180 Toussaint (Part 19)

A man with dirty hair sheathed the sword after giving it a good shake and cleaning the blade. It was polished and sharp. Enough to shake off every drop of blood and dirt with a simple move.

"Riggers, sewers and humans. I hate them equally now."

"Riggers are money. Good money." - said another dirty person with the same set of two swords.

"Without a doubt that is their only redeeming quality." - grumbled the first. He wanted to grumble a bit more, and he did so. - "Two witchers to kill a rigger. Tale of the year. We could have joined forces to kill a cyclops or a katakan but no... here we are, drowning in shit and pulling this overgrown shitface outside, because this pile of dung is so fucking big, that it will block shit from some noble ass above and ruin his mood. Just the work I need in the evening... fuck, I just stepped into something."

"Big rigger with good pay enough for two."

"But still a rigger. Fuck, I got something in my hair. How the hell something dropped on me from above?"

"We are in a sewer, Lambert."

"And that is the reason why I don't want to continue the discussion. You know what, I fucking hate this shit. How much will we earn for this? I'll tell you. Barely enough for a week of stay."

"We are witchers."

"You don't say, Geralt! And here I thought I was Foltest himself. Oh, sorry, I'm not, because I'm in sewers and swimming in shit instead of fucking bitches in royal bedroom and drinking Est Est!" - Lambert grumbled on the way out like there was no tomorrow. Geralt looked the same. - "How long has it been? Two weeks? We are chasing ghosts here, Geralt! She is not here!"

"Even if it is so, we need to know for sure. Let's go back, Yen should have found something."

"Yen this, Yen that... she got you around her finger."

Geralt looked at Lambert with an obvious threat in his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah... that what I'm talking about. But it's not like I dislike her in particular. I see shit everywhere I look, you know."

They got out of the sewers and spread foul air around the street. Even cat and dogs preferred to stay away, let alone other people. Good thing it was nighttime already.

"She can't be alone." - said Geralt, while removing his boots and pouring out stinky water out right on the streets. - "Lambert... if she is alone and Alan is somewhere else, she will be like me. She can't be like me. She can't be alone and repeat what I've been through. Not her."

Lambert glanced at Geralt with a snort. An old lady opened the window to have a breath of fresh air. Right above them. She was wrong to do so.

"How can you be so immoral? Taking a dump right in the middle of the street! When I was young, no one did so! What a lack of morals! Thugs! I will file a complain!" - she screamed and closed the window.

"Clean the shit from your face first."

The window opened again. Old lady screamed something inaudible.

"I talked to my friend here, not you, old lady!" - said Lambert, while the old woman poured something right on top of his head, cursed and closed the window again.

"You still smell like shit, so I guess that wasn't water to give you a wash." - noted Geralt apathetically.

"Very fucking funny!" - cursed Lambert and looked at the window with anger. - "I remembered you... when you need a witcher I will take double pay!"

"I doubt that will come anytime soon."

"I love you too, Geralt. But no stick play here, I prefer women to ol' dudes with shit all over their body. No, wait, it is shit with some ol' dude inside."

"Lambert."

"What?"

"How is your sword training lately?"

"Erm... good I guess."

"I think we need to make sure."

"Nah, leave it. I... I think I need to have a good bath. Yeah, no training, let's first take care of the necessity."

"Training is a necessity." - insisted Geralt with a serious face. Lambert turned to him with sour facial features.

Two witchers found a river in the outskirts of the city and dived as deep as they could like their life depended on it. It took at least an hour to wash everything off.

"Tretogor. And they say this place is a damn pearl of the North." - Lambert said while they were going back to the inn.

"Who?"

"The ones who live here of course."

Some kid ran across the street. He pursued a cat that hissed at the passing Geralt and ran away so fast that her tail almost got on fire.

"You know, Geralt, this city is suffocating. Look around."

White haired witcher nodded in understanding. The criminal rate of Tretogor was very low several months ago, but now it is even more so. Secret service took every inch of land under control. You can't step twice without asking for permission to do it once.

"At least I don't expect a dagger from the dark corner. Only a crossbow bolt. They like to use crossbows, right? Dijkstra and his men."

"They like to use people." - shrugged Geralt and looked at the side subtly. - "I thought he won't have time to care for us, but it seems I was wrong."

"Yes, Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, you was right." - a fat man came out of the narrow passage. - "I knew you were here and didn't care because I, unlike you, have some serious matters to take care of and can't afford pleasant trips to the sewers and everyday fuck with a sorceress. Well, the latter I can, but not the former."

"What a shame. You miss quite a lot. Try it once in a while." - snorted Lambert.

"No, thank you. I believe you two are enough for both of us in that aspect." - the man smiled. - "You know, I didn't want to meet you in person. But by saying this, I forgot my manners. Dijkstra, at your service."

"I see that. Twenty men stationed around are a significant sign of your lack of manners and unwillingness."

"And you can't blame me, right? Not after you left ten of my men and me lying on the icy floor. You know, my leg was nearly ripped off by you." - Dijkstra stared at Geralt with ill will. He was fighting an urge to give an order. An order for execution here and now. Yet he didn't do so. - "What can I say, I'm a popular man and people love me."

"Yeah, like I love nails in my undies." - Lambert shifted slightly at the back of Geralt and stood there with a clear look at the other side of the street. He rubbed his hand across the pants to dry it. He liked to have a firm grip on the hilt.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to kill you."

"You lead very unhealthy life." - said Geralt.

"What makes you think so? My fat body?"

"No, the fact that you try to threaten a witcher on a narrow road standing only ten steps away. I thought your leg taught you something. Looks like I was wrong." - shrugged Geralt and shifted his stance too. From the view of a pedestrian he will be relaxed, but the explosive readiness of his body will terrify seasoned swordsman.

If Dijkstra had hair, they would have stood up on ends by now. But he didn't, so he felt only shivers running down his spine.

"As I said, witcher, I'm not here to fight, only to give you information that your brilliant woman insisted to pass to you. And, I must say, she can insist. The fact that I'm doing it personally shows that."

"And?"

"You won't even want to drink with me? To talk about good times and plans for your future? No? Shame. I thought we are already good friends. Well, if we put aside my wish to cut you in pieces."

"Friends have mutual interest and personal connections. We lack both." - said Geralt and looked around. He counted twenty-three figures around on both first and second floors of the buildings all around the street.

If they attacked together, escape will be troublesome.

"Ah, I beg to differ. You see, you poked your nose where it doesn't belong. Everyone has to know the place they belong. You are a vagrant witcher, you belong to that life. To killing monsters and... more killing monsters. I am a player of another level and my place is somewhere else. Normally, our paths will be crossed only if one of us is acting out of hand and trying to reach for the place wrong for him. I know my place, so it is you, witcher."

"What are you getting at, Dijkstra?"

"Careful, Geralt. Careful. You are not in the wilds of Temeria or cities of Nilfgaard. You are in Tretogor. My home. My ground and my country. Here you are listening and I'm giving orders. Or gifts. To your luck today I'm here to do both. First a gift. The Ciri you are looking for is not here. I'm telling you this because I owe a favor to your precious Yennefer. I repeat. The Ciri you need is not here."

Geralt frowned and remembered a talk with Cordingher a month ago.

"Crap." - he cursed and sighed heavily, like an entire world descended on his shoulders. - "Where is she then?"

Dijkstra gave him a look as sour as it can ever get. It told that he had no idea at all.

"And now the order. By tomorrow you, your friend here and Yennefer will leave my city."

"What if I don't believe you?"

"You know Geralt, the fact that I didn't order to make a porcupine out of you the first time I saw you is enough of the reason to at least pay attention to my words. I'm yet to ask for payback because of my broken leg. You are a reason it hurts like hell six times a day." - Dijkstra said and made a step forward with limping motion. - "I might be a killer and a spy. I'm not a good man and I'm willing to get rid of kids. I believe that death solves problems. No person, no problem. But I'm not a liar, and I return favors. That is how we do business in our circle, Geralt. My reputation is not an empty tale and useless talk. I cherish it. Yennefer did me a favor. I don't want to owe her. I returned it now. You can believe me or not, I don't give a shit, Geralt. I'm not your pal or buddy and I sincerely hope that I will never be and from tomorrow onwards you will never come in my line of sight. One look at you makes my leg itch."

"You are such a nice guy."

"Ah, sarcasm of a lowly witcher by the name Lambert. What a fresh thing to hear. Anyway, I said my word and not interested in yours and believe me, it is better that you don't open your mouth again today. I owe Yen and she asked on behalf of Geralt. Not you."

Lambert clicked his tongue, but he knew when to shut up. And two dozens crossbows aimed at him from all sides were a significant argument to keep silence.

The duo watched and heard how people got away, leaving the street empty.

"Do you believe him?"

"No. I believe Yen. And I heard about Ciri's double elsewhere. That might be good. But I need to make sure."

"About what? That she is not the real Ciri?"

"No. That she won't be harmed."

"Geralt... are you insane? This is Tretogor, capital city of Redania. They have and army stationed here!"

"So?"

"You are impossible!"

"So?"

"Fuck this! Just ask Yen. She will know, no?"

"Perhaps." - Geralt finally relaxed when the last men disappeared from his sight. - "We chose the wrong direction. Yen told me we should move south, and we opted to do so, but those rumors sidetracked us. If Dijkstra is telling the truth, we will go south without delay."

"Geralt... Ciri is with Alan. That kid is a survivor. And we both know that you better worry about the people who will come across them and try to harm Ciri or him. If you ask me, I will await for rumors about collapsed mount Gorgon or blown up Nilfgaard capital or something similar in scale and go there. There we will find the two shitty brats behaving like rouges and having fun."

"Let's go back. We are late as it is."

"Yeah, yeah... henpecked pussy."

"Lambert, I noticed your loose stance today. Double training in the morning. Full contact spar."

"Fuck..." - said Lambert with a downtrodden face.

Who asked him to have such a long tongue? Geralt is an ol' dude. He is not to be fucked with.