboard. When can you start?"
"How about right now?"
oOo
"Here you are, Count Bronski," said Triss, handing a thin, wooden box to an aged gentleman with waxed mustaches and wearing a fur-lined cape. "I have no doubt your wife will be quite pleased."
"Thank you, my dear," he replied with a bow. "I am sure she will. But no more than I have been with your delightful service."
After the nobleman left, Triss reached into her pocket for a cracker and then fed it to Field Marshal Windbag who was sitting on her shoulder. After he gobbled it down, she said, "Perch, Windbag."
The parrot flapped its wings and landed on the perch that was situated to one side of Percival's jewelry store. Triss glanced at the gnome who was standing in the doorway of his workshop, his arms folded across his chest. He was nodding his head and had a smug look on his face.
"What are smiling about?" she asked.
"I told you. You're a natural salesman. No one can say no to you."
Triss rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile.
"Oh, please. He's a repeat customer and came here with the intention of buying something."
Percival let out a gleeful laugh.
"True, but only a ruby necklace for the countess. But he walked out with a matching bracelet and earrings to boot. All because of your charm."
After a week of working at Vilmerius hospital, Triss had been given the day off. Even though von Gratz said that he was short-staffed, he still insisted that staff members take at least one day off per week.
"Everyone must rest periodically, in order to renew the body and spirit," he'd told her. "If you wear yourself out, then you'll be no good to me or the patients."
Thus, that morning, with nothing else to do, she'd offered to help Percival down in his jewelry shop. The little gnome had been overjoyed and had immediately set about showing Triss the ins-and-outs of the front showroom. And the sorceress had been thrilled as he'd displayed his different pieces. She'd freely admit to loving beautiful jewelry, and it was clear that Percival was a true master craftsman. 'No, he's more than that,' she'd thought to herself. 'He's an absolute artist.' He'd beamed when she'd shared her thoughts.
"I didn't charm him," argued Triss. "I just showed him some pieces that I like. That I thought would go well with the necklace. I was just being helpful."
"You underestimate yourself, my dear. Your charm can be quite persuasive."
Triss wasn't quite so sure. Because, in her mind, she'd always equated persuasion with leadership. Philippa Eilhart was persuasive. Foltest had been persuasive. Natalis, too. For good or bad, others looked up to them. It's why they led councils, kingdoms, and armies. They could inspire and exhort their underlings to face down insurmountable odds. But, her? No, she'd never been a leader. Ever. She'd always been one to follow, going all the way back to Maribor when she'd wanted so desperately to tag along with her older sisters. Even when she'd been a member of Foltest's council, she'd never considered herself a leader. Yes, she'd given her advice to the king on countless occasions, but ultimately Foltest always did exactly what he wanted, regardless of what anyone else thought.
"You really think so?" she asked.
"I never lie," he answered with a wink and a smile. "And now, you and I have business to settle." He walked over to the coin box and started counting the money inside. "Let's see. Uh huh. Multiply by three…carry the one…and here you are, my dear," he finally stated, offering Triss a handful of coins.
"What's that supposed to be?"
"Your commission on your sale."
"What? We didn't agree to that."
"Maybe not, but it's standard for all of my salesclerks to receive a commission," he said with a big grin. "Even Windbag gets his share. He just prefers crackers instead of coin."
"Percival, you've already given me so much. I can't -"
"Just take it, please. It'd make me happy. Okay?"
"Very well. Thank you, Percival."
"It's truly my pleasure, my dear."
Triss smiled and nodded towards the coins in hand.
"This now means I can treat you to lunch."
And a few hours later – after making a couple of more sales - she did just that. They shut down the store, and Percival took Triss over to the harbor to one of his favorite eateries.
"It's not much to look at, and you have to eat outdoors," he'd warned her on their way. "But it's the best clam chowder you've ever tasted."
"The best? That's a bold statement, Percival."
"Just wait and see."
He'd been true to his word. The 'restaurant' turned out to be nothing more than a wooden shack built along the docks. It looked so old that Triss thought the next strong gust would knock it down, and the sign on the front was so faded from the wind and salt-air that the name was indecipherable. Percival said that most everyone simply called it 'The Shack.' Near the small building were a couple of long tables and benches, which at the moment were completely filled with patrons gulping down their midday meals.
Triss paid the old woman at the counter, and after receiving two steaming bowls of chowder, she handed one to Percival.
"Let's walk down the pier a bit," he said.
The two of them strolled north, and eventually the gnome found a place to his liking – away from the hustle and bustle of the docks. They took a seat on the edge of the pier and then dug into their lunch.
"Oh…my…" Triss moaned in between bites. "You weren't kidding. This is fantastic."
The clams were fresh and tender, and the chowder was thick, creamy, and seasoned to perfection.
"Only the finest dining for my top salesman."
Triss laughed at his joke, but there was very little conversation after that. Her focus was on the food in front of her. Afterwards, they sat in silence for a few moments, simply content with the warmth in their stomachs and staring out past the harbor towards the Great Sea beyond. There was a slight, cool breeze coming off the water, but her peasants' cloak and the bright sun on her face were keeping her comfortable. Above the sound of the waves lapping against the shoreline, she could hear the cawing of seagulls high overhead and the clang of a bell off in the distance.
"This is probably my favorite place in all of Novigrad," Percival finally said. She turned to look at him, but he was still gazing forward, his eyes scanning the sea.
"Why is that?"
"I enjoy staring at the horizon. I always wonder what's out there, beyond the setting sun. What other lands and peoples there might be. It's so full of…dangers, to be sure, but hope and promise, as well. It's so unlike the mountains where I grew up."
"Mahakam?"
"Mm-hmm. Don't misunderstand – Mahakam has its own type of beauty and majesty, but…" he paused, obviously trying to collect his thoughts. "…the Great Sea isn't weighed down by all the negative memories and emotions like the massif is. When I think of home, I just…I just feel something akin to a heavy blanket of oppression coming down upon me."
"Are you talking about Koglan's Bluff?"
Triss didn't think that he'd mind her asking. In the past week, during their morning and evening meals together, the two roommates had opened up quite a bit with one another about their lives. He'd even told her the full story with regards to Koglan's Bluff, which was the name of the small mining town where he'd fallen in love with a young dwarf, Fiona. They'd started out as friends, but she had turned into his first love. Unfortunately, Fiona had been a married dwarf, as well. Her husband was a real whoreson who roughed her up when he drank too much – which was a very common occurrence on those days that he was home from the mines. But in dwarven society – with its myriad of archaic and oft-times nonsensical rules – his behavior didn't excuse their adultery. Percival was found guilty of breaking the Foredwarves' Codex and sentenced to a severe punishment. However, the night before he was to be stuffed into a barrel and tossed down the nearest gorge, Zoltan had broken him out of the local jail. The two friends had fled under the cover of darkness, and while Zoltan, in the years following, had been back to the dwarven realm on many occasions, Percival had never returned.
"Yes and no," the gnome answered. "What happened at Koglan's Bluff was just a microcosm of the entire Mahakam society."
"How so?
At that point, Percival finally broke his gaze from the sea and peered at Triss. The twinkle in his eye and the smile that he normally wore were both gone. She'd never seen him look so sad.
"Did you know that we gnomes were the first species on this Continent? We were here even before the dwarves and elves. Certainly, before you humans."
Triss nodded. "I remember reading that somewhere."
"But while we may have been the first, we weren't the strongest. We've never been a warrior race. So, we were constantly pushed off our lands. Eventually, the main remnant of us relocated in the Mahakam mountains. Thinking we'd be safest there, high up and away from everyone else. And free again to live in, well, freedom. And when I say 'we,' I mean my ancestors. I'm old, but not that old. But the dwarves were already there, and at that point, we had very little choice but to assimilate with them. We certainly couldn't fight them off. And there was really nowhere else for us to go.
"And for the most part, we and the dwarves got along well. They didn't persecute us. They welcomed us into their communities. However, over the centuries their society became increasingly strict. Their Dwarven Codex – which started out with just a few common-sense laws for helping everyone live in peace – grew into a tyrannical monster. To the point that, now, there are literally over a thousand rules in their Codex dealing with the smallest details of life."
"Like what?"
"Like what days you're allowed to cook certain foods."
"Really?" It sounded so insane that Triss had almost laughed.
"Really. But it's much worse than that. Dictating which foods you can eat is ultimately a trivial issue, but the Codex meddles in much weightier matters, as well. It restricted how much and what type of jewelry I could craft. It stipulates who you can marry, when you can marry, how many children you can have. Issues that the clans' leaders should have no say in whatsoever. But the Elder of the clans, Brouver Hoog, is an absolute legalist. Everyone has to live by the strictest letter of the law, which makes it an incredibly oppressive society. It's why so many young dwarves leave Mahakam every year and come down into the lowlands. They're desperately longing for freedom."
"That sounds awful."
"It is. Don't misunderstand. I don't believe that having zero laws is the answer. Otherwise, there'd be total anarchy. So, we need to have a few laws in place in order to protect our fundamental freedoms. But, as a general rule, the less that kings, elders, nobles, and councilmen interfere in my life, the better my life is."
Triss nodded. She wasn't sure that she completely agreed with Percival – for she thought that Foltest had enacted some beneficial laws for his subjects - but she could see his point of view.
"So, even if the incident at Koglan's Bluff – with Fiona – hadn't happened, you think that you still would have left?"
"Eventually. Creating is my passion. Working with metals and gemstones, crafting beautiful pieces of art…requires so much precision. It is so incredibly challenging and rewarding at the same time. And I love being able to share my creations with others. To see faces light up when a woman slips one of my rings on her finger or when a father puts one of my necklaces around his daughter's neck. Even if most humans look down on me with contempt or suspicion, they don't view my jewelry as such. So, sharing my creations is my way of bringing just a little bit of joy and light into this dark and ugly world." For the first time since he'd started the conversation, his smile and the twinkle in his eye had returned. "To be honest – and don't tell anyone this – but I'd give away my jewelry for free if I had to. I don't ultimately craft it for the coin."
"I've noticed that about you," said Triss with a smile. "Given what you're charging me for room and board, you clearly don't care much about money."
That made him laugh.
"Well, let's not turn me into Saint Percival, just yet. I enjoy the benefits of money as much as the next gnome. I just think there some things that are more important."
"Yeah. Like what?"
Percival looked into Triss' eyes and gave her a tentative smile.
"Like friendship?"
Triss' mind instantly flashed back through all the conversations that they'd shared over the past week. Not once had Percival mentioned any friends in Novigrad. Other than customers, no one had stopped by his business or residence just to chat, and as far as she knew, he hadn't visited any friends either. His constant exchanges with Field Marshal Windbag suddenly made much more sense to her. It saddened her to think that, most likely, his parrot was his only true friend in the city. She returned his smile and then reached over and placed her hand on top of his.
"Here's to friendship," she said, giving his tiny hand a gentle squeeze.
oOo
That night, as Triss was preparing for bed, she noticed her journal lying on the nearby table. It served as both a grimoire and a diary, and she realized that she hadn't added an entry for several months – not since before the Nilfgaardians had begun their siege of Vizima. So, instead of sliding under the covers, she placed her candle next to it and began jotting down all of the major events – both the good and the bad - that she'd experienced. When she was finished, she grabbed the back cover to close the journal, and that's when the pages fell open to a spot towards the back. She looked down, and her breath caught in her throat.
She slowly re-opened the book, resting it flat on the table. In front of her, lying between the pages was a violet-red rose - a gift from Geralt. He'd given it to her during their time in Flotsam, and she'd placed it in the back of her journal for safekeeping. Besides the Gwent deck, it may have been one of the only things that he'd ever given to her in their time together, and it was without a doubt the most meaningful. But she hadn't seen it or even thought about it in ages, for she had done her best to put him and everything associated with him out of her mind. Of course, her attempts hadn't truly worked, because the truth was that the witcher still crossed her mind every single day. Some scent or sight would make her think of him, and she'd immediately wonder where he was, if he was safe, if he'd found Yennefer, and if he ever still thought about her. However, those thoughts were always short-lived for she refused to dwell upon them. That was the only way she knew of keeping the pain of his absence from overwhelming her. But, now, here before her was the rose, and she couldn't help but linger on the memories.
Nearly six months ago, hidden deep in a forest within the Pontar Delta, she and Geralt had come across a beautiful, blooming rose bush growing in the ruins of an ancient and secluded Aen Seidhe bath. She had shared with him the legend surrounding the elven lovers, Eldan and Cymoril, and their roses of remembrance.
'Give a rose of remembrance to someone you love, and it will live forever,' she had told him.
Upon hearing that, he'd removed one of the flowers from the bush and handed it to her while peering deeply into her eyes.
"This one's for you," he'd said. "I want you to keep it. If there's any truth to the legend, then it shouldn't wilt."
She'd almost been brought to tears. For in all their time together, he'd never actually said the words, "I love you, Triss," but that gesture had made it absolutely clear how he'd felt about her. Later, they'd made love down in the elven bath. It was honestly the most romantic day of her life, and it was without a doubt her fondest memory of him.
But, now, as she looked at the rose, there was an incredible heaviness in her heart, and not just because she still missed him. It was more than that. The petals of the flower had dried out and wilted.
"I guess the legend wasn't true after all," she whispered to herself. "Either that or…"
But she couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. It saddened her too much to actually consider the second possibility. She slowly picked up the rose and brought it to her nose. She breathed in deeply, but it had lost its scent. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. No tears welled up, and no sob escaped her throat. While the pain was still present, it wasn't as debilitating as it had been in the beginning. Time and separation had finally done their job. Now, she just felt a dull ache in her core. The dull ache of acceptance.
'You'll probably never see him again. He's moved on, Triss. You should, too.'
She opened her eyes and once again looked at the rose in the flickering candlelight. She brought it to her lips and softly kissed the petals before placing it gently back in her journal.
"I'll always love you, Geralt," she whispered, as she tenderly brushed the edges of the flower with her fingertips. "But I've got to move on. I hope you understand."
And with that thought, Triss nodded her head and slowly closed the book. She extinguished the candle's flame, curled-up under the bedcovers, and hugged the pillow tightly to her chest, trying her best not to think of the white-haired witcher. She failed miserably.
oOo
"Can I ask you a personal question?" asked Triss.
The sorceress was standing across a counter from Bodo Fraggins, a halfling herbalist who owned a shop near Glory Lane. They'd been haggling for the past quarter hour.
"You're free to ask, lassie."
"Were you born with a silver spoon in your mouth?"
The halfling guffawed.
"Aye, I'm the crown prince of Ellander. Didn't you know?"
Triss smiled but continued staring earnestly into his eyes.
"It was a serious question."
"Nay, lassie. No silver spoon. More like shite on a stick. I grew up on Gutter Row, in Tretogor. Makes the Bits look like Radovid's palace. I had to scrape and claw to make my way out of there. To build this business I have now."
Triss nodded.
"That's commendable. Truly. So, then, that means you know first-hand what the lives of those in the Bits are like."
Bodo pursed his lips for a moment. "Aye, I know well."
"And when you were trying to make your way out of Gutter Row, was there ever a time when someone showed you grace? Gave you a hand-up, not because you deserved it in any way but simply out of kindness?"
This time he let out a long sigh. "Aye, Master Pip. My mentor in herbology. Why he took me on, I'll never know."
Triss didn't say anything to that. She simply cocked an eyebrow.
"Alright, alright! You made your point."
Triss smiled again.
"Look, we're not asking for you to donate the alchemical ingredients to us. We'll pay. You'll still profit. We're just hoping for a slight discount….in honor of Master Pip."
For the first time, Bodo smiled, and he had a twinkle in his eye.
"Oh, you're good, lassie. Very good."
He then reached under the counter and pulled out a dark, blue bottle and two drinking cups. He poured a shot of vodka into each.
"You've got a deal. So, let's seal it properly."
"Thank you, Master Fraggins," said Triss as she grabbed her drink. "You're truly making a difference." She then raised her cup. "To Master Pip?"
"Aye. To Master Pip."
Ten minutes later, with the deal finalized, Triss was on her way back to the Bits. In the past two weeks, since joining the staff at Vilmerius, one of the many tasks that von Gratz had assigned to her was to find herbalists and alchemists in the city who would be willing to supply the hospital with alchemical ingredients – preferably through donation, but if not, then at a greatly reduced cost. Her deal with Bodo marked the fourth one that she'd secured.
"Maybe Percival was right," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe I do have a small gift of persuasion, after all."
Of course, it helped that she was willing to pay for the goods and was not asking for an outright donation. But she was only able to pay because, earlier in the week, a substantial sum of coin had come into the hospital from a mysterious donor. Though, truth be told, Triss had a sneaky suspicion of just who was behind it. For it had arrived the day after she had explained to Percival during their nightly dinner about the financial dire straits that the hospital was experiencing.
When she'd asked him about it, he'd simply replied, "A donation, you say? How nice. And timely."
He hadn't said anything else, but she knew.
Triss glanced at the sky as she stepped out of the herbalist shop. The sun was setting beyond the Great Sea, and twilight was coming on.
"Dang it," she whispered.
She immediately began hurrying back toward the hospital. By the time she arrived, stars were starting to shine as the darkness settled in. She headed inside to see Sister Jasia tidying up the reception area.
"I'm sorry I'm late," said Triss. "Time got away from me."
"No worries," replied Jasia. "I made myself useful. There's always some work to be found here."
"Indeed. So, you ready?"
"You bet. Just let me get my cloak."
A minute later, the two of them were walking side-by-side through the Bits.
"Are you sure he's fine with this?" asked Jasia. "I don't want to be a burden."
Triss laughed.
"He's more than fine with the idea. He's thrilled. He loves company."
A couple of nights before, Triss had asked Percival about inviting Sister Jasia over for dinner. She thought that, in a lot of ways, the two of them were quite similar. They were both completely dedicated to their respective callings - jewelry making and serving Melitele - but also, she sensed, a touch lonely. She honestly wasn't trying to play match-maker. She doubted that any romantic sparks would fly between the two, but she hoped tonight might be the start of a new friendship for them both.
"His only concern is his parrot."
"Why is that?"
"Well, Field Marshal Windbag can, on occasion, string together an impressive list of obscenities. 'What if he does it in front of the priestess?' he asked. 'I'd die of embarrassment. I wouldn't want to offend her.'"
Sister Jasia laughed. "So, I take it you haven't told him about my past, then?"
"No. I didn't think that it was my story to tell."
The priestess nodded at that. The week before, the two of them had gone to lunch one day, and Jasia had shared with Triss her testimony of how Melitele had radically changed her. Prior to becoming of follower of the goddess, she had spent several years as a prostitute. It had only been the love and encouragement of a Sister Esther - whose ministry outreach included visiting women who worked in brothels - that had pulled her out of that life.
"Well, if Windbag does let loose with some expletives, I'll assure him that I've heard worse." She then chuckled. "Heck, I've said worse."
"Yeah. I told him that, if nothing else, we could just blame it on Zoltan, Windbag's previous owner," Triss said with a laugh. "You know, you told how you became a priestess, but you never told me how you ended up at Vilmerius. Were you able to pick where you serve or were you assigned? How does it work?"
"It's usually a collaboration. Mother Nenneke, the arch-priestess at Ellander, will take into account the adept's desires when she can, but sometimes the needs of Melitele dictate where you're sent. But I actually chose to serve at the hospital."
"Why is that?"
"At the temple, we are required to study many disciplines, one of which is our history, the various saints. And Mother Vilmerius' story just really resonated with me. So much so that I wanted to serve at the hospital she founded."
"What about it resonated with you so much?"
"You don't know her story?"
Triss shook her head. "No, but I'd love to hear it."
"Well, it happened over a century ago. Mother Vilmerius hadn't yet been venerated. At the time, she was just an ordinary priestess – like me. She was still at the temple in Ellander, waiting to be given her first assignment. As she waited, she prayed constantly to Melitele for guidance, and one night, she said that the city of Novigrad was imprinted onto her mind. She didn't hear an audible voice, but she felt an unmistakable conviction in her soul that Novigrad is where Melitele wanted her to serve. To somehow serve the poor and downtrodden.
"The problem is that, at the time, Novigrad was incredibly closed off. As you know it's the home to the Church of the Eternal Fire, and a century ago, they were even less tolerant than they are now. Less tolerant of magic-users, of non-humans, and certainly of other religions. Persecutions abounded. So, at the time, no other religion had any kind of presence within these walls.
"And Mother Vilmerius knew this. She discussed with Mother Jurica, the head priestess at the time, of the direction she had received from Melitele, but she also voiced her concerns. She knew that if she came to Novigrad and began speaking of and working on the behalf of the goddess Melitele, then she could very well be risking her own life. Mother Jurica replied, 'If this is truly the blessed Melitele's divine will, then she will make straight your path. And who knows that you have been called to Novigrad for such a time as this?'
"So, Mother Vilmerius came to Novigrad with no contacts and no money. She went to Temple Isle, entered the temple to the Eternal Fire, and requested an audience with the hierarch. She was going to ask his permission to begin to serve the poorest of Novigrad in the name of Melitele, and she knew that by doing so, that day could very well be her last. When she was finally brought before the hierarch, he looked startled. To her surprise, he stood from his throne and descended the steps to her level. 'What is your name?' he asked. 'Sister Vilmerius, a priestess of Melitele,' she answered. He said, 'I have dreamed of you. For weeks. Not your name, but your face. The blessed Fire has sent me visions, showing that you will do great things for our city.' And he proceeded to give her complete access to Novigrad, and over the years, she eventually founded the hospital, the orphanage, and the soup-kitchen."
Triss smiled at the story. In many ways, it reminded her of her ancestor, Festus, and the Merigold family motto of 'selfless service.' In fact, she was just about to say that very thing when she was suddenly pulled out of her thoughts. She looked forward to see a gang of eight to ten boisterous men coming their way. Most wore various manner of clown make-up on their faces, and they all had a playing card pinned to the lapels of the coats. Even from a distance, she could smell the strong scent of alcohol wafting off of them.
"Well, well, boys, look what we have here," said a man in the front and center of the group. His dark blonde hair was shoulder-length and slicked back against his skull, and he wore a supercilious sneer on his face. Triss immediately hated him. "A couple of birds all by their lonesome. Think they're worth plucking?"
"The red bird, for sure," answered one of his lackeys.
"The Cutups," Sister Jasia whispered as she grabbed Triss' hand. "I'll handle it."
The leader motioned with both hands, and the rest of his gang moved out in a semi-circle, blocking the way forward.
"Good evening, gentleman. I'm Sister Jasia." She then partially opened her cloak. "As you can see from my habit, I'm a priestess of Melitele, and I work at Vilmerius hospital, which – I'm sure you know – pays the Cutups protection money each month."
"We what?!" hissed Triss out of the corner of her mouth, but she never took her eyes off the men in front of her.
"Therefore, I request that you allow my friend and I to pass unmolested," continued Jasia in a calm voice. "I have no doubt that Mr. Wiley would be quite displeased if he found out that our arrangement hadn't been honored."
Triss noticed that, upon hearing that news, the hoodlums' smiles disappeared. All except for the one if the middle. If anything, his smile turned colder. He approached Triss and Jasia, stopping less than a pace away. He looked both of them up and down, leering first at Triss – his gaze lingering for several seconds on her breasts – before bringing his eyes back to Sister Jasia.
"Maybe we have an arrangement with the hospital…or maybe we don't. But, as I see it, you're not at the hospital right now. And I couldn't care less how Mr. Wiley feels about anything." He then turned his head towards Triss and slowly licked his lips. "Let's have some fun, boys," he said in a loud voice as he reached out his hand.
But Triss beat him to the punch, for she'd been expecting that he'd make a play. She brought both hands forward and shouted, "Lluched!" A bolt of lightning pulsated forth from her fingertips and blasted the gang-leader backwards through the air, knocking both him and two of his mates to the ground.
The rest of the gang was momentarily dumbstruck, and Triss took advantage before they could regain their wits and react.
"Fi Gwysio Sieclon Nerthol!"
She quickly chanted the spell several times as she waved her arms into an intricate pattern. A second later, the sky above them rumbled and a small tornado suddenly appeared. She motioned her hands downward, and the swirling winds descended and caught up all the hoodlums in its power. She thrust her arms forward, and the storm – along with the Cutups – flew down the street. Once they were a good hundred feet away, Triss cancelled the spell, and the gang members all fell to cobblestones.
She immediately cast another spell, opening a portal, and grabbed Sister Jasia by the arm.
"Come on," she yelled.
The two women stepped through and came out in a small, dark, dead-end alley near Percival's jewelry shop. Both of their chests were heaving from the excitement. Triss was able to catch her breath before the priestess.
"Do me a favor. Don't tell Percival about what just happened. Deal?"
"Why?"
"He's already over-protective of me. Terrified that I'm in the Bits - especially after dark. If we tell him about tonight, it'll push him over the edge. And it'll certainly ruin our dinner. Fair enough?"
"Well, I'm not going to outright lie to him about anything…but, sure, I won't bring it up if you think it's for the best."
"I do. Thanks." Triss then let out a small laugh. "You ready for dinner, now?"
"I'm ready for a drink," Jasia said with a smile.
oOo
Triss quickly sat up in bed with her heart racing for, an instant before, she had been brought out of her sleep by a loud bang. At first, she thought that it might have been a clap of thunder, but as she came more fully awake, she realized that the noise had come from below her, not above. She listened closely and, through the floorboards, heard Windbag squawking and the muffled voice of Percival. It sounded like the gnome was doing his best to silence the parrot. Whatever had caused the noise had obviously woken them, too.
A few moments later, she heard another voice coming from downstairs. A voice that clearly wasn't Percival's or Windbag's. She glanced at the windows to see that it was completely dark outside.
'Who is that? Who would be here in the middle of the night? And why?'
She immediately threw back the covers and gently placed her bare feet on the floor. The cool, night air chilled her naked skin. Whatever was going on, she needed to get down there to protect her friends. She was just about to grab her cloak hanging over the back of the nearby chair when she suddenly stopped. She heard the stairs leading up to her room creak and the sound of footsteps ascending. A light source was flickering off the walls of the stairwell. She quickly slid into her cloak and stood in the middle of the small room. She spread her feet to get balanced and prepared herself for whoever was coming her way.
Only a few seconds later, a hooded figure emerged from the shadows. A figure with a small magical, ball of fire floating above their upturned hand. Triss instantly brought her hands up, preparing to cast a defensive spell. Then, to her surprise, she heard a feminine chuckle emanate from the hood.
"You have really kicked the hornet's nest this time, little sister," spoke the stranger, a second before lowering her hood.
Triss' eyes went wide.
"Kiera!? What…what are you doing here? How did you find me? I didn't even know you were in Novigrad."
"Nor I you, until tonight. Imagine my surprise when I heard about a powerful, red-headed sorceress wreaking havoc in the Bits. So, I reached out to my contacts to discover that, sure enough, a stunningly beautiful, magic-user with a Temerian accent was in town, working at Vilmerius hospital and making deals with herbalists and alchemists. It didn't take a genius to figure out it was you."
Triss smiled widely and then quickly crossed the room. The two friends embraced.
"It's so good to see you," gushed Triss. "It's been too long."
"It has been. But, obviously, some things never change, no matter how much time has passed."
Triss broke their hug and stepped back.
"What are you talking about?" she asked while lighting the candle on her table.
"You. You can't stay out of trouble."
"Are you referring to what happened earlier tonight? It was no big deal. Just your garden-variety gang of mindless hoodlums."
"Au contraire. Not garden-variety at all. The leader of that little group of hoodlums was none other than Cyprian Wiley."
"And? Who's he?"
"You honestly don't know."
"No."
"He's the one and only son of Alonso 'Whoreson' Wiley. One of the biggest crime lords in all of Novigrad. He owns casinos, brothels, and a fighting ring in the Bits. He's absolutely ruthless. He didn't acquire the nickname of 'Whoreson' by accident. And Cyprian – Whoreson Junior? The one you roughed up? They say he makes his daddy look like a little schoolgirl in comparison. He won't forget tonight's humiliation."
Triss sat down on her bed and looked up at Keira.
"You've got to be joking."
"Afraid not, little sister. You've really stepped in it this time."