“You cheating scum! You worthless singer!”
In an alley in northern Novigrad, a slender, feminine elven male stood on the roof beside a narrow house painted in pink. He was in nothing but his pajamas. The elf was surrounded by pots of flowers. He grabbed one of the pots and was ready to hurl it at the man on the ground.
The man on the ground had a delicate mustache, and he was wearing an olive hat with a feather jutting out of it. He leaped backward like a goat, barely dodging the incoming pot. The pot missed him and shattered into a thousand shards.
A lute came flying straight at him. The man scrambled to evade it. “Please, Ariel!” he shouted. “Don’t trust them! They’re lying! I’m loyal to you! I’ve never slept with any other man! I swear, if that was lie, I’d stay celibate my whole life!”
“You lying fiend! Stay away from me!” The elf stormed back into his house and slammed the windows shut.
“Why won’t you believe me? No man can ever compare to your looks. Well, only man. Women are excluded.” The man picked the lute up, muttering under his breath. He looked around cautiously, like a marmot that was wary of any potential predators jumping out of the shadows.
He heaved a sigh of relief after knowing that he was safe. He straightened out his blue collar and tight-fitting top. “Well, there’s always a place for me somewhere. Time for me to join that guy’s banquet. If I’m lucky, I might get a stroke of inspiration.”
The bard resumed his calm and collected composure. He plucked the strings of his lute to see if they were still in tune. He crossed the claustrophobic alleyway, playing a sad tune.
“Oh the air is filled with the scent of fall,
Its bluster a thief of my words of love.
To love and part is natural, so…
Don’t let your tears fall.”
***
“Welcome to the gathering of poem-lovers, Master Dandelion.” Two guards with blue armbands outside Rosemary and Thyme bowed at the newcomer. “It’s been a month since our last meeting. Have you made any new works?”
“Around your house now white from frost, sparkles ice on pond and marsh…” Dandelion recited the first line, and then he gave the guards a sidelong look. He refused to talk about art with someone so vulgar. “Might you be trying to listen to Winter before your boss could?”
“No, of course not! Ah, so your new work is called Winter, huh?” The man backed off. He looked horrified for a moment. “Master Alonso isn’t in, so Mr. Bogut is hosting the gathering. He’s waiting for you. Please, come in.”
The bard opened the inn’s door arrogantly.
Rosemary and Thyme was one of the biggest inns in Novigrad. The lobby on the first floor was huge enough to house a hundred customers at the same time.
All the tables and chairs were pushed to the sides. Foods of all shapes and sizes were laid out on it, and alcohol and juices stood among them. A gigantic bonfire stood in one corner, and a skewer hung over the fire.
Bunches of mistletoes and rhododendrons hung high up on the walls. The magical lamps that lined the sides of the roof shone on a red banner that had ‘Gathering of Poem Lovers Novigrad Chapter’ emblazoned across it.
Wreaths made out of garlic hung all around the inn. It was a tradition to ward off vampires, who nobody had ever seen before.
Dandelion put his lute down and picked a glass of wine up. He took a sip and looked at the stage in the center of the venue.
The place was packed, but nobody was making a ruckus. Guests from Novigrad and nearby lands were gathered here. Most of them were rich merchants, bards, and regular aristocrats who only joined because poetry was the cool thing. Wiley’s bodyguards and goons were standing quietly in the corner. They were enjoying a performance put on by a young lady.
The lady was in an elegant dress. She was on the stage, playing a tune with the lute on her knees. The lady was about twenty years old, with perfect curves and golden hair that tumbled down her shoulders.
Dandelion came a bit too late, so he only heard her singing the last few lines of her song, and she had a lovely voice. The crowd broke into cheers and a thunderous applause, but the lady only nodded. Her hair swayed.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and friends…” The innkeep raised his mug of beer up. “Once again, thank you for the great show, Miss Vespula. And thank you, Mr. Alonso, for sponsoring this event. Thanks to him, we are gathered today to profess our love for poetry.”
Bogut ignored everyone’s looks of surprise. He said, “I’ve interrogated them, and those bastards extorted Moore of a hundred crowns.” He summoned the innkeep over and whispered something into his ear.
The man quickly went off and came back with a big, fat pouch. He shook it, and they heard coins rattling within. And then the pouch was laid out in front of the witcher.
“Here’s two hundred crowns. Please, take it. As compensation for Moore.”
The witchers exchanged looks, but none of them moved. They had made a decision to settle the score their own way.
“And…” The butler added, “An arm is too light a punishment for the rulebreakers.”
Someone presented a sack drenched in crimson liquid to the witchers. There were three tongues lying within.
“They abused their power and extorted the people in the gang’s name. By doing that, they have tarnished our name and crossed all of you. In order to stop anything like this from ever happening again, and to give you a peace of mind, I’ve cut off their… tools of crime, so to speak.”
Bogut made it sound like he just swatted a few pesky flies away. “And Master Alonso has ordered the members not to harass Moore and his family. I’ve told Cleaver about it as well. Once he takes over the marketplace next month, he’ll exempt Moore from his payment. Special treatment. Is that enough, witchers?”
“Bogut, cut the bullcrap and get to the point.” Roy wasn’t here to negotiate. Nobody in the Big Four is innocent.
“Is that enough, witchers?” he asked stubbornly.
“Why does the answer matter?”
“If that is enough compensation, then it’s time to talk about another thing.” Bogut laughed, as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. He reclined into his chair and gave the witchers a look of condescension. The man hissed, “Those men may be bastards, but they’re still one of us. Even if they did break enough rules to warrant a skinning, that’s still our business, not yours. But you cut their arms off without even notifying us. That’s against the rules.”
“Master Alonso has more coins, fame, and women than he could ever want, but he would never allow his pride to be scratched. Everyone knows what happened to Vincent and his friends now. Everyone is waiting for a conclusion. If he can’t protect them, he’ll lose authority among our men. Should you fail to compensate us as well, the whole gang will come after you. Me included. Should you refuse and fight us, Master Alonso will avenge us.” Bogut looked at the witchers sharply. It was obvious he wanted to threaten them.
Roy shook his head. This guy’s been waiting to spring this on us. Good. Just what I wanted.
“What kind of compensation would you like?” Auckes grinned toothily. This wasn’t the first time he was faced with a threat. Civilians, aristocrats, and even other witchers had tried that before. “Do you want us to cut off our hands as well?”
Bogut’s bodyguards held the hilts of their blades. Tension filled the air. “No, of course not. Master Alonso proposed something more… peaceful. It’s a win-win solution.” He said, “I’ve had the honor to see you in battle, witchers. You’re far more capable than the regular man, and yet your talents are wasted on fighting those disgusting monsters in the wilds.”
“Sorry, but just like you guys, we have our rules as well. We can’t join your gang.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’ll be honest.” Bogut shook his head. “I’d like you to win some matches for us. In the fighting ring, of course. Master Alonso owns the rings, but he doesn’t have anyone strong enough under his command. Because of that, Cleaver’s men end up as the winners every time. It’s a shame, really.”
Bogut finally told them what he wanted.
“Master Alonso has promised that if one of you would win all the matches in the ring and become the Fists of Fury, everything you’ve done against us would be water under the bridge, and you’ll gain a friend in us. Believe me, Novigrad’s a heaven for our friends.”
Roy stared at the ground. He was calm on the outside, but thoughts were racing in his mind. Alonso, you’re a hypocrite. You pushed all the blame onto your goons and made your ambassador a hero. You’re actually using the carrot and stick routine on us? Roy would have wavered if he hadn’t found out the truth from the thugs.
“We need to think about this.” The witchers exchanged looks. It looked like they were enticed.
“Be quick about it, witchers,” Bogut persuaded. “Ninety percent of the winnings will go to you should you become the Fists of Fury. The other ten will be compensation for the guys who just lost their arm and tongue. And to assuage everyone. I expect your answer in two days.” Bogut handed them a card. “Whether we become friends or enemies… Well, that’s in your hands now.”
“Wiley Manor, huh?” Roy looked at the address on the gold-plated card. He nodded and tucked it away. Fuck the match!
***
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