Euphemia had-… mixed feelings about Novigrad.
It had definitely been preferable before the advent of the Eternal Fire. The city had always been a snakepit of corruption, but now it was a corruption managed by fanatical self-righteousness - which was infinitely worse - and every street corner seemed to echo with proclamations of heresy and burning. Add to that the pervasive stink of sewage, and the entrenched frostiness towards Nilfgaardians, and one could be forgiven for feeling that the welcome wasn’t really anything to write home about.
All the same, it was a very useful sort of place. Where there was corruption, there were interesting people - people who knew things, didn’t ask questions, that sort of thing; and to someone who… occasionally… made use of the black market, that was always a valuable resource.
But it wasn’t questionable contacts she was here for - not this time.
The crisp bite of the air made the gulls’ keening all the sharper as she stood on the dockside, watching crewmen loading crates onto the deck of The Karkadann. It was a handsome ship - an Ofieri dhow - with a fearsomely horned, black-scaled beast rearing beneath its bowsprit. The crates themselves - heavy with furs, leather, cloth and resin - were, too, all bound for Ofier (as she soon would be with them), there to be exchanged for silk, spices and gold. The rich and royal of the Continent had lately developed quite the fondness for the luxuries of the South, and ships left Novigrad almost every month now for ports beyond Nilfgaard.
It might have been more efficient to travel home and board at Vorstrad; but Euphemia had already been in the North, as had her employer, and the added handful of days seemed a reasonable price to pay for more immediate convenience. All the same, Felix’s face had stuck in her mind. She’d done him the courtesy of dispatching a letter - mere minutes before she headed to the docks, in fact. A short, stilted attempt as usual - and though she’d been hopeful, it did little to ease her conscience. After all, she could give him no certain date for her return.
She forced the thought from her mind, and looked again to The Karkadann’s figurehead. Amongst all the comely, bare-breasted mermaids and maidens of Novigrad’s other vessels, it was a striking sight: its great, bladed horn and proudly arched neck far more imposing than any fragile-limbed unicorn’s. A good fit for its ship. It looked as though it could quell the ocean by sheer majesty alone; a comforting notion, given the journey ahead.
The loading of the cargo had petered out to its last few crates now - the captain visible on the deck. Close to ‘time’, then. She drew in a deep lungful of pungent, Northern air - her last for sometime - and turned at last for the gangplank–
only to nearly plant her nose in the snarl of a silver wolf medallion.
With a noise of alarm she started back; looked up at the owner… and lit up with delight.
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