The Law of Compensation Part Four [The Witcher Setting/SI]
Fenstau was a wealthy city. It even had a toll just for the privilege of getting inside. It had guards wearing uniforms, and people amiably going about their business. It also had a bad case of phlegm; truly, an epidemic of spitting.
"I swear," I muttered under my breath. "Did some Witcher come by before me and burn people's asses with Igni or something?"
It was the fifth inn I visited, and it was the fifth I had left as calmly as I had entered it. One would think that humans would be glad for their monster hunters; apparently they weren't. It was foolish and suicidal, but also seriously the only way to fight this would be if a Witcher somehow managed to do some great, folk-hero popular act of great heroism.
Then we'd have some respite for a few years, at the very least.
The sixth inn was where I got finally lucky, though it was in the darkest, most dank side of the walls the builder could ever have found. An elf was manning the counter, and as his eyes stared into mine, his lips thinned but he didn't spit nor tell me to leave. "Vatt'ghern," he said curtly.
Nearby, a small group of gnomes, dwarves and elves seemingly mixed together barely lifted their heads in my direction, and then dropped them back to their game of dice.
"Innkeeper," I replied. "How much for a spot in the stable next to my horse?"
"One Bizant," the elf said. "Pay and I'll set a bundle of straw aside for you come the night."
"Understood," the Bizant left my already dwindling pouch of money, and as it exchanged hands, I attempted the hint of a smile. "You wouldn't happen to know if there's a need for a Witcher in town, would you?"
"There's a need for a fucking plague!" a dwarf by the table snarled, "Frigging humans should all die! A nasty plague-to kill them all and be done with it!"
"Calm down, Ferro!" a gnome said. "He didn't mean anything by that, the alcohol-"
"I meant every word I just said, Schut!" the dwarf retorted, angrily. "My family used to mine the silver for generations! And now it's in the hands of the Toggenburgs! A pox on them! A pox on Diethelm and his whole family! Devil take them all! I ought to-"
I quietly made my way outside the inn, leaving the noises to die out within. I brought the horse into the inn's stable, tightened the straps on some of the pouches, and quietly smeared a small, but deadly, amount of poison across the latches.
I wouldn't die from it.
Others would not be as fortunate.
Still, the best ways to find work all revolved around the usual manners. Walking and familiarizing oneself with a new city was a fundamental necessity, as well as finding out the seedy underbelly just as much as the place where the righteous folks gathered.
Finally, after a couple of hours, I found my mark.
Or rather, my mark found me.
"Witcher!" a voice called out to me across the street, and this time it wasn't with the words 'mutant', 'filthy bastard' or 'baby-eating monster' tackled on to them. "A moment of your time!"
The man who stopped me was well-dressed. He had a luxurious mane of golden hair that sparkled like gold and the most beautiful of smiles. "You are a curse-breaker by profession, are you not?"
The fact he was friendly made me naturally suspicious.
People weren't born to be friendly; they were born to be rampaging arrogant bastards.
"I am," I acquiesced.
"We'll talk better in a more secluded spot," he replied.
I arched an eyebrow. My left hand gently went limp by my side. "Very well," I remarked. The man didn't bring me far; just to a dingy inn that I had tried to step into beforehand, only to get spat out with a curse. This time around, the innkeeper remained quiet at the sight of my chaperon, which already spoke volumes of what was about to happen.
"Master Witcher, what will you have?" the golden-haired man asked.
"Nothing," I replied. "I don't drink before, during or after a job," it was a simple, yet effective law as far as they went. It wasn't like I might get drunk, but it was far more probable I might get drugged, dumped in a corner, and my equipment stolen.
I had spent more than a few share of Winters and Summers at Caer Serene, and I had bathed like a sponge into the tales of horror that the surviving Witchers spoke of. It didn't matter how quick, agile and strong you were, it didn't matter if your muscles could cleave through plate and bone, and it didn't matter how much magic you could output with your Signs if you got hit on the back of the head, drugged, had the head chopped off by an angry mob and much, much worse.
Humans truly were despicable creatures. Sometimes, I reckoned monsters were better. They, at least, knew where they stood.
"Master Witcher, you have come at just the right time!" the man said, having ordered something stiff to drink instead. He downed it quickly. "A devil has come to my estate-he has set his eyes on my wife, and the child she carries. Please, Master Witcher-"
Both off my eyebrows now arched up. "A devil? Something with horns, you mean?"
"No! A veritable devil," the man retorted. "Human in appearance, even charming."
I frowned now. A Sylvan was one thing, but a humanoid wanting the life of an unborn? Could be a more pleasant vampire species, or even a Doppler. "Have you done anything to warrant his attention?" I asked.
The man looked visibly uncomfortable at that. "I-I am Diethelm of the Toggenburgs, Master Witcher. I've recently come into a lot of wealth, and that has made me a lot of enemies."
"Ah," I quietly nodded. "A curse might have latched on then," I turned thoughtful. "I'd need to hear the details of it to be able to break it, though."
I drummed my fingers on the surface of the table. "Let us speak about my pay beforehand, though."
"Anything you wish for, Master Witcher-" Diethelm said, "Gold, land-my child is going to be my heir, he'll be a male, as strong and beautiful as his father-"
"Had a seer look into it?" I asked, puzzled.
Diethelm turned his gaze sideways. "A father knows these things."
"I'll take a thousand Bizants," I said in answer, locking eyes with him. "And I'll need to visit your estate. See where the Devil last showed himself, might be able to find some clues on his identity."
The man was quick to agree. Quicker still we were on heading there on horseback; the estate was a large mansion, just outside the city. There was a wide garden filled with flowers, and the trees that grew on it weren't even native of the area. Yet they grew on soil that was normally barren, and infertile.
A Sylvan would be capable of fertilizing the grounds.
"Wonderful garden," I mused as we both dismounted, holding our horses with our reins until a servant by the gate came to lead them away.
Fury was going to have premium hay for the time being, what a lucky horse.
"All plants are imported, my wife does so enjoy her gardening," Diethelm explained. A bark caught my ears, coming from somewhere in the middle of the tall grass. A small, pudgy beagle trotted out, whining softly at us with kind, humid eyes.
It was an adorable creature of the heavens, no questions asked.
"Hey there, little doggo," I said as I crouched in front of it, extending my hands. The dog whined and then barked, its tail twitching right and left as it drew closer and sniffed my open palms before shying away.
"That's Gretchen," Diethelm said. "She's expecting her own pups. Wanted to be like the mistress of the house, and she's treated just like her. Has her own room even."
"I see," I mused, gently rubbing the back of the dog's head. She whined happily. "Show me where you met the Devil for the first time."
Diethelm did just that. It was a patch of seemingly normal ground, with a small gazebo overlooking it. A gardener was tending to the hedgerows nearby. "At what time did you see him?" I asked Diethelm, who was lurking over my shoulder like a shadow, or like a vulture I didn't wish to have.
"It was the waning hours of the day, Master Witcher," he replied.
"When is your wife due?" I asked next.
"Any day now," he acquiesced. I gave him a slow nod.
"I'll need accommodation in your house then; you'd best notify your wife she'll have a new guard."
Diethelm sighed, "She already dislikes the mercenaries as they are, but I am sparing no expenses to protect her, and our future-" he slowly walked off, while I began to look for tracks. It was going to be tough. If nothing else, I'd eat my fill of warm food for the time being.
Though it would be a shame to have to leave Fenstau and look for work elsewhere.
"You are a Witcher," the gardener's voice came to my ears, and I stared into the clean-shaven and bald head of a man in his thirties, I reckoned. He was wearing simple, but tough clothes.
"And you are a gardener," I answered back with a dry chuckle. "Is there a reason for stating the obvious?"
"Forgive me, master," the gardener said, "But are Witchers not called only when Monsters and Curses are involved?"
"That we are," I said. "Have you perchance seen a good-looking fellow claiming to be the devil on the grounds? Or someone that doesn't belong to the house?"
The gardener shook his head. "I'm afraid not, master. These gardens are one of my masterpieces," he added with a grin. "With the mistress burdened, it falls to me to keep them in tip-top condition. Worthy of a noble."
I sighed. "Anything you might have removed or 'cleaned' in the last days? Something strange you found in the morning? Dead insects, or small animals?"
"No, nothing of the sort," the gardener shook his head once more. "Though master, if I may," he nervously looked around, as if to ensure nobody was eavesdropping us. "The master isn't cursed."
I blinked at that. "And why would you say that?"
"Because a deal isn't a curse," the gardener said in a hushed whisper. "The majordomo told me that he overheard the master of the house speak with his wife, and she was the one screaming at him that his deals shouldn't have befallen on others but him-"
I took a sharp breath. "A deal with a magical being is different, quite so, from a curse." I pinched the ridge of my nose. "The mistress knows of this 'deal' doesn't she?"
"That she does, she's also quite vocal about it too," the gardener mused. "But I have said enough, Master Witcher," he turned back to his hedgerows, whistling a catchy tune as I stood up instead.
For completion's sake I walked towards the small gazebo, where a table had been set as if expecting a visitor for an afternoon tea. My eyes glanced at the carefully set porcelain and silverware.
Dimly, I noticed the spoons were missing; all of them.
I glanced back to the gardener, but he had already gone away.
"I really have no luck with contracts," I muttered under my breath. I felt like cursing myself, but kept from uttering words that might or might not be picked up by others.
Still, I would be paid to do a job, and thus a job I would attempt to do.
The mistress of the house was a beautiful, fairy-tale like woman. Her hair was long and silver, her eyes glimmered like diamonds, and my breath was briefly taken away from her appearance alone.
Yet I steeled myself, for all that is too beautiful is either a lie, an illusion, a deadly vampire or something far worse.
"This is my wife Idda," Diethelm said, doing the presentations. "Idda, our troubles are over-the Witcher will break the curse!"
The woman in question might have been beautiful, but her anger was palpable and quite visible on her perfect face.
"Another guard? What next? Will you have guard dogs look over me in the privy? We can't escape this, Diethelm, you-"
The man raised a hand in visible anger, and Idda shied away. It took a moment for Diethelm to realize what he was about to do, and thus lowered the hand back down. "It is a stressful situation, Idda," he said in the end. "But we'll manage it."
I took a small breath.
I'd leave after dinner under the cover of night...
...but a new life can seldom be told to wait until the time is right, unfortunately.
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), but IIRC, there exist some paladin orders etc, who do, in fact, make it hard for witchers to find work (I think they also work for less or even no money, so why pay a witcher if you can wait for a paladin to do it for free...).