7

 You know, witcher, I admire you; you haven't moved for a week. I think I'll write a ballad about you. About a warrior whose heart broke with longing for land!"

"Don't laugh, I'm suffering here," 3jaja groaned, brushing his hair back from his face. She was already greener than them.

"You don't know anything, there's so much going on below deck, I manage to sneak grog, I play poker with the boys, and I don't think any of them have noticed my cards marked yet. And the women are nice, though not very busty; you don't like them. But you know what? At least you don't have to eat dried fish and scrub the deck. They tricked me into it once when the boss found out I'd hit on his girl. My knees still hurt. And I broke a nail. And Psotka, she'll almost go crazy down there without you. "

A gong sounded.

"Boys, what are they thinking, making such a racket?"

A multitude of bare feet clattered across the deck. The sails were raised. The sailors were scurrying about like flies in spring. Some were shouting, others were loading their crossbows, still others were yelling at the helmsman. Either something had been slipped into their food, or they were attacked.

The second option was more likely, as a dilapidated ship full of armed men appeared on the horizon.

"Quick, below deck!" Bajdel commanded. "Hide while you can!"

3jaja recovered instantly.

"What are you doing, running away like a rat?" he said, sounding indignant. "These people are transporting us to Zuu, and this is how you thank them?

" "I'd rather live to thank them on dry land... Oh, there's no point in arguing, do you want to live or not? Look, you're saving the world, and if you accidentally get a bolt in the ass, who's going to save it? The dwarves?"

The witcher was convinced. He quickly dove into a safer place.

"It's wet in here. And cold. And it stinks.

" "Shut up. They'll find us here, and then what? Sleep better.

" The witcher obediently curled up in a ball and soon fell into a sweet, deep, dreamless sleep. It was good that he wasn't aware of what was happening. Bajdel was less fortunate.

And he heard the screams of the dying, cruel curses, the swish of poison-soaked bolts, and the clash of steel on steel. And he knew that death was taking its toll on him, like a hard-nosed and hard-working farmer who never misses a grain, conscientious and ruthless. Bodies fell dully to the deck, so that once again the sailor who loses at cards would have to wash away the blood of his brothers. And no one would weep over the fate of the dead. And then there was silence, even more ominous than the din of battle, a silence that chilled the air, its depths drowning out all sounds: the dying man's last breath and the rattle of the pale bones of the one before whom all are equal (of course, that's not true; even in death, a dwarf is inferior to an elf). And then there was a roar, as if a thousand lightning bolts had merged into one, and the ship trembled, every splinter in its bones shaking with fear. And then silence reigned again, undisturbed by the gust of wind, and the battle was over.

Only then did Bajdel stop biting his nails and his hands stop shaking enough for him to wake his companion.

"Get up, sleepyhead. The battle is over.

" "And who won?

" The poet had no idea. All that remained was to find out. They were lucky, anyway, that no one was rushing to sink the ship. Their thoughts about the battle were interrupted by two approaching voices. They undoubtedly didn't belong to simple sailors. There were too many curses and military jargon.

"They're coming for us!" the witcher said, terrified. "They'll take us prisoner or hang us from a linden tree, the wind whistling in our... ears.

" "Then we'll defend ourselves. You have Geralt, and I'll sing you a battle song; you'll be better in a fight."

3jaja unsheathed his sword, Bajdel pulled a harp from his robes, and voices mingled with footsteps. Soon, two men clad in second-rate chainmail appeared in the room. They carried short swords, barely smoldering candles, and stained clothes.

The witcher screamed, whether from fear or to signal the beginning of the fight, it was unclear. The newcomers preferred not to ask.

"Calm down. We won't hurt you; your tormentors won't harass you anymore. We're here to save you."

"Save them from what?" Bajdel shook himself. "You simply attacked this ship!

" "Poor bastards, they've brainwashed them!" the men whispered among themselves. "And look at that green-haired man's face, how could they do such a thing to a human being... They must have tortured them here! "

"What's going on? Can someone enlighten us?"

"Oh yes, excuse me, sir. I'm telling you," the "savior" straightened proudly. "We're from the Zuuan Royal Guard, we're chasing, or rather, we were chasing, the most dangerous pirates in Bald Crab Bay, as you call it, though Lahin Deel sounds much nicer... But to the point... We're on the ship of these very pirates, and you were their prisoners. And I see that although you suffered greatly, you should know that it could have been worse! Apparently, they love to drink the blood of their victims and then skin them alive and throw them into the sea!"

Bajdel wanted to comment, but the witcher stopped him with a pointed look. And the poet finally understood why so many people disliked pirates. As usual, it was all due to stupid superstitions, and piracy was simply hard work, only slightly less legal than other jobs. But who would pay well for legal services? The poet himself knew full well that the biggest currency was put in the worst dives, where all the prostitutes had gonorrhea, and every other hooded guest was an outlaw or a rapist. Poor pirates! This profession would surely become extinct in the near future.

"Gentlemen, allow me to come with you now," the Zuuan smiled. "Soon we'll sail to Saieel, and our officers will deal with you there. But don't worry, it'll just be an interrogation about pirates."

Well, we're in, thought 3jaja, but he didn't share this thought with anyone. Zuu was ruled by a constitutional monarchy and repulsive capitalism, and the thuggish governments delighted in harassing socialists. Moreover, everyone looked at witches with an evil eye.

The guards led them to their ship, far dirtier than the pirate ship. Bajdel made a superhuman effort not to get his slippers wet in the blood washing the deck. They had already suffered enough during the journey. But it was time to buy himself some new ones, perhaps the recently fashionable shoes dyed in all the colors of the rainbow? His deep contemplation of this philosophical problem was interrupted by a thin, feminine shriek.

"3 eggs! I found you, I found you! I always knew I would find you! Now we'll be together forever, right?"

It was, of course, a Sassanian. But it wasn't her presence that surprised 3jaja. Of course, this was the first time a real man had shown interest in the girl, not some pimply, underage farmhand. But she called the witcher 3jaja. As far as he remembered, only Jane Achonen called him that. The thought usually triggered a series of reflections on the beautiful sorceress. She was certainly better than the other girl: she had more experience, a larger bust, she was more beautiful... but she lacked youthful charm... Oh, she would be angry at the betrayal, especially since he hadn't told her about the previous one yet. But a man needs to pamper himself, and when his lady love isn't around, he's naturally forced to find another. By the way, Jane Achonen could stop going to those magicians so often for new spell ingredients.

The next city on the grueling journey to save the world (interesting, by the way, that a hero must undertake a long journey to save the world, as if he couldn't arrange everything locally, but then there would be no interesting stories for the bards) lay on the Bay of Bald Crab and was filled with visitors from all over Alaspasia, for it possessed seven hundred years of charm, golden beaches, a hot climate, and even hotter girls. And it was called Saieel, as if it couldn't be named normally, like the cities of Tazmania. But the locals claimed that such strange, often unpronounceable names were more atmospheric. Weirdos.

3jaja and Bajdel had plenty of time to ponder this, as they were being led to Headquarters to testify against the bloodthirsty pirates plundering the sacred seas of Zuu.

And suddenly, a miracle happened.

"I need to take a leak," one of the guardsmen said

. Then the other felt the same, and they both briskly set off into a dark alley, of which there weren't many in the bright sunlight. The rest of the guards paid no attention, and they were left alone with the Sassassin woman clinging to her side.

"It's a sign from Destiny," the witcher whispered, "let's hurry to the nearest inn, lest they find us!"

They scurried through the relatively clean, cobbled streets, full of well-fed rats, until they found a shabby sign depicting an oblong fish. From this, they concluded that the inn was called "The Fish," or that they sold delicious fish dishes, which might even be fresh. Yum!

Of course, as soon as they entered, all eyes turned to them. Zuu had a strange attitude toward witches. In other countries, people either didn't know who they were or couldn't recognize them, but here, they would have recognized him even disguised as an old woman, wearing a scarf covering his face. So everyone started pointing fingers at him and telling him how witches kidnapped children and clogged public latrines.

3jaja had a problem again, fortunately, the fresh Zuu air cleared his mind a bit and was full of new ideas.

"Good people, I understand your fear," the poet continued in a bitter voice, "but this man is not a bandit witch! He was only bewitched by an evil witch from the Magical Association because he did too much good! Don't hurt him, for I'm taking him to a wise wizard, and I've heard that only in Zuu are there those who can undo a nasty curse!

" "Poor man!" the gnome sitting by the window said with emotion. "That's the worst that can happen to anyone. Watch out for him now; maybe he also has a witcher's mind, and then you'll be in trouble! He might eat you alive and rape you first!" They're like that. My uncle once met a witcher while he was hunting, and the monster first threw his sword at him, a huge one, because they have huge swords. I saw one once, it had some spells inscribed in honor of Jonlennon...

At that moment, no one was listening, because everyone in the inn was engaged in loud discussions about "how rude it is to transform a kind citizen into a witcher." 3jaja, though inside he was furious as if he were about to explode, outwardly showed no emotion. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the Purpose.

Soon, the atmosphere returned to normal, and the witcher could calmly eat his fish stew (stale, of course, because they had to use up last year's supplies first), washing it down with a dark, frothy beer. Bajdel sat next to him, poking at the seafood soup with a fork, every now and then pulling out fragments of oyster shells with distaste. The Sassassan settled for a wheat roll, probably tastier than all the other fishy abominations.

"It would be worth discussing where we'll go next," the poet reminded.

"Ahem," 3jaja grunted, distracted from looking into the girl's eyes (the gray-blue was uglier than the green, but it still had its charm), "well, we have to find Aen'Ghel and ask about Fonklice. Well, first we have to ask about him, but I'm sure everyone knows him. We can see him here. You do it, they're afraid of me.

" "As usual, I'm the worst job," he muttered under his breath. "Landlord, where does Aen'Ghel live?

" "Oh, another one wants to give him a hard time," the landlord frowned. "But it's alright, he deserved it, disgracing the party like that... He has an estate near Saieel, that's all I know. I wish you successful hunting."