Time of Contempt(68)

‘Handcuff him,’ she ordered curtly. A set of handcuffs made of a bluish metal clinked in her hand.

‘Don’t you dare put those on me!’ yelled Terranova. ‘Don’t you dare, Metz! I am a member of the Chapter!’

‘You were. Now you’re a common traitor. And you will be treated as such.’

‘And you’re a lousy whore, who—’

Keira took a step back, swayed her hips and punched him in the face with all her strength. The sorcerer’s head jerked backwards so hard that for a moment Geralt thought it would be torn from his trunk. Terranova lolled in the arms of the men holding him, blood streaming from his nose and mouth. The sorceress didn’t strike him a second time, though her fist was raised. The Witcher saw the flash of brass knuckles on her fingers. He wasn’t surprised. Keira was very lightly built, and a blow like that couldn’t have been dealt with a bare fist.

He didn’t move. The thugs were holding him tightly, and the point of the partisan was pressing against his chest. Geralt wasn’t sure if he would have moved, had he been free, or whether he would have known what to do.

The Redanians snapped the handcuffs around the sorcerer’s wrists, which were twisted behind his back. Terranova cried out, struggled, bent over and retched and Geralt realised what the handcuffs were made of. It was an alloy of iron and dimeritium, a rare metal characterised by its inhibition of magical powers. The inhibition was accompanied by a set of rather unpleasant side effects for sorcerers.

Keira Metz raised her head, pulling her hair back from her forehead. And then she saw him.

‘What the bloody hell is he doing here? How did he get here?’

‘He just stepped in,’ answered Dijkstra unemotionally. ‘He’s got a talent for putting his foot in it. What shall I do with him?’

Keira’s face darkened and she stamped several times with the high heel of her boot.

‘Guard him. I don’t have time now.’

She walked quickly away, followed by the Redanians who were dragging Terranova behind them. The shining orb floated behind the sorceress, although it was already dawn and quickly becoming light. On a signal from Dijkstra, the thugs released Geralt. The spy came closer and looked the Witcher in the eyes.

‘Don’t try anything.’

‘What’s happening here? What—?’

‘And don’t utter a word.’

Keira Metz returned a short time later; but not alone. She was accompanied by a flaxen-haired sorcerer, introduced to Geralt on the previous day as Detmold of Ban Ard. At the sight of the Witcher, he cursed and smacked his fist into his palm.

‘Shit! Is he the one Yennefer’s taken a liking to?’

‘Yes, that’s him,’ said Keira. ‘Geralt of Rivia. The problem is, I don’t know about Yennefer . . .’

‘I don’t know either,’ said Detmold, shrugging his shoulders. ‘In any case, he’s mixed up in this now. He’s seen too much. Take him to Philippa; she’ll decide. Put him in handcuffs.’

‘There’s no need,’ said Dijkstra with a languid air. ‘I’ll answer for him. I’ll take him to where he ought to be.’

‘Excellent,’ nodded Detmold, ‘because we have no time for him. Come on, Keira, it’s a mess up there . . .’

‘Oh, but aren’t they anxious?’ muttered the Redanian spy, watching them walk away. ‘It’s lack of experience, nothing more. And coups d’état and putsches are like green beet soup. They’re best served cold. Let’s go, Geralt. And remember: peacefully and with dignity. Don’t make a scene. And don’t make me regret not having you handcuffed or tied up.’

‘What’s happening, Dijkstra?’

‘Haven’t you guessed yet?’ said the spy, walking beside him, with the three Redanian heavies bringing up the rear. ‘Tell me straight, Witcher. How did you wind up here?’

‘I was worried about the nasturtiums wilting.’

‘Geralt,’ said Dijkstra, frowning at him. ‘You’ve fallen head first into the shit. You’ve swum upwards, and you’re holding your head above the surface, but your feet still aren’t touching the bottom. Someone’s offering you a helping hand, at the risk of falling in and getting covered in it himself. So drop the foolish jokes. Yennefer made you come here, did she?’

‘No. Yennefer’s still asleep in a warm bed. Does that reassure you?’

The huge spy turned suddenly, seized the Witcher by the arms and shoved him against the wall of the corridor.

‘No, it doesn’t reassure me, you bloody fool,’ he hissed. ‘Haven’t you got it yet, you idiot, that decent sorcerers who are faithful to kings aren’t asleep tonight? That they didn’t go to bed at all? Only traitors who have sold out to Nilfgaard are asleep in their warm beds. Traitors, who were preparing a putsch of their own, but for a later date. They didn’t know their plans had been rumbled and their intentions second-guessed. And as you can see, they’re being dragged out of those warm beds, getting smacked in the teeth with knuckledusters, and having dimeritium bracelets wrapped around their wrists. The traitors are finished. Get it? If you don’t want to go down with them, stop playing the fool! Did Vilgefortz manage to recruit you yesterday evening? Or perhaps Yennefer already did. Talk! And fast, before your mouth is flooded with shit!’