“There is no evidence of that, unfortunately.” The instigator shrugged. “The three prisoners are typical rapscallions and on top of that, slow-witted. They carried out the assault, it’s true, emboldened by your not having a weapon. Rumours about the theft spread incredibly swiftly, thanks, it would seem, to the ladies from the guardhouse. And at once there were willing people… Which is actually not too surprising. You aren’t especially liked… Nor do you seek to be liked or popular. When in custody, you committed an assault on your fellow prisoners…”

“That’s right.” The Witcher nodded. “It’s all my fault. Yesterday’s assailants also sustained injuries. Didn’t they complain? Didn’t ask for compensation?”

Dandelion laughed, but fell silent at once.

“The witnesses to yesterday’s incident,” said Ferrant de Lettenhove tartly, “testified that the three men were thrashed with a cooper’s stave. And beaten extremely severely. So severely that one of them… soiled himself.”

“Probably from excitement.”

“They were beaten even after being incapacitated and no longer posing a threat.” The instigator’s expression didn’t change. “Meaning that the limits of necessary defence were exceeded.”

“I’m not worried. I have a good lawyer.”

“A sardine, perhaps?” Dandelion interrupted the heavy silence.

“I inform you that the investigation is under way,” the instigator finally said. “The men arrested yesterday are not mixed up in the theft of the swords. Several people who may have participated in the crime have been questioned, but no evidence has been found. Informers were unable to indicate any leads. It is known though—and this is the main reason I am here—that the rumour about the swords has stirred up a commotion in the local underworld. Even strangers have appeared, keen to square up to a witcher, particularly an unarmed one. I thus recommend vigilance. I cannot exclude further incidents. I’m also certain, Julian, that in this situation to accompany the Lord Rivia—”

“I have accompanied Geralt in much more hazardous places; in predicaments that the local hoodlums could not imagine,” the troubadour interrupted combatively. “Provide us with an armed escort, cousin, if you regard it as appropriate. Let it act as a deterrent. Otherwise, when Geralt and I give the next bunch of dregs a good hiding, they’ll be bellyaching about the limits of the necessary defence being overstepped.”

“If they are indeed dregs and not paid hitmen, hired by someone,” said Geralt. “Is the investigation also paying attention to that?”

“All eventualities are being taken into consideration.” Ferrant de Lettenhove cut him off. “The investigation will continue. I shall assign an escort.”

“We’re grateful.”

“Farewell. I wish you good luck.”

Seagulls screeched above the city’s rooftops.

* * *

They might just as well not have bothered with the visit to the armourer. All Geralt needed was a glance over the swords on offer. When, though, he found out the prices he shrugged and exited the shop without a word.