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that. But just to satisfy your curiosity a little I'll show you what I used to look like. Look at
those portraits. The first from the chimney is my father. The second, pox only knows. And the
third is me. Can you see it?'
Beneath the dust and spider-webs a nondescript man with a bloated, sad, spotty face and
watery eyes looked down from the painting. Geralt, who was no stranger to the way portrait
painters tended to flatter their clients, nodded.
'Can you see it?' repeated Nivellen, baring his fangs.
'I can.'
'Who are you?'
'I don't understand.'
'You don't understand?' The monster raised his head; his eyes shone like a cat's. 'My portrait is
hung beyond the candlelight. I can see it, but I'm not human. At least, not at the moment. A
human, looking at my portrait, would get up, go closer and, no doubt, have to take the
candlestick with him. You didn't do that, so the conclusion is simple. But I'm asking you
plainly: are you human?'
Geralt didn't lower his eyes. 'If that's the way you put it,' he answered after a moment's
silence, 'then, not quite.'
'Ah. Surely it won't be tactless if I ask, in that case, what you are?'
'A witcher.'
'Ah,' Nivellen repeated after a moment. 'If I remember rightly, witchers earn their living in an
interesting way - they kill monsters for money.'
'You remember correctly.'
Silence fell again. Candle flames pulsated, flicked upwards in thin wisps of fire, glimmering
in the cut-crystal chalices. Cascades of wax trickled down the candlestick.
Nivellen sat still, lightly twitching his enormous ears. 'Let's assume,' he said finally, 'that you
draw your sword before I jump on you. Let's assume you even manage to cut me down. With
my weight, that won't stop me; I'll take you down through sheer momentum. And then it's
teeth that'll decide. What do you think,
witcher, which one of us has a better chance if it comes to biting each other's throats?'
Geralt, steadying the carafe's pewter stopper with his thumb, poured himself some wine, took
a sip and leaned back into his chair. He was watching the monster with a smile. An
exceptionally ugly one.
'Yeeees,' said Nivellen slowly, digging at the corner of his jaws with his claw. 'One has to
admit you can answer questions without using many words. It'll be interesting to see how you
manage the next one. Who paid you to deal with me?'
'No one. I'm here by accident.'
'You're not lying, by any chance?'
'I'm not in the habit of lying.'
'And what are you in the habit of doing? I've heard about witchers  they abduct tiny
children whom they feed with magic herbs. The ones who survive become witchers
themselves, sorcerers with inhuman powers. They're taught to kill, and all human feelings and
reactions are trained out of them. They're turned into monsters in order to kill other monsters.
I've heard it said it's high time someone started hunting witchers, as there are fewer and fewer
monsters and more and more witchers. Do have some partridge before it's completely cold.'
Nivellen took the partridge from the dish, put it between his jaws and crunched it like a piece
of toast, bones cracking as they were crushed between his teeth.
'Why don't you say anything?' he asked indistinctly, swallowing. 'How much of the rumours
about you witchers is true?'
'Practically nothing.'
'And what's a lie?'
'That there are fewer and fewer monsters.'
'True. There's a fair number of them.' Nivellen bared his fangs. 'One is sitting in front of you
wondering if he did the right thing by inviting you in. I didn't like your guild badge right from
the start, dear guest.'
'You aren't a monster, Nivellen,' the witcher said dryly.
'Pox, that's something new. So what am I? Cranberry pudding?
A flock of wild geese flying south on a sad November morning? No? Maybe I'm the virtue
that a miller's buxom daughter lost in spring? Well, Geralt, tell me what I am. Gan't you see
I'm shaking with curiosity?'
'You're not a monster. Otherwise you wouldn't be able to touch this silver tray. And in no way
could you hold my medallion.'
'Ha!' Nivellen roared so powerfully the candle flames fell horizontal for a moment. 'Today,
very clearly, is a day for revealing great and terrible secrets! Now I'm going to be told that I
grew these ears because I didn't like milky porridge as a child!'
'No, Nivellen,' said Geralt calmly. 'It happened because of a spell. I'm sure you know who cast
that spell.'
'And what if I do?'
'In many cases a spell can be uncast.'
'You, as a witcher, can uncast spells in many cases?'
'I can. Do you want me to try?'
'No. I don't.' The monster opened his jaws and poked out his tongue, two span long, and very
red. 'Surprised you, hasn't it?'
'That it has,' admitted Geralt.
The monster giggled and lounged in his armchair. 'I knew that would,' he said. 'Pour yourself
some more, get comfortable and I'll tell you the whole story. Witcher or not, you've got an
honest face and I feel like talking. Pour yourself more.'
'There's none left.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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