Hell Hath Frozen Over

Chapter 4

Sweat was pouring from Geralt's face as he frantically ran through his vineyard. Black smoke filled the air, and flames danced over the grapevines.

"No! Stop!" he yelled as he chased a naked Tiffani up and down the rows. But no matter how fast he ran, he could gain no ground. It was like he was running under water. And she paid him no heed, instead cackling wildly as fire burst forth from her hands engulfing the vines nearest to her. To make matters worse, she wasn't the only agent of destruction prowling around his estate. Ten-foot tall dandelion flowers were also hopping around, setting fire to everything in their path. Strangely, they, too, seemed to be laughing maniacally – with a chortle that sounded just like Dandelion's.

"Come on up to Novigrad, friend," he heard them say, "We'll have a great time! Ha ha ha!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement near his ankle, and he looked down to see the little demon dog. The rat-mutt was growling and had its jaws clamped onto a strap of Geralt's boot - vigorously shaking its head back and forth. Eventually, the witcher stopped running, for he saw that it was too late. All of his crops were being consumed by an inferno. He slowly turned in a circle, seeing destruction all around him.

He was shaking his head and saying "No, no," over and over when he heard a loud pounding noise off in the distance. He kept crying out as the banging got louder and louder until, finally, with a gasp he rose up in his bed. The sheets were soaked with sweat and twisted around his legs, and someone was knocking loudly on the door of his room. He glanced at the window to see that it was barely dawn. The sky was lighter outside, but the sun hadn't yet fully risen.

"Alright, alright!" he yelled out when the knocking wouldn't stop. "I'm coming."

He opened the door to find Priscilla waiting on him. She was holding a bundle of clothes in front of her, and she suddenly went wide-eyed. She quickly glanced at the witcher's near-naked body, swallowed hard, and then very intently stared him in the eyes.

"Sorry," he said, after glancing down and realizing that he was in nothing but his underpants. "All my clothes are being laundered."

"Well, then, it's a good thing I brought these," she stated, handing Geralt the bundle of clothes.

That's when he saw the look on her face.

"You okay?" he asked. "You don't look so well."

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm just feeling a little sick to my stomach this morning."

"Alright."

Then Geralt looked down at the clothes in his hands.

"Ah, you've gotta be kidding me," he said with a sigh. "Think I'm starting to feel a little nauseous, too."

About ten minutes later, Geralt sat on the edge of his bed with Priscilla sitting in a chair in front of him. She was brushing a brown, ink-like dye into what was left of his facial hair. He'd shaved his cheeks and chin, with only his mustache and a soul-patch under his bottom lip remaining.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked.

"Yes. Brother Rasmun is old and has vision problems, but he isn't completely blind. He'd definitely be able to notice the difference between white and brown facial hair."

"But you said that he'd never met Dandelion before."

"True, but he's going to meet him at the wedding."

"Look, if you need someone to impersonate Dandelion, then let's just ask Dudu. He's a doppler, for crying out loud."

Priscilla stopped applying the dye and looked down for a moment.

"I…" then she sighed. "I don't want anyone else to know that Dandelion is missing. Only you and Zoltan know. I'm already embarrassed enough, as is."

"Embarrassed? About what?"

She slowly brought her eyes up to meet his, and he could see that they were moist with tears.

"I think…I think Dandelion has run off…because he doesn't want to get married. I think he may be even having an affair."

Geralt cursed inwardly for he really didn't want to get in the middle of Dandelion and Priscilla's relationship. What went on between them was none of his business, nor did he want it to be. While he liked the trobairitz, the fact of the matter was that Dandelion was his friend. Not her. So, he wanted to say something that would put her mind at ease, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't somehow betray Dandelion's trust. It had already been awkward earlier at the door when she'd asked him if he'd made any progress in finding the bard. He'd refused to lie to her, but he knew he couldn't come completely clean with her either. So, he'd simply said that he hoped that Dandelion would return any moment now. Which actually was the truth.

He watched a tear fall down her cheek, and then he sighed. He knew he needed to tell her something.

"Look," he started after clearing his throat. "I've known Dandelion a lot of years, and I've never known him to stay with a woman for as long as he has with you. That's got to mean something, right? Plus, I've never heard him talk about a woman like he has about you. Back when I was here before – when you were attacked – and it looked like you might die…he acted like a man who was about to lose his whole world."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Honest. So…" But he didn't say anything else because he was afraid that whatever he said would be misleading.

Priscilla nodded her head and smiled.

"Thank you, Geralt. For everything. For what you did back then. And for what you're doing now. You're a good friend."

With those words, he slightly winced. Because he didn't feel like a good friend to her. A good friend would've told her why her fiancé had fled and where he was.

"Yeah, well…I'm trying to be. Now, the quicker we get this finished with, the quicker I can continue my search."

"Right, right," she said before applying a bit more dye.

"So, why exactly do you have brown hair dye anyway?" asked Geralt, hoping to change the subject to something less sticky. "You're a blonde."

She laughed. "It's not mine. It's Dandelion's. He's getting grey around the temples and in his facial hair."

Geralt shook his head. "Why am I not surprised? I'm not sure I've ever met a more vain man in my life."

Priscilla laughed again. "Yes, well, he claims he dyes his hair, not out of vanity, but out of integrity."

Geralt couldn't help but smile.

"This ought to be good. Okay, tell me – how exactly is covering up his grey an act of integrity?"

"He says that, on the inside, he still feels like he's twenty-five. In the prime of his life. Therefore, since he still feels young, then he should look young, too. To appear otherwise, would be dishonest. At least, that's his argument."

"Yeah, how dare reality interfere with his feelings."

"Okay, all done," said Priscilla, combing in the last touches of dye. "Don't touch it for a bit. It's still wet."

"What about the hair on my head? Please tell me I don't have to dye all of it, too."

"No, no," said Priscilla with a smile. "That's why I brought this." She then pulled an item from the pile of clothes next to her.

A low growl rumbled up from Geralt's throat when he saw what was in her hand.

Five minutes later, Priscilla led Geralt down the stairs and into the main room of the cabaret. It was still early so there were very few occupants breaking their fast. But Zoltan was already up, and upon seeing the witcher, he let out a rip-roaring laugh. The two of them crossed the room and approached the dwarf, who was still laughing uncontrollably. He was gasping for breath and even had a tear rolling down his cheek.

"That's it! I'm going back upstairs and taking this off. Being covered in pig-shit and dog-piss is one thing, but this? Having to dress like Dandelion? That's too much."

And it was true. The witcher was, indeed, dressed like the bard. He wore fine, calf-skin loafers on his feet. His lower legs were encased in turquoise-blue tights, while he wore puffed-out, bright violet culottes over his thighs. His white, lacy blouse was covered by a sleeveless, periwinkle and teal doublet that was embroidered with the finest silver stitching, which matched the color of the scarf around his neck. And his milk-white hair was tucked up underneath a silk, mauve-colored beret, capped with an elegant peacock feather. To make matters worse, the shirt and doublet appeared to be a size too small, making the witcher feel like even more of a fool.

"Please, Geralt, you promised," pleaded Priscilla before she glared at Zoltan, who was still laughing. "And you, knock it off. This is important. Tell him he looks great."

Eventually, the dwarf stopped chuckling and wiped the tears from his face.

"Aye. When I saw you walk down the stairs, I thought Dandelion himself had returned."

"You're lying," growled the witcher. "I look ridiculous."

"Aye," said Zoltan with a nod. "But that's perfect. It means you look like Dandelion."

"There's no way I'm walking out in public like this."

"I thought you'd say as much, so I brought you this," said Priscilla, wrapping a mink-lined, crushed-velvet, plum-colored cape around Geralt's shoulders. "It's got a hood on it so you can cover you head and face."

The witcher just sighed. "Swell," he said, pulling up the hood. "Let's get this over with."

He then walked out of the cabaret with Zoltan's hysterical laughter trailing behind him.

"Nay, you need to take down your hood," the dwarf called out. "You're gonna crimp your feather!"

oOo

"Are you feeling poorly, Dandelion?" asked Brother Rasmun. "Your voice sounds a bit raspy. Can I offer you a cup of tea?"

The witcher glanced side-eyed at Pricilla before looking back at the small, elderly Lebiodan priest. He was wearing a simple, brown woolen frock, and he seemed ancient – stooped over with thin, wispy, white hair on his head. He walked with a cane and had very thick glasses perched on his thin nose.

"Actually, Brother Rasmun, yes, I did wake up with a frog in my throat this morning. So, a cup of tea sounds, uh, delightful. I don't normally sound like this at all. In fact, in a few days – at our wedding – I'll probably sound like a completely different person."

"Well, then, cups of tea all around."

The priest turned to a side table where there was a tea setting on a silver platter. While his back was turned, Priscilla stared at Geralt.

"Delightful?" she mouthed. "Tea sounds delightful?"

"I don't know," whispered Geralt with a shrug. "That sounds like something Dandelion would say, right?"

Before she could respond, Brother Rasmun returned with their cups of tea and then headed to his chair. The two were sitting on one side of the priest's desk in his small office while he sat on the other.

"Now," he said with a kind smile, "you may be wondering exactly why I wanted to speak with you."

"Yes, Brother Rasmun," responded Priscilla. "It did cross our mind."

"Well, nothing to fear, my dear. It's just a formality, I'm sure. I simply like to get to know the loving couple prior to officiating their wedding. To make sure they're actually compatible, you see. I'd hate to take part in a ceremony if I thought that the marriage was doomed from the start."

"Yes, I see," said Priscilla as she reached over and grasped Geralt's forearm in a vice-like grip.

"Again, it's nothing to fret about. I just have a few questions."

He pushed two pieces of parchment across the desk. There was a writing utensil on top of each.

"I used to ask my questions orally, but I've discovered I get much more honest answers if they're written down. That way, the one can't simply parrot the other's response."

Neither Priscilla nor Geralt moved from their seats.

"Well, go ahead. It won't take more than five or ten minutes to complete."

The witcher gulped and then looked over at Priscilla, who was staring at him. Terror was plastered across her face. He let out a long, slow breath before hesitantly reaching for the paper.

For the next ten minutes, Geralt did his best to answer questions like he thought Dandelion would respond. There were questions on religion and philosophy. Questions about children and where he wanted to live. He was asked his thoughts on money and his future in-laws. He had to write down what his passions and hobbies were. As he scribbled out his answers, he could feel the sweat soaking through his blouse and into his doublet. He had to constantly wipe his forehead with his sleeve. In fact, he was sweating so much that he was sure that the dye in his mustache must be running. Eventually, he finished, and when he looked up, he noticed that the office was completely silent and that both Priscilla and the priest were staring at him – waiting for him to finish. He gulped hard again and then handed his parchment to Brother Rasmun.

At that point, the priest pulled both pieces of paper close to him, grabbed a large magnifying glass from his desk drawer, and began reading through the parchments.

"Oh, dear," he whispered at one point under his breath. This was shortly followed up with a, "Well, that's not good."

Geralt was getting a sinking feeling in his stomach, and when he looked over at Priscilla, he could tell she felt the same. The priest continued comparing their answers, making a "tsk-tsk-tsk" sound every few seconds. Eventually, he stopped reading and looked up at them through his thick lenses.

"I am afraid that, in all my years as a priest, I have never met a couple who was less compatible."

"What? That, uh, no…there must be some mistake," said Geralt with a nervous laugh. "Priscilla and I - we have a lot in common. We both love the arts. Poetry, singing, performing. You know – all that kind of…stuff."

He'd almost said the word 'nonsense' but had luckily caught himself.

"Yes, yes, I see that," the priest answered, patting the parchments in front of him. "But none of those things are essential for a healthy relationship. A love of poetry will not help you two get through the tough times that every marriage eventually faces. A strong marriage must be built upon a much sturdier foundation. Why, you two don't seem to agree on any of the more important aspects of a marriage."

"Such as?" asked the witcher.

"Well, such as," and at that point Brother Rasmun began searching through their answers. While he was doing that, Geralt looked over at Priscilla. She had her head down, looking at her feet, and she was slightly shaking her head back and forth. "Right here – the question about children. Priscilla answered that she'd like to have at least one child, for as Lebioda says, 'Children are a blessing from the gods.' But you, you answered, and I quote, 'Are you kidding? Kids are nothing but loud, messy, expensive pets.'"

"Well, that is true."

"True or not, if that is your view, then you certainly aren't a good match with Miss Priscilla here. How will the marriage last if you can't agree on the important matters – such as, whether or not you two even want children, much less on how and where to raise them?" He then shook his head. "No, no. Marriage must be built on a firm foundation. Like the principles found in Lebioda's teachings. Anything less and it's doomed to failure."

The office was quiet for several long moments. The witcher glanced over at Priscilla, who looked like someone had just stolen her puppy. It didn't take a genius to realize that the interview was not going well at all, and he knew that he had to do something, even if it meant lying to the priest. Eventually, he turned back to face the old man and smiled.

"Well, that's fantastic, Brother Rasmun," he said. "Because I am – I mean, we are -" and he nodded his head towards Priscilla "- devout followers of Lebioda. That's the sole reason that we want you to officiate our wedding. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely."

"Is that so?" asked the priest, peering hard at Geralt. "Then, tell me, young man, what is your favorite verse of scripture from the Good Book?"

Geralt swallowed hard as his smile disappeared. "My, uh, favorite verse? Well, you know, there are so many, uh, incredible verses…that it would be impossible for me to pick my favorite. That'd be like asking me to pick my favorite sonnet that I'd composed." He then laughed nervously. "Right, honey?"

"Very well. Then, just name one."

"One…right. One." And suddenly Geralt was racing back through his memory. For he had, indeed, possessed the Good Book at one point in his life. He'd even spent a few days reading through it. But that had been about eighty years ago. In his mind's eye, he could still envision that time. Sitting at a desk in the Dothan palace, flipping through the pages of the Good Book. He could even remember discussing what he'd read with another Lebiodan priest – though, he no longer remembered that man's name. And, then, suddenly….

"Aha!" he yelled out, causing both Priscilla and Brother Rasmun to jump in their seats. The witcher had his finger pointing straight up in the air, and a smile was spreading across his face.

"Never pet a burning dog," he said with a nod of his head.

Just like before, the office went totally silent for a long pause. And then, the priest smiled and said, "Yes, that is one of Lebioda's more humorous proverbial truths."

Geralt heard Priscilla exhale in relief next to him.

"Tell me, Dandelion, just what do think Lebioda was trying to teach with that saying?"

Suddenly, the smile once again vanished from Geralt's face.

"Teach?" he asked before bringing his hand up and stroking his chin several times, trying to give himself a few moments to think. "Well, it's, uh, you know…there are so many possible interpretations…I mean, how could anyone truly plumb the depths of the Prophet's vast knowledge…but I think he was trying to say that -" he then stroked his chin a few more times. "I've got it," he finally stated, again raising his finger into the air. "Lebioda – with that little nugget of wisdom, he was trying to warn us to stay away from sinful temptations that look so attractive. The mutt, see, it represents the temptations and the lies of the world. It's cute and cuddly. We want to embrace it. We think that, by doing so, we'll find happiness. But it's on fire, see, so, obviously, petting the little demon-dog would be harmful to us. That's what he was warning us about."

The witcher swallowed hard and involuntarily held his breath, just waiting to hear was Brother Rasmun would say.

"Very good, Dandelion," said the priest with a smile. "I, too, would interpret it that way."

Geralt exhaled deeply and then turned and peered at Priscilla who was staring directly at him with a look of utter shock on her face. He simply smirked and nodded his head.

"Let me ask you one more question, Dandelion," said Brother Rasmun, bringing Geralt's focus back to him. "Have you and Priscilla been obeying Lebioda's sixth creed?"

"The, uh, sixth creed? I'm sorry, Brother Rasmun. I know all the creeds, of course, but sometimes, I can't remember exactly what their order is? I hope you can forgive me. Could you remind me exactly which one the sixth creed is again?"

"Oh, yes, yes. That's understandable. The sixth creed – to keep the marriage bed pure until you two are finally wed."

A large smile slowly spread across Geralt's face.

"Brother Rasmun, I can honestly say that I have never, ever had sex with the woman sitting next to me."

"Oh, that's wonderful. In that case, I can definitely officiate your wedding. You two may have some differences, but considering you're both committed to following Lebioda's teachings, then I'm confident you'll have a wonderful marriage. I am so looking forward to Saturday."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Geralt, getting to his feet. He reached across the desk and shook the priest's hand. "Then, we shouldn't take up any more of your time."

He immediately felt Priscilla grab him by the elbow.

"Let's get out of here before he changes his mind," she whispered while leading them towards the door. "Thanks, Brother Rasmun!" she shouted over her shoulder. "See you Saturday!"

Out on the steps of the Lebiodan temple, the trobairitz shouted in joy and gave Geralt a hug.

"Unbelievable!" she said, between laughing. "I can't believe we pulled it off. I can't believe you actually know even one verse from the Good Book."

Geralt smiled along with her.

"Me either. It came to me out of nowhere."

She gave him another hug and kissed him on the cheek. "You're the best, Geralt. It's no wonder your Dandelion's best friend. You always come through in the end. I owe you big-time."

"Yeah? Then, let's head back to the cabaret so I can get out of this ridiculous disguise. I can feel myself getting dumber every minute I have it on."

"Deal!"

oOo

Vivienne sat by herself at one of the tables in the main room of the Chameleon. She was nibbling on her breakfast while planning her day. Marissa still had not returned from the Royal Ambassador Hotel, and she wasn't sure when her young cousin would return. She'd, therefore, resigned herself to spending the day alone. She'd heard that Hierarch Square housed – among other things - a bookstore, a fashion boutique, an art museum, and a play house. She'd decided that she could definitely pass what was left of the morning and most of the afternoon visiting those locales, and she was just getting ready to leave when a shadow passed over her table, causing her to look up.

"I don't believe it. Lady Vivienne? Vivienne de Tabris?"

"Yes," she answered as she looked into the face of a stranger. The man was dressed in one of the most outlandishly garish outfits that she'd ever seen. She sighed inwardly, for she had come across too many men just like this in her travels. It seemed as if every high-society ball was full of them. Rich, arrogant men who were puffed up like peacocks. "Do I know you, sir?"

"Yeah, you do. It's Geralt. Geralt of Rivia."

Her eyes widened in shock.

"Geralt? Really?" she asked as she looked him up and down.

"Oh, yeah. How could I forget?" said the man before snatching the purple beret off his head. At which point, his white hair fell down to the tops of his shoulders.

"It really is you," she exclaimed after a laugh. She quickly rose from her chair. "Please," she said, motioning to the other side of the table. "Would you be so kind as to join me?"

"Of course. So, I haven't seen you in…I guess almost two years now. What have you been doing with yourself?"

For the next ten minutes, Vivienne recounted to Geralt all of her adventures touring the southern lands of the Continent. She explained that after leaving Toussaint, she'd headed to Nazair and then continued south all the way down into Nilfgaard.

"And, then, about six months ago, my cousin, Marissa, joined me when I came back north," she continued. "And we ended up traveling through most of the Northern kingdoms. We just arrived in Novigrad yesterday, coming from Pont Vanis."

"Wow. Sounds like you've seen more of the Continent than even I have. I'm not sure there's anyplace left for you to visit. So, where to next – after Novigrad?"

"We might stay in Oxenfurt for a day or two, but the last place on my travels – the place I want to see the most – is the Skellige Islands. I hear they're beautiful. That you can even swim with the sirens."

Geralt grimaced.

"Well, it is true - the islands are definitely beautiful, but I might advise against getting too close to the sirens. The ones in Skellige aren't peaceful, like merfolk. They can be…inhospitable, shall we say."

"Well, that's disappointing to hear."

"Hey, I'm not trying to discourage you. In fact, I recommend visiting the islands. I just want you to be forewarned. I'd hate for anything bad to happen to you. Especially, now, after everything you've already gone through."

Vivienne looked into the witcher's eyes, and she would swear that she saw nothing but kindness and honesty there.

"You know, Geralt – I…. Sometimes, I feel like I didn't convey to you enough just how grateful I was – I am - for what you did for me. So, I just want to say thank you, again. I hope you know that I'll never forget it."

The witcher gave her a warm smile.

"I'm just glad I could help. That you finally found a little joy in life."

She didn't know what to say to that. Because I'm not sure that I have found any joy – not true joy.

He then leaned in a bit and lowered his voice.

"And you haven't had any problems since then? No residual effects?"

"No. Well, nothing physical."

She suddenly saw the look of concern on his face.

"But?"

She, then, smiled and blushed.

"Well, I still have the almost uncontrollable urge to sing out loud at dusk and dawn. To let my voice chime in with all the other birds that are tweeting and chirping."

I can't believe I just told him that, she thought, blushing even more.

"Oh," he said before letting out a sigh of relief. "You had me worried there for a second. That actually sounds quite nice, though. Nothing else?"

She wasn't going to say anything else. She'd certainly never shared this information with anyone. But seeing the witcher sitting there across from her, she suddenly had the urge to tell him. But she wasn't sure why.

"Actually – and I don't know how to explain it – but yes. I sometimes get the feeling that when I sing, the birds can – I don't know – understand me. Is that…is that normal?"

"Well, I probably wouldn't go so far as to call it normal," he answered with a smile. "But it's not unheard of. I actually have a friend who can speak to birds. Can give them commands and receive messages from them. Could you do that before?"

"Perhaps. I always felt a connection to birds – especially orioles. But I never really explored it. Perhaps because, at the time, I viewed anything to do with birds as…well, as a curse."

"Makes sense. But maybe now you can view it as a gift instead. I know that my friend sees it as an asset. So, maybe it just comes down to changing your perspective."

"Perhaps, you are correct," she said with a smile. "Now, speaking of perspective – of how we look at things…what is going on with your look?"

They both chuckled at that, and then Geralt glanced down at his attire.

"Yeah, this. Well, I'm working on something, and I needed a disguise."

"A witcher contract?"

"Yes and no. What I'm doing would normally constitute a contract, but no coin's involved. I'm just helping out a friend. I'm sorry, but I can't really say any more than that."

"No, no. I understand. I wouldn't want you to tell me more. I completely understand the need for discretion. That was one of the things I admired about you back then. That you respected my desire for privacy."

"Of course." Suddenly, she noticed his eyes slightly widen, and he nodded his head. "What are you doing right now?"

She was about to mention the plans she'd made with regards to Hierarch Square, but instead said, "Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I can't really tell you any details about what I'm working on, but I could use your help. What do you say?"

At first, she was so surprised by the request that she didn't respond.

"Don't worry. It's nothing dangerous. I would never put you in a situation like that."

"No, no. It's not that. I – yes, I'll definitely help you."

"Fantastic. Let me get shaved and changed out of this nonsense, and then I'll be right back."

And with that, the witcher was up and gone before she could say another word.

oOo

As soon as Geralt – sans his dark facial hair - knocked on the threshold, he heard the demon-dog start yapping from within the flat. This was immediately followed by a woman's shrill voice.

"Shush, now, Pickles! Shush!"

A moment later, the broken door was opened to reveal Tiffani, cradling a barking, shaking rat-dog in her left arm. Upon seeing Geralt, the mutt bared its teeth and started yapping even more loudly.

"This isn't a good time. Whadya want?" she asked, giving Geralt and Vivienne a once over.

When the witcher had returned to his room at the cabaret earlier, luckily all of his clothes had been laundered and were folded neatly on his bed. He'd quickly shaved, gotten dressed in his own attire and then led Vivienne into the Bits. On the way, he'd explained why he thought he might need her assistance.

"I'm about to talk to a woman and ask her a favor."

"Okay," Vivienne had said. "But why do you need me?"

"Well, first, I've got the feeling that she's not going to be real receptive to my request. Secondly, I don't know exactly how she'll react to my presence." Especially, considering I ransacked her place last night, he thought to himself. "I can sometimes be intimidating. So, it might help put her at ease if there was another woman present. You still willing to help?"

"Of course. After how you helped me, I owe you."

Upon hearing that, Geralt had suddenly stopped in the street, for her words had immediately brought back the sexual dream that he'd had of her back at Corvo Bianco.

"No, no, no," he'd stammered, holding up a hand. "I don't want you to do this out of guilt or obligation. In fact, I don't want any repayment for what I did for you two years ago, okay?"

"Okay. Then…I'll do it simply because I want to help you…and your friend."

The witcher had nodded at that, and then they'd continued on to Tiffani's. Now, he was standing in front of the bar-wench, and when he looked over her head, he could see that her flat was still a mess. The wardrobe was still tipped over, and dirt and flour still covered parts of the floor.

"Well, I'm here on behalf of mutual acquaintance," Geralt shouted over the dog's barking.

"Acquaintance?" she asked, squinting into his eyes. "Who?"

Geralt glanced sideways at Vivienne, hoping he wouldn't have to reveal Dandelion's name.

"A certain bard…"

It took a moment, but finally, he could see in her eyes that the word registered.

"Oh," she said with a small snarl. "That asshole."

"Indeed – that asshole," said Geralt with his best ingratiating smile. "I was hoping that you might be willing to cancel the, uh, -" again he glanced at Vivienne "– request you had placed upon him."

"What? What request? Oh, you mean the hex?"

Geralt sighed. He hadn't wanted Vivienne to know any details. "Yes, the hex."

"Fine, whatever. I don't even care anymore about that scrawny-necked, little shit. I got me a real man, now."

Geralt was almost struck silent.

"You mean, you'll cancel the curse just like that?" He then smiled. He couldn't believe it. He'd assumed that the woman was going to be quite difficult. "Well, that's fantastic. You know, he told me that you were a very levelheaded and kind person. He'll be incredibly grateful."

"Like I give a damn."

"So, when can he expect to be himself once again."

"Well, it'll be a while. If you can't tell, my place is a wreck. Somebody broke in last night. Destroyed the place, and beat up my boyfriend. So, I don't have no time to go visit that hedge-witch."

She suddenly stopped talking and peered suspiciously at Geralt.

"Just where were you last night, mister?"

"Me? Well, I…I was…" and then Geralt paused for just as second before continuing, which allowed Vivienne to jump in.

"I'm really sorry about what happened to your place, but Geralt couldn't have had anything to do with it. He was with me all night," she said as she grabbed his hand and stepped close to him. "Isn't that right, sweetie?"

The witcher peered down at Vivienne for a moment and then suddenly smiled.

"Yes, right. All night," he said, turning back to the bar-wench.

"Oh…okay," said Tiffani, the suspicion falling from her face.

"Your boyfriend – did he, by chance, get a good look at whoever broke in last night?"

"No. Said it was too dark."

"Oh, well, that's a shame," said Geralt, pursing his mouth and shaking his head. "A damn shame."

"Yeah, don't I know it. Anyway, I don't have time to see the witch, like I said."

"Well, that's not a problem. I'd be more than happy to go see her on your behalf. Just tell me her name and where she lives."

The red-head opened her mouth to speak when she, suddenly, squinted her eyes at Geralt again. And then she looked him up and down a couple of times.

"You gotta decent size on ya. Look like your fit," she mumbled to herself. Finally, she peered back into Geralt's eyes. "I could, but…it's gonna cost ya."

He cursed inwardly, but outwardly he just smiled.

"Of course, I'd love to be of assistance. Exactly how can I help?"

"Well, like I said, my boyfriend got hurt last night when whoever it was jumped him. Hurt his back. He's got a job down at the docks, and he tried going there this morning, but he was in too much pain to lift anything heavy so he had to come back home."

"So, you want me to go to the docks and take his place for the rest of the day?"

"Nah. He's been working there a while. His boss is fairly understanding. It's his night job he's gonna need help with."

"His night job?"

"Yeah, about three weeks ago, he started a part-time job at night – once a week. It's a great gig. The pay's incredible. He can earn as much in one night as he does all week at the docks. But there's no way he'll be able to go there tonight with his back all froze up. And like I said, he's only been there a few weeks. If he no-shows tonight, they probably won't ask him back."

"Okay. Where exactly does he work?"

"At the Passiflora."

"The Passiflora?" The witcher didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Yeah, one night a week, they put on a 'Ladies Night' there. For women customers only. That's where I met him."

Geralt was suddenly feeling dread in his stomach.

"And what exactly will I have to do?" He was pretty sure that he already knew the answer.

"Well, you'll have to strip, of course." She then turned and yelled over her shoulder. "Hey, Fabian, where's your pirate outfit?"

"In the wardrobe," a male voice croaked back from somewhere in the flat.

"Wait just a second," ordered Tiffani as she shut the door.

"Unbelievable," he whispered. Before Vivienne could respond, the bar-wench was back with a handful of clothes.

"Now, we expect these to be washed before you return them. And you better dance good, too. Fabian's been coming home with between a hundred and two hundred crown each night. So, we'll expect that from you, too. If you do that, then I'll give you the name of the witch."

"Of course," he said as he took the clothes from Tiffani. But then he furrowed his brow due to what he saw on top. It was the tiniest piece of material with some string wrapped around it. Remembering that he was supposed to dress as a pirate, he picked it up and asked, "Is this my eye-patch?"

"No, dummy, that's your thong."

"My…my thong?"

"Yeah. To cover your package."

"This? This is supposed to cover my dick?"

"Yeah, is that a problem?"

"No," he answered after a long sigh. "No problem at all."

He turned to see Vivienne with a hand over her mouth. Her face was blushing, and it looked like she was trying to stifle a laugh.

'Dandelion,' he thought as he clenched his jaws. 'I'm gonna kill you.'