The Proposal

Chapter 7

Geralt had a bad feeling about this.

His suspicions began when Mary draped a silk sash over his head with the words 'husband to be' emblazoned across it in glitter and diamantes. He had point-blank refused to wear the cheap veil that Grammy tried to pin on top of his head, but he didn't miss her sneaking it into her handbag as they departed the house for the harbour.

"Try to enjoy yourself," Jaskier had whispered to him before giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek (for the benefit of his family, of course). "At least you don't have to spend the afternoon confined to a small space in the middle of the sea with my dad."

Geralt looked over his shoulder at Grammy and Mary aboard the Rosemary and Thyme, who were already popping open a bottle of champagne and pouring it into three glasses. He wasn't sure it was wise to be drinking while operating a sea vessel, but he kept that thought to himself.

"Right now, I'm not sure which would be worse," he grumbled.

"Definitely fishing with my dad," Jaskier insisted, pushing Geralt towards the boat. "Have fun!"

His suspicions about this event deepened when they were greeted by a large crowd of partygoers on the shore of the mainland. He was introduced to several of Jaskier's aunts and great-aunts; first, second and third cousins; and a few close family friends of the Pankratzes. As his excited entourage carefully navigated the cobbled streets in their high heels, Geralt tapped Mary on the shoulder and said, "I couldn't help but notice that there aren't many men joining us for the stag do. In fact, there doesn't seem to be any men."

Mary glanced at their group and back towards Geralt. "That's not going to be a problem, is it?"

"Well no," he mumbled. "I just wasn't ever expecting to be celebrating my upcoming nuptials with a hen party."

"Oh Geralt, gender stereotypes are so last century!" cried Grammy, hooking their arms together. "Besides, traditional stag dos are boring: all men do is sit around the bar and get drunk until they pass out."

"That doesn't sound that bad..."

"Trust me, you're going to have a great time with us! I bet my life on it."

The same life which she had continuously threatened that could come to an end at any moment, Geralt mused.

He was led towards a tavern which bore the sign The Alchemy above its entrance, the hinges squealing as Mary pushed open the heavy wooden door and beckoned him inside. The sharp smell of cheap alcohol assaulted Geralt's nostrils as he stepped into the dingy bar. Thankfully, the plumes of grey tobacco smoke that hung in the air like forest mist took the edge off. The interior was nothing remarkable: there was a small, wooden bar on one side of the room, illuminated only by the age-speckled bar lights that bathed the premises in an ominous shade of red. There was a smattering of round tables and chairs, and a small stage decorated with moth-eaten velour curtains. A couple of the girls in their party hurried over to the jukebox while Grammy pulled Geralt towards the bar.

"Stjepan! A round of Grandma's cordial, please," she called. The barman, a tired-looking fellow with a brown beard, hadn't looked up from wiping a pint glass as the women poured into his establishment, but when Grammy slammed a fistful of Crowns onto the bartop, he paused and smiled at her.

"Coming right up, love," he croaked, tucking the tea towel into the waistband of his trousers before hurrying to fetch her order. When he slid two shot glasses of amber liquid towards Geralt and Grammy, Geralt picked it up and gave it a curious sniff.

"Do I want to know what this is?" he asked.

"Probably best if you don't," she chuckled before throwing her head back and downing the contents of her glass in one large gulp. She slammed the empty glass onto the bartop and said, "Another one, Stjepan."