The door at the end of the path opened onto a space that defied all expectations of what a cellar should be.
Sebastian stepped through and stopped.
The chamber was vast, far larger than the tavern above had any right to conceal. The ceiling arched overhead in a vault of stone, supported by pillars carved with scenes that might have been elven. Chandeliers of wrought iron hung from the heights, their candles casting a warm, golden glow across the assembled crowd. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting imagery that wealthy men used to convince themselves they had taste.
And the people were not what Sebastian had expected. These were not just the desperate, the disreputable, the dregs of Novigrad's underworld, these were merchants in fine silks, nobles in embroidered doublets, women in gowns that must have cost more than most in Novigrad would earn in a lifetime, their conversations low and cultured, their laughter restrained.
Armed guards stood at intervals along the walls, professional men in matching livery, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, their eyes scanning the crowd with vigilance.
"Wow," Sebastian breathed.
Lambert, standing beside him, let out a low whistle. "Wow indeed. This is not a cellar, this is a fucking palace."
Sebastian's eyes swept the room, cataloguing faces, exits, potential threats, it was starting to become a habit now everytime he enters a city or even a tavern, a habit he could not break, even here, even in a place that seemed designed for pleasure rather than danger.
"A lot of people here," Sebastian murmured. "Though I don't see.."
Lambert raised a hand, pointing with one finger toward the far end of the room.
Sebastian followed his gaze.
"Ah," Sebastian said. "There he is."
Velm of Tretogor stood near the dais at the front of the room, his posture a careful blend of confidence and nervousness. He was dressed in his finest, a doublet, a gold chain across his chest, rings on his fingers that caught the candlelight. He was speaking to a woman in a gown of emerald silk, his smile wide.
"Bastard is enjoying himself... he better not forget our deal." Lambert whispered.
Sebastian and Lambert moved through the crowd, positioning themselves at the back of the room. From here, they could see the door, the dais, the crowd, everything that mattered.
They had barely settled into position when a familiar voice spoke from behind them.
"Witchers. I'm glad you made it before the auction starts."
Sebastian turned.
Alonso Wiley stood before them, with his silver hair and his eyes glittering with amusement. He was dressed in a doublet of deep blue silk, embroidered with gold thread, behind him, two guards stood at attention, their faces blank, their hands resting on their swords.
Sebastian's expression remained neutral, the man he had just killed was this man's son.
"Oh," Sebastian said, his voice carefully light. "Hi, we wouldn't miss it."
Whorson's smile widened. "Of course, your friend here wants his coin, and he'll get it. That Velm fellow will not leave this place if he doesn't keep his word, I'll make sure of it."
Lambert's jaw tightened. "We don't really need your help."
Whoreson's smile did not waver. "Oh, but you do, we may allow people to keep their weapons here, but do try to raise a sword and everyone will swarm you, I do not advise it." He spread his hands, a gesture of magnanimity. "Please, you are friends of Master Dandelion, allow me to take care of this without any complications."
Sebastian met his gaze. "We'll see, he might not be so difficult."
Whoreson laughed. "Oh, you'll be surprised what coin can do to people, I doubt he'll be willing to part with his earnings like that. The funny part in all of this is that I'm the one paying him, I could just pay you instead, but I'm a man of honor, so I can't do that."
Sebastian said nothing. But inside, his thoughts churned.
'A crime boss. A man of honor. The father of Whoreson Jr. None of this speaks of a man who would be honorable. So far, he has been very respectful toward us since we first met. But I just killed his son, it will take time for him to figure out that his son is missing, then he will connect the dots, we'll see if he remains respectful then, even though I know that he doesn't exactly like him..'
Sebastian inclined his head. "Very well, we shall remain calm for the entirety of the auction, we will not cause any sort of scene."
Whoreson's smile was warm, almost paternal. "Thank you for being so understanding, this is very important to me, you know... business. I want this to be as smooth as possible."
He gestured toward the dais, where a figure had just appeared, a tall man in formal robes, carrying a wooden gavel.
"Ah," Whoreson said. "The auction is about to start, there are some interesting pieces on display. If you have the coin, you can bid for them, they even have steel on display fit for witchers, I assume. I'm not a blade connoisseur, so what do I know?" He paused, his expression shifting. "There are also some magical items, I suppose. The Temple Guard recently started acting strange with mages and anyone who practices magic, we assumed they would raid this place immediately if they knew, but we bribed them."
Sebastian nodded slowly. "Smart."
Whoreson's eyes glittered. "Well then, excuse me. There are matters I need to handle, I can join you later during the auction.. naturally, to bid on my items." He walked away, his guards falling into step behind him.
Sebastian watched him go. Then, very quietly, he said to himself:
'More like increase the price of something you already bought..'
Lambert, standing beside him, let out a short breath. "Yeah. Well. We're only here for one thing."
Sebastian shook his head. "Not exactly, I'm interested if the items are actually good."
Lambert turned to look at him, his expression caught between disbelief and annoyance. "Oh boy, I forgot that you're the student of Yennefer and Vesemir, what a terrible combo."
Sebastian's lips twitched. "You only say that because you're an idiot when it comes to artifacts and all sorts of things that require actual knowledge."
Lambert snorted. "No. I just don't care, I'm a witcher not a scholar."
Before Sebastian could respond, the figure on the dais cleared his throat, the room fell silent. The auctioneer was a tall man with sharp features and a voice that carried without effort, trained to command attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "Welcome. Tonight, we have a selection of pieces that I believe you will find... exceptional."
He paused, letting the anticipation build.
"The rules are simple, everyone is allowed to participate, provided you have the coin. Bidding starts at three hundred crowns for our standard pieces, with the last exceptional items starting at two thousand crowns. All sales are final, no questions asked." He smiled, a thin expression that did not reach his eyes. "Let us begin."
The first item was brought forward, a helmet, polished to a mirror shine, its crest bearing the sun-and-star sigil of the Nilfgaardian Empire.
The auctioneer held it up, turning it so the light caught its surface.
"Nilfgaardian Alba Division Helmet," he announced. "They might be... well, to put it nicely: cunts, but they make good steel. A fine piece from the Second Northern War, which ended not so long ago. Words say that this piece was worn by a commander." He paused, letting the people observe. "Bidding starts at two hundred crowns."
Lambert's eyes flicked to Sebastian, his voice dropped to a whisper.
"Want me to get it for you?" Lambert asked. "You know, since you're from there and it might a nice souve..."
He stopped, as he realized what he had just said.
Sebastian was silent.
Lambert winced. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong."
Sebastian's expression did not change, his voice was rather calm and controlled.
"You have nothing to apologize for," Sebastian said. "I really have little memory of my homeland."
The auctioneer's voice rose. "Do we have a bidder?"
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Hands rose and voices called out numbers.
"Two-fifty!"
"Three hundred!"
"Three-fifty!"
"That much for a helmet they picked up from a corpse?" Lambert said.
The bidding climbed, settling finally at four hundred crowns. The helmet was sold to a man in the front row a heavyset figure in nondescript clothing, who paid without a word.
Sebastian watched him. There was something familiar about him, then the man glanced back just a brief turn of his head and Sebastian saw his face.
The man from Dijkstra's bathhouse, one of the attendants he noticed the moment he entered the Bathhouse.
'Dijkstra's man,' Sebastian thought. 'He's buying Nilfgaardian items?... what a nice Redanian patriot..'
The auctioneer called for the next item.
Sebastian filed the observation away and turned his attention back to the dais, the night was far from over.
/-\
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