“Silence, woman. I know him. Forgive her, Master Geralt. Everything in order? Forgive her. She didn’t know… She thought that since you’re a witcher—”

He broke off and looked nervously. The woman and the little girls were gathered by the stove. Geralt could have sworn he heard a soft growling.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I bear no ill will. But you showed up just in time. Not a moment too soon.”

“I know,” said the bearded man, shuddering perceptibly. “Sit you down, sir, sit down at table… Edwina! Bring beer!”

“No. Outside, Dussart. For a word.”

In the middle of the farmyard sat a grey cat that fled in a trice at the sight of the Witcher and hid in the nettles.

“I don’t wish to upset your wife or frighten your children,” Geralt announced. “And what’s more, I have a matter I’d prefer to talk about in private. It concerns a certain favour.”

“Whatever you want, sir,” said the bearded man. “Just say it. I’ll fulfil your every wish, if it’s in my power. I am indebted to you, greatly indebted. Thanks to you I walk alive through this world. Because you spared me then. I owe you—”

“Not me. Yourself. Because even in lupine form you remained a man and never harmed anybody.”

“I never harmed anybody, ’tis true. And how did I benefit? My neighbours, having become suspicious, brought a witcher down on me at once. Though paupers, they scrimped and saved in order to hire you.”

“I thought about giving them back their money,” admitted Geralt. “But it might have aroused suspicion. I gave them my witcher word that I’d removed the werewolf spell from you and had completely healed you of lycanthropy, that you are now as normal as the next man. Such a feat has to cost. If people pay for something they believe in it: whatever is paid for becomes real and legal. The more expensive, the better.”

“Recalling that day sends shivers down my spine,” said Dussart, paling under his tan. “I almost died of fear when I saw you with that silver blade. I thought my last hour had come. There’s no end of stories. About witcher-murderers relishing blood and torture. You, it turned out, are a decent fellow. And a good one.”

“Let’s not exaggerate. But you followed my advice and moved out of Guaamez.”

“I had to,” Dussart said gloomily. “The people of Guaamez believed in theory that I was free of the spell, but you were right, a former werewolf doesn’t have it easy either. It was as you said: what you used to be means more to people than what you are. I was compelled to move out, and roam through strange surroundings where no one knew me. I wandered and wandered… Until I finally ended up here. And met Edwina.”