They turned off the road.

There were several entrances beyond the first wall, all guarded by sentries armed to the teeth, easily identifiable as mercenaries by their multicoloured and diverse apparel. They were stopped at the first guard post. Although Dandelion loudly referred to a previously arranged audience and emphatically stressed his good relations with the commanders, they were ordered to dismount and wait. For quite a long time. Geralt was becoming somewhat impatient, when finally a bruiser resembling a galley slave appeared and told them to follow him. It soon turned out that he was leading them by a circuitous route to the back of the complex, from the centre of which they could hear a hubbub and the sound of music.

They crossed a drawbridge. Just beyond it lay a man, semi-conscious and groping around himself. His face was bloodied and so puffy that his eyes were almost completely hidden beneath the swelling. He was breathing heavily and each breath blew bloody bubbles from his smashed nose. The bruiser leading them didn’t pay any attention to the man on the ground, so Geralt and Dandelion pretended not to see anything either. They were in a place where it didn’t behove them to display excess curiosity. It was recommended not to stick one’s nose into Ravelin’s affairs. In Ravelin, so the story went, a nose thus stuck usually parted company with its owner and remained where it had been stuck.

The bruiser led them through a kitchen, where cooks were bustling around hectically. Cauldrons bubbled and Geralt noticed crabs, lobsters and crayfishes cooking in them. Conger eels squirmed in vats, and clams and mussels simmered in large pots. Meat sizzled in huge frying pans. Servants seized trays and bowls full of cooked food to carry them away down corridors.

The next rooms were filled—for a change—with the scent of women’s perfume and cosmetics. Over a dozen women in various stages of déshabillé, including total undress, were touching up their make-up before a row of mirrors, jabbering away ceaselessly. Here, also, Geralt and Dandelion maintained inscrutable expressions and didn’t let their eyes wander inordinately.

In the next room, they were subjected to a thorough body search. The characters carrying this out were severe of appearance, professional of manner and resolute of action. A dagger was confiscated from Geralt. Dandelion, who never carried any weapons, was relieved of a comb and a corkscrew. But—after a moment’s thought—he was allowed to keep his lute.

“There are chairs in front of His Excellency,” they were finally instructed. “Sit down on them. Sit down and do not stand up until His Excellency commands. His Excellency is not to be interrupted when he speaks. You are not to speak until His Excellency gives a sign that you may. And now enter. Through this door.”

“His Excellency?” muttered Geralt.