The Last Wish, Introducing The Witcher by Andrzej Sapkowski Page A

squeezed the witcher's hand, slapped him on the shoulder. “You haven't been here for a good two years, Geralt. Eh? You can never stay in one place for long, can you? Where are you coming from? Ah, dog's arse, what's the difference where? Hey, somebody bring us some beer! Sit down, Geralt, sit down. It's mayhem here because we've the market tomorrow. How are things with you, tell me!”
    “Later. Come outside first.”
    The crowd outside had grown twofold but the empty space around the donkey hadn't grown any smaller. Geralt threw the horse blanket aside. The crowd gasped and pulled back. Caldemeyn's mouth fell open.
    “By all the gods, Geralt! What is it?”
    “A kikimora. Is there any reward for it?”
    Caldemeyn shifted from foot to foot, looking at the spidery shape with its dry black skin, that glassy eye with its vertical pupil, the needle-like fangs in the bloody jaws.
    “Where—From where—?”
    “On the dyke, not some four miles from town. On the swamps. Caldemeyn, people must have disappeared there. Children.”
    “Well, yes, true enough. But nobody—Who could have guessed—Hey, folks, go home, get back to work! This isn't a show! Cover it up, Geralt. Flies are gathering.”
    Back inside, the alderman grabbed a large jug of beer without a word and drank it to the last drop in one draught. He sighed deeply and sniffed.
    “There's no reward,” he said gloomily. “No one suspected that there was something like that lurking in the salt marshes. It's true that several people have disappeared in those parts, but…Hardly anyone loitered on that dyke. And why were you there? Why weren't you taking the main road?”
    “It's hard for me to make a living on main roads, Caldemeyn.”
    “I forgot.” The alderman suppressed a belch, puffing out his cheeks. “And this used to be such a peaceful neighborhood. Even imps only rarely pissed in the women's milk. And here, right next to us, some sort of felispectre. It's only fitting that I thank you. Because as for paying you, I can't. I haven't the funds.”
    “That's a shame. I could do with a small sum to get through the winter.” The witcher took a sip from his jug, wiped away the froth. “I’m making my way to Yspaden, but I don't know if I’ll get there before the snows block the way. I might get stuck in one of the little towns on the Lutonski road.”
    “Do you plan to stay long in Blaviken?”
    “No. I’ve no time to waste. Winter's coming.”
    “Where are you going to stay? With me perhaps? There's an empty room in the attic. Why get fleeced by the innkeepers, those thieves. We'll have a chat and you can tell me what's happening in the big, wide world.”
    “Willingly. But what will Libushe have to say about it? It was quite obvious last time that she's not very keen on me.”
    “Women don't have a say in my house. But, just between us, don't do what you did during supper last time in front of her again.”
    “You mean when I threw my fork at that rat?”
    “No. I mean when you hit it, even in the dark.”
    “I thought it would be amusing.”
    “It was. But don't do it in front of Libushe. And listen, this…what's it called…kiki—”
    “Kikimora.”
    “Do you need it for anything?”
    “What would I want it for? You can have them throw it in the cesspool if there's no reward for it.”
    “That's not a bad idea. Hey, Karelka, Borg, Carry-pebble! Any of you there?”
    A town guard entered with a halberd on his shoulder, the blade catching the doorframe with a crash.
    “Carrypebble,” said Caldemeyn. “Get somebody to help you and take the donkey with that muck wrapped up in the horse blanket, lead it past the pigsties and chuck the kikimora in the cesspool. Understood?”
    “At your command. But…Alderman, sir—”
    “What?”
    “Maybe before we drown that hideous thing—”
    “Well?”
    “We could show it to Master Irion. It might be useful to him.”
    Caldemeyn slapped his forehead with his open palm.
    “You're not stupid,