The sorceress reached to the packs again, then put on diamond earrings and bracelets. She took the scarf off and unbuttoned her shirt, exposing neck and the black necklace adorned with obsidian star.
‘Ha!’ Ciri finally lost patience. ‘I know why you're doing this! You want to look pretty, because we're visiting a city! Am I right?’
‘You are.’
‘What about me?’
‘What about you?’
‘I want to look pretty too! I will make my hair…’
‘Put your bonnet back on,’ ordered Yennefer harshly, still regarding her reflection. ‘Back where it was. Cover your hair.’
Ciri hissed angrily but obeyed. She had long since learned to read various tones of sorceress' voice. She knew when to try arguing and when to stay silent.
Yennefer, having finished arranging the curls on her forehead, retrieved from her pack a small green-stained glass jar.
‘Ciri,’ she said in a softer tone. ‘It’s a secret journey we’re on. And this journey hasn't ended yet. Which is why you have to hide your hair under the bonnet. There men before every gate who are being paid for being watchful of all new-comers. Do you understand?’
‘No,’ Ciri retorted tactlessly, pulling the reins of the raven stallion. ‘You decked yourself out so much that those observers from before the gates will have their eyes pop out of the sockets! Some secrecy!’
‘The city we’re heading to,’ Yennefer smiled, ‘is Gors Velen. I don’t need to camouflage myself in Gors Velen, rather the opposite. With you, it’s another matter. You are not to be remembered by anybody.’
‘Those who will be gazing at you are bound to notice me as well!’
The sorceress uncorked the jar which smelled of lilac and gooseberry. She dipped her finger in the liquid and rubbed some of it under her eyes.
‘I doubt,’ she said, still smiling mysteriously, ‘that anyone’s going to notice you.’
* * *
A long line of riders and wagons stood before the bridge and travellers were crowding before the gates waiting for their turn. Ciri grumbled at the perspective of a long wait. Yennefer, however, straightened herself in the saddle and continued trotting, her gaze high above the heads of the travellers – who quickly stepped aside and made a way, not sparing the shaft of spears on the reluctant ones.
‘This way, this way, honourable lady!’ called one of the guards, staring at Yennefer with a reddened face. ‘This way, please! Move aside! Move aside, plebes!’
The commander of the guards emerged from the garrison grumpy and angry, but once he caught sight of Yennefer he brightened up, opened widely his eyes and mouth, and bowed.
‘I humbly welcome you in Gors Velen, my lady,’ he stuttered, straightening and still staring. ‘At your service… How can I help you, madam? Perhaps you need an escort? A guide? Shall I call somebody?’
‘There’s no need.’ Yenenfer looked down at him ‘I won’t stay for long. I’m heading to Thanedd.’
‘Naturally…’ The warrior shifted weight from one leg to the other, never taking eyes off sorceress' face. Other guards were gazing at her as well. Ciri proudly lifted her head but quickly realized that nobody was looking at her. As if she were invisible.
‘Naturally…’ repeated the commander. ‘To Thanedd, yes… For the convent. I understand, naturally. Therefore I wish…’
‘Thank you,’ the sorceress hurried her horse, clearly uninterested in commander’s wishes. Ciri followed. Guards were bowing before Yennefer, not sparing the girl so much as a glance.
‘They didn’t even ask for your name,’ she muttered, catching up with Yennefer and carefully leading her mount through the mud-covered ruts. ‘Nor for our destination point! Did you cast a spell on them?’
‘Not on them. On myself.’
The magician turned around and Ciri gasped loudly. Yennefer’s eyes were burning with a violet flame and her face radiated with beauty. Dazzling. Provocative. Dangerous. And unnatural.
‘The green jar!’ guessed Ciri. ‘What was that?’
‘Glamarye. An elixir. Or rather, an ointment for special occasions. Ciri, do you really have to ride into every puddle?’
‘I want to clean horse’s hooves.’
‘It didn’t rain for a month. This is swill and horse-piss, not water.’
‘Aha… Say, why did you use that elixir? Were you really so desperate to…’
‘This is Gors Velen,’ cut Yennefer. ‘The city which owes its prosperity in big part to wizards. Sorceresses, to be precise. You’ve seen how sorceresses are treated here. I didn’t feel like introducing myself or proving who I am. I wanted it to be obvious at the first sight. When we pass that red house, we’re turning left. Slower, Ciri. Keep your horse in check or you will run over some child.’
‘Why did we come here?’
‘I told you that already.’
Ciri hissed, tightened her lips and prodded the horse with her heel. The mare danced, barely missing a coach. The driver stood up and looked like he was about to give her a piece of his mind, but once he saw Yennefer he sat back down and indulged in analysing his shoes.
‘Do that again,’ uttered Yennefer, ‘and I'll get upset. Quit acting like a juvenile lass. You're an embarrassment.’
‘You want to send me to some school, right? I don't want to go!’
‘Quiet. People are staring.’
‘They're staring at you, not at me! I don't want to go to no school! You promised me that we'll always be together, and now you want to leave me! All alone! I don't want to be alone!’
‘You won't be. There are many of your peers at this school. You will have plenty friends.’
‘I don't want friends. I want to be with you and with… I thought…’
Yennefer turned around instantly.
‘You thought what?’
‘I thought we were going to Geralt.’ Ciri looked up unashamedly. ‘I know what you were thinking all the way. And why you were sighing at night…’
‘Enough,’ hissed the sorceress and the blaze of her eyes caused Ciri to hide her face in horse's mane. ‘You've become insolent. I would like to remind you that the time when you could resist me has long gone. It was your own decision. Now, you must be obedient. You will do what I say. Understood?’
Ciri nodded.
‘I know what's best for you. I always do. And so, you'll listen and obey. Is that clear? Stop the horse. We're here.’
‘This is the school?’ grumbled Ciri, eyeing the impressive exterior of the building, ‘It's already…’
‘Not a word more. Get down. And show proper manners. This isn't the school; the school is in Aretuza, not Gors Velen. This is a bank.’
‘What do we need a bank for?’
‘Ponder it on your own. Dismount, I said. Not right into a puddle! Leave the horse, service will take care of it. Take off the gloves. It's not proper to enter a bank in riding gloves. Look at me. Adjust your bonnet and collar. Stand straight. You're not sure what to do with your hands? Then don't do anything!’
Ciri sighed.
The service, which had greeted them bowing and scraping, was made up entirely of dwarves. Ciri gazed at them intently. Although just as short, husky-built and bearded, they didn't resemble her friend Yarpen Zigrin nor his ‘boys’. The servants were dull, uniformed, bland. And humble, which was the last thing one could say about Yarpen and his boys.
They entered the building. The magic elixir was still working, so Yennefer's sight immediately caused a great stir, a lot of running, and more bowing and scraping which was cut only by the appearance of incredibly fat, richly dressed dwarf with white beard.
‘Honourable Yennefer!’ roared the dwarf, tinkling the golden chain hanging down his neck, long past his white beard. ‘What a surprise! And such an honour! Please, please come to the office! And you all stop standing and gaping! Back to work, to the counting frames! Wilfli, immediately bring to the office a bottle of Castel de Neuf, year… you pick which one. Be quick! Make yo
urself welcome, Yennefer. I'm truly happy to see you. You look… eh, damn, breathtaking!’
‘You too,’ smiled the sorceress, ‘seem to be doing all right, Giancardi.’
‘Of course. Come in, please, to the office. But no, no, ladies first. You know the way, Yennefer.’
The office was dark and pleasantly cool; air carried the scent which Ciri recognized from the tower of Jarre, the scribe: the scent of ink, parchment and dust covering the oak furniture, gobelins and old books.
‘Sit down, please,’ the banker offered a chair to Yennefer and a questioning gaze to Ciri. ‘Hmm…’
‘Give her a book, Molnar,’ said the sorceress, noting the look. ‘She loves books. She'll sit at the other end of the table and won't bother us. Right, Ciri?’
Ciri deemed it pointless to answer.
‘A book, hem, hem,’ muttered the dwarf, coming up to the cupboard. ‘What do we have here? Oh, revenue and expense ledger… No, not that. Customs duties and port charges… that won't do. Credit and reimbursement? No. Oh, how did it get here? Devil knows… but it might suit you. Take it, child.’
The book was titled ‘Physiologus’ ; it was very old and very tattered. Ciri cautiously turned the cover and several pages. The content immediately caught her interest, as it was about mysterious monsters and beasts and full of pictures. For the next few moments she tried to share her interest between the book and the conversations between the dwarf and the sorceress.
‘Got any letters for me, Molnar?’
‘No.’ The banker poured wine for Yennefer and himself. ‘No new post. The last ones, from month ago, I passed to you through established means.’
‘I received them, thank you. Has anybody… shown an interest in those letters?’
‘Not in here,’ smiled Molnar Giancardi. ‘But you're aiming at the right board, my dear. The bank of Vivaldi’s has confided in me about an attempt to track those letters. Their branch in Vengerberg has also discovered an attempt to keep track on the history of your account. One of the men in service turned out to be disloyal.’
The dwarf stopped and looked at the sorceress from under the bushy eyebrows. Ciri listened intently. Yennefer was silent, playing with her obsidian star.
‘Vivaldi,’ Molnar carried on, lowering his voice. ‘Either couldn't or didn't want to start an investigation about this matter. The disloyal and corruptible clerk fell into the moat while drunk and drowned. Unfortunate accident. Pity. Too soon, too hasty…’
‘No need to cry over spilt milk,’ the sorceress pouted her lips. ‘I know who was interested in my post and account, Vivaldi's investigation wouldn't have brought a new light.’
‘If you say so…’ Giancardi scratched his beard. ‘You're heading to Thanedd, Yennefer? For that huge convent of the wizards?’
‘Indeed.’
‘To decide on the fate of the world?’
‘Let's not exaggerate.’
‘There are many rumours around,’ the dwarf said dryly. ‘And many things are happening.’
‘What events, if I may inquire?’
‘Since last year,’ replied Giancardi, stroking his beard. ‘One can see strange changes in the fiscal policy… It's not in your interests, I know…’
‘Elaborate.’
‘Poll tax and winter tax were doubled, the taxes which directly fund the army pay. All merchants and businessmen must make additional payments to Royal Treasury: the ‘tithe’, a whole new tax, one tenth of all profits. Dwarfs, gnomes, elves and halflings pay higher poll tax. If they're involved in commerce or manufacture they're also burdened with the ‘nonhuman’ income tax, a ten out of every hundred. Because of all this, I have to give up to state more than sixty percent of my income. My bank, all branches included, pays the Four Kingdoms annually six hundred marks. Allow me to elaborate: it's almost three times the charge of a noble duke or count with a huge estate.’
‘Humans are not burdened with additional payment for the military?’
‘No. They only pay the poll tax and the winter tax.’
‘In other words,’ nodded the sorceress. ‘It is the dwarfs and other nonhumans who fund the campaign against Scoia'tael, taking place in the forests. I've been expecting something like this. But what is the relation between taxes and the convent on Thanedd?’
‘After those convents of yours,’ muttered the dwarf. ‘Something always happens. This time I'm hoping that nothing will. I'm hoping that your convent will stop things from happening. I would've been glad, for example, if those curious price shocks would cease.’
‘Clarify, please.’
The dwarf leaned back in his chair and clasped fingers on his belly.
‘I've been working in this business a decent number of years,’ he said. ‘Long enough to be able to relate some currency movements with certain facts. And lately, there's been a rise in prices for gems. Because there's a high demand for them.’
‘Coins are being exchanged for jewels to evade losses from fluctuation and parity of the coin?’
‘That too. Gemstones also have one important quality. A pocket-size pouch of diamonds equals some fifty marks, while the same value in coins would weigh twenty-five pounds and need a big sack to carry it. It's easier to flee with a pouch than a sack. And both hands are free, which isn't pointless. One hand can hold a wife, while the other can be used to punch some fucker in the gob, if the need arises.’
Ciri snorted quietly but Yennefer silenced her with a frown.
‘So,’ she raised her head. ‘Some are already preparing to escape. Where to, I wonder?’
‘Far North is most popular. Hengfors, Kovir, Poviss. Not only is it farthest from here but these states are neutral and have good relations with Nilfgaard.’
‘I see,’ mischievous smile didn't vanish from magician's face. ‘Jewels in the pocket, wife in hand and going up North… Isn't it too early yet? Ah, nevermind this. What else is growing more expensive, Molnar?’
‘Boats.’
‘What?’
‘Boats,’ repeated the dwarf and grinned. ‘All boat builders from the coast are busy with commissions from quartermasters of King Foltest's army. Quartermasters pay well and keep making new purchases. If you're looking to invest in something, Yennefer, then invest in boats. Golden business. Producing boats of reed and bark, issuing an invoice to lonboards from the best pine, sharing with the quartermaster…’
‘Stop teasing me, Giancardi. Explain.’
‘Those boats,’ said the banker casually, staring at the ceiling, ‘are transported south. To Sodden and Brugge, to Yaruga river. But, to my knowledge, they are not used by the fishermen. They are being hidden in the forests on the right bank. It's said that the army is training the boarding.’
‘Aha.’ Yennefer bit her lip. ‘But why are people so eager to get north? Yaruga is south.’
‘There's a justified concern,’ murmured the dwarf, glancing at Ciri. ‘that emperor Emhyr van Emreis will not be pleased by news about aforementioned boats being launched. Some believe that such launching might enrage Emhyr and when it happens it's safer to be far from Nilfgaardian border… Damn, let the harvest come quick. If anything is going to happen, it will be before harvest.’
‘Granaries will be full.’ said Yenenfer slowly.
‘Indeed. Horses won't graze on barren land and fortresses with full granaries can withstand long siege… Weather seems promising for the crops… Yes, weather is truly great. The sun is shining, mushrooms await rain in vain… And Yaruga is very shallow in Dol Angra… Easy to cross. From both sides.’
‘Why Dol Angra?’
‘I presume,’ the banker glared sharply at the sorceress while stroking his beard, ‘that I can trust you?’
‘You always could, Giancardi. Nothing has changed.’
‘In Dol Angra,’ said the dwarf slowly. ‘There's Lyria and Aedirn, which are in military alliance with Temeria. You don't suppose that Foltest, who’s buying the boats, is going to use them all for himself?’
‘No,’ replied
the magician. ‘I suppose not. Thank you for your information, Molnar. Who knows, maybe you're right? Maybe our convent really will manage to change the fate of the world and its inhabitants?’
‘Don't forget the dwarves,’ snorted Giancardi. ‘And their banks.’
‘We won't. Speaking of which…’
‘I'm all ears.’
‘I have expenses, Molnar. And if I try to pay them from the account at Vivaldi's bank, someone might end up drowning again, so…’
‘Yennefer,’ the dwarf interrupted. ‘I owe you unlimited credit. A long time has passed since the pogrom in Vengerberg. Perhaps you have forgotten it, but I never will. No member of Giancardi family will. How much do you need?’
‘Fifteen hundred temerian orens, transferred to the Cianfanelli bank in Ellander, for the temple of Melitele.’
‘Done. Good transfer, donations to temples don't get taxed. Anything else?’
‘How high is the annual tuition fee in Aretuza school?’
Ciri pricked her ears up.
‘Twelve hundred novigrad crowns,’ replied Giancardi. ‘There's also a matriculation for new students, about two hundred crowns.’
‘Damn, it's gotten higher.’
‘Every price has. Students don't lack anything, they live in Aretuza as if they were princesses. And half of the city earns their living from them: tailors, shoemakers, confectioners, suppliers…’
‘I'm aware of that. Transfer two thousand on the account of the school. Anonymously. With a note, that it's all for the matriculation and tuition fee… for one student.’
The dwarf put down his pen, glanced at Ciri and gave her an understanding smile. Ciri, still pretending to be busy with the book, listened carefully.
‘Is that all, Yennefer?’
‘I'd also like to ask for three hundred novigrad crowns, in cash. I will need at least three dresses for the Thanedd convent.’
‘What do you need cash for? I can give you a check. For five hundred crowns. The prices of imported fabrics also rose hellishly much, and wool or linen is not up to your standard. And if you need anything - for yourself or for the soon-to-be student of Aretuza – my shops and stores are open for you.’
The Time of Contempt Page 6
