Time of Contempt(125)
One of the Nissirs sitting at the table, a fat man with hair shorn in an exotic topknot, gave a throaty laugh.
‘Might just be,’ he said, licking a spoon. ‘It is Kayleigh, in all his foulness. It was worth getting up at daybreak. We’re certain to get half a mark of florins of good imperial coin for him.’
‘You’ve nabbed Kayleigh. Well, well,’ frowned Skomlik. ‘So that Nilfgaardian peasant was telling the truth—’
‘Thirty florins, dammit,’ sighed Remiz. ‘Not a bad sum . . . Is Baron Lutz of Tyffi paying?’
‘That’s right,’ confirmed the other Nissir, black-haired and black-moustached. ‘The Honourable Baron Lutz of Tyffi, our lord and benefactor. The Rats robbed his steward on the highway; he was so enraged he offered a bounty. And we, Skomlik, will get it; trust me. Ha, just look, boys, how his nose is out of joint! He doesn’t like it that we nabbed the Rat and not him, even though the prefect ordered the gang to be tracked down!’
‘Skomlik the Trapper,’ said the fat man with the topknot, pointing his spoon at Ciri, ‘has also caught something. Do you see, Vercta? Some girl or other.’
‘I see,’ said the black-moustached man, flashing his teeth. ‘What’s this, Skomlik? Are you feeling the pinch so much you kidnap children for the ransom? What scruff is this?’
‘Mind your own business!’
‘Who’s touchy?’ laughed the one with the topknot. ‘We only want to check she’s not your daughter.’
‘His daughter?’ laughed Vercta, the one with the black moustache. ‘Chance would be a fine thing. You need balls to sire a daughter.’
The Nissirs roared with laughter.
‘Fuck off, you dolts!’ yelled Skomlik, puffed up. ‘All I’ll tell you is this, Vercta. Before Sunday’s past you might be surprised to hear who people will be talking about. You and your Rat, or me and my prize. And we’ll see who’s the more generous: your baron or the imperial prefect of Amarillo!’
‘You can kiss my arse,’ declared Vercta contemptuously, and went back to slurping his soup. ‘You, your prefect, your emperor and the whole of Nilfgaard, trust me. And don’t get crabby. I’m well aware Nilfgaard’s been hunting some girl for a week, so hard you can’t see the road for dust. I know there’s a bounty on her. But I don’t give a monkey’s. I have no intention of serving the Nilfgaardians and I curse them. I serve Baron Lutz now. I answer to him; no one else.’
‘Unlike you,’ rasped Skomlik, ‘your baron kisses the Nilfgaardian hand and licks Nilfgaardian boots. Which means you don’t have to. So it’s easy for you to talk.’
‘Easy, now,’ said the Nissir in a placatory manner. ‘That wasn’t against you; trust me. It’s fine that you found the wench Nilfgaard’s searching for, and I’m glad you’ll get the reward and not those bloody Nilfgaardians. And you serve the prefect? No one chooses his own master; it’s them that chooses, ain’t it? Come on, sit down with us, we’ll have a drink since we’re all here together.’
‘Aye, why not,’ agreed Skomlik. ‘But first give us a bit of twine. I’ll tie the wench to the post next to your Rat, all right?’
The Nissirs roared with laughter.
‘Look at ’im, the terror of the borderland!’ cackled the fat one with the topknot. ‘The armed forces of Nilfgaard! Bind ’er up, Skomlik, bind ’er up good and tight. But use an iron chain, because your important captive is likely to break her bonds and smash your face in before she escapes. She looks so dangerous, I’m trembling!’
Even Skomlik’s companions snorted with suppressed laughter. The Trapper flushed, twisted his belt, and walked over to the table.
‘Just to be sure she won’t make a run for it—’
‘Do as you bloody want,’ interrupted Vercta, breaking bread. ‘If you want to talk, sit down and get a round in. And hang the wench up by her feet from the ceiling, if you wish. I couldn’t give a shit. It’s just bloody funny, Skomlik. Perhaps she is an important prisoner to you and your prefect, but to me she’s a skinny, frightened kid. Want to tie her up? She can barely stand, never mind escape; trust me. What are you afraid of?’
‘I’ll tell you what I’m afraid of,’ said Skomlik, pursing his lips. ‘This is a Nilfgaardian settlement. The settlers didn’t exactly greet us with bread and salt, and they said they’ve already got a stake sharpened for your Rat. And the law’s with them, because the prefect issued an edict that any brigands that are caught should be punished on the spot. If you don’t give them their prisoner, they’re ready to sharpen a stake for you too.’