The reeve scratched his cheek in puzzlement. "Why ask that all of a sudden? No, Geralt. There's no one like that around here. If there were, those women who gossip all day would have worn down his doorstep."
"All right, thank you." The Witcher nodded and rose to leave. Kaldimien hurriedly grabbed him. "Could you stay in Blaviken a while longer? You need somewhere to spend the winter anyway, so why not stay here? There's an empty room in the attic—why let those crooked innkeepers fleece you? We can have a chat. I'd really like to hear about the fresh experiences you've had traveling the world these past two years."
"I'd like that, but what would Liboshi think? She was clearly rather cold toward me last time."
"Ha! In this house, women don't get a say. But between us, don't do that kind of thing you did last time again."
"You mean throwing a fork at a mouse?"
"No, I mean the fact that you actually speared it."
"Wasn't that interesting?"
"It was interesting! But she didn't think so. Don't do it in front of Liboshi. We rely on her cooking, after all. And that thing of yours—what was it called again? The thing by the door?"
"A Kikimore."
"Do you still have any use for it?"
"What would I need it for? If there's no bounty on it, toss it into the manure pit."
"Not a bad idea. Hey! Kareka, Borg, Kairepeibu! Are you there?"
A town guard carrying a halberd over his shoulder came in. Its sharp blade scraped the doorframe, leaving a mark. But no one besides Geralt noticed.
"Kairepeibu, find someone to lead that donkey away, then throw the Kikimore on its back into the manure pit. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. But... Reeve—"
"What?"
"Perhaps before we throw that frightening monster into the manure pit—"
"What?"
"We could take it to Master Iliom. Maybe he could use it."
Kaldimien slapped his forehead.
"You've got brains, Kairepeibu. Listen, Geralt, maybe our local Mage will trade you something for that corpse. Fishermen often bring him the strangest fish—Octopus Monsters, Klebart Fish, Helong Fish. Quite a few people have gotten rich that way. Come on, let's go to the tower."
"Wait. You actually found yourself a Mage? Is he planning to stay, or is he just passing through?"
"He's staying. His name is Iliom, and he's been living in Blaviken for a year. He's a powerful wizard, Geralt. You can tell just by looking at him."
"I doubt a powerful Mage would pay for a Kikimore." Geralt grimaced. "As far as I know, no alchemical formula requires one as an ingredient. Needless to say, your Iliom will humiliate me. Witchers and Mages have never gotten along particularly well."
"I've never heard Master Iliom humiliate anyone. Of course, I can't swear he'll pay you, but there's no harm in trying. What if there are more Kikimores in the marsh? If there are, then what? Just in case, let the wizard examine this monster, then cast some spells around the marsh."
The Witcher considered it for a moment. "All right, Kaldimien. But I have some other things to do. Why don't you tell me where the tower is? I'll head over myself later."
"Right beside the town center. It's built of granite, hard to miss."
"All right. Thank you, Kaldimien. See you at the tavern tonight, or the Golden Court?"
"Of course! Just wait until you see it—I've won quite a few games of Gwent these past two years!"
The Witcher gave a low chuckle and turned to leave. The donkey remained behind, guarded by two soldiers. They drove away the people trying to crowd around while sneaking glances at the Kikimore themselves. The Tuna Tavern was not far from the reeve's house, so he let the poor horse rest a while longer. Geralt walked slowly down the muddy road and soon reached the tavern's entrance.
He pushed open the door. The man in black robes sat in a corner with his back to him, drinking alone. Geralt scanned the room. The tavern was quiet at noon, with few patrons. The barkeep said nothing upon seeing him enter, merely lowering his head again to polish a thick wooden mug.
Geralt sat opposite the man. His scabbard struck the bench with a dull thud. The man smiled and offered a long, fair hand for a shake, showing no concern for the dirt on the Witcher's glove.
"Hello. What should I call you?"
"Geralt." The Witcher's hoarse voice carried undisguised wariness.
The man kept his polite smile as he introduced himself. "My name is He Shenyan. It may be a little difficult for you to pronounce, so just call me He."
Geralt nodded. "All right, He. What do you want with me?"
The man's eyes lit up. He pondered for a moment, then said with a smile, "It's like this, Mr. Geralt. I would like your assistance with a piece of research. The reward will be generous."
As he spoke, he pulled a long gold bar from his sleeve. Geralt's eyes remained fixed on it for quite some time, reluctant to look away. He swallowed to moisten his dry throat. "What research? Let me make one thing clear: I won't take a commission that's too dangerous."
"You."
For a moment, Geralt thought he had misheard. But he quickly rose to his feet and said coldly, "My apologies. I refuse."
"No, no, you must have misunderstood something." The man calling himself He stood as well, extending a hand to stop Geralt. He still wore a smile. "I'm not asking you to drink potions or be dissected. I only want to follow you for a while and observe you, nothing more. You're a Witcher, aren't you? Please forgive me, I don't pronounce that word very well. What I mean is, I only want to see how you kill those Monsters."
They sat back down at the table. The man poured Geralt a drink, though he showed no intention of drinking himself.
"I don't understand," the Witcher said sullenly.
"What?"
"In my experience, Mages usually aren't this patient when speaking with us."
"You?"
"Witchers."
"Ah, yes. You can think of me as a somewhat unusual Mage." His smile vanished as he spoke, but soon returned to his handsome face. Geralt found that he could not see through this man's intentions at all.
"No, what I mean is, if you Mages want something from us, you usually just say it outright. You don't make deals."
"Interesting. Do you have some sort of pact with Mages? Something that requires you to work for them?"
"No, but you're much stronger than we are."
"On that point, I reserve judgment."
Perhaps not much stronger, He Shenyan silently thought.
"In any case, the terms are simple, Mr. Geralt. I ask for nothing else. You need not give anything, nor shed blood or sweat. Just allow me to watch while you work. What do you say?"
He placed the gold bar on the table and pushed it toward Geralt.
The Witcher smiled bitterly to himself. How am I supposed to refuse? I can't beat you anyway. Sigh, at least there's money in it.
He accepted the gold bar, and the two shook hands again. "Deal."
Geralt did not drink the wine until they left the tavern.
Before you continue