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symptoms of idiocy.'
'Enough!' Tailles shouted so shrilly his voice broke into a falsetto. 'I don't intend to stand by
and listen as some charlatan insults my lord and his wife! I will not let such an insult pass
unnoticed! It is the Order of the White Rose which will rule here, now; it's the end of your
nests of darkness and superstitions. And I, a Knight of the White Rose '
'Shut up, you brat,' interrupted Geralt, smiling nastily. 'Halt your uncontrolled little tongue.
You speak to a lady who deserves respect, especially from a Knight of the White Rose.
Admittedly, to become one it's enough, lately, to pay a thousand Novigrad crowns into the
Chapter's treasury, so the Order's full of sons of money-lenders and tailors - but surely some
manners have survived? But maybe I'm mistaken?'
Tailles grew pale and reached to his side.
'Sir Falwick,' said Geralt, not ceasing to smile. 'If he draws his sword, I'll take it from him and
beat the snotty-nosed little brat's arse with the flat of his blade. And then I'll batter the door
down with him.'
Tailles, his hands shaking, pulled an iron gauntlet from his belt and, with a crash, threw it to
the ground at the witcher's feet.
'I'll wash away the insult to the Order with your blood, mutant!' he yelled. 'On beaten ground!
Go into the yard!'
'You've dropped something, son,' Nenneke said calmly. 'So pick it up, we don't leave rubbish
here. This is a temple. Falwick, take that fool from here or this will end in grief. You know
what you're to tell Hereward. And I'll write a personal letter to him; you don't look like
trustworthy messangers to me. Get out of here. You can find your way out, I hope?'
Falwick, restraining the enraged Tallies with an iron grip, bowed, his armour clattering. Then
he looked the witcher in the eyes. The witcher didn't smile. Falwick threw his crimson cloak
over his shoulders.
'This wasn't our last visit, venerable Nenneke,' he said. 'We'll be back.'
'That's just what I'm afraid of,' replied the priestess coldly. 'The displeasure's mine.'
THE LESSER EVIL
I
As usual, cats and children noticed him first. A striped tomcat sleeping on a sun-warmed stack
of wood, shuddered, raised his round head, pulled back his ears, hissed and bolted off into the
nettles. Three-year-old Dragomir, fisherman Trigla's son, who was sitting on the hut's
threshold doing his best to make dirtier an already dirty shirt, started to scream as he fixed his
tearful eyes on the passing rider.
The witcher rode slowly, without trying to overtake the hay-cart obstructing the road. A laden
donkey trotted behind him, stretching its neck, and constantly pulling the cord tied to the
witcher's pommel tight. In addition to the usual bags the long-eared animal was lugging a
large shape, wrapped in a saddle-cloth, on its back. The grey-white flanks of the ass were
covered with black streaks of dried blood.
The cart finally turned down a side-street leading to a granary and harbour from which a sea-
breeze blew, carrying the stink of tar and ox's urine. Geralt picked up his pace. He didn't react
to the muffled cry of the woman selling vegetables who was staring at the bony, taloned paw
sticking out beneath the horse-blanket, bobbing up and down in time with the donkey's trot.
He didn't look round at the crowd gathering behind him and rippling with excitement.
There were, as usual, many carts in front of the alderman's house. Geralt jumped from the
saddle, adjusted the sword on his back and threw the reins over the wooden barrier. The
crowd following him formed a semi-circle around the donkey.
Even outside, the alderman's shouts were audible.
'It's forbidden, I tell you! Forbidden, goddammit! Can't you understand what I say, you
scoundrel?'
Geralt entered. In front of the alderman, small, podgy and red with rage, stood a villager
holding a struggling goose by the neck.
'What By all the gods! Is that you, Geralt? Do my eyes deceive me?' And turning to the
peasant again: 'Take it away, you boor! Are you deaf?'
'They said,' mumbled the villager, squinting at the goose, 'that a wee something must be given
to his lordship, otherways '
'Who said?' yelled the alderman. 'Who? That I supposedly take bribes? I won't allow it, I say!
Away with you! Greetings, Geralt.'
'Greetings, Caldemeyn.'
The alderman 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 two-fold but the empty space around the donkey hadn't grown
any smaller. Geralt threw the horse-blanket aside. The crowd gasped and pulled back. Cal-
demeyn's mouth fell open.
'By all the gods, Geralt! What is it?'
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