8

 Something didn't add up. 3jaja had felt it ever since they reached the shores of Zuu. He'd looked back many times, but no one was following him, he hadn't felt the watchful gaze of others... and yet SOMETHING was wrong. The sun-baked earth spoke, the scents in the air spoke, and the sounds around him spoke. They all seemed to be saying one word:

"Psotka."

Where is Psotka? they asked. Where was that cheerful, piebald mare?

"Nooooooooo!" 3jaja screamed, as if someone were tearing his heart apart. He felt the same way. He knew he would never find Psotka again, that he had lost his only friendship, the one who gave meaning to his life. Without her, he wouldn't be able to live normally. He would go on an eternal wandering around the world to spread fear among those who might have contributed to her disappearance. And then he would transform into a terrifying specter, scaring away unfeeling people with his screams. He would adorn himself in rags as black as night and drink the blood of young virgins during the full moon.

"Witchman, calm down!" Bajdel shouted. "What's this all about?

" "That we forgot about Psotka! She's probably lying somewhere at the butcher's, praying to the gods, even though I told her to be an atheist! And now I'll never see her again! This is the worst day of my life!

" "I say: calm down! Being a hero requires sacrifice! You think the Count...

" "The Count doesn't exist."

"Shut up! The Count exists and killed Jonlenon, although to do that, he had to understand that life doesn't end with the death of a loved one, he had to recover from the loss of his wife and children...

" "Wife? Children? What does some whore and a pack of brats have to do with my best friend, with whom I've been since we were little!? You've certainly never experienced anything like this yourself, you failed mule!

" "Stop it," whispered the Sassans in a barely audible voice. "Psotka will always live in our hearts, but Bajdel is telling the truth, we have to move on, you have to save this world, how can that be?"

The witcher was liking the girl's words and her person less and less, but he understood that Psotka wouldn't want people to mourn her. The proletariat is wise, it can always comfort and give good advice, no wonder, after all, it's the core of the social pyramid (3jaja didn't know where he knew that strange word from) the most important and most despised..."

He hugged the girl. He deserved it; thanks to her, he regained his joy in life and understood that the Purpose required sacrifices. Bajdel pulled a harp from his robes and began strumming the beginnings of a melody that might one day become a ballad known to every citizen of Alaspasia. Sublime deeds always have prosaic roots. After all, a flower grows from a pile of manure (the exception being the nettle that grew on elven bones).

3eggs's mind was filled with beautiful flowers (especially pasque flowers), joyful thoughts, and plans for the future. He imagined meeting Psotka, returning to Mukhetooth, to his witcher friends, becoming a swashbuckler, bringing about the Revolution, and, of course, saving the world. In reality, with every step, he was getting closer to saving it. With every step, he was getting closer to something muddy and cursing terribly. The fact that it lay in a ditch didn't excuse him at all.

Bajdel was the first to notice. He immediately ran to the ditch and began to examine it, but the dried mud obscured his view. Immediately after, 3jaja came running, dragging Sasasanka behind him.

"Why the fuck are you blinding yourselves?" something asked. "Get me out!

" "Don't swear like that, there are ladies here," the witcher reminded.

"How was I supposed to know? My eyes are caked with mud and I can't see a thing! Now, free me!

" "Not so fast," Bajdel cackled, after his ordeal he was running out of jokes. "Nothing's free... What will you give us if we rescue you? Your beautiful daughter, maybe a few thalers, or treat us to some tasty wine?

" "Don't be silly!" the mud-covered figure sobbed. "Say what you want... just please, free me!"

"I'll tell you what we want," the witcher said in a mysterious, thoughtful voice. "You'll give us something you have, but don't know yet."

3jaja invoked the Law of Surprise. It stated that a witcher, having saved a humanoid being, had the right to demand from it something he possessed but was unaware of its existence, or whatever came first to meet him. Sometimes that something turned out to be a child, whom the witcher took to Mukhetooth and trained for the witchcraft profession... more often, however, the delinquent was unaware he had syphilis, or his mother-in-law would be the first to meet him.

"Fine! I'll give it to you, I'm too old for children anyway, it'll probably be new furniture my wife bought or something... Now set me free!

" "Alright," Bajdel agreed. "Yeah, three eggs, but how are we supposed to free him?

" "Free..." the witcher wondered, his thoughts still wandering to the subject of the surprise child. "Scrape him clean, maybe pour water on him, then he'll become liquid and able to move.

" "I know! What a wonderful idea!"

The poet took off his pants, revealing his penis, framed by red hair, to everyone. The Sassanian blushed, while 3jaja assessed its length. Bajdel, on the other hand, utterly unabashedly urinated on the muddy man.

As the poet pulled on his pants, the contours of a human face began to emerge in the ditch, revealing a tasteless mustache, and the figure finally moved. It was completely covered in a mud-and-urine sludge, but the witcher easily guessed its identity.

"Aen'Ghel," he drawled.

"Ooooh...yes," the man admitted, making a sour face and trying to get rid of the aftertaste of urine. "But don't hit me, no, I don't want to be a trainer anymore. I'll give that role to someone else, Phonieck will be just fine...

" "Okay, we won't hurt you for now, at least not until you tell us what happened to you."

"I'm telling you, good sir," he said, clambering out of the ditch as he uttered these words. "You've probably heard about the match that took place near Bierków. It was a disastrous defeat, I know, but I tried my best, and the boys gave it their all...

" "You're not making excuses here, you're just telling it like it was!"

"Yes, I'm sorry. So this disgrace greatly infuriated our fans, and since they were a bit tipsy, they started a quarrel and found me alone on the road. There were a dozen of them, so I didn't help them. They beat me until I lost consciousness, then they threw me into a ditch and left me. And I lay there for two days, unable to move because the dried mud was sticking to me. Then you showed up, and you know the rest of the story. Now I invite you to my house, as the old custom dictates. "

As soon as they arrived, they were greeted by a joyful cry:

"Husband, finally! I was worried about you, that some witcher had kidnapped you!"

3jaja cleared his throat emphatically, but the woman preferred to embrace Aen'Ghel rather than pay attention to the green-haired newcomer. The greeting didn't last long, as the coach didn't smell very pleasant. Only then did the woman notice the presence of the witcher, the poet, and the village girl.

"Who are these bandits?

" "Hush, marmalade," the husband soothed, "those lovely gentlemen saved me without asking for anything in return. "

3jaja grunted again, a grunt the old boar could have envied.

"Well, almost nothing," Aen'Ghel reflected. "He wanted something from me that I have, and I don't expect it, or something. Do you happen to have a lover in the closet, so we could give him away?

" "You idiot, we have a new servant! Don't think I'll give him away for free to the first stray I come across. I don't reward people just because they're dirty and look like mutants!

" "She always does," the trainer whispered to the witcher, "but you saved me, so I owe you something. Let's discuss this over wine."

He led the guests to a cramped room, empty of anything but a pile of useless junk. No bench, not even a stool. The Sassanian had disappeared somewhere with the lady of the house. After all, it wasn't her fault that some bandits had kidnapped her. The woman had decided to question her and leave her as a servant.

"I'm so sorry, but my wife won't let you have her in the living room. The closet isn't comfortable, but it's great for drinking because you can't fall off the chair. It's just comfortable and there's no need to clean," the host explained.

"Okay, don't make excuses, just give me the wine," Bajdel said, excitedly .

"Maybe you're not as rich as me, so you don't know that wine is served by servants... Servants, give me the wine!

" What a snob, thought 3jaja. And he's taking advantage of the proletarians! He doesn't deserve alcohol, but rather exile to Moose Valley to learn more!

" "They'll definitely bring you a thin apple," Aen'Ghel frowned, "because, you know, my wife won't let you drink anything better."

"You're right, sir," said a thin voice, and a moment later a fair-haired boy toddled over to the cellar, carrying a chipped carafe of cloudy liquid. The child looked about ten years old and had probably spent his entire life serving others; he lacked the cheerfulness characteristic of other children. The boy stood with his head bowed, visibly trembling with fear. The witcher felt as if he had known him for a long time. He didn't even need to ask; he already knew he had a surprise child before him.

"The lady says the common folk won't drink from her glasses," the boy finally dared to speak. He handed the liquid to the trainer and left as quickly as possible.

"And tell me, what do you need this little bastard for?" the man asked.

"He probably wants to turn him into a witcher and give him his sword after he dies," Bajdel joked

. "By the Face! A witcher?! I'd even feel sorry for the servant!" To create a mutant that devours children and rapes old women, and copulates with demons from the Bottomless Hole every Friday afternoon!

"How do you know so much about them?" asked 3jaja cautiously.

"Everyone knows about it! Everyone! A witch once kidnapped my mother, didn't even leave a bone, the scoundrel! Besides, why make a witcher out of a child?"

The witcher didn't answer. He had been looking at the carafe for some time and finally came to the conclusion that its contents might be edible, or at least wouldn't kill him. So he politely asked for the vessel and began examining its contents.

"Oh, what strong moonshine!" he said happily. "Probably made from those moldy potatoes that the bourgeoisie hate to touch. Even water is afraid of such mold, so it runs away, leaving only the alcohol!"

The poet also took a sip and sighed with delight.

"Delicious! Nothing like healthy, country drinks!"

The carafe passed from hand to hand until it was half empty. The moonshine was good, though it tasted of earth and bugs; it burned his throat pleasantly and loosened his tongue. Aen'Ghel, though he watched the tasters with obvious envy, didn't dare touch it. All the better, the witcher thought, more for us.

"You, how do you make a witcher?" Bajdel asked,

"Quite simple: you take a child, take it to Mukhetooth, and there they subject it to various tests. If it survives, it gets a witcher's license and sets off into the world. If it doesn't, so be it.

" "What if it's a girl?

" "What if it's a girl?

" "It's a child. You mean, for example, if you demand a child under the Law of Surprise and it turns out to be a girl?

" "No, a witcher can't be a girl!

" "But if something like that happens, how would you react?"

"You know what, you're starting to talk nonsense. But I'll tell you what. I would have just left the girl where I found her. They say you can't leave boys like that because it's playing with fate, but fate wouldn't have wanted the girl anyway, it probably just made a mistake, it's against nature for there to be... a witch? A witch? A witch?

" "Heh, a witch! Good one. Maybe something like that won't happen, but you know, back in the day, women weren't allowed to be magicians, but what? An old wizard wanted a surprise child and gave him his staff before he died, later it turned out he was a blind fool and the girl became a magician, or rather a sorcerer. It's quite a story, I'll sing you a song about it...