The King of Beggars' palace was called Putrid Grove, a semi-enclosed pocket within Glory Lane. With the Zerrikanian Babu Tabard leading the way, every checkpoint opened for them without delay.
They stepped through muddy puddles and passed the King of Beggars' guards, who looked at Victor with expressions full of curiosity and mixed feelings.
By now, the tale of the witcher cutting down the doppler that afternoon had already spread among the underworld through the five surviving men Babu had brought back.
Ordinarily, witchers were met with disgust, sometimes even curses. But today, with the massacre having happened on their own turf and hitting them personally, they all kept silent at the boy's appearance. A very few even placed a hand over their chest in greeting.
The group of five went straight to the four-story building ahead. Only when they reached the entrance were Happen and Boslaer stopped at the door, where other men of the King of Beggars stepped forward to receive them separately.
Following Babu inside, Victor and Angoulême saw that the room was filled with candles, far more than ordinary lighting required. One glance was enough to understand. It was a memorial of sorts—a rite for the dead.
Francis Bedlam sat upon the throne of the King of Beggars and beckoned Victor over to sit beside him. He looked entirely calm.
Victor neither acted humble nor arrogant. He walked over and sat in the chair beside him. It was broad and comfortable, separated from the throne by only a small tea table.
Bedlam raised his left hand, and the guards around him stepped back, leaving the two men a private space to speak.
The last time Victor had come here, it had been to pay protection money for opening the smithy. Back then, he had been an amusing bard, someone who had only entered the King of Beggars' sight because Whoreson Junior had taken a liking to him.
But this time, the boy had come with a completely different identity—and had just dealt with a very "cruel and evil" monster.
Bedlam said mildly, "The Syndicate was right. You really are a very capable witcher."
Noticing the confusion on Victor's face, the King of Beggars added, "Not a person. An organization. A loose alliance of criminals in the great cities of the North, trading information and favors. No need to listen too closely. It's hardly a secret."
Victor thought to himself that Ramsmeat was probably part of that organization. The information about his earlier activities in Vizima had likely come here through that channel.
"Your approval puts me greatly at ease. I had assumed you would be furious. Considering..." Victor gestured toward the candles around them.
"A boil has to be lanced, even if it hurts. If it removes a hidden threat, then these..." The King of Beggars gestured at the candles as well. "...are an acceptable price."
"Before the latest report came in, I had a few plans for you. But Chappelle's ruling saved me the trouble of persuasion. I also want you to leave—for now—with the reward you've earned."
"I have no objection. But I hope the expulsion applies only to me, and not to the partners I started my business with."
"Of course. Yoana and Fergus—I'll tell Babu to see after them properly, and they'll pay nothing from here on. You're one of ours now.
"And this isn't exile. It's only a request that you leave for a time. You're no criminal. You're someone who has helped Novigrad. Don't carry too much weight over it."
As he finished speaking, the King of Beggars rose, and Victor hurriedly stood as well. Bedlam reached out with his right hand and lightly patted Victor on the arm.
"We haven't known each other long, but there's no doubt you're a good lad. If there's ever anything you need from me, you may come and ask."
Victor nodded, then said politely, "As a matter of fact, there is something now. About the lady who came with me..."
...
Babu only escorted Victor's party as far as the exit of Putrid Grove, so by the time they reached Sigismund's Bathhouse, only four of them remained.
Happen led them inside, then gestured to the right toward the white-haired elf.
"Boslaer, Mr. Reuven is already aware of Mr. Alonso's position. You may go change in the dressing room and enjoy a bath. Once the conversation is over, I'll notify you."
Then he called over several maidservants and instructed them, "Prepare a private luxury bath for this lady."
Seeing the girls about to crowd around her, Angoulême turned awkwardly to Victor, her face plainly asking for help.
Victor rubbed his nose and stepped in.
"Happen, I'd like to bring Angoulême in with me and introduce her to Mr. Reuven. As you know, I'll be leaving soon, and she'll be acting as my representative for my interests in Novigrad."
"Oh-ho-ho! I understand." Happen's soft, pale face broke into a smile. "In that case, please follow me."
He led them off to the left.
Not far on, they entered a library. It was the largest library Victor had seen since coming to this world: a high-ceilinged hall, orderly shelves, dense ranks of books, and Sigi Reuven's hulking body seated behind an oversized desk in an enlarged high-backed chair.
He narrowed eyes that were already small, making it almost impossible to judge his mood by looking at them. At least his voice sounded delighted enough.
"Ah, at last. Welcome, welcome. Come in, our very own Butcher of Novigrad—Mr. Victor Corion."
"Mr. Reuven, is that meant to be a joke? Because it isn't funny."
"No, no, it's quite the perfect joke. Because if a doppler can do such things, then so can you. It was only your copy, wasn't it?"
What a nuisance. Sigismund Dijkstra truly was worthy of his reputation, the former spymaster of Redania. He always went straight to the heart of things. Playing the fool in front of him would never work. He himself was a master of that game.
Victor kept silent.
The bathhouse owner chuckled and continued, "Holding down that saber-madman Babu with nothing but a single steel sword, and nearly making a eunuch of Happen all over again—that kind of power... truly, we all underestimated you. Much as I adore poetry, and The Return of the Dragonborn is indeed quite good,
"I have to say, others may not realize it yet, but you and your steel sword are the truly valuable part.
"A man like you, at the right time and in the right place, can do what thousands of soldiers would struggle to accomplish."
"I will remain neutral and keep to the witcher code. And even witchers of the School of the Cat are not all assassins."
Victor's tone was stern. He disliked the bathhouse owner's joke, and disliked the implication behind it even more.
Dijkstra waved a hand. "My apologies. I meant no insult. It was only a thought that came to mind. 'The Butcher of Novigrad' reminded me of an old friend."
Victor guessed he meant Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken. But that was not the point.
"The implication in your words reminds me instead of the tragedy that struck the Redanian royal house—the assassination of Vizimir II. That too sounds like the sort of thing armies would struggle to accomplish."
Vizimir II, father of Redania's current king, Radovid V. The monarch served by both Philippa Eilhart and Sigismund Dijkstra. He had died to the blade of a half-elf assassin.
That death had indirectly turned Dijkstra into Sigi Reuven.
The bathhouse owner's earlier words had rubbed Victor the wrong way, so the witcher decided to return the favor. Vizimir II's death might seem to have nothing to do with "Mr. Reuven," but there was no way it was not one of the great regrets buried in his heart.
The smile vanished from the bathhouse owner's mouth. His gaze sharpened as he studied Victor's expression for the slightest trace of unease.
When he concluded Victor probably did not know his real identity, and that the barb had been accidental, Dijkstra's smile returned.
"Very well. I apologize. And let me also offer my sincere thanks. If you had not stopped the doppler at the Fish Market, that mad devil would have reached Hierarch Square.
"Gods, I can scarcely imagine what kind of tragedy that would have become. Even Dandelion's sonnets could not capture sorrow so deep. Speaking of which, I must mention his latest poem. Can you believe it? The first two lines of the second stanza don't even rhyme. An unforgivable mistake!"
The former spymaster was indeed skilled at wandering all over the map in conversation. The entire speech had almost no real point at all, and yet it effortlessly eased the faint tension from before. As for Victor, he did rather want to hear news of Dandelion.
"Really? I didn't even know he had a new work out. Where did he publish it? I miss him. I'd like to see him again soon."
Mr. Reuven laughed heartily. "That dog-bred bastard ran off to Skellige. Can you believe it? He actually ran off to that place full of barbarians. Can anyone there even understand his poetry? Though to be fair, that may explain why the quality of his latest work has slipped."
"I see. Any word on when he'll be back?"
"That I don't know. Though come to think of it, if he performed The Return of the Dragonborn there, it would probably be wildly popular. Skellige likes that sort of thing. If I hadn't thoroughly investigated your background, I'd almost think you came from those barbarian isles yourself."
Unexpectedly, Victor had gotten the latest news about Dandelion from such idle chatter. But that was as far as it went. It did not mean much.
He had still not decided where he would go next. The Duchy of Toussaint and the Skellige Isles both had their own appeal.
As for Dandelion being in Skellige? That was no reason to go there. If anything, it counted against the place. Gods only knew what kind of nonsense the bard had been spreading.
"Well then, back to the point. A bad habit of mine, I'm afraid. Mention poetry and I get carried away."
No, you do not have that habit. And even if it looks like you do, that is only part of the disguise.
"The main reason I asked you here is to thank you. Thank you for what you did for the innocent people of Hierarch Square. And for that, I mean to reward you. I know you'll be leaving soon, and I also know why you brought this lady with you. Don't worry. I know what should be done."
He even nodded to Angoulême as he said it.
"Happen, Angoulême is to be allowed to find me whenever she wishes."
"What I mean to ask is this—aside from that, is there anything else you need? As the man who oversees commerce around Hierarch Square, there is very little I cannot get for you.
"Spices from Zerrikania? A sword forged in an ancient dwarven furnace? Toussaint wine? Rare alchemical ingredients of every sort? Whatever you want, I can find."
After listening to Dijkstra's offer and thinking it over, Victor answered calmly, "I need alchemical ingredients. If you can get me an archgriffin acid gland, a golem's heart, a kikimore queen's gland, or an albino bruxa tongue, that would be ideal."
The instant Victor named those materials, Angoulême's heart skipped, and she nearly interrupted, but she suppressed the urge just in time.
The bathhouse owner laughed cheerfully. He was more than happy to invest in people with real ability, because he had no wish for the rest of his life to end in this comfortable corner.
He did not fear requests. If anything, he found people who wanted nothing to be troublesome—especially those who acted only for ideals.
And Victor, quite clearly, was an easy man to deal with.
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810