'Hmm… But now… There are far more people than… Than there are you.'
'Because you multiply like rabbits.' The dwarf ground his teeth. 'You'd do nothing but screw day in day out, without discrimination, with just anyone and anywhere. And it's enough for your women to just sit on a man's trousers and it makes their bellies swell… Why have you gone so red, crimson as a poppy? You wanted to know, didn't you? So you've got the honest truth and faithful
history of a world where he who shatters the skulls of others most efficiently and swells women's bellies fastest, reigns. And it's just as hard to compete with you people in murdering as it is in screwing-'
'Yarpen,' said Geralt coldly, riding up on Roach. 'Restrain yourself a little, if you please, with your choice of words. And Ciri, stop playing at being a coachwoman and have a care for Triss, check if she's awake and needs anything.'
'I've been awake for a long time,' the magician said weakly from the depths of the wagon. 'But I didn't want to… interrupt this interesting conversation. Don't disturb them, Geralt. I'd like… to learn more about the role of screwing in the evolution of society.'
'Can I heat some water? Triss wants to wash.'
'Go ahead,' agreed Yarpen Zigrin. 'Xavier, take the spit off the fire, our hare's had enough. Hand me the cauldron, Ciri. Oh, look at you, it's full to the brim! Did you lug this great weight from the stream by yourself?'
'I'm strong.'
The elder of the Dahlberg brothers burst out laughing.
'Don't judge her by appearances, Paulie,' said Yarpen seriously as he skilfully divided the roasted grey hare into portions. 'There's nothing to laugh at here. She's skinny but I can see she's a robust and resilient lass. She's like a leather belt: thin, but it can't be torn apart in your hands. And if you were to hang yourself on it, it would bear your weight, too.'
No one laughed. Ciri squatted next to the dwarves sprawled around the fire. This time Yarpen Zigrin and his four 'boys' had lit their own fire at the camp because they did not intend to share the hare which Xavier Moran had shot. For them alone there was just enough for one, at most two, mouthfuls each.
Add some wood to the fire,' said Yarpen, licking his fingers. 'The water will heat quicker.'
'That water's a stupid idea,' stated Regan Dahlberg, spitting out a bone. 'Washing can only harm you when you're sick. When
you're healthy, too, come to that. You remember old Schrader? His wife once told him to wash, and Schrader went and died soon afterwards.'
'Because a rabid dog bit him.'
'If he hadn't washed, the dog wouldn't have bitten him.'
'I think,' said Ciri, checking the temperature of the water in the cauldron with her finger, 'it's excessive to wash every day too. But Triss asked for it – she even started crying once… So Geralt and I-'
'We know.' The elder Dahlberg nodded. 'But that a witcher should… I'm constantly amazed. Hey, Zigrin, if you had a woman would you wash her and comb her hair? Would you carry her into the bushes if she had to-'
'Shut up, Paulie.' Yarpen cut him short. 'Don't say anything against that witcher, because he's a good fellow.'
'Am I saying anything? I'm only surprised-'
'Triss,' Ciri butted in cheekily, 'is not his woman.'
'I'm all the more surprised.'
'You're all the more a blockhead, you mean,' Yarpen summed up. 'Ciri, pour a bit of water in to boil. We'll infuse some more saffron and poppy seeds for the magician. She felt better today, eh?'
'Probably did,' murmured Yannick Brass. 'We only had to stop the convoy six times for her. I know it wouldn't do to deny aid on the trail, and he's a prick who thinks otherwise. And he who denies it would be an arch-prick and base son-of-a-bitch. But we've been in these woods too long, far too long, I tell you. We're tempting fate, damn it, we're tempting fate too much, boys. It's not safe here. The Scoia'tael-'
'Spit that word out, Yannick.'
'Ptoo, ptoo. Yarpen, fighting doesn't frighten me, and a bit of blood's nothing new but… If it comes to fighting our own… Damn it! Why did this happen to us? This friggin' load ought to be transported by a hundred friggin' cavalrymen, not us! The devil take those know-alls from Ard Carraigh, may they-'
'Shut up, I said. And pass me the pot of kasha. The hare was a
snack, damn it, now we have to eat something. Giri, will you eat with us?'
'Of course.'
For a long while all that could be heard was the smacking of lips, munching, and the crunch of wooden spoons hitting the pot.
'Pox on it,' said Paulie Dahlberg and gave a long burp. 'I could still eat some more.'
'Me, too,' declared Giri and burped too, delighted by the dwarves' unpretentious manners.
'As long as it's not kasha,' said Xavier Moran. 'I can't stomach those milled oats any more. I've gone off salted meat, too.'
'So gorge yourself on grass, if you've got such delicate taste-buds.'
'Or rip the bark off the birch with your teeth. Beavers do it and survive.'
'A beaver – now that's something I could eat.'
'As for me, a fish.' Paulie lost himself in dreams as he crunched on a husk pulled from his beard. 'I've a fancy for a fish, I can tell you.'
'So let's catch some fish.'
'Where?' growled Yannick Brass. 'In the bushes?'
'In the stream.'
'Some stream. You can piss to the other side. What sort of fish could be in there?'
'There are fish.' Ciri licked her spoon clean and slipped it into the top of her boot. 'I saw them when I went to get the water. But they're sick or something, those fish. They've got a rash. Black and red spots-'
'Trout!' roared Paulie, spitting crumbs of husk. 'Well, boys, to the stream double-quick! Regan! Get your breeches down! We'll turn them into a fishing-trap.'
'Why mine?'
'Pull them off, at the double, or I'll wallop you, snothead! Didn't mother say you have to listen to me?'
'Hurry up if you want to go fishing because dusk is just round the corner,' said Yarpen. 'Ciri, is the water hot yet? Leave it, leave
it, you'll burn yourself and get dirty from the cauldron. I know you're strong but let me – I'll carry it.'
Geralt was already waiting for them; they could see his white hair through the gap in the canvas covering the wagon from afar. The dwarf poured the water into the bucket.
'Need any help, witcher?'
'No, thank you, Yarpen. Ciri will help.'
Triss was no longer running a high temperature but she was extremely weak. Geralt and Ciri were, by now, efficient at undressing and washing her. They had also learned to temper her ambitious but, at present, unrealistic attempts to manage on her own. They coped exceptionally well – he supported the enchantress in his arms, Ciri washed and dried her. Only one thing had started to surprise and annoy Ciri – Triss, in her opinion, snuggled up to Geralt too tightly. This time she was even trying to kiss him.
Geralt indicated the magician's saddle-bags with his head. Ciri understood immediately because this, too, was part of the ritual Triss always demanded to have her hair combed. She found the comb and knelt down beside her. Triss, lowering her head towards her, put her arms around the witcher. In Ciri's opinion, definitely a little too tightly.
'Oh, Geralt,' she sobbed. 'I so regret… I so regret that what was between us-'
'Triss, please.'
'… it should have happened… now. When I'm better… It would be entirely different… I could… I could even-'
'Triss.'
'I envy Yennefer… I envy her you-'
'Ciri, step out.'
'But-'
