“Let me also guess who the author of that quotation is.” Addario Bach grinned. “Vysogota of Corvo, philosopher and ethicist. And also a historian. However, regarding the prophet Lebioda… Why, history, as it’s been said before, is history. But I heard that in Novigrad the priests sometimes remove the prophet’s remains from its sarcophagus and give them to the faithful to be kissed. If I were there, however, I’d refrain from kissing them.”

“I shall too,” promised Geralt. “But as regards Novigrad, since we’re on the subject—”

“Be at ease,” interrupted the dwarf. “You won’t be late. We’ll rise early and go at once to Wiaterna. We’ll find a good deal and you’ll be in Novigrad on time.”

Let’s hope, thought the Witcher. Let’s hope.

People and animals belong to various species, while foxes live among people and animals. The quick and the dead wander along various roads, while foxes move between the quick and the dead. Deities and monsters march down various paths, while foxes walk between deities and monsters. The paths of the light and the darkness never join up or cross; vulpine ghosts lurk between them. The immortal and demons tread their own ways—vulpine ghosts are somewhere between.

Ji Yun, a scholar from the times of the Qing Dynasty

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A storm passed in the night.

After sleeping in a hay barn, they set off at dawn on a chilly, though sunny, morning. Keeping to the waymarked path, they passed through broadleaved woodland, peat bogs and marshy meadows. After an hour of heavy marching they reached some buildings.

“Wiaterna.” Addario Bach pointed. “This is the harbour I was telling you about.”

They arrived at the river, where a brisk wind fanned them. They stepped onto a wooden jetty. The river formed a broad water there as large as a lake and the current was scarcely perceptible, as it was flowing some way off. The branches of willows, osiers and alders on the bank hung down to the water. Waterfowl, emitting various sounds, were swimming all around: mallards, garganeys, pintails, divers and grebes. A little ship was gliding gracefully over the water, merging into the landscape without frightening the whole feathered rabble. It had a single mast, with one large sail astern and several triangular ones aft.

“Someone once rightly listed the three most beautiful sights in the world,” said Addario Bach, staring at the spectacle. “A ship in full sail, a galloping horse and you know… a naked woman lying in bed.”

“Dancing.” A faint smile played around the Witcher’s lips. “A woman dancing, Addario.”

“If you say so,” the dwarf agreed. “A naked woman dancing. And that little boat, ha, you have to admit, looks lovely on the water.”

“It’s not a little boat, it’s a little ship.”