Posted July 02, 2011
I'm sure many others have pointed this out, but it's totally new to me. I was rereading "The Last Wish", and around page 84, there's this
'Yes, yes,' sighed Dandilion anew. 'The world is changing, the sun sets, and the vodka is coming to an end. What else, in your opinion, is coming to an end? You mentioned something about endings, philosopher.'
'I'll give you a couple of examples,' said Geralt after a moment's silence, 'all from two months this side of the Buina. One day I ride up and what do I see? A bridge. And under that bridge sits a troll and demands every passerby pays him. Those who refuse have a leg injured, sometimes both. So I go to the alderman: "How much will you give me for that troll?" He's amazed. "What are you talking about?" he asks, "Who will repair the bridge if the troll's not there? He repairs it regularly with the sweat of his brow, solid work, first rate. It's cheaper to pay his toll." So I ride on, and what do I see? A forktail. Not very big, about four yards nose- tip to tail-tip. It's flying, carrying a sheep in its talons. I go to the village. "How much?" I ask, "will you pay me for the forktail?" The peasants fall on their knees. "No!" they shout, "it's our baron's youngest daughter's favourite dragon. If a scale falls from its back, the baron will burn our hamlet, and skin us." I ride on, and I'm getting hungrier and hungrier. I ask around for work. Certainly it's there, but what work? To catch a rusalka for one man, a nymph for another, a dryad for a third . . . They've gone completely mad - the villages are teeming with girls but they want humanoids. Another asks me to kill a mecopteran and bring him a bone from its hand because, crushed and poured into a soup, it cures impotence—'
'That's rubbish,' interrupted Dandilion. 'I've tried it. It doesn't strengthen anything and it makes the soup taste of old socks. But if people believe it and are inclined to pay—'
Well In anycase, I was excited to find it and I'm sure this'll be new for some :)
'Yes, yes,' sighed Dandilion anew. 'The world is changing, the sun sets, and the vodka is coming to an end. What else, in your opinion, is coming to an end? You mentioned something about endings, philosopher.'
'I'll give you a couple of examples,' said Geralt after a moment's silence, 'all from two months this side of the Buina. One day I ride up and what do I see? A bridge. And under that bridge sits a troll and demands every passerby pays him. Those who refuse have a leg injured, sometimes both. So I go to the alderman: "How much will you give me for that troll?" He's amazed. "What are you talking about?" he asks, "Who will repair the bridge if the troll's not there? He repairs it regularly with the sweat of his brow, solid work, first rate. It's cheaper to pay his toll." So I ride on, and what do I see? A forktail. Not very big, about four yards nose- tip to tail-tip. It's flying, carrying a sheep in its talons. I go to the village. "How much?" I ask, "will you pay me for the forktail?" The peasants fall on their knees. "No!" they shout, "it's our baron's youngest daughter's favourite dragon. If a scale falls from its back, the baron will burn our hamlet, and skin us." I ride on, and I'm getting hungrier and hungrier. I ask around for work. Certainly it's there, but what work? To catch a rusalka for one man, a nymph for another, a dryad for a third . . . They've gone completely mad - the villages are teeming with girls but they want humanoids. Another asks me to kill a mecopteran and bring him a bone from its hand because, crushed and poured into a soup, it cures impotence—'
'That's rubbish,' interrupted Dandilion. 'I've tried it. It doesn't strengthen anything and it makes the soup taste of old socks. But if people believe it and are inclined to pay—'