The Witcher

THE EDGE OF THE WORLD II

'Thank you for the spread.' Geralt licked the bone spoon clean and dropped it into the empty bowl. 'A hundred thanks, dear host. And now, if you permit, we'll get down to business.'

 'Well, that we can,' agreed Nettly. What say ye, Dhun?'

 Dhun, the elder of Lower Posada, a huge man with a gloomy expression, nodded to the girls who swiftly removed the dishes from the table and left the room, to the obvious regret of Dandilion who had been grinning at them ever since the feast began, and making them giggle at his gross jokes.

 'I'm listening,' said Geralt, looking at the window from where the rapping of an axe and the sound of a saw drifted. Some sort of woodwork was going on in the yard and the sharp, resinous smell was penetrating the room. 'Tell me how I can be of use to you.'

 Nettly glanced at Dhun.

 The elder of the village nodded and cleared his throat. Well, it be like this,' he said. 'There be this field hereabouts—'

 Geralt kicked Dandilion - who was preparing to make a spiteful comment - under the table.

 '—a field,' continued Dhun. 'Be I right, Nettly? A long time, that field there, it lay fallow, but we set it to the plough and now, 'tis on it we sow hemp, hops and flax. It be a grand piece of field, I tell ye. Stretches right up to the forest—'

 'And what?' The poet couldn't help himself. 'What's on that field there?'

 'Well,' Dhun raised his head and scratched himself behind the ear. 'Well, there be a deovel prowls there.'

 'What?' snorted Dandilion. 'A what?'

 'I tell ye: a deovel.'

 'What deovel?'

 'What can he be? A deovel and that be it.'

 'Devils don't exist!'

 'Don't interrupt, Dandilion,' said Geralt in a calm voice. 'And go on, honourable Dhun.'

 'I tell ye: it's a deovel.'

 'I heard you.' Geralt could be incredibly patient when he chose. 'Tell me, what does he look like, where did he come from, how does he bother you? One thing at a time, if you please.'

 'Well,' Dhun raised his gnarled hand and started to count with great difficulty, folding his fingers over, one at a time, 'one thing at a time. Forsooth, ye be a wise man. Well, it be like this. He looks, sir, like a deovel, for all the world like a deovel. Where did he come from?

 Well, nowhere. Crash, bang, wallop and there we have him: a deovel. And bother us, forsooth he doesnae bother us overly. There be times he even helps.'

 'Helps?' cackled Dandilion, trying to remove a fly from his beer. A devil?'

 'Don't interrupt, Dandilion. Carry on, Dhun, sir. How does he help you, this, as you say—'

 'Deovel,' repeated the freeman with emphasis. 'Well, this be how he helps: he fertilises the land, he turns the soil, he gets rid of the moles, scares birds away, watches over the turnips and beetroots. Oh, and he eats the caterpillars he does, they as do hatch in the cabbages. But the cabbages, he eats them too, forsooth. Nothing but guzzle, be what he does. Just like a deovel.'

 Dandilion cackled again, then nicked a beer-drenched fly at a cat sleeping by the hearth. The cat opened one eye and glanced at the bard reproachfully.

 'Nevertheless,' the witcher said calmly, 'you're ready to pay me

 to get rid of him, am I right? In other words, you don't want him in the vicinity?'

 'And who,' Dhun looked at him gloomily, 'would care to have a deovel on his birthright soil?

 This be our land since forever, bestowed upon us by the king and it has nought to do with the deovel. We spit on his help. We've got hands ourselves, have we not? And he, sir, is nay a deovel but a malicious beast and has got so much, forgive the word, shite in his head as be hard to bear. There be no knowing what will come into his head. Once he fouled the well, then chased a lass, frightening and threatening to f**k her. He steals, sir, our belongings and victuals. He destroys and breaks things, makes a nuisance of himself, churns the dykes, digs ditches like some muskrat or beaver - the water from one pond trickled out completely and the carp in it died. He smoked a pipe in the haystack he did, the son-of-a-w***e, and all the hay it went up in smoke—'

 'I see,' interrupted Geralt. 'So he does bother you.'

 'Nay,' Dhun shook his head. 'He doesnae bother us. He be simply up to mischief, that's what he be.'

 Dandilion turned to the window, muffling his laughter.

 The witcher kept silent.

 'Oh, what be there to talk about,' said Nettly who had been silent until then. 'Ye be a witcher, nae? So do ye something about this deovel. It be work ye be looking for in Upper Posada, I heard so myself. So ye have work. We'll pay ye what needs be. But take note: we don't want ye killing the deovel. No way.'

 The witcher raised his head and smiled nastily. 'Interesting,' he said. 'Unusual, I'd say.'

 'What?' frowned Dhun.

 'An unusual condition. Why all this mercy?'

 'He should nae be killed,' Dhun frowned even more, 'because in this Valley—'

 'He should nae and that be it,' interrupted Nettly. 'Only catch him, sir, or drive him off yon o'er the seventh mountain. And ye will nae be hard done by when ye be paid.'

 The witcher stayed silent, still smiling.

 'Seal it, will ye, the deal?' asked Dhun.

 'First, I'd like a look at him, this devil of yours.'

 The freemen glanced at each other.

 'It be yer right,' said Nettly, then stood up. 'And yer will. The deovel he do prowl the whole neighbourhood at night but at day he dwells somewhere in the hemp. Or among the old willows on the marshland. Ye can take a look at him there. We won't hasten ye. Ye be wanting rest, then rest as long as ye will. Ye will nae go wanting in comfort and food as befits the custom of hospitality. Take care.'

 'Geralt.' Dandilion jolted up from his stool and looked out into the yard at the freemen walking away from the cottage. 'I can't understand anything anymore. A day hasn't gone by since our chat about imagined monsters and you suddenly get yourself hired hunting devils.

 And everybody — except ignorant freemen obviously - knows that devils are an invention, they're mythical creatures. What's this unexpected zeal of yours supposed to mean? Knowing you a little as I do, I take it you haven't abased yourself so as to get us bed, board and lodging, have you?'

 'Indeed,' grimaced Geralt. 'It does look as if you know me a little, singer.'

 'In that case, I don't understand.'

 'What is there to understand?'

 'There's no such things as devils!' yelled the poet, shaking the cat from sleep once and for all.

 'No such thing! To the devil with it, devils don't exist!'

 'True,' Geralt smiled. 'But Dandilion, I could never resist the temptation of having a look at something that doesn't exist.'