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Something Wild

Chapter 37: A Conspiracy

Summary:

Juray involves herself in a conspiracy. Jaskier's dreams of a cabaret come to fruition.

Chapter Text

Juray pushed open the door leading to the back rooms of Novigrad’s high end-brothel, wondering why Dijkstra chose this of all places to meet. A few of the workers were there, resting, bathing, or preparing to return to work, and didn’t give her a second glance.

The madam waved her over towards her. “I never expected to see the White Demon with my own eyes.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Oh we haven’t, but I’ve heard stories of you. Your friend is expecting you. Will the White Wolf be joining you?”

Juray shook her head. “He will not.”

“Pity. This way. The others wait.” She led Juray to a false wall and opened it for her. “Up you go.”

Juray went up a flight of stairs to a hidden office, a bandit informing her that his boss was waiting.

In the office, she saw Dijkstra looking out the window. “Juray. You're here. Good. Where’s Geralt?”

“I asked him not to come. For reasons I’m sure you understand.” Juray motioned around them. “Might've chosen a more secluded spot to plan an assassination, instead of a whorehouse.”

“It's on everyone's mind, many'd like to do it, so there's nothing to fear. Besides, this venue's got a tradition in this domain. Might even consider it fabled. Falka planned her revolt here... by extension, King Vridank's murder, too.”

“Comparing yourself to Falka? Far as I can recall, no one in Redania's annals has a bloodier reputation.”

“Her rebellion changed the course of history, that’s what we have in common. In terms of blood, we aim only to shed Radovid's. I'm pleased you're willing to play a part. Must admit I wasn't certain either one of you'd show, since Geralt was quoting the Witchers’ code to me.”

“I have my own reasons for this. Thought long and hard about what you said. My friends and in extension my brother Witchers and my family will never be safe as long as Radovid is alive. Since I know he knows about the de Côtés and my connection to them.”

Dijkstra nodded, a look on his face like something now made sense to him. “You better believe it. I actually never guessed that Juray de Côté and the White Demon were one and the same.”

“I prefer to keep it that way.”

“Well, I'm pleased we've arrived at an understanding. To the matter at hand.”

Juray turned her head at the footsteps coming up the stairs to see Roche join them.

“I believe you know my associate.”

“Roche,” Juray nodded in greeting. “Didn’t expect you’d be part of this.”

“Retired intelligence operatives, we've a club.”

“Must not be a very big club.”

Roche smirked.

“Defended a king once... Ready to assassinate another, now?”

“Not proud of it,” Roche admitted. “Yet... I considered all the options and found none better. Radovid's proven many times he only ever forwards his own interests.” He crossed the room to the window. “When Kaedwen asked for help, he invaded. When I begged him to support Vizima's defense, he showed me the door.” He turned back to the others. “The war nears its end, we've come to a decisive phase. We must act quickly. I've no illusions. Only a dead Radovid means a free Temeria.”

“So what part am I to play?”

“We should wait for Geralt.”

“Geralt’s not coming. The whole Foltest thing was enough of politics for him.”

“Yet you’re willing to join us.”

“When Radovid finishes with the mages, who do you think he’ll go after next? Non-humans fall to his purge. And many people consider Witchers to not be human. I have a connection to Kaedweni nobility, Radovid knows exactly who I’m connected to. And I have no doubt he will use that to his advantage in his witch hunt. I’m willing to protect them and my fellow Witchers by breaking with the Witchers’ code of neutrality to be involved in this. And we both know I’m not the first Witcher to do so.”

Roche nodded. “Right you are. I will not turn down your aid. One of our co-conspirators ventured out to meet an informer. He's not returned, yet the plan's success hinges on what he's learned. We've got to find him. And you're one of the best trackers around.”

“Ah, so you need the services of a Witcher to find him. Anything else you can tell me? Where this associate was last seen, for instance?”

“He's traveling as a journeyman,” Dijkstra said. “Itinerant cobbler, that's his cover. He was first to venture across the Pontar, most probably did so via the Redanian checkpoint. We've a man there who should know more. Calls himself Gregor.”

“I’ll find him.”

“Thank you,” Roche said. “And try not to draw too much attention... if you can.”

“Have you met me, Roche?”

“The future hinges on the success of this mission. The future of Temeria, the future of the North.”

“In other words, try not to fuck it up.”

Roche had a glimmer of a smirk on his face as Juray turned away and headed back down the stairs.

 

 

~~~

 

 

Juray dismounted at the blockade, leading Shadowmount across the bridge with other travelers heading into Velen. She then led her horse over to the side and pretended to inspect her saddle and adjust the straps, all the while glancing around her at the Redanian guards.

One approached her. “Needin’ help, ma’am?”

“Depends. Know someone named Gregor?”

“I’m Gregor. Who are you?”

“Juray of Riverdell. We have a mutual friend in Novigrad.”

“Been expectin' someone. Let's take a walk.”

Juray tied Shadowmount to a post and walked with Gregor to the water. “Lovely décor,” Juray said, motioning to the two corpses hanging above the gate.

“By orders of our gracious and merciful ruler, the good king...”

“For what crime? Sneezing in his direction?”

“One on the right's a pellar from a village nearby. Gave some bloke the wrong advice, bloke's mates informed on him. Neighbor held a grudge against the one on the left. Accused him of witchcraft.”

“Best way to get rid of people you don’t like without getting your hands dirty, have the law do it for you.” Juray looked at Gregor. “Seem to have lost all respect for the king. Why serve him?”

“What'm I to do? I was born a Redanian, I won't desert. Besides, I enlisted when Vizimir was still on the throne. Now that was a good king, wise and just. Radovid's somethin' else. He's got war on the brain. And I don't want Redania to look anythin' like that.” He indicated the hanging corpses.

“My experience with him didn’t give me a very good impression. Between the two of us, he’s a few arrows shy of a full quiver.”

“I won’t disagree.”

“Must know I’m not here for small talk about the sanity of the king.”

Gregor glanced around before lowering his voice. “Take it's about our cobbler friend. Yeah, he came through here on his way out. Didn't come back, though. Patrol went out yesterday, reported an abandoned cart a ways off the road. Aimed to go out there, see if it's his. Couldn't get away.”

“Good enough to start with. Farewell.” Juray turned to head back to her horse.

“Hold on. You got a pass? Won't get back through without one.”

“Yeah, I got one.”

“All right. Good luck.”

“I’ll need it.”

 

 

Juray found the undamaged cart with signs of a scuffle, along with a trail of shoes that led into the wilderness. And to a large rock troll surrounded by a pile of shoes.

“Away go witchygo,” the troll said. “Shoeses pick me.”

“I can see that,” Juray answered, humoring the troll. “Just wondering how those shoeses wound up here.”

“Here shoeses grow.” He motioned wildly. “Like to mushroo.”

“Now, now. You know shoes don't sprout from the ground. You see who left them behind here?”

“Speakno Rogg. Or angergets Ogg and Pogg.”

“Ogg and Pogg your friends?”

“Finderingers great Ogg-Pogg! Human finder on bigshoes cart, shoes biglike so!”

“Mhm. What'd they do to this human?”

“Ogg Pogg mans cavetotake.” He motioned to his right. “Thereover.”

“D'you eat him?”

“Naaaaayno, bonymans, stringymans. Blech... Oggmake mans shoesesmake. For Ogg, Pogg, and Rogg shoesesmakes.”

Juray raised a brow. “You need shoes?”

“Shoeses on humanses, shoeses wants Ogg, Pogg, and Rogg. Biglords trollers be, like humanses.”

“Well, that interesting. I’ll go and find your friends.” She turned away and focused her Witcher senses, finding the cave quickly. Inside, she could hear the trolls, and a very foul-mouthed man, conversing.

“Ogg angergets and you diemake!”

“When someone pisses you off, you needn't ploughin' kill him. It's not your only arsebitin' recourse.”

“When but Ogg hitmake, humanses alltime die.”

“So don't bloody hitmake. Yell at 'em, that's good enough.”

“Heeeeeh?”

“You walk up to the bloke, bare your teeth, furl your brow and say, ‘Fuck off, you miserable cunt.’.”

Juray gave a scoff of a laugh and shook her head, recognizing the man’s voice. “Of course.”

“Understand? All right. Let's, uh, move to some exercises. Repeat after me: You thrice fucked whore, ploughed, buggered, and blowin'. Take turns. Ogg?”

“Errr... You... Yooooo...”

“Argh, all right. Pogg? Maybe you could give it a shot?”

“Errr...”

“Agh, guess we should start with something simpler. Err, gimme a minute. Right, got it. We'll start easy. ‘Fu-cking cunt.’ Repeat that.”

“Fu... Fu... Fuggy?”

“Shite, no! ‘Fucking cunt!’ Bugger me, you're a moron...”

“Oh, he hasn’t changed at all.”

“Ogg no morony! Ogg Tala finder! Ogg finderinger! And you cobbleringer, shoesesmake! Notalky!”

“Shoulda known it was you, Thaler,” Juray said as she approached them. “Who better to teach trolls how to cuss?”

Thaler turned toward her, a gold monocle resting on his left eye. She was pretty sure that was his trademark look. “Is that Juray of fucking Riverdell I spy?!”

Juray had met the former Temerian spymaster while in Vizima, having been sent with an amnesic Geralt to help track down the men that had attacked Kaer Morhen just days after his sudden reappearance after years of believing him dead, killing the only Witcher apprentice they’d had in years and stealing Witcher secrets in the process.

“My, my, been bloody years.”

“This who?!” one of the trolls demanded.

“Relax, Ogg, this bugger's an old friend of mine.”

“Buggafrenold go! Or wes in soup throw!”

“I'd make for an awfully veiny morsel,” Juray said. “Bit tough, too.”

“Right, true that,” Thaler said with a laugh. “Just look at the ploughin' cunt, naught but skin and bones.”

“What did I tell you about calling me that?” She then nodded towards the entrance.

Thaler immediately knew what she wanted. “Er… Well, gentletrolls, high time I traveled on. You, uh, practice what I taught you. Give you a fuckin' exam next time I come through.”

Ogg threw his arm out. “Tala no go! Tala sit...sit arsedown! Tala sockcuck shoeses make!”

“Gotta give them credit for effort,” Juray said, amused. “I can see you've made friends. But Thaler needs to come with me.”

“Blood nowhere Tala go! Tala shoeses makes!”

“I need him.”

“Tala here stay. You shoeses got! Ogg shoeses gotnot, Rogg gotnot, Pogg gotnot. Tala shoeses make, Tala go.”

“I need Tala to help me get leather for your shoeses.”

“Heeeeeh?”

Thaler went along with Juray’s excuse. “Listen to Juray. She's tellin' the ploughin' truth.”

“Heeeeeh?”

“Look at your feet! They're fuckin' mammoth. Need a damn bale o' leather to make shoes for 'em. Understand? Me and Juray, we'll get some cocksuckin' leather. Then I'll come back and make your blasted shoes for you.”

“Shoeses Pogg for? And Rogg for?”

“Two pairs, for each of you gnarled pricks.”

“Hmm... Tala go. But backcome must!”

“Knew you buggers were good mates. Sit tight. Be back in a bit!”

Juray knew he had no intention of returning. They turned and headed out of the cave.

“Got to admit, you have a way with trolls. Ever thought of having children?”

“Fuck you, Thaler. You know Witchers are sterile.”

“You've not changed a bit. Still tart as rotting rhubarb.”

“I think I owe your face my fist.”

Thaler laughed. “Ah, same old Demon. But I do owe you for pulling me out of that spot. Just happen to be passin' through, or did someone send you to find me?”

“Roche and Dijkstra.”

“Ah! Mean they've not forgotten me? That's nice. Though I am grateful you came to get me, Juray. Must have a lot on your mind, all those monsters to kill...”

“Heard you three are planning to do some killing of your own,” Juray said as they left the cave.

“Huh? They tell you? Clowns.”

“Kinda. Didn't offer any details, though. Maybe you'd be willing? Gesture of gratitude?”

“Sorry, mate. If they were mum, I've got to be mum.”

Juray snorted. “Be that way. How'd you even wind up out here? Nilfgaard occupied land now.”

“You sayin' the Black Ones have no use for cobblers?”

“Figured they brought their own.”

“Brought fuck all, as I see it. Amateurs in uniform. And you'll not find a better cobbler than Thaler anywhere in the North!”

“Suuure.”

“You doubt me?”

“You're a fucking spy. And you're working with Roche and Dijkstra now. Doubt you went out there to fix Nilfgaardian boots.”

“Ah, I see you've thought about this.”

“I do have a brain, contrary to popular folklore about us.”

“I admit it. Cobbler act's my cover. Who takes an interest in cobblers? No one. You sit there, doin' your work, hammerin' on that sole, and blokes beside you talk. Bollocks, mostly. But sometimes they'll say somethin' interestin'.”

“Like what? The color of Radovid’s granny panties?”

Thaler laughed. “If only. But that's all I'm willin' to say.” They arrived back at the cart. “Thanks again, Juray. I'll take it from here. And I'll be sure to tell Roche and Dijkstra how you buggered Ogg and his mates sideways. As I see it, they'll be so impressed they'll shit themselves.”

“I’d like to see that. So, how’d you go from fence to cobbler?”

“Picked the least suspicious profession. The fence thing, shite cover. Pissed too many folk off. I didn't need the attention. Thought about bein' an innkeep. You meet a lot of folk, you know, tossers mostly, but willin' to talk about all sorts of things. Problem is, you're tied down like a mutt on a chain, one and the same yard all the time.”

“Whereas a cobbler travels everywhere.”

“Better believe it.” Thaler laughed and motioned to the cart. “Even cobbled together this fancy rollin' stall.”

“Lovely.”

“Bloody bullseye. I've made a small fortune out of it since the war started. Those pricks in uniform are always marchin'. Know what happens when their cocksuckin' boots disintegrate? Their feet bleed, blister up. Not a soldier out there wouldn't sell his mother for a comfy pair of combat boots.”

“Heading back to Novigrad?”

“Yep. Dijkstra, Roche, and I've got a master plan to set in motion.”

“Well, good luck then.”

“Oh, I can bloody use it. Radovid's one crafty whore with the clap. But we'll figure a way round his twat. Soon the whole fucking North'll be blatherin' about how he got fucked.”

“Careful it's not also blathering about three assassins drawn and quartered.”

Thaler laughed. “We know what we're doin'.”

“Famous last words.”

 

 

~~~

 

 

Juray returned to the Rosemary to find Geralt and a panicking Priscilla talking to a dwarf.

“We’ll start just as soon as our lovely directress gets ‘round to decidin’ on the decoration,” the dwarf said.

“But Dandelion doesn’t even have the coin to pay you,” Priscilla said.

“Turns out he does now,” Geralt said. “Or soon will. At any rate, he’s working on it.”

“See? It’s all peachy,” The dwarf said. “Will ye finally decide on what style ye want the interior?”

“What are our choices?” Geralt asked.

“Master Dandelion said he was torn between boudoir style and theatre décor. Promised to let us know his choice soon as we arrived. Now we’re here and no decision’s been made. And the lady’s horribly surprised she’s to choose, though apparently this whole renovation is for her sake.”

“For me?” Priscilla was surprised at the revelation.

“Well, it’s not for me. Now would you please decide ‘fore I burst a vessel?”

“I’ve no idea what Dandelion would like.” She looked at Geralt. “You’ve known him longer. What would he want for a cabaret?”

“Dandelion would prefer a theatre theme,” Juray said, both turning towards her. “It’s a cabaret after all.”

“A wonderful choice!” the dwarf turned towards his men. “Gentlemen! You’re done lollygaggin’! Get to work.” The dwarves all went about their business.

“Glad you chose,” Geralt said. “I know nothing about interior design.”

“Not high on the list of what we learn in Kaer Morhen. Like social graces.”

“Glad you, at least, learned something,” Priscilla said. “Although I’m not sure where you learned it.”

“When you get exclusive Contracts for a noble family, you learn a thing or two. Anyone want to update me on what’s going on?”

“Jaskier’s is turning the Rosemary and Thyme into a cabaret,” Geralt explained. “Actually looks like he’s serious about it.”

“Ever since Jaskier inherited this place, he’s talked about it constantly,” Priscilla said. “Just never expected him to… take action” She looked around the place. “And so quickly.”

“Who knows,” Geralt said. “Might even settle down now.”

“He’ll have to keep an eye on the place and not go following you on your misadventures,” Juray added.

Geralt gave her a look.

“I’m just having a hard time picturing it though. He’s changed a lot since I last saw him.”

“Rumors be damned, Jaskier approaches life very rationally,” Priscilla defended.

“He’s always held the belief that a life enjoyed is a life well lived.”

“You needn’t mock.”

“I’m not. It’s something I’ve always liked about Jaskier. He lives life to the fullest and optimistically. Considering he sometimes travels with sourasses like us.” Juray motioned between her and Geralt.

“He’s also responsible,” Priscilla added. “He always pays anyone who works for him on time and he’s never missed a performance.”

“Speaking of never missing a performance,” Juray said. “Where is Jaskier?”

“He said as soon as he got the coin, he was going to see Polly, our choreographer. She’s missed the last few rehearsals. I certainly hope he’s not gotten into trouble.”

“Anything’s possible with Jaskier,” Geralt said. “Lemme see if I can’t find him.”

 

 

While Geralt left to find Jaskier, Juray stayed with Priscilla to help keep an eye on the workers and chatting with Dudu, who told her how much he hated playing Menge. The man saw enemies, particularly dopplers, around every corner. As soon as Jaskier was on his way to Oxenfurt, “Menge” disappeared again. Dudu expressed that he never wanted to do that again. Jaskier returned, sans Geralt, explaining that Geralt went to retrieve some placards to promote the grand opening of the cabaret, which he’d renamed the Chameleon.

“Thank the gods you decided to drop that awful name,” Juray said. “But why Chameleon?”

“To signify the change the establishment is going through.”

“Makes sense.”

Juray was then recruited to help hang the new sign before she grabbed herself a drink while watching Priscilla and Jaskier argue over which key a piece they were planning should be in. Geralt finally returned a look of approval on his face when he saw the décor.

“Well, well, looks like the crew has been hard at work. Not bad.”

“I love it,” Jaskier gushed. “Especially the, uh… accouterments on the wall. What about Rautlec? Did you get the placards?”

“Rautlec said he’d bring them on his own. He should be here soon.”

“The best way I think to promote the Chameleon.”

“You changed the name?”

“Rosemary and Thyme wasn’t all bad, but conjured up images of Temarian cuisine served by waitresses in peasant garb. Chameleon’s a lot better name for a cabaret, apart that it emphasizes that the place has undergone a transformation. Just… a better ring to it all around.”

“Sounds like everything’s ready. When’s the opening?”

“Soon,” Priscilla said. “We start our dress rehearsal in an hour.” She looked at Jaskier. “I just need to nip back home for my dress.” She gave Jaskier a quick peck on the cheek. “I shan’t be long.”

 

The two joined Juray.

“The foreman mentioned he saw you two talking to Priscilla…,” Jaskier said.

“You mean he’s not blind?” Juray asked, causing a snort of a laugh to come out of Geralt.

“Did she say anything about me?”

“She said something to make me think she’s not entirely normal,” Geralt said.

“Geralt!”

“What?” Jaskier asked.

“She said you’re responsible, got your feet planted firmly on the ground.”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“Not this time.”

A thoughtful look passed over Dandelion’s face as he took a drink.

“One thing’s eating at me. How did you manage to get the loan from Sophronia?”

“Isn’t that the woman…?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier gave a disgusted noise. “Wasn’t easy. She got so excited about our performance, I had to read to her for four hours. Four hours from The Cloak and the Dagger.”

“You mean you didn’t…?”

“Are you crazy? What kind of man do you think I am?”

“The kind that would charm your way into any woman’s bed,” Juray said. “I’ve known you to do that.”

Jaskier only rolled his eyes.

 

 

The dress rehearsal went as planned and the time for the grand opening was drawing closer. And Priscilla hadn’t shown back up yet.

“She’s late,” Jaskier said as he paced. “She knew how important this night was to me.”

“She’s probably just making herself gorgeous,” Geralt said. “Takes time, you know.”

Jaskier looked at Juray.

“Why are you looking at me?” she asked. “Do you think I make myself gorgeous to go kill a drowner?”

Jaskier opened his mouth to make a smartassed quip when a man ran in calling his stage name.

“Master Dandelion!” he was breathless, like he’d run across all of Novigrad. “It’s Priscilla! She’s… she’s badly hurt. Been attacked. They took her to Vilmerius Hospital.”

“Attacked?!” Jaskier had a horrified expression on his face. “She’s hurt?!” The bard all but shoved his way past the messenger, Geralt not two paces behind him.

“I’ll see to the opening,” Dudu said, stopping Juray as she went to go with them. “Just find out what happened.”

“Dandelion will appreciate that.”