“But I do,” boasted Tiziana Frevi. “And I’m astonished you haven’t heard, because it was a well-known case. As Foltest, the King of Temeria, offered a reward. For removing a spell from his daughter who had been enchanted. She had been pricked by a spindle and consigned to eternal sleep. The poor thing, so the rumour goes, is lying in a coffin in a castle overrun with hawthorn. According to another rumour the coffin is made of glass and was placed at the top of a glass mountain. According to yet another the princess was turned into a swan. According to still one more into an awful monster, a striga. As a result of a curse, because the princess was the fruit of an incestuous union. Apparently, the rumours are being invented and spread by Vizimir, the King of Redania, who has territorial disputes with Foltest, is seriously at variance with him and will do anything to annoy him.”

“It indeed sounds like fabrication,” judged Geralt. “Based on a fairy tale or fable. An accursed and transformed princess, the curse as a punishment for incest, a reward for removing a spell. Hackneyed and banal. The person who came up with it didn’t make much of an effort.”

“The issue,” the dwimveandra added, “has a clear political subtext, which is why the Chapter forbade sorcerers from getting involved in it.”

“Whether it’s a fairy tale or not, that damned Cat believed it,” pronounced Dandelion. “He was clearly hurrying to that enchanted princess in Vizima to remove the spell and claim the reward promised by King Foltest. He had acquired the suspicion that Geralt was also heading there and wanted to beat him to it.”

“He was mistaken,” Geralt responded dryly. “I’m not going to Vizima. I don’t intend to stick my fingers in that political cauldron. It’s perfect work for somebody like Brehen who’s in need, as he said himself. I’m not in need. I’ve recovered my swords, so I don’t have to pay out for new ones. I have funds to support myself. Thanks to the sorcerers from Rissberg…”

“The Witcher Geralt of Rivia?”

“Indeed,” said Geralt, eyeing up and down the clerk, who was standing alongside looking sulky. “Who wants to know?”

“That is inconsequential,” said the clerk, putting on airs and pouting, trying hard to make himself look important. “What’s consequential is the summons. Which I hereby give you. In front of witnesses. In accordance with the law.”

The clerk handed the Witcher a roll of paper. And then sat down, not failing to cast Tiziana Frevi a contemptuous glance.

Geralt broke the seal and unfurled the roll.