“I didn’t get that impression,” said Geralt. “Quite the opposite. I felt he didn’t believe me. Neither in the case of the alleged embezzlement, nor in the case of the vanished swords. Did you hear what he said about evidence? Evidence is a fetish to him. The denunciation will thus be evidence of the fraud and Gerland of Ryblia’s signature on the docket is proof of the hoax involving the theft of the swords. Not to mention his expression when he was warning me against leaving the city…”

“You’re being too hard on him,” pronounced Dandelion. “I know him better than you. That fact that I’m vouching for you is worth more than a dozen inflated pieces of evidence. And he was right to warn you. Why do you think both he and I headed to the guardhouse? To stop you from doing anything foolish. Someone, you say, is framing you, fabricating phoney evidence? Then don’t hand that someone irrefutable proof. Which is what fleeing would be.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” agreed Geralt. “But my instinct tells me otherwise. I ought to do a runner before they utterly corner me. First arrest, then bail, and then right after that the swords… What next? Dammit, without a sword I feel like… like a snail without a shell.”

“I think you worry too much. And anyway, the place is full of shops. Forget about those swords and buy some more.”

“And if someone were to steal your lute? Which was acquired, as I recall, in quite dramatic circumstances? Wouldn’t you worry? Would you let it slide? And buy another in the shop around the corner?”

Dandelion involuntarily tightened his grip on his lute and his eyes swept around anxiously. However, none of the passers-by looked like a potential robber, nor displayed an unhealthy interest in his unique instrument.

“Well, yes,” he sighed. “I understand. Like my lute, your swords are also unique and irreplaceable. And what’s more… What were you saying? Enchanted? Triggering magical impotence… Dammit, Geralt! Now you tell me. I mean, I’ve often spent time in your company, I’ve had those swords at arm’s length! And sometimes closer! Now everything’s clear, now I get it… I’ve been having certain difficulties lately, dammit…”

“Relax. That impotence thing was nonsense. I made it up on the spot, hoping the rumour would spread. That the thief would take fright…”

“If he takes fright he’s liable to bury the swords in a muck heap,” the bard noted, still slightly pale. “And you’ll never get them back. Better to count on my cousin Ferrant. He’s been instigator for years, and has a whole army of sheriffs, agents and narks. They’ll find the thief in no time, you’ll see.”