Time of Contempt by Andrzej Sapkowski Read Free Book Online Page B

reword the contract. In other words, I’ll set them on Rience. If I succeed . . .’
    He broke off suddenly and swung an arm powerfully. The steel star whirred through the air and slammed with a thud into the portrait, right into the forehead of Codringher senior, cutting a hole in the canvas and embedding itself almost halfway into the wall.
    ‘Not bad, eh?’ grinned the lawyer. ‘It’s called an orion. A foreign invention. I’ve been practising for a month; I never miss now. It might come in useful. This little star is unerring and lethal at thirty feet, and it can be hidden in a sleeve or stuck behind a hatband. Orions have been part of the Nilfgaardian secret service equipment for a year now. Ha, ha, if Rience is spying for Nilfgaard, it would be amusing if they found him with an orion in his temple . . . What do you say to that?’
    ‘Nothing. That’s your business. Two hundred and fifty crowns are lying in your drawer.’
    ‘Sure,’ said Codringher, nodding. ‘I treat your words to mean you’re giving me a free hand. Let’s be silent for a moment, Geralt. Let’s honour Rience’s imminent death with a minute’s silence. Why the hell are you frowning? Have you no respect for the majesty of death?’
    ‘I do. Too great a respect to listen to idiots mocking it. Have you ever thought about your own death, Codringher?’
    The lawyer coughed heavily and looked for a long time at the handkerchief in front of his mouth. Then he raised his eyes.
    ‘Of course,’ he said quietly. ‘I have. Intensively, at that. But my thoughts are nothing to do with you, Witcher. Will you ride to Anchor?’
    ‘I will.’
    ‘Ralf Blunden, a.k.a. the Professor. Heimo Kantor. Little Yaxa. Do those names mean anything to you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘All three are pretty handy with a sword. Better than the Michelets. So I would suggest a more reliable, long-range weapon. These Nilfgaardian throwing stars, for example. I’ll sell you a few if you like. I’ve plenty of them.’
    ‘No thanks. They’re impractical. Noisy in flight.’
    ‘The whistling has a psychological element. They’re capable of paralysing their victim with fear.’
    ‘Perhaps. But they can also warn them. I’d have time to dodge it.’
    ‘If you saw it being thrown at you, you could. I know you can dodge an arrow or a quarrel . . . But from behind—’
    ‘From behind as well.’
    ‘Bullshit.’
    ‘Let’s try a wager,’ said Geralt coldly. ‘I’ll turn my face to the portrait of your dullard of a father, and you throw an orion at me. Should you hit me, you win. Should you not, you lose. Should you lose, you’ll decipher those elven manuscripts. You’ll get hold of information about the Child of the Elder Blood. Urgently. And on credit.’
    ‘And if I win?’
    ‘You’ll still get that information but you’ll pass it on to Yennefer. She’ll pay. You won’t be left out of pocket.’
    Codringher opened the drawer and took out another orion.
    ‘You don’t expect me to accept the wager.’ It was a statement, not a question.
    ‘No,’ smiled the Witcher. ‘I’m sure you’ll accept it.’
    ‘A daredevil, I see. Have you forgotten? I don’t have any scruples.’
    ‘I haven’t forgotten. After all, the time of contempt is approaching, and you keep up with progress and the zeitgeist. But I took your accusations of anachronistic naivety to heart, and this time I’ll take a risk, though not without hope of profit. What’s it to be then? Is the bet on?’
    ‘Yes.’ Codringher took hold of the steel star by one of its arms and stood up. ‘Curiosity always won out over good sense in me, not to mention unfounded mercy. Turn around.’
    The Witcher turned around. He glanced at the face on the portrait riddled with holes and with the orion sticking into it. And then he closed his eyes.
    The star whistled and thudded into the wall four inches from the frame of the portrait.
    ‘Damn and blast!’ roared Codringher. ‘You didn’t even flinch, you