Hell Hath Frozen Over

Chapter 2

Geralt stood on Glory Lane as the sun was setting and scanned the building in front of him. He realized he hadn't seen it in years, and much had changed in that time. The one-time three-story cabaret was now two floors taller. What's more, the house on the lot next to it had at some point been bought, remodeled, and now acted as an expansion. Not only that but, in the intervening years, Dandelion had also added covered stables in the back for the clientele's mounts - stables where Roach was now eating and resting from the long journey. All the wood on the cabaret looked like it had been recently lacquered in a fresh coat, and the heavy, burgundy drapes on the balconies of the upper floors appeared clean and new, as well. Obviously, the bard was doing quite well for himself.

A smile came to the witcher's face as he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. With his saddle bags over one shoulder and with his swords in hand by his side, he began walking across the road toward the entrance of the cabaret. Whatever frustration he'd felt toward Dandelion after first receiving the wedding invitation had disappeared on the journey north, and somewhere along the way, he'd forgiven his friend for his unintentionally poor timing. And while his thoughts on the trail had been focused almost entirely on his vineyard, he now just wanted to put those concerns aside, sit down with his old pal, and share a bottle of vodka, some well-worn stories and maybe a few laughs. That was one thing he'd always valued about the bard. As annoying as the popinjay could be, he could also make the witcher laugh, and there weren't a whole lot of people in the world who could say that. Or, at least, there hadn't been in the past. Geralt could admit that he'd learned to laugh and smile much more in the last two years since leaving the Path. 'Who could have guessed?' he thought to himself. Apparently facing mortal danger on a weekly basis for ungrateful – and sometimes thieving - peasants could make a man grumpy.

The witcher made his way through the front door and was immediately taken aback by what he saw. It looked like the interior of the cabaret had doubled in size. The stage was still in its same location – toward the right as one entered – but it was twice as large as it had been. The bar was now at the back of the new, expanded room and took up the entire wall. There were rows upon rows of different-colored bottles of alcohol lining the shelves behind the bar. But the biggest difference was the ceiling above the stage. It was mostly missing, and much of the second floor now acted as a balcony and provided customers with a view of the stage below. However, one particular item had remained constant despite the cabaret's renovation - the large painting hanging on the far wall. In it, Dandelion was standing over a downed wyvern, thrusting a ridiculously enormous sword through the monster's body. The bard's scrawny legs were depicted as incredibly muscular and straining against his tights, and his cape fluttered in the wind behind him – giving him the appearance of one of the heroes of his epic ballads. The first time that the witcher had even seen the painting, he'd shaken his head and rolled his eyes at the nonsensical display, but now, he couldn't help but to smirk slightly at the sight.

Geralt scanned the large, dimly-lit first floor for any familiar faces. There was a band on the stage singing an upbeat ditty. Dozens of tables were filled with patrons eating and drinking, and numerous waitstaff moved about fulfilling the customers' needs. But in that mass of humanity, he saw neither Dandelion nor Priscilla. He began moving towards the back bar when his eyes suddenly landed on an old friend, and a smile automatically came to his lips. A burly, bearded, red-headed dwarf stood on a high box at one end of the bar. His muscular arms were crossed over his barrel chest, and his eyes were passing back and forth over the clientele. To Geralt, it looked as if the dwarf was searching for any signs of trouble. Therefore, he did his best to stay near the walls, in the shadows. For he wanted to surprise his old friend. It was only a few moments later that he approached the dwarf from the side. He shuffled up close, quietly and undetected - as only a witcher could - and then spoke in a low voice, but one that could still be heard over the music and din.

"Rumor has it that you're the scoundrel to see if one's interested in stolen Gwent cards. That right?"

Zoltan's head swiveled quickly upon hearing the accusation. Geralt could see the suspicion etched into his craggy features, and then, suddenly, the dwarf's eyes went wide as the witcher dropped the hood of his cloak.

"Huzzah! By Lebioda's saggy bawbag!" He exclaimed. "You made it! You finally made it!"

The two shook hands and then gave each other a couple of fierce pats on the back.

"How long's it been, pal?"

"A few years," answered Geralt. "But you haven't aged a bit."

"Nor you."

"Clean living?"

Zoltan laughed.

"Shut yer gob. I'm a dwarf. Clean living would probably kill me. And you?"

Geralt shook his head. "Witcher mutations."

"Then, let's have a tipple." He turned to the bartender. "Piotr, a bottle of vodka, if you'd please."

"So, where's Dandelion – the man of the hour?"

Suddenly, the smile on Zoltan's face vanished. He glanced to his left and right before speaking in a low voice.

"Missing. And nobody knows where." Before Geralt could get out a question, Zoltan added, "Let's get some privacy."

The dwarf led the witcher to a storage room near the bar and then through a maze of alcohol-filled crates stacked high. On the far side of the room was a desk with chairs, and like Geralt's desk back home, this one was also covered in ledgers and paper. After clearing a space on the desk with a swipe of his forearm, Zoltan placed two mugs down and filled them up halfway with some of Redania's finest. He lifted his mug and peered into Geralt's eyes.

"To finding the little shite…safe," he said before downing half the mug.

Geralt followed suit and then set his mug on the desk.

"How long's he been gone?"

"More 'an a week."

The witcher raised his eyebrows at that.

"So, two weeks before his wedding he disappears? With no word to anyone? No hint of what was going on?"

"Nay, he left a note for Priscilla. Basically, said that he had to take care of some important business. But that she shouldnae worry. It wouldnae take long."

"That's it?"

Zoltan nodded.

"And nobody's seen him?"

Zoltan shook his head this time. "I've looked everywhere. Talked to all my connections. Nobody knows nothing. It's like he just vanished. Which had to be one hell of a trick. I mean, the man is well-known 'round town."

"Just how worried are you? Think it could be something serious or just Dandelion being Dandelion? He can be a little flaky, you know?"

"Aye, I'm well aware. I've been his manager here for several years now. I ken first-hand about his flights of fancy. Calls them his 'liberating, creative orgasms.'"

"Well, that's a bit disgusting."

"Don't I know. Anyhoo, he says he sometimes gets ideas and moods that just have to be let out. But I'm not sure that's the case this time."

"What makes you say so?"

"The way he was acting before he disappeared. He seemed terrified."

"Cold feet about the wedding?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so."

"Then, what else could it be? I'm not in his life anymore, Zoltan. You know that. So, what's he gotten himself into that could scare him so badly?"

The dwarf sighed.

"You know the man. He's always had an inflated opinion of himself and his abilities. Likes to meddle in affairs of state. Rub elbows with monarchs."

"Yeah, which usually ends up with his scrawny neck on a chopping block or in a hang-man's noose."

"Well, he hasn't changed. He's working – even if it's just in some minor capacity - for Redania's illustrious leader, Chancellor Dijkstra."

"What? Spying for him again?"

"Not actively, mind you," answered Zoltan, after nodding his head. "But, aye, just keeping his eyes and ears open here at the cabaret. We've turned this place into a high-end establishment, Geralt. So, it's not unusual at all to have the heads of various ministry departments take in a meal and a show. At times, we even have foreign emissaries grace us with their presence. Occasionally, they'll even take a room for the evening."

"And let me guess, not always with their spouse." Zoltan nodded his head. "So, Dandelion's disappearance could have something to do with spying for Dijkstra. Have you talked to him about it?"

"You jest," he scoffed. "I'm a wee, simple dwarf who's never actually met the man, but even if I had, it wouldnae matter. He's Redania's Chancellor now. There's no way he'd see a nobody like me. But he knows you so…"

Geralt let out a long sigh.

"Damn it. The entire ride up here, I was really hoping I wouldn't even run into the prickly pig. I'm not exactly his favorite person. What the hell is a 'chancellor' anyway?"

"Just a more palatable word for overlord. King, Emperor, Chancellor – a hammer by any name crushes you just the same."

"Nice. Very poetic. Dandelion would approve."

"Guess the clobberhead's rubbing off on me," the dwarf said with a shrug.

"At least your new 'hammer' can't be worse than Radovid, though, right? I didn't see a single witch or nonhuman burned at the stake when I entered the city."

"Aye, I'll give him that. He has severely reined in the zealots of the Eternal Fire. Has even got a sorceress advisor on his council."

"I'm guessing not Philippa Eilhart."

Zoltan chuckled.

"And why not? She only tried to murder him once. That's probably considered foreplay for people like them. But, nah, not Eilhart. That blonde chickie that was with us at Kaer Morhen."

"Keira Metz?"

"Aye. That's the one. I won't ask just how well you're acquainted with her. Knowing you and sorceresses, I can already guess."

"This is good," said Geralt, ignoring Zoltan's last comment as he rubbed his hand down the beard on his jaw. "I may not have to deal with Dijkstra, after all."

"Perhaps, but Dijkstra isn't the only nekker in the nest."

"What do you mean?"

"Carlo Varese. You remember him?"

"The dwarf crime boss? Cleaver?"

"The very same."

"What the hell? Dandelion's mixed up with him, too? What in the world possessed him?"

"Said he needed money. So, the dunderhead took out a loan with Cleaver."

"With Cleaver? Why not with Vivaldi? The cabaret's obviously booming. He could have gotten a loan from Vimme, no problem."

"Said that Cleaver gave him an offer he couldn't refuse. Not sure exactly what that meant. But if Cleaver said it, it can't be good."

"Have you spoken to Cleaver about Dandelion going missing?"

"Are you off your head? I haven't the foggiest why Dandelion up and vanished, but I wasn't going to let one of the biggest crime lords in the city know about it. Next thing you'd know, he'd have his men in here, taking over the place. And don't think the fact that I'm a dwarf would give me any special standing in Cleaver's eyes."

Geralt sat back in his chair and exhaled deeply.

"So, both Dijkstra and Cleaver have their hooks into Dandelion." He reached forward, grabbed his mug, and drained the rest of the vodka. "At least I got a couple of places to start."

"Well, tread carefully."

"Uh huh."

"Now, let's go see, Priscilla. She'll be relieved you're finally here."

"How's she been?"

"Oof. Not herself. Been an absolute nervous wreck. So, be gentle with the lass."

"Hey, it's me."

The witcher almost looked offended, which made Zoltan smile.

"Aye, I know. That's why I said it."

oOo

"If I wasn't so nervous, I'd feel guilty," said Priscilla.

The trobairitz and the witcher were sitting alone on the couch in her den. Zoltan had excused himself, saying he needed to head back down to keep a watchful eye on the main room.

When Geralt had first walked into Priscilla and Dandelion's living quarters - which took up the entire second floor of the new addition to the cabaret – his eyes had immediately fallen on the singer. He wasn't surprised at all to see that she was just as beautiful as he'd remembered despite the fact that her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. What had surprised him, though, was that, as soon as she'd seen him, she had rushed into his arms, clinging to him tightly while bawling on his shoulder. Geralt had hugged her back, but all the while, he was looking at Zoltan with a 'What the hell am I supposed to do?' look on his face. Zoltan had just shrugged and mouthed back, "I told you so."

Eventually, Priscilla stopped crying and led Geralt to the couch where he gently asked her about her missing fiancé. Unfortunately, she wasn't really able to add anything new to what Zoltan had already told him. She had no clue why he would just up and disappear. Though, she was able to verify for Geralt that the note she'd received a few days past had definitely been in Dandelion's handwriting. Of course, that didn't really mean anything. The witcher knew that – if the bard had been kidnapped – he could have easily been forced to write the note.

While they spoke, the witcher quickly scanned his surroundings. The room was filled with – what looked to Geralt to be – incredibly expensive pieces of art and furniture. Which didn't really surprise him. Dandelion had always had very expensive tastes – even back when he couldn't afford them. The troubadour had always enjoyed the finer things in life. It's just that, in the past, his pursuits had focused mostly on wine, women, and food. And his lute, of course. But, apparently, he'd expanded his interests since becoming 'domesticated.' Either that, or he'd simply decorated the place to please his future wife.

"Guilty?" asked Geralt bringing his attention back to Priscilla. "About what?"

"Well, it seems that every time we meet, I'm having to ask you to come to the rescue."

Geralt smiled to try to put her at ease.

"Yeah, well, just one more thing you and Dandelion have in common then."

"Maybe so," she said with a tired smile, "but I'm not sure that's the basis for a good relationship. There needs to be some reciprocity in a friendship, right? I'm honestly not sure what you get out of it."

"You let me worry about that."

"Are you sure?"

"Uh huh."

Suddenly, she burst out crying again and flung herself into his arms. Geralt let her cry on his shoulder, but while he tenderly patted her on the back and said, "It'll be okay. I'll find him," he was actually thinking, 'What the hell is going on?' For he'd never seen Priscilla act so emotional before. When he'd first met the trobairitz, Dandelion was, like now, missing and in some serious danger, but throughout that entire episode, she'd always kept her composure. He'd never seen her cry once, but now…?

"I'm so sorry," she said as she pulled away from him and brought a lace kerchief up to dab her eyes. "I…I'm just so emotional lately."

"It's okay. It's understandable. I'm here to help."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Of course."

"Then, in addition to finding my fiancé, I really need your help in the morning, as well."

"Okay. With what?"

"I, uh, I've got a meeting with the Lebiodan priest who is supposed to officiate the ceremony. Could you come with me? Please?"

"Sure. Sounds simple enough. But since when did you and Dandelion turn religious?"

"We're not. It's strictly for my parents' sake. But you'll do it?

"Of course."

She let out an audible sigh.

"That's wonderful. Thank you." She then swallowed. "You'll have to pretend to be Dandelion," she added quickly.

"Wait – what?"

"It's just a formality, really. My parents are devout followers of Lebioda, and one of their stipulations for blessing our marriage was that Dandelion and I had to have the wedding officiated by a Lebiodan priest. And he's requiring us to meet with him at least once prior to the wedding."

"For what exactly?" The witcher's voice was filled with suspicion.

"I'm sure he just wants to get to know us a bit better. That's all."

"Swell."

"Of course, if you find Dandelion tonight and bring him home, then you won't have to worry about the meeting."

With that, Geralt stood.

"I'd better hop to it then."

oOo

Geralt was in his room at the Chameleon, unpacking his saddle bags, when there was a knock on his door. He figured it was either Zoltan or Priscilla - that they'd forgotten to tell him something. Because no one else even knew he was in town. So, he was surprised when, after opening the door, he came face-to-face with a complete stranger. It was an old woman with long gray hair and a wart on her cheek. When she saw the witcher, she smiled widely, showing several missing teeth.

"I think you've got the wrong room," said Geralt.

The hag quickly peered to her left and right – verifying that the hallway was empty.

"That's where you're wrong, Geralt," she said as her face suddenly began to morph – her features grotesquely changing shape.

The witcher immediately grabbed his knife from the scabbard on his thigh but stopped when he saw the woman's new face. In a flash, he pulled the hag into his room, stuck his head out into the hallway to make sure no one else had seen anything, and then slammed the door behind him.

"Dudu!" he said, shaking the doppler's hand. "How'd you even know I was here?"

The shape-shifter was now in the form of a halfling, and he no longer wore a smile on his face.

"Dandelion told me to keep watch for you."

"So, you've spoken with him? You know where he is?"

Dudu shook his head.

"About a week ago, a man came to Whoreson's – well, my - place of business with a parchment. The note was from Dandelion. He said he was in deep trouble. Trouble that only you could fix. He told me not to say a word to anyone else. Told me to change my appearance, hide out here and wait for you. And, then, I was supposed to give you this."

He handed the witcher a folded parchment.

"Did you question the messenger?" asked Geralt. "Ask where he got the parchment?"

"I did. He said that he was at Crippled Kate's and that some stranger approached him with the note and paid him to take it to Whoreson Junior. I later went to the brothel myself to ask around, but no one there had seen Dandelion. Or, at least, that's what they claimed."

At that point, Geralt looked at the note in his hand and noticed that the wax seal was broken.

"You already read this?"

Dudu nodded. "I didn't at first – respecting his privacy. But, a couple of days later, after Zoltan showed up asking if I'd seen Dandelion, I got really worried. So, I took a peek. Thought maybe I could help."

"And?"

"He wrote it in code," the doppler answered, shaking his head. "I hope you'll be able to decipher it."

Geralt looked down and slowly opened the parchment. In Dandelion's hand was written:

"You'll find me where there's a week's worth of Marmalade. Follow the name that you called me when we very first met."

The witcher read it through twice and then turned the paper over to make sure there was nothing else written on the back.

"Not much to go on, huh?" asked Dudu.

"No, not much," agreed Geralt as he walked towards his bed.

"Do you understand it? Do you know where he is?"

The witcher strapped his swords on his back and placed his witcher medallion around his neck. He then peered into the doppler's eyes.

"We'll see."

oOo

"A beautiful sight – wouldn't you say, Lady Vivienne?"

Count Dufrene stood at the railing of The Charlemagne with a martini in hand. Next to him was Vivienne de Tabris, former lady-in-waiting for the Duchess of Toussaint. The sun had just set below the horizon of the Great Sea, a circumstance for which she was very thankful. The time around dusk and dawn always stirred up certain urges in her. Urges that she would have been quite embarrassed about if anyone discovered. She had learned to control them, but she was always relieved when they subsided. She was staring straight ahead, towards the east, so that the count was unable to see her give a slight roll of her eyes. The man had been hounding her steps from almost the moment that the ship had left Pont Vanis.

"Indeed, Count Dufrene," she replied politely. "It's quite picturesque."

She did her best at that point to ignore the man and simply enjoy the sight in front of her, for she was viewing the port-city of Novigrad for the very first time. She wasn't sure that she had ever seen a city that size. The city's lights blinked at her for miles in every direction, and as they reflected off the calm water of the harbor, they looked like the stars in the sky. Which was something that the golden-haired beauty never took for granted – being able to live out underneath the stars, around other people, and not fear their reaction. For, up until to two years ago, she rarely ventured out in public after sunset.

Vivienne had been born under a curse, and as the years progressed, the symptoms continued to worsen. Symptoms that included being transformed into the likeness of an oriole after sundown. Over the years, she had tried everything she could to break the curse – visiting sorceresses, hedge-witches, old crones, and every magically-adept person she could find. Some had given her special elixirs to drink or ointments to apply, but none of the solutions had worked. At least, not permanently. They'd only been stop-gaps, temporary measures that slowed the curse's progress but were unable to break it. And then fate had brought into her life the witcher, Geralt of Rivia, and that memory made her smile.

At first, she had assumed that the witcher was tracking her down in order to kill her. For that's what witchers did, right? Kill monsters. In fact, she had even resigned herself to the fact that he was going to end her life. But that's not what had happened at all. Who could have ever guessed that he would end up being the answer to her prayers? That her knight in shining armor would turn out to be gruff and not so shiny? Instead, he'd been a white-haired, cat-eyed, scarred-up witcher who rode an old mare and sported ripped and stitched-up gear. Gear that's best days had been several years in the past.

"So, Vivienne" said the count, bringing her out of her thoughts. "Have you and your cousin made lodging arrangements in the city yet?"

Vivienne's cousin, Marissa, stood at the ship's railing on the other side of her. Though the two were related – their mothers were sisters – no one would have guessed by looking at them. In contrast to Vivienne's tall, lithe figure, golden-blonde hair and green eyes, her cousin was dark-haired with brown eyes, shorter and much more voluptuous. She considered her breasts to be her best feature and routinely wore low-cut dresses to put them on display.

Vivienne paused for a moment, unsure of how to answer Count Dufrene's question so Marissa piped up, instead.

'Well, we were planning on staying-"

"We haven't yet decided," interrupted Vivienne and giving her cousin a stern, sideways look. "Perhaps, you could enlighten us. Where will you be lodging, sir?"

"There are several adequate hotels and inns in the city, but for my money, none can compare to the Royal Ambassador. It's recently constructed - with marble staircases, beautiful tapestries, and crystal chandeliers."

"Yes, that does sound exquisite," stated Vivienne with a smile.

"Perhaps, we could share a coach there?" he asked.

"Of course!" answered Marissa at the same time that Vivienne said, "Unfortunately, that won't be possible."

The two women stared at each other, both with disapproving looks on their faces. Eventually, Vivienne turned back the count.

"But we greatly appreciate the offer. Now, excuse us, please. We must prepare for our arrival. Good evening, Count Dufrene. Come along, Marissa."

The two women were just out of earshot when Marissa hissed, "I don't know what's wrong with you. The man is gorgeous…and rich."

"Then, he is all yours, sweet cousin."

"Yes, well, as usual, he – along with every other man on this Continent – seems to be in love with you. Not me."

Vivienne smiled.

"He'll live. And I'm sure you can console him."

Marissa smiled back mischievously.

"Yes, I am quite good at that."

She then grabbed her cousin by the hand.

"Now, come on, Viv! It's Novigrad! Let's have some fun!"

oOo

Geralt's friendship with Dandelion spanned over a quarter of a century, and during all of those years, he knew that the two of them had shared a lot of stories around campfires and hearths. But the witcher honestly didn't remember telling Dandelion the story of his very first friend at Kaer Morhen – an orange, tabby cat that he had named Marmalade. Frankly, he had never liked recalling his time growing up and training at the Wolf school, but he'd obviously shared that tale with the bard at some point. To Geralt, "a week's worth of Marmalade" could only mean a week's worth – or seven days' worth – of cats. Thus, that's why, several hours after sundown, Geralt was approaching the Seven Cats Inn – a tavern a few miles south of Novigrad.

Geralt had been inside the Seven Cats on several occasions so he knew that it attracted a rougher clientele – outlaws, assassins, nagging wives, and the like. Therefore, after throwing Roach's reins over a hitching post, he grabbed the strap across his chest and adjusted the swords on his back before entering the front door of the tavern. Inside, the inn was smoky, loud, and hot – especially compared to the cold, clean autumn night from whence he'd just come. He stood near the entrance for a moment, scanning the clientele, but Dandelion was nowhere to be seen. He maneuvered carefully through the crowd, doing his best not to jostle anyone. The last thing he wanted was have to drop hands – or worse, pull his sword – with some drunken, belligerent fool. He walked around the tavern, checking every dark corner, but the bard wasn't present. So, he finally made his way to the innkeeper, a surly-looking bloke who was wiping down a mug with a dirty rag.

The witcher spoke in a low voice but also leaned across the bar in order to be heard over the noise.

"I'm looking for a Mister…Buttercup. He around?"

"Don't know. What's it worth to you?"

Geralt let out a long sigh. "Why do people always have to be so difficult?" he asked himself.

"Look, he's expecting me. So, I shouldn't have to pay to find out if he's here or not."

"Yeah, and I shouldn't have been dealt a bunch of no-account, lazy spawn. But there ya go. Life's a bitch. I blame their mothers."

"Of course, you do," the witcher answered, and then he snatched the ledger off the bar top. He quickly scanned the column until he found what he was looking for. The bard had rented room number five under the name, 'Buder Kupz.' He closed the book and tossed it at the clearly-angry innkeep.

"Thanks for your help," said Geralt before heading for the stairs.

He moved quickly through the crowd and then took the stairs – two at a time – up to the second floor. Once there, he paused and unsheathed his sword, for he had no idea what trouble might be waiting for him. He began slowly walking down the hallway and listening intently, doing his best to ignore the noise coming from the main room below. Eventually, he stopped just outside of room number five and put his ear close to the door, but he heard no sounds coming from within. After a moment, he pounded on the door with the back of his fist three times. He heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor and footsteps quickly approaching the other side of the door.

"Who is it?" came a rattled voice. But though it was rattled, it was a voice he knew well.

"It's me. Now, open up."

"Who – who's me?"

Geralt rolled his eyes.

"It's maid service. I'm here to turn down your bed. Who the hell do you think it is? Now, open up, Buttercup."

He heard a latch being turned and the door opened an inch. As soon as it did, the witcher's medallion twitched, signaling the presence of magic. His eyes widened, and he moved in a flash, barreling into the door and diving into the room. He came up on the balls of his feet with his sword pointing at a man sprawled out on the floor. A man who looked nothing like Dandelion. He was dressed in the brown, gray, and dirty clothes of a peasant. He had a bushy, gray beard; wore thick, black-framed glasses; and on top of his head was a floppy, wide-brimmed hat. The witcher moved sideways toward the door and then slammed it closed with his foot while never taking his eyes off the stranger.

"Well, praise every god under the sun," came Dandelion's voice out of the bushy beard. "It's about damn time you showed up. Do you know how long I've been waiting for you?"

"It's a long ride from Toussaint, Buttercup," the witcher growled in response as he quickly scanned the room for danger. Not seeing any, he sheathed his sword.

At that point, the bard removed his disguise - tossing the fake beard, the glasses, and hat on a nearby table.

"Dandelion, what the hell is going on?"

"I'm in trouble, Geralt. Serious trouble."

The bard sat down at the table and poured himself a stiff drink. Geralt could see several empty bottles of alcohol scattered about - not only on the table top but on the floor below, as well. The witcher didn't think that he'd ever seen his friend look so disconsolate before. Heck, he'd seen the bard face the gallows with more spirit and verve. After a moment, he took a seat across from his friend.

"Alright. Then tell me."

Dandelion made eye-contact, but he quickly looked back down into his mug and shook his head.

"I – I can't, Geralt. It's too…It's just too awful."

"Dandelion, I've lost count of the number of times I've had to pull your bacon out of the fire. You've never had a problem dragging me into your troubles before. So, why stop now? It can't be that bad."

"'It can't be that bad,' he says. Ha! How bad would it be for a witcher to lose his swords? Or a sorceress to lose her ability to use magic? Huh? Just how bad?"

"Did something happen to your lute? Just buy another one."

"It's not my lute, damn it. It's my schlong."

"What?" The witcher was sure he'd misheard.

"My johnson! My tickler! My dragon-slayer! My one-eyed willie! My -"

"Yeah, yeah," interrupted Geralt. "I know what a schlong is. Look, man, if you caught a case of the zerp, then you need a healer. Not a witcher."

This time it was Dandelion who rolled his eyes.

"Don't you think I know how to deal with the zerp? Only you can help me with this."

"So, this doesn't have anything to do with Dijkstra or Cleaver?

"What? No. Who told you that?"

"Your friends, that's who. You know – Priscilla, Zoltan, Dudu. Remember them? Your fiancée and friends that are worried about you and don't know what the hell is going on."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that, but there are some secrets you take to the grave with you, and this is one of them."

"Then, why tell me?"

"Because you're the only one that can help me. At least, the only person who can help me that I actually trust."

The witcher let out a sigh.

"Alright. Fine. Tell me what the problem is."

"I, uh, I think it would be easier if I just showed you."

"Ah, for love of Pete. Really? I gotta look at it?"

Dandelion just nodded his head and then stood. Not wanting to be eye-level with whatever he was about to see, the witcher quickly stood as well. The bard then dropped his trousers down to his knees.

Geralt glanced down but didn't immediately say anything. He cocked his head slightly to one side as he continued to stare at the sight before him. His mouth twitched for the briefest of moments, but that was the only change in his countenance. Eventually, he lifted his eyes to Dandelion's.

"So, what exactly is the problem?"

"What's the problem?!" exclaimed Dandelion. "Are you bloody blind?! I've got a flower where -" But he immediately stopped yelling, glanced at the door, and lowered his voice into a whisper. "I've got a flower where my cock should be. That's the problem."

And for one of the few times in his life, the bard wasn't lying, embellishing, embracing hyperbole, or utilizing artistic license. His genitalia had, indeed, been turned into a large, upright, bright-yellow dandelion flower.