Chapter Text
Ich bin nicht frei und ich kann nur wählen
Welche Diebe mich bestehlen, welche Mörder mir befehlen
"Counting secret taxes again, Roche?"
Geralt entered the study gesturing with a nod to the leather pouch on Vernon Roche's desk, which was, as usual, a jumble of scrolls, weapons, and, oddly enough, today also a pair of boots. Next to the pouch were some gold coins, and sure enough, Roche had wrapped his calloused fingers around some of them. Vernon looked up unwillingly. Tired eyes with deep circles flashed out from beneath his chaperon.
"I thought we agreed to leave that subject out of our business relationship," he returned.
Geralt knocked a couple of books off the only chair in the room, apart from the one Roche was sitting on, and dropped onto it.
"Sure, and I'll probably have to remind you of that one day. If Cleaver ever doesn't pay and you want to teach him a lesson."
"You're my bodyguard, Geralt, not my goon."
Geralt raised his eyebrows. Roche rolled his eyes.
"If that ever happens, I'll get my own hands dirty," he said. "Why are you here? I don't need you tonight."
"Well, you might think twice about that," Geralt replied, leaning back in his chair in emphatic nonchalance, "because I have some brand new information for you."
Vernon gave him a suspicious glance.
"Information? That's what I have my people for, Geralt."
"But obviously they're not good enough. Or they just don't have my connections."
"Connections," Vernon sneered, pulling out a tumbler from under a stack of papers.
Then he rummaged in a dusty cabinet under the dirty window and finally found a bottle of vodka. He poured himself a drink, without even considering offering Geralt anything, and continued, "You have one single friend in Novigrad, Geralt, apart from me. And he has decided to invest in Whoreson Junior's business instead of Cleaver's. So if your information relates to Whoreson deciding to abandon his supposedly legal overseas business and go back to operating in Novigrad, well, I guess I'm not that interested."
"Yeah, sure," Geralt returned, crossing his arms, "that would certainly be a major setback for your business with Cleaver. No. Remember, Dandelion is a viscount, Vernon. There's actually more interesting info from that side."
"Geralt. Say, do you need money? Is that why you're acting so mysterious? What the hell do you need coin for? You're not a witcher anymore. You don't need all that potion stuff now, do you? Let alone armor…"
"Vernon," Geralt replied between clenched teeth, "I may no longer work as a witcher, but as your bodyguard, you trust me to use my skills. So what I spend my money on, even if it's potions, is none of your business. What is it now, do you want this information or not?"
Vernon pursed his mouth in offense and replied, "Maybe that's why you don't have any friends, because you're trading favors for money, I'd think about it if I were you. All right, what's your salient piece of information?"
Geralt leaned forward and said with relish, "Emperor's coming to Novigrad."
Vernon raised his eyebrows.
"Emhyr? In person?"
"Well, the last time I checked the noble registers, Emhyr was still Emperor, so yes, Emhyr, and yes, in person."
"What the hell is his business?" asked Vernon, bewildered.
"Well, even Dandelion doesn't know that much," Geralt admitted. "But the fact that you as governor haven't heard about it yet obviously means it's going to be some kind of surprise visit."
"I'll know by the time they pass Drahim Castle at the latest," Vernon muttered, but he looked troubled as he glanced at his overflowing desk.
"Drahim Castle? Is that as far as your spies go? There's barely enough time to clean up your table," Geralt sneered.
It was obvious from Vernon's grumpy face that he knew Geralt didn't just mean the mess in his office. Displeasure to the point of suppressed anger were in Vernon's nature, but for some time disappointment, visible in the new wrinkles on his face, and a certain resignation had been added. A year had passed since the end of the war, and Vernon had achieved everything he had fought so long and so hard for: Temeria was free, and he had been the mayor of its capital Vizima. He had never wanted to go into politics, but he had been forced to submit to Nilfgaard's dictates.
From then on, it had only been a matter of time before Emhyr would also take Redania. But remarkably, this had taken longer than expected, mainly because of Novigrad: the city had much to lose, and the citizens fought fiercely for their freedom. Finally, Vernon experienced what it really meant to live in a vassal state. He had bought the freedom of Temeria with more than blood, when he realized he was ultimately only a ruler by Emhyr's grace. The emperor had decided to punish Novigrad for its rebelliousness and had withdrawn Vernon from Vizima. As Novigrad's governor, he was considered a hated outsider by the inhabitants, and even if he tried to prove that he detested Nilfgaard as much as they did, he was still the empire's henchman. In this constellation, only Emhyr won, and Vernon could do nothing about it: he got what had been agreed, under hand and seal. Temeria was free, only Vernon was not.
"I need you to do something for me," Roche suddenly blurted out.
Geralt grimaced, and Vernon's thin grin showed that he enjoyed seeing him as dissatisfied as he was. To this day, Vernon didn't understand what had ultimately prompted Geralt to quit his profession as a witcher and join him, but it worked to his advantage. Roche had never had trouble gaining respect, but he was no longer a street dog. A bodyguard was appropriate in his position, and when Geralt, who had appeared in Novigrad ten months ago, had offered himself to it, Vernon had jumped at the chance. What was initially only supposed to be a temporary solution had developed into a permanent arrangement. Vernon did not know Geralt's reasons, and he felt that his demand for a favor had long since been paid for. For some reason, Geralt seemed to enjoy getting into fights with people who dared to get too close to Roche.
"See, I told you you'd change your mind. What's up?"
Businesslike, Geralt leaned back in his chair and looked promptly at Roche. The man didn’t need to know his motives for choosing Novigrad as his permanent residence, nor what Geralt actually needed money for. Instead, he owed him attention to listen to his problems and find solutions. And Emhyr in Novigrad... that was a comparatively big problem, also for Geralt.
Roche’s fingers circled across the gold coins. That was another mystery: he had remarkably quickly come to terms with being the scapegoat for Novigrad, whom the population could despise on behalf of Emhyr. Just as quickly, he had managed to keep the underworld running with sleazy deals and, at least in part, to control it. Geralt suspected that Vernon also had a few plans up his sleeve in case the emperor grew tired of him. It was probably not the worst idea to stock up until then. Vernon seemed to confirm this thought with his next words.
"There's a secret passage in Dijkstra's old bathhouse, did you know that?" he opined as he began shoveling the coins back into the bag while downing a few hasty gulps of vodka. "I mean the one he entertained during his time here as Sigi Reuven."
"It was the only bathhouse in town, Vernon. There's a reason people have been stinking up the place since Dijkstra died."
Surprisingly, no one had been found who wanted to reactivate the bathhouse. Many people seemed to prefer washing in the brothels or the river, if at all. Rumors of alleged haunted houses had skyrocketed since the conquest of Redania, making real estate deals a matter for a few shady characters.
"You have a strange sense of humor, Geralt," Vernon muttered. "Well. Anyway, there’s a secret passage. Dijkstra told me when we were planning Radovid's demise."
He faltered for a moment, it looked like he bit his lip. Geralt found it almost touching that Vernon still called Radovid's murder a demise. There were aspects of Roche that he would probably never understand. That he felt guilty for anything seemed far-fetched.
"Fine, he didn't tell me," Geralt said, unimpressed.
A muscle twitch in Roche's, these days somehow perpetually worried face, fired Geralt's mind in a strange manner. Maybe it wasn't Radovid that Roche felt guilty about, but Dijkstra. The guy had been a bastard, but they had plotted together for a while. Maybe they hadn't necessarily become friends in the process, but an alliance had definitely meant something to Roche in the past. Interesting. Geralt, at any rate, convinced himself that siding with Roche in the inevitable battle had been the lesser evil. These thoughts helped him sleep at night. He wondered how peaceful Vernon's night were.
Roche looked at him sharply.
"You've lied better before. Pretty sure you know that secret passage. But fine, keep your little secrets. Someone barricaded the entrance, probably Dijkstra's weird eunuch buddy, before he disappeared. But that shouldn't be a problem for you. I want you to find out if the place is still safe. The secret passage leads into the sewers. I also want to know if it's safe there."
"Safe for your gold, you mean?"
Roche shrugged, answering, "If you're alluding to the fact that Cleaver and his fucking dwarves, maybe even remnants of Bedlam's gang could be hanging around down there, yes, possible. That's why I need you. You do realize that Emhyr better not find out what business is actually going on here. Guess his soldiers aren't interested in roaming the sewers."
Geralt looked at the ceiling in Vernon's small study, seemingly unmoved. Up there were cobwebs as big as a loaf of bread. The floor did not look any better. Probably Vernon even slept in the dirt here, or what were the boots on his table for? The whole room was as unrepresentative as Roche himself, who had let himself go more and more in the last year. Perhaps he himself did not even suspect how much he now resembled the underground criminals he hated. It was somehow fitting, after all, he came from the gutter. Geralt sighed. The line was pretty narrow, that much was clear to him.
"If there's someone down there and I happen to startle them, they're going to figure out pretty quickly what you're up to, I think, Vernon."
"You said it yourself, so far no one knows about the emperor's visit."
"Actually, I didn't say that, but well, I guess we can assume that. However, you know how quickly rumors spread. The fact that you want me to scout the sewers is one of them."
"Then don't make it look like you're scouting them," Vernon hissed under his now obvious alcohol breath. "If anyone catches on, it is my renewed push against the underworld. Officially."
"Officially," Geralt sneered, "that won't exactly boost your business with Cleaver."
"Let me worry about that. Cleaver certainly understands the need to keep up appearances now and then. Everyone has to make sacrifices."
"Yeah, you’re visibly suffering," Geralt muttered.
"Huh?"
"Oh, nothing. So. Find out if and what's hanging around in the sewers and find a good hiding place for the proceeds of your side business as soon as possible, yeah? Interesting. Earlier you claimed I was just your bodyguard."
"And you subliminally indicated that you needed money," Vernon interjected unapologetically.
"Touching, that I'm the only person in the entire city you trust," Geralt scoffed.
Vernon sat bolt upright, knocking over some junk. His tumbler fell from the table, dripping. Geralt watched it as the pewter hit the floor with a crash and then rolled near the door.
"I don't trust you, Geralt," Vernon said in an unusually harsh voice. "I'm using you as much as I've been used, and I don't give a shit why you're going along with it. So. Are you doing this for me or not?"
Geralt looked at Vernon for quite a while, as if trying to memorize every wrinkle in that grim face. Finally, he stood up and pushed the chair back almost angrily.
"Tis fine. I'll do it."