The point of Lambert's sword hovered an inch from Velm's face, steady as stone, and Velm's eyes had not left it since Lambert raised it. His breathing was shallow, rapid, clearly someone who had never been this close to death.
"Talk," Lambert said.
Velm swallowed. His throat bobbed against the sword's edge, not quite touching.
"I'm here on trade business," Velm said, his voice trembling. "With Whoreson... you know? 'Alonso Willey, a crime boss here in Novigrad but everyone calls him Whoreson."
Sebastian's brow furrowed, the name was very familiar to him.
"He's extremely dangerous," Velm continued, his eyes darting between the two witchers. "Even for you, even for both of you. I'm not exaggerating to save my skin, the man owns half the casinos in Novigrad. Fighting rings, brothels, not this one, the other ones, the ones where the girls don't get a choice.." He paused, licking his lips. "Interestingly, he's also a patron of the arts, collects paintings, sculptures, rare artifacts from the old world... even poetry."
Sebastian's expression shifted. "Oh," he said.
Then he thought to himself: 'Unlike his son.'
"A patron of the arts," Lambert repeated slowly. "So that's what he is up to now... dealing with big shots..." He let out a short, bitter laugh. "Viktor is really something now, or is that what he thinks he is?"
Velm shook his head vehemently. "Viktor simply trades, nothing more. He's not... he's not like Whoreson. Viktor is small time, a middleman, he connects people who have things with people who want things." He gestured vaguely with one trembling hand. "There are a few paintings I'm about to trade with Whoreson, rare and valuable ones, that's why I'm here. That's why Viktor sent me."
Lambert's sword did not waver.
"I urge you," Velm said, his voice cracking, "not to do anything stupid, witchers. Please! This is bigger than your conflict with Viktor, I know you want your money. I understand, but I can't screw this up. If I do, I'm dead. Whoreson will have me killed before sunset, and then he'll have my family killed for good measure, he'll even hunt you two for screwing it up."
Lambert's eyes narrowed. "I don't think he can harm us, and I think..." he said softly, " that you should be worrying about the one pointing a sword at you right now. Not some crime boss across the city."
Velm's face went pale, his hands trembled harder.
"Here's what we'll do," Velm said, rushing the words out as if he feared he might not get another chance. "I finish this deal, you'll get your money. Whoreson gets his goods, I leave with my head intact." He looked at Lambert, pleading. "You get your money, and then I leave this shit hole and forget I ever had any sort of partnership with Viktor, that's what you want, isn't it? Your money back? Not to kill Viktor or me or anything? Right?!"
Lambert was silent for a long moment, and somewhere outside, a woman laughed, high and bright and utterly indifferent to what is going on in the Sapphire Suite.
"It will be better if he did it himself," Lambert said finally. "But sure. We can do that." He tilted his head. "I can always find Viktor some other time." He paused. "Six thousand crowns, that's what you'll be handing over."
Velm's eyes widened. "Six thousand?! But Whoreson is only paying Five thousand for the..."
The sword moved.
Not much. Just a fraction of an inch forward, just enough for the tip to press against the soft skin of Velm's throat. A single bead of blood welled up, red against the pale flesh, and began to roll slowly down his neck.
"Six thousand," Lambert repeated.
Velm's whole body went rigid, his eyes crossed slightly as he stared at the sword point.
"Okay," he breathed. "Okay! I'll add the rest from my own pocket. Six thousand. You'll have it!"
Lambert held the position for a moment longer, letting Velm feel the steel, letting the threat settle into his bones. Then he stepped back and lowered the sword, the blade slid into its scabbard with a soft click.
"Good," Lambert said.
Sebastian, who had been watching the exchange with a carefully neutral expression, turned his head toward the door.
"If we're done here," Sebastian said, "let's go. There are already a few girls outside eavesdropping on us."
Lambert glanced at the door. "Doesn't matter," he said. He turned back to Velm, who was pressing a handkerchief to his bleeding throat. "Now get out, get to work."
Velm stared at him. "But this is my.."
"Won't repeat myself."
Velm then grabbed a robe from the floor, and fled the room without another word, the door slammed behind him, retreated down the corridor and faded into the general noise of the Passiflora.
Lambert stood in the center of the room for a moment. Then he walked to the chair near the window, a plush thing upholstered in blue velvet and sat down heavily. He exhaled, the sound was long and weary.
Sebastian crossed his arms and he leaned against the doorframe, his yellow eyes fixed on Lambert.
"Want to tell me the truth now?" Sebastian said. His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. "Like what the fuck is really going on?"
Lambert stared at the fireplace.
"Viktor," he said finally. "This friend... or so I thought." He paused, rubbing his face with both hands. "There was a night, almost two winters ago, we got drunk in an inn in Kovir. Or rather, I was the one who got drunk."
Sebastian said nothing, waiting.
"I had made quite some coin on jobs there," Lambert continued. "You know how much they pay sometimes for a drowner in Kovir? It's ridiculous. Rich bastards, every one of them. They'll throw hundreds of crowns at a problem just to make it go away." He shook his head. "Anyway. I got drunk, and I... I may have mentioned what I had in my pocket."
His jaw tightened.
"The next morning," Lambert said, "it was gone."
Sebastian stared at him, the silence stretched.
"You must be kidding me," Sebastian said slowly. "He stole from you? You never lent him money.."
"Yeah." Lambert's voice was flat. Bitter. "Now you understand why it was hard for me to mention it."
Sebastian's expression shifted, from confusion to sympathy and Lambert hated sympathy.
"No wonder you were in a shit mood the last two winters at Kaer Morhen," Sebastian said.
Lambert's head snapped up.
"Do not mention this to the others, Seb, I'm serious."
Sebastian held up his hands. "It's okay to be embarrassed." he paused. "I mean, this would never happen to me.."
Lambert's eyes narrowed.
"But," Sebastian continued, "isn't he your friend, though? Viktor?"
Lambert looked back at the fire. "Not the first time we met, I met him in Kovir many years ago. He was a small merchant at the time, nothing special, after he stole that money from me, he disappeared. Whatever he invested in paid off, I'll give him that. But he never considered giving me back what he took."
Sebastian shook his head slowly. "He stole from a witcher. He knows the consequences." He paused. "Still can't believe this is what happened to you."
A muscle twitched in Sebastian's cheek, he was trying not to laugh and he was failing.
Lambert sighed.
"Oh boy," he muttered. "I'm going to regret this."
Sebastian's composure cracked. A laugh escaped him. "Nope," he said, grinning. "Sorry."
Lambert glared at him, but there was no heat in it. "Seriously, though. Whoreson now." He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. "I think Velm will try something stupid with us."
Sebastian's grin faded, he nodded slowly. "I was about to mention that."
Lambert looked at him. "So, what's your bright idea?"
Sebastian pushed off from the doorframe and walked to the window. The morning light caught his face.
"I think we should pay Whoreson a visit," Sebastian said. "Witness this transaction firsthand. And since Whoreson is a man of the arts,like Velm mentioned, he might know where Dandelion is." He turned to face Lambert. "Two birds, one stone."
Lambert considered this, his expression was unreadable.
"Couldn't care less about Dandelion but I don't see a reason why we shouldn't," Lambert said finally.
Sebastian nodded. "Let's go, then."
/-\
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