“You ought, think I, to get yourself some sort of weapon,” Dandelion finally muttered. “And carry it in plain sight. It’s worth learning from yesterday’s incident, don’t you think? Oh, look, do you see those shields and mail shirts on display? That’s an armourer’s. They’re bound to have swords there, too.”

“Weapons are prohibited in this town.” Geralt picked a sardine’s spine clean and spat out a fin. “Visitors’ weapons are confiscated. It looks as though only bandits can stroll around here armed.”

“Perhaps they can.” The bard nodded towards a passing ruffian with a long battleaxe on his shoulder. “But in Kerack the prohibitions are issued, enforced and punished for contravention by Ferrant de Lettenhove, who is, as you know, my cousin. And since the oldboy network is a sacred law of nature, we can make light of the local prohibitions. We are, I hereby state, entitled to possess and carry arms. Let’s finish breakfasting and go and buy you a blade. Good mistress! These fish are excellent! Please fry another dozen!”

“As I eat these sardines, I realise that the loss of the swords was nothing but a punishment for my greed and snobbism.” Geralt threw away a well-chewed sardine skeleton. “For wanting a little luxury. Work came up in the vicinity, so I decided to drop into Kerack and feast at the Natura Rerum tavern, the talk of the town. While there were places I could have eaten tripe, cabbage and peas, or fish soup…”

“Incidentally—” Dandelion licked his fingers “—the Natura Rerum, although justly famous for its board, is only one of many. There are restaurants where the food is no worse, and possibly even better. For instance, the Saffron and Pepper in Gors Velen or the Hen Cerbin in Novigrad, which has its own brewery. Or alternatively the nearby Sonatina in Cidaris, with the best seafood on the entire coast. The Rivoli in Maribor and their capercaillie à la Brokilon, heavily larded with pork fat—heavenly. The Fer de Moline in Aldersberg and their celebrated saddle of hare with morels à la King Videmont. The Hofmeier in Hirundum. Oh, to pay a call there in the autumn, after Samhain, for roast goose in pear sauce… Or the Two Weatherfish, a few miles outside Ard Carraigh, an ordinary tavern on the crossroads, serving the best pork knuckle I’ve ever eaten… Why! Look who’s come to see us. Talk of the devil! Greetings, Ferrant… I mean, hmm… my lord instigator…”

Ferrant de Lettenhove approached alone, gesturing to his servants to remain in the street.

“Julian. Lord Rivia. I come with tidings.”

“I don’t deny that I’m getting impatient,” responded Geralt. “How did the criminals testify? The ones who attacked me yesterday, exploiting the fact that I was unarmed? They spoke of it quite loudly and openly. It’s proof they had a hand in the theft of my swords.”