“Don’t you dare!” Fysh blanched. “Not a step towards the afterpeak, or you’ll regret it! Cobbin!”

Petru Cobbin tried to seize Geralt by the collar, but was unable to because Addario Bach—up to that moment calm and taciturn—entered the fray. The dwarf kicked Cobbin vigorously behind the knee. Cobbin lurched forward into a kneeling position. Addario Bach leaped on him, gave him a tremendous punch in the kidney and then on the side of the head. The giant slumped onto the deck.

“So what if he’s a big ’un?” said the dwarf, his gaze sweeping around the others. “He just makes a louder bang when he hits the ground.”

Fysh’s hand was hovering near his knife, but a glance from Addario Bach made him think better of it. Van Vliet stood open-mouthed. Like Captain Pudlorak and the rest of the crew.

Petru Cobbin groaned and peeled his head from the deck.

“Stay where you are,” the dwarf advised him. “I’m neither impressed by your corpulence, nor the tattoo from Sturefors. I’ve done more damage to bigger fellows than you and inmates of harder prisons. So don’t try getting up. Geralt, do what’s necessary.

“If you’re in any doubt,” he turned to the others, “the Witcher and I are saving your lives this very moment. Captain, to the bank. And lower a boat.”

The Witcher descended the companionway, tugged open first one, then another door. And stopped dead. Behind him Addario Bach swore. Fysh also swore. Van Vliet groaned.

The eyes of the skinny girl sprawled limply on a bunk were glazed. She was half-naked, quite bare from the waist downwards, her legs spread obscenely. Her neck was twisted unnaturally. And even more obscenely.

“Mr. Parlaghy…” van Vliet stammered out. “What… What have you done?”

The bald individual sitting over the girl looked up at them. He moved his head as though he couldn’t see them, as though he were searching for the origin of the glove-maker’s voice.

“Mr. Parlaghy!”

“She was screaming…” muttered the man, his double chin wobbling and his breath smelling of alcohol. “She started screaming…”

“Mr. Parlaghy…”

“I meant to quiet her… Only quiet her.”

“But you’ve killed her.” Fysh stated a fact. “You’ve simply killed her!”

Van Vliet held his head in his hands.

“And what now?”

“Now,” the dwarf told him bluntly, “we’re well and truly fucked.”

* * *

“There’s no cause for alarm!” Fysh punched the railing hard. “We’re on the river, on the deep water. The banks are far away. Even if—which I doubt—the she-fox is following us, she can’t endanger us on the water.”

“Master Witcher?” Van Vliet timidly raised his eyes. “What say you?”