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The mansion was as garish as its owner, count Mecannar, was arrogant. Tremendous portraits of nobles in golden frames, marble pillars, a hall the size of a small town square - all that looked out of place in the rather modest forest village.
“What more information do you want?” the count asked, visibly annoyed. “I don’t know what kind of creature he is. Looks like a human, that’s for sure. But he stupefied everyone with only his presence. Would a normal human be able to do this?”
“How did he do it?”
“With his voice, with his face, his body - I don’t know! What I do know is that I and my guests were out of our minds!”
“Hmm, sounds like a siren, but I’ve never heard of male ones.”
“Do whatever is needed, Geralt of Rivia, whatever is needed to capture and bring him to me. Don’t hurt him, not a scratch, and I’ll pay you thrice as much as I’ve promised.”
“Isn’t it a little excessive for just some creature? What do you intend to do with him?”
“And that,” said count sharply, “is none of the Witcher’s business.”
Damn plutocrats with their perverted fantasies , thought Geralt but said out loud “Understood, I’ll be on my way.”
“One more thing, Witcher,” he said, taking a glass of wine from the elegant table near the plush armchair he was sitting in. “I sent out multiple huntsmen with the same task. Whoever finds the creature first and brings him to me, safe and sound, will get paid.”
***
“Hmm,” said Geralt angrily, opening one of the potions - there wasn’t another way to get to the male siren before the huntsmen, he didn’t know the local woods that well. He drank to the dregs and held his breath to adjust to the sensation – his hearing increased a hundredfold, he could hear a stag rubbing its horns on a tree bark five kilometers from the place he stood. One more moment and he could hear him too.
The mysterious creature was fleeing in a panic, breaking branches underfoot and stumbling every now and then. He was loud, the pounding of his heart could have been heard even without the potion. Well, the count’s fee will cover the costs. Geralt caught up with him in no time, lay in wait behind a fallen tree to jump out at the right moment and clasp the creature, knocking him to the ground to prevent him from getting out.
“Geralt! Geralt, it’s me!” the creature gasped, fluttering on the ground below him. It was no other than Jaskier, the bard, and his friend. He looked disheveled, but still fashionable in his carmine red long jacket and a hat with a feather.
“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, getting up and lifting the bard to his feet too. “What’re you doing here in the middle of the forest?”
“Oh, that’s a long story. The short version is that I got lost. Do you know where the main road is? Or even better - some less main road, so that I could get out of here as inconspicuous as possible.”
“Jaskier,” he started, realization hitting him. “Are you, by any chance, fleeing from the local count, count Mecannar?”
“How do you know?” The bard looked surprised, then fuming angrily, when Geralt told him everything about the search for the male siren.
“What?! The audacity! What else did he say?” he chuckled with quite a salty expression. “That I might have fucked his wife? Because I did. I did, Geralt, and I’ll do it again given the chance.”
“You’re so stupid, Jaskier.”
“Hey! Do you mean it? Say that you don’t!”
“Why did you come to the count’s house in the first place? Didn’t you see the red flags?”
“Of course I did… But I was hungry, didn’t eat anything substantial in a month. Bread and porridge, porridge and bread, sometimes broth from mushrooms and what seemed like dirt. I wanted meat, Geralt! Something with blood inside! I can’t write good poetry with an empty stomach. And count offered 500 gold straightaway and 200 afterward! That’d feed me for a month and a half and there’ll be something left for new strings too. Don’t judge me, Geralt, bastards like Mecannar are the reason simpletons in flea-eaten taverns from here to Nilfgaard aren’t generous enough. Those bastards are ripping villages off to the bone…”
“What did you do? I don’t think he would send huntsmen just for your sharp anti-authoritarian verses and fucking his wife. Unless he’s a truly resentful man.”
“He’s a pervert, Geralt! Did he show you the cage?”
“What? What cage?”
“Oh, so you didn’t see it! Alright, I’ll start right from the beginning. I accepted his gold, came to his mansion - he had a big party there, then I ate a lot, drank a lot, sang a few songs, not the anti-authoritarian ones, how you chose to put it, but some of my most famous love ballads. I wanted to get those additional 200 coins after all. And then I fell, Geralt, right in the middle of that bastard's hall. He poisoned me! I woke up a few hours, maybe days – who knows! – later in the golden fucking cage!”
“Hmm.”
“Why, you ask? He was saying something about keeping songbirds in cages for safe keeping so they won’t escape. That old perverted fuck! But I escaped, I did! I seduced one of the maids, made her bring me the key, and then ran, ran as fast as I could. He humiliated me, Geralt! Who’s putting poets in cages? Only cowards and perverts!”
“Hmm.” Said Geralt and Jaskier finally fell silent. “Just your luck then. Where were you going? I can accompany you til Caingorn.”