“Were there no chance or little chance, would I be bothering you?” Egmund examined the scabbard and blade. “Oh! A sword from Viroleda! Not a sword, but a work of art. I know, for I once had a similar one. My half-brother, Viraxas, stole it from me. When my father banished him, he appropriated a great deal of things that didn’t belong to him before leaving. No doubt as souvenirs.”

Ferrant de Lettenhove cleared his throat. Geralt recalled Dandelion’s words. It was forbidden to utter the name of the banished first-born son at court. But Egmund was clearly ignoring the prohibitions.

“A work of art,” repeated the prince, still examining the sword. “Without asking how you came by it, I congratulate you on the acquisition. For I can’t believe the stolen ones were any better than this.”

“That’s a matter of taste and preference. I’d prefer to recover the stolen ones. Your Royal Highness and my Lord Instigator vouched that you would find the thief. It was, I take the liberty of recalling, the condition on which I undertook the task of protecting the king. The condition has clearly not been met.”

“It clearly hasn’t,” Egmund admitted coldly, handing the sword to Captain Ropp, the man with the malevolent gaze. “I thus feel obliged to compensate you for it. Instead of the three hundred crowns I had planned to pay you for your services, you will receive five hundred. I also add that the investigation regarding your swords is ongoing and you may yet recover them. Ferrant allegedly has a suspect. Haven’t you?”

“The investigation explicitly indicated the person of Nikefor Muus, a municipal and judicial clerk,” Ferrant de Lettenhove announced dryly. “He has fled, but his recapture is imminent.”

“I trust so.” The prince snorted. “It can’t be such a feat to catch an ink-stained petty clerk. Who, in addition, must have acquired piles from sitting at a desk, which hinder escape, both on foot and horseback. How did he manage to escape at all?”

“We are dealing with a very volatile person.” The instigator cleared his throat. “And probably a madman. Before he vanished, he caused a revolting scene in Ravenga’s restaurant, concerning, forgive me, human faeces… The restaurant had to be closed for some time, because… I shall spare you the gory details. The stolen swords were not discovered during a search carried out at Muus’s lodgings, but instead… Forgive me… A leather satchel, filled to the brim with—”

“Enough, enough, I can guess what.” Egmund grimaced. “Yes, that indeed says a great deal about the individual’s psychological state. Your swords, Witcher, have probably been lost, then. Even if Ferrant captures him he won’t learn anything from a madman. It’s not even worth torturing men like him, they only talk gibberish on the rack. And now forgive me, duty calls.”