Hell Hath Frozen Over
Chapter 6
Backstage, Geralt quickly toweled off and got dressed back into his pirate outfit. He was just buckling his belt when Madame Serenity came through the curtain and approached him with a wide smile on her face.
"That was themost unusual strip-tease I've ever seen," she proclaimed with a small laugh. She then glanced at the collecting bowl next to him that was nearly overflowing with coins. "Unusual, but highly effective. You remember that half of that is mine, right?"
"Yeah, I remember. Boss has to have her cut."
"Indeed. And the boss would like even more. So, hurry up and finish getting dressed. You've got a customer who wants a private audience. In fact, after the show you just put on, I'm betting you're going to have private engagements all night."
"Right," he answered, hoping that the customer might be Vivienne. He really wanted to speak with her and thank her for all her support earlier. And for giving him the idea to display his witcher skills on the stage.
"She's waiting in the Jasmine Suite."
"Which room is that again?"
"Second floor, first door on your right."
"Got it," he said as he finished putting on his boots.
He left through a side curtain and went up some back stairs to the second floor. As he ascended the stairs, he recalled what the madame had explained to him earlier in the evening. He'd have around an hour between his sets on the main stage, and during that time, he had to be available for any woman who wanted a private audience. When asked what a private performance consisted of, Madame Serenity had laughed and said, "Anything that you're willing to do. Just remember - I get half of whatever she pays you."
A moment later, he reached the second floor and, to his disappointment, he saw that the woman waiting for him wasn't Vivienne. Though, the truth was that he couldn't tell exactly who the woman was because she wore a cloak with the hood covering her head. He also wondered why she was waiting for him at the door instead of inside the room.
"You asked for me?" he said as he approached the mystery woman.
"Not me," she answered. "But the woman I'm escorting – yes."
The witcher wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that he'd heard the woman's voice from somewhere before. He ducked his head slightly, hoping to get a clear view of her face, but all he could see was her mouth and chin.
"But before we enter, where I'll make introductions, I wanted to first speak with you out here, Captain Lambert, the Prick." She then laughed lightly. "Or, should I say, Geralt of Rivia?"
He suddenly furrowed his brows, and then, his eyes widened when the woman lifted her head so that he could see her face.
"Keira? How - how did you know it was me?"
The sorceress stuck out her bottom lip in a fake pout.
"Oh, Geralt, are you saying that you've forgotten? Forgotten our passionate night of love-making? I would've recognized your scarred-up body anywhere."
"Knock it off. Your feelings aren't hurt, and I'd hardly call what we did as 'making-love.' If I remember correctly, you were just using me.''
"To-may-to, to-mah-to," she said with a laugh. "It's all the same."
"So, what do you want? I don't have time to reminisce right now. I'm actually...well, working."
"Indeed, you are," she said with another laugh. "And you could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw it was you on that stage. Have you taken up a new profession, Geralt? Retired from witcher work, have you?"
"Actually, I have."
"Yes, I am aware." There was a small, knowing smile on her face. "A vineyard owner, I hear. So, then, what exactly are you doing stripping in the Passiflora?"
Geralt didn't say anything. If what Zoltan had told him was true – that Keira Metz was part of Dijkstra's inner circle – then he wasn't surprised that she knew he'd left the Path. Dijkstra's network of spies was probably only rivaled by Emperor Emhyr's. While he and the blonde sorceress had a bit of history together – having done each other some favors years past - the truth was that he wasn't real pleased to see her at the moment. Because if she was now aware that he was in town, then that would mean the Chancellor of Redania would soon be aware, as well. If the man didn't know already. So, given all of that, the witcher wasn't about to answer her question. Telling her anything would be tantamount to telling Dijkstra himself. Thus, the two of them simply stared at one another for several moments, and when it became clear that Geralt wasn't going to volunteer anything else, Keira broke the silence.
"Well, regardless, it appears that this is serendipity, the two of us meeting here tonight."
"I'll be the judge of that."
Keira laughed.
"Oh, Geralt. Please, never change," she said before laughing again. "You know, I just can't imagine why you and Yennefer didn't work out. You are such a charmer."
"Just get to the point, will you? What do you want?"
"Very well. As I said, I am acting as an escort tonight. For the wife of a very important person. And, well, she was quite impressed with your display on the stage below earlier. So, she wanted to see you…up close and personal."
Without waiting for a response, the sorceress turned and opened the door to the suite. Geralt followed her into the room and shut the door behind him. The interior was elegantly furnished, as befitting the Passiflora's reputation, but Geralt only gave his surroundings a cursory glance before his eyes quickly focused on the woman standing just in front of a large, four-poster bed. Like Keira, she had a hood over her head, and when she removed her cloak, he saw that she was quite attractive, with dark skin, brown eyes, and long, black hair that was braided into an elaborate fashion. She sported a simple, golden circlet around her forehead and wore an exotic-looking dress of yellow, blue, and gold trim. If her appearance wasn't enough to clue the witcher in to the fact that she was a foreigner, her accent when she spoke removed all doubt.
"Greetings, sir. To remove clothes would be kind of you, please?"
Geralt didn't bother to say anything. He simply nodded and then methodically undressed until he was down to nothing but the bright, blue thong. At that point, the woman approached him and began to slowly appraise his body. Up close, he could pick up an exotic scent. Almost like cinnamon. He also noticed a few, small wrinkles around the woman's eyes and some strands of grey hair mixed in with the black. But none of that detracted from her beauty. In fact, they gave her an appearance of wisdom and maturity that made her even more attractive. She walked slowly around him, her eyes scanning up and down the entire time. Once she was back in front of the witcher, she smiled, revealing straight, white teeth.
"To you, a proposition I offer."
oOo
"Alright," said Marissa, a big smile on her face. "I've let you keep it to yourself long enough. Now, come clean. Who is he?"
She and Vivienne were back in their room at the Chameleon, with Marissa sprawled out on their queen size bed, eating some fresh strawberries.
"Who is who?" asked Vivienne coyly, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed.
"Captain Lambert, the Prick," said Marissa with a laugh. "That's who."
"I can honestly say that I know of no one by that name."
"Oh really? So, you just ran up to that stage and talked to a strange dancer because…why exactly?"
"Because I felt sorry for him. You saw the way he was dancing. He looked so awkward and embarrassed."
"I'll say. So, what exactly did you tell him?"
"Just to loosen up some. To imagine he was making love to the audience."
Marissa burst out laughing.
"So, that's how he makes love to a woman? With back-flips and sword-throwing?"
Vivienne smiled at that.
"Yes, well, he clearly had another idea in mind."
"Clearly," answered Marissa before laying back against some pillows and continuing to nibble on the fruit. "I wonder just who he is."
"I…I wouldn't know."
Vivienne hated lying to her cousin, but there was no way that she would break Geralt's trust. After everything that he'd done for her, she owed him that much.
"He can't just be a simple stripper. He's got to have some amazing backstory. Because did you see all the scars on his body? And the fire-breathing?"
Vivienne decided not to respond, hoping that Marissa would eventually change the subject.
"I bet he's a former mercenary. That's where he got his scars and the sword skills. But at some point, he had a crisis of conscience and decided he could no longer kill for money. Or, no, wait – even better. He was betrayed by his own men – because his unit was hired to kill the family of the woman he loved, and he took his lover and fled to the north, keeping himself disguised the entire time. But then his lover became pregnant, and they needed coin. So, for a while, he worked in a carnival. That's how he learned the fire-breathing trick. And now, he and his little family travel from town to town – one step ahead of their pursuers while he must resort to odd jobs to keep them clothed and fed."
Vivienne laughed.
"You have got a vivid imagination. You should write romance novels."
Suddenly, Marissa sat up straight, staring in disbelief at her cousin.
"Wait a tick! You're lying to me. I know you know him. The mask and bandana he wore on stage! I saw you buy those this afternoon in Hierarch Square. Tell me I'm wrong!"
Vivienne stared at the younger woman before she eventually let out a long sigh.
"Okay, you're not wrong."
"Well, who is he, then?"
"Marissa, I can't tell you. I can't. It's not my place to say. I hope that you can respect that."
"Hold on. It couldn't have been that old, white-haired guy you introduced me to this morning, right? What was his name? Jerald or something?"
"Of course not! That's just silly."
"Yeah, I guess so. So, you're really not going to tell me?"
Vivienne shook her head.
"I'm sorry, Marissa, but it's not my secret to share. Okay?"
The brunette made a sour face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile as she scooched across the bed so that she and Vivienne were knee to knee.
"Fine, but at least tell me how you know him. Did you meet him here in Novigrad? If so, then you work as fast as me. We only got here last night."
"No, he and I actually met a couple of years ago, in Toussaint."
"Were you lovers?" she asked, wriggling her eyebrows.
"No! We weren't lovers," said Vivienne, turning red. "He was a complete gentleman."
"How boring." Before Vivienne could protest, Marissa plowed ahead. "Okay, okay – so he was a complete gentleman. But," and she smiled widely, "do you want to be his lover?"
Vivienne blushed even further.
"I am not going to answer that."
"Ah ha! That's not a 'no!' So, you do like men after all."
"Of course, I do. I just don't think about sleeping with all of them, that's all."
"Well, you should. And especially with this one…the Prick. Did you see how big he was?"
Vivienne refused to answer.
"Ha! I know you did. And by the gods – that butt! You could bounce an oren off of it clear across the room."
"Now why in the world would you even want to do that?"
"I'm not saying I'd want to. I'm just saying you could. You have to admit, it's de-lish."
"Yes," she agreed, as a small smile came to her lips. "It was quite shapely."
"What I'd really like to do…is bite it!" Marissa exclaimed wide-eyed, before chomping down on the rest of the strawberry.
Vivienne laughed. "You're incorrigible."
"I know. And you love it. Listen, Viv, you better grab this guy, whoever he is. The fact that you've been blushing the entire time we've been talking about him tells me just how much you like him."
"I have not!"
"Oh, please. Now, it's true – he can't dance worth a damn, but you can always teach him how to…move those hips. If you know what I mean."
"Marissa, I always know what you mean. Everybody always knows what you mean."
"Good. Because life's too short to play games," she replied with a shrug. "To play the demure, naïve maiden. I say – when you see what you want, go for it."
Suddenly, Vivienne's face turned serious.
"You really think I should? What if – what if he's not interested?"
"Then, he's a damn fool. What man in his right mind wouldn't want you? You are kind and generous and encouraging. You're sophisticated and absolutely beautiful. If I didn't love you so much, I'd hate you. Hell, if I didn't love men so much, I'd go for you."
The blonde smiled briefly but quickly turned pensive again.
"I don't know. What man could actually -" But she broke off her thought. Not voicing the insecurity that she always carried with her.
A moment later, Marissa reached over and grabbed both of Vivienne's hands in her own. She stared her cousin intently in the eyes.
"Vivienne, I know that you think I'm immature, impetuous, and promiscuous. And maybe I am. I certainly won't deny the last one. But I've been alive long enough to learn that all of my greatest regrets in life have never been when I tried and failed. My greatest regrets have always come from those moments when I had an opportunity to act on my desires but my fears kept me from it. Life is just too short to live with a bunch of 'If only I would haves' hanging over my head.
"I don't know exactly what it is inside of you that's holding you back, but I know there's something. I've seen it these last six months. And whatever it is, I think it's keeping you from happiness. And that breaks my heart. Because I want you to be happy, Viv."
Vivienne suddenly felt the tears welling up in her eyes. She let go of her cousin's hands and hugged her tightly. After a moment, she swallowed hard and spoke.
"Thank you, Marissa. I love you."
"I love you, too, Viv."
Eventually, the two women separated.
"When did you become so wise?" asked Vivienne with a smile.
"I've always been," she answered, returning the smile. "I just hide it."
"Is that so? And why would you do that?"
Marissa cupped her large breasts in her hands.
"With these boobs…and brains? It just wouldn't be fair to the rest of the women of the world. I've got to give you ladies a bit of a chance."
"And we thank you for that."
"Now, speaking of 'life being too short,' the night's still young and all this talk about your man's delicious bottom has made me randy. I think I might take a hansom cab over to the Royal Ambassador, see if I can find Count Dufrene. Do you want to join me?"
"I think I'll pass. I've got…other things on my mind."
"Of course. Then, don't wait up."
"I never do."
oOo
It was well past midnight before Geralt finally made it back to the Chameleon, and he was beat. Madame Serenity had been correct. He'd had virtually no down time the entire evening, for it seemed as if every woman in the joint had wanted a private audience with him at some point. Well, every woman but Vivienne. She'd apparently left the brothel some time before his second set. He'd looked for her down in the main room but hadn't been able to find her anywhere. And he was surprised by just how disappointed he'd felt when he'd discovered that she'd left without saying goodbye. He'd really wanted to speak with her – to express his gratitude for everything that she'd done for him that day. She'd helped him with Tiffani. She'd bought him the mask, the bandana, and the incredibly expensive vodka. And, of course, she'd come to his rescue on the stage when it looked like the entire evening was going to end up a fiasco. He could probably count on one hand the number of times in his life that someone had actually rescued him. Growing up at Kaer Morhen, it had been drilled into him that he should never expect aid from anyone. He was to be a witcher – forever walking the Path alone, with no one to rely on but himself. But Vivienne had helped him, and that thought caused him to almost smile.
And, ultimately, it was okay that she'd left early, he told himself, for he knew that she was staying at the cabaret. He'd be able to speak with her there. Though, he also figured it was way too late to go by her room at that point. She'd most likely be asleep by now. And the thought of her lying in bed, suddenly, brought certain other thoughts to mind. Natural but unwelcome thoughts. For the first time in a very long time – perhaps even years – he was thinking of a woman romantically. And he wondered if it was possible that she could think of him the same way.
"Knock it off," he said to himself after only a moment, shaking his head. For he remembered clearly what she'd called him in his room earlier in the evening. That dreaded word - friend. "All she wants to be is your friend. As if she would ever want anything else from a mutant freak like you."
And he suddenly had the strongest desire to be back home. While working the fields day after day didn't truly fulfill him, he at least felt safe at Corvo Bianco. If nothing else, there were certainly no romantic entanglements to complicate his life.
With the smile no longer on his face, he bypassed the front-door and headed towards the back of the cabaret near the stables. The bucket and washboard were where he'd left them earlier in the day. He grabbed them, exited the city through Glory Gate, and returned to the canal. And though he would have preferred to be in bed, he instead spent the next half-hour washing the sweat-soaked pirate outfit like Tiffani had demanded. He knew he could have asked ViLula to launder it, but more than likely she was already down for the night, and he wanted to get this whole bloody ordeal over with as quickly as possible. While he had initially busted Dandelion's chops the night before, the truth was that he really did want to help his long-time pal out of his predicament. And Priscilla, too. So, the sooner that he could break the curse, the sooner that Dandelion could return and reconcile with his fiancée. Then, they could get married, and he could finally return home, back to his estate. And he really did desire to be back at Corvo Bianco, for this 'holiday' north was not going as he'd hoped. He had wanted to enjoy some peaceful, relaxing days with his friends. Swapping old stories, having a few laughs, and, perhaps, drinking a bit too much. But, so far, there'd been none of that. As he'd feared, Dandelion had once again dragged him into trouble. With everything that had happened, he couldn't believe that he'd been in town for barely more than a day. It seemed that he'd already been there a week.
"I'm getting too old for this shit," he whispered to himself as he trudged back to the cabaret.
The witcher was now in a dark mood, and he wished that he just could sink into a deep tub of scalding water. Because the truth was that he felt as soiled as the pirate outfit had been. But he knew that what really needed cleansing wasn't his skin, but rather his spirit. He couldn't explain exactly why, but he felt stained and dirty on the inside. Perhaps, it was because he'd spent the entire evening taking off his clothes for strangers. That might have been exciting to some, but it had just left him depressed and with a sense of self-loathing.
He hung the pirate clothes on a line and then made his way up the back stairs to his room. At that point, all he wanted to do was fall into bed and, hopefully, unlike the night before, get six or seven hours of peaceful sleep. He put his key in the lock, and as soon as he opened the door to his room, he knew he wasn't alone. He instinctively reached up for the hilt of his sword – for a sword that wasn't there.
"Looking for these?" said Sigismund Dijkstra with a laugh.
To one side of the dimly-lit room was a table and chairs. A lamp on the table gave the room a small amount of illumination, and the light flickered off the pig-like face and bald head of Redania's Chancellor. He had squeezed himself into one of the chairs and had Geralt's swords resting across his ample lap. On either side of Dijkstra were four of the biggest men that Geralt had ever seen. Perhaps even bigger than Dijkstra himself. They were certainly more fit, and they were all decked out in full, plate armor. The witcher glanced to his right to see four other guards dressed the same and standing at attention, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.
"I knew you'd retired, but I never thought I'd see the day when you'd actually leave your swords behind. You're getting sloppy and careless in your old age."
"Maybe so," said Geralt with a smile. But it was a smile that would've frozen water. And then in a flash, he grabbed the knife at his hip and hurled it towards Dijkstra. The blade sailed just a few inches over his head and slammed into the wall behind him. It had happened so fast that the guards still hadn't even cleared their swords from their scabbards.
"But if I had wanted, I could've put that knife through your throat just now…while your goon-squad just stood there looking stupid."
The small room was deathly silent for several long moments before, eventually, Dijkstra chuckled. He motioned with a hand, and his eight guards immediately moved past Geralt and shut the door behind them.
"You may have retired, but I see that some things never change. That's comforting to know."
"Yeah, well, call me sensitive, but being threatened typically puts me a foul mood."
"Threatened? Who's threatened you? Give me a name and I'll have them flogged."
Dijkstra's smirk still hadn't left his face.
"Spare me your innocent act. You could've easily sent over a single knight with an invitation to your palace. But, no, you break into my room and bring a squad a heavily-armored men. It's nothing more than you whipping out your cock to show me how big it is."
The Chancellor's smile suddenly changed. And, now, like Geralt's, there was no warmth in it.
"Or I could have sent a company of my so-called 'goons' to beat you bloody, shackle you in chains, and throw you into one of my dungeons for a week. Then, you'd have seen how massive my cock really is."
"Guess I'll consider myself lucky then."
After a moment, Dijkstra gave a small shake of his head.
"Well, as usual, your surly attitude has gotten us off on the wrong foot. I'm actually here to do you a favor."
The witcher had known Dijkstra too long to believe that. But he knew it was best to hear the man out, at least. He was the ruler of the entire Redanian country after all.
He walked over to the table. "A favor, huh? Well, you can start by handing over my swords."
After Dijkstra complied, Geralt sat down in a chair opposite him. Given that he'd come across Keira Metz earlier in the evening, the witcher wasn't all that surprised that Dijkstra was in his room. He just didn't know exactly what the man wanted. But he knew for sure that the Chancellor wasn't there to do him a favor.
"I'm all ears. What's this favor you're going to grace me with?"
"I've got a very simple job for you to do. A job that will pay quite handsomely."
"Uh huh. Right. I remember very clearly the jobs I did for you last time I was in Novigrad. None of them were simple. In fact, they almost got me killed. So, no thanks. I don't need the money that badly."
"I can promise you – there's no danger this time."
"Oh, you promise, do you? Well, that changes everything. If it's so safe and simple, then why don't you just handle it yourself?"
Suddenly, the Chancellor let out a full-throated laugh and patted his large belly.
"Let me explain, and you'll find out why."
"Fine. Let's hear it."
"Over the years, you've made it clear that you have no interest in politics. So, I'll spare you details. Just know that I am in the middle of forming a trade agreement with the kingdom of Ofier. A trade agreement that is vitally important to me – as it will greatly strengthen Redania's economy."
Suddenly, Geralt knew exactly what Dijkstra wanted. But he wasn't about to let the bald man know.
"That's fascinating. How does that concern me exactly?"
"Earlier this evening, the wife of the Ofieri ambassador, Helgard Nadari, took a great interest in you. I believe that she even made you a proposal. One that you refused."
The witcher simply nodded.
"Well, I'm willing to increase the remuneration. Substantially."
"I'm confused. How's her proposal to me related to your trade deal?"
"It's not. At least not directly. But Lady Nadari is not used to being told 'no.' It makes her sad. Which, in turn, makes Ambassador Nadari upset."
"And you need them happy if you want to finalize your agreement," concluded the witcher.
"It would certainly help. Especially since I told him that I would see what I could do."
"Dijkstra, I'm going to tell you what I told Keira and the lady from Ofier. I don't take off my clothes for money.
The Chancellor guffawed. "Really? I could find a hundred or more women in Novigrad who would argue differently."
"Tonight was a one-off. Plus, I simply don't have time for what she wants. I've got other priorities right now. And no amount of your coin is going to change my mind."
"Yes, I forgot that about you. You're a rare breed. Motivated by higher ideals than money. Well, how about this then? Do me this favor, and I'll tell you where your friend - the bard - is located."
Geralt didn't say a word at first. He just peered hard at the former spy-master.
"I know where Dandelion is," he finally said. "In Oxenfurt, on business."
After a moment, a slow smile crept across Dijkstra's face.
"You've always been a lousy liar, Geralt. It's one of the few things I've always liked about you."
At that point, Dijkstra stood and limped toward the door. After opening it, he turned back and faced the witcher.
"I don't know why Dandelion is in hiding. Nor do I know exactly why you were stripping at the Passiflora tonight. But I'm betting they're related. And if neither money nor your friend's whereabouts motivates you, then I guess I'll just have to find something that does. Enjoy your time in Novigrad, Witcher. I hope you stay out of trouble."
He gave the witcher one last smile before shutting the door behind him.
"Terrific," thought Geralt with a long sigh. "Just…bloody terrific."
oOo
The white wolf hurried along the narrow trail barely making a sound. His senses were on high alert, completely tuned in to the surroundings. The wet grass of the forest floor was soft on the pads of his feet. His olfactory senses were picking up a variety of scents from the woodland flora and fauna, and his eyes were scanning the clear, blue skies above him as he pursued his prey – a small, yellow oriole. Deep down the wolf knew that he could never catch the bird, and at times, it seemed to take pleasure in mocking him – occasionally alighting on a high tree limb where they both knew he couldn't reach. In those moments, he'd sit on the forest floor looking up at oriole, a small whimper escaping from his throat. The yellow bird would flap its wings and tweet down at him. He didn't understand its chirps, but it seemed to be saying, "Catch me if you can." And then it would take off in flight again.
The wolf didn't know how long he'd been pursuing the bird, but eventually, they both came out of the forest and into a clearing near the top of a hill. The predator suddenly stopped at what he saw. The trail led down into a beautiful valley full of lush vineyards, blooming orchards, and clean waters. He felt of surge of warmth inside of him. For he knew that it was home, and it was calling to him. But that's when he heard the oriole singing high above him. He glanced upward to see the bird gliding along the winds, and then it flapped its wings and headed off in an opposite direction. He watched the bird fly away towards the setting sun, and he felt a deep longing to follow. But when he turned back to face the valley, he felt its pull as well. The wolf stood there at the crossroads not knowing what to do. He couldn't seem to make himself take a step in either direction. He peered again down into the valley before turning his head to find the oriole still flying away – now just a speck in the distance. And, suddenly, the wolf raised his head and let out a mournful howl. As his cry finished echoing down into the valley, he sensed a strange vibration on his chest…
And Geralt immediately opened his eyes to see a shadow lurking above him. Without even thinking, he cast his hand forward and signed an Aard. The telekinetic force blasted the shadow backwards across the room. It let out a high-pitched yelp as it flew through the air before crashing into the small table and chairs. In a flash, the witcher was out of bed with his knife in hand, but he stopped halfway to his prey and let out a sigh. Flailing about in the wreckage of the broken table and chairs – like a turtle on its back – was Dandelion, his fake glasses sitting askew on his face and his grey beard pushed up and partially covering his eyes.
"First Dijkstra, now you," growled the witcher in a low voice. "Not even sure why I lock the door anymore."
He glanced at the window to see that it was just prior to sunrise before walking over and helping the bard get untangled from the mess.
"That's some fine welcome," hissed Dandelion after getting to his feet and readjusting his disguise. "If I didn't need your help, I'd toss you out into the street."
Geralt gave a small shrug.
"You should know better than to sneak up on me when I'm asleep. And what the hell are you doing here anyway?"
"Me? What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be out there, working around the clock, figuring out how to break my curse. Instead, I find you in bed, sound asleep. By the way, did you know that you were whimpering?"
The bard wore a sly smile on his face.
"Was I? Did I sound anything like you just now – as you flew through the air? Because at first, I thought a little school girl had broken into my room. Turns out it was just you."
"Ha ha. Very droll. But you haven't answered my question. How can you be sleeping when I'm still…you know?"
"Herbaceous?"
Dandelion just glared at him.
"Yes," he finally stated. "Well?"
"You know what? Sometimes being your friend can be an absolutely soul-sucking experience."
The glare left Dandelion's face to be replaced with a furrowed brow.
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Dealing with your nonsense is exhausting. In fact, I'm not sure which relationship is more tiresome – the one I have with you or the one I had with Yen."
"Hold on! Now you've gone too far."
"No, I haven't. After all the bullshit I've had to go through in the past twenty-four hours to help your sorry ass out…I don't want to hear a single word of complaint out of you. Understood?"
"Well, someone has a burr in his britches this morning."
"You would, too," answered Geralt before recounting his activities since he'd last left Dandelion at the Seven Cats Inn. After a short summary – a summary in which he omitted the details of the events at the Passiflora - he concluded with, "And, now, to top it all off, I've got Dijkstra on my ass."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. Very. He and his goons broke into my room last night. He -"
"No, no," interrupted Dandelion, waving his hand at Geralt. "I don't care about that. I'm talking about Tiffani. She's really going to tell you the name of the witch who cursed me? That's fantastic! I guess I can forgive you for napping on the job, then." He then scowled. "I knew I was right to come here this morning. We can go see this harridan together. And, boy, let me tell you – is she ever going to get a piece of my mind."
Geralt clenched his jaws.
"Dandelion, you yourself said that dealing with witches and curses is not your specialty. So, how about you just keep your mouth shut for once in your life and let me handle it? Because I'm really down to my last nerve right now."
But the bard was no longer listening. Instead, he was pacing back and forth in the room, like a caged animal, and mumbling to himself.
"She'll rue the day…no one does this to me…does she know who I am…"
Geralt just shook his head, a disgusted look on his face.
"Knock it off, Buttercup. You're not scaring anyone. In fact -"
But he was interrupted by a knock on his door. The two men suddenly looked at each other.
"Are you expecting company?" whispered Dandelion.
Geralt shook his head. "But it could be Priscilla."
"Bugger," hissed Dandelion, wide-eyed.
"Hide."
"Where?" he asked, frantically looking around the room.
The witcher pointed toward the wall.
"Quick - behind the door."
oOo
Vivienne looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. She quickly took her hair back out of the pony tail and let it fall down along the top of her shoulders.
"Yes, that's much better," she said to herself. She was alone in her room at the Chameleon and she'd been up since before sunrise.
After smoothing the fabric of her skirt down along her hips, she brought her palm close to her mouth and exhaled forcefully a couple of times. She wrinkled her nose and immediately went into her supplies. A moment later, she popped some Angel's Kiss into her mouth and began chewing. A minute later, after swallowing down the minty leaves, she took one last look into the full-length mirror before letting out a long sigh.
"You can do this," she said, and then she headed for the door.
As she walked the hall of the cabaret, she could feel her heart thumping, and she bit down on her lower lip.
"You're just asking him how things went last night. And inviting him to go to breakfast with you, that's all. It's no big deal. I mean, the man does have to eat, right?"
Before she knew it, she was at the witcher's door. She exhaled deeply one more time, and, suddenly, she smiled. Despite her nerves, she also really was excited. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had anticipated something so much. She raised her fist in the air to knock, but she stopped and furrowed her brow. She turned her ear toward the door. For she thought that she could hear voices coming from inside of the room, and immediately, all of her confidence evaporated.
"Of course," she thought to herself. "I should have known he'd find some company at the Passiflora. He had women throwing themselves at him."
She turned away from the door and was halfway down the hall when her cousin's words came to mind and stopped her in her tracks.
"Life's too short, Viv. If you don't at least try, you'll never forgive yourself."
She stood there in silence for a moment before nodding resolutely and turning on her heel. She strode up to the witcher's door and knocked twice with authority.
Immediately, the voices from inside the room stopped, and then a few seconds later, the door opened to reveal Geralt in nothing but his underpants. Normally, that might have made her pause, but she'd seen much more of him the previous evening. So, instead, she looked him right in his face – a face that was smiling back at her.
"Good morning," they said at the same time.
That caused them both to smile.
"You first," he said.
"Hi. I, uh, I just came by to see how things went last night. Well, that, and to see if you'd like to get some breakfast, maybe?"
"Last night?" He then gave a small laugh and shook his head. "Last night was a disaster until you showed up. But it worked out alright in the end, thanks to you."
She smiled and took a small step forward.
"That's great to hear. I'm glad I could help."
"You did. A lot. I meant to come by your room afterward and thank you, but it was way past midnight before I got back. So, thank you, Vivienne. What you did for me…I owe you one."
"Okay. So, maybe we could get some breakfast and you could tell me all about it?"
Suddenly, Geralt winced.
"I'd love to you, but that, uh, contract that you were helping me with…I was gonna try to get that resolved this morning."
"Of course," she said taking a step back and nodding her head. "Of course. Yes, that should take priority. Forgive me for being selfish."
"No, wait! Don't go. Maybe…maybe you could come with me? It shouldn't be dangerous."
Vivienne suddenly heard a noise coming from behind the door. It sounded as if someone was hissing at Geralt.
"Do you have company?" she asked as she saw a scowl come to the witcher's face. He let out a frustrated sigh and then reached behind the door. She heard a male voice yell out "Hey!" and, a second later, she was face to face with a person who was obviously wearing some kind of disguise. The beard was clearly fake.
"Vivienne, this is my friend…Mister Kupz," said Geralt, with a slight roll of his eyes.
"Well, hello there," said the stranger. "Aren't you a delightful vision. Please call me, Buder."
"Knock it off, Buder," growled the witcher, smacking the man across the back of the head. "You're engaged, remember?"
"Ah, yes. Of course. Sorry," he said to Vivienne with a small bow. "Old habits die hard. If you could excuse us for one moment, my lady, I'd like to have a word in private with my scarred-up friend here."
"Yes. Of course."
Buder gave another bow and shut the door. At first, Vivienne was tempted to step close to try and listen in, but her good manners prevailed and she stayed rooted in place. She knew that their conversation was none of her business. That said, she could still hear some muted words coming from the other side of the door. It was clear that the two men were having a heated discussion. And, then, suddenly, the door opened again, and Geralt stood there with a smile on his face.
"I have conveyed to Mr. Kupz just how invaluable you've been to me…and him."
"Yes, and I decided that it would be an honor and a delight to share the company of such ravishing beauty this morning."
Vivienne looked at Geralt.
"Are you sure? I don't want to be the cause of any problems. We can always get together afterwards."
"Yes. We're sure. Aren't we, Buder?"
"Most definitely."
"Let me just get dressed, and then we can be on our way," said Geralt turning back towards the interior of the room.
"Ah, yes," said the man called Buder. "That reminds me. You might want to wear your cloak – with the hood up."
Geralt paused and looked at his friend.
"And why is that?"
"Well, you might have a bounty on your head."
"What? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Well, Cletus and his boys might think that you're a wanted man."
"Who's Cletus?"
"The innkeep of the Seven Cats Inn. He may be under the impression that you're Letho of Gulet."
"And why would he think I'm Letho?" growled the witcher.
"It's not my fault! I didn't tell you to storm into his tavern and rough everybody up."
"I didn't rough every – that is not what happened."
"Not according to Cletus."
"Dandelion, why does he think I'm Letho?"
"I might have told him you were."
"Of course, you did," said Geralt with a sigh.
"Well, I had to think of something! They barged into my room after you left. Asked if you were a friend of mine. I couldn't say yes. They would've tried taking their displeasure out on me. It could've gotten ugly. For them, I mean."
"So, instead, you told them that I'm the most wanted regicide in all the Northern kingdoms."
Mr. Kupz shrugged.
"He was the first witcher that came to mind."
"Terrific. Just…bloody terrific."