“Mr. Samsa will remain here with the minstrel,” said Ropp, unconcerned by the warning. “We—I mean you and I—will go to the royal chambers. There’ll be a guard. I have your sword, as you see. I’ll give it back to you and you’ll deal with the sentries. And the reinforcements that the guards will summon before you kill them all. On hearing the din, the chamber man will spirit the king away through a secret exit, and Messrs Richter and Tverdoruk will be waiting there. They will change the succession of the throne and the history of the local monarchy.”

“You’re making a mistake, Ropp.”

“Now,” said the captain, moving in very close. “Now you will confirm that you’ve understood the task and will execute it. Should you not, before I count to ten under my breath, Mr. Samsa will rupture the minstrel’s right eardrum and I shall carry on counting. If the desired result does not ensue, Mr. Samsa stabs the other ear. And will then gouge out the poet’s eye. And so on, to the bitter end, which is a jab to the brain. I’m starting to count, Witcher.”

“Don’t listen to him, Geralt!” Dandelion somehow managed to make a sound from his constricted throat. “They won’t dare to touch me! I’m famous!”

“He doesn’t seem to be taking us seriously. Mr. Samsa, the right ear.”

“Stop! No!”

“That’s better,” nodded Ropp. “Much better, Witcher. Confirm that you’ve understood the task. And that you’ll execute it.”

“First, move that dagger away from the poet’s ear.”

“Ha,” snorted Mr. Samsa, lifting the misericorde high over his head. “Is that better?”

“Better.”

Geralt’s left hand caught Ropp by the wrist and his right seized the hilt of his sword. He pulled the captain towards him with a powerful tug and headbutted him in the face with all his strength. There was a crunching sound. The Witcher jerked the sword from the scabbard before Ropp fell and with one fluid movement coming out of a short spin hacked off Samsa’s raised hand. Samsa yelled and dropped to his knees. Richter and Tverdoruk, daggers drawn, fell on the Witcher, who spun among them. In passing, he slit open Richter’s neck and blood spurted right up to the chandelier on the ceiling. Tverdoruk attacked, leaping in knifeman’s feints, but he tripped on Ropp’s inert body, losing his balance for a moment. Geralt didn’t let him recover. With a rapid lunge, he slashed him from below in the groin and a second time from above in the carotid artery. Tverdoruk fell over and curled up in a ball.