“Someone stole your swords.” Pratt nodded. “A painful loss, methinks? Painful, no doubt. And irretrievable. Ha, I’ve always said that Kerack’s crawling with thieves. Give the people there one chance and they’ll swipe anything that isn’t nailed down, it’s well known. And they always carry a crowbar with them in case they chance on anything nailed down.

“The investigation, I trust, continues?” he went on a moment later. “Ferrant de Lettenhove taking action? Stare truth in the eyes, though, gentlemen. You can’t expect miracles from Ferrant. No offence, Dandelion, but your relative would be a better accountant than an investigator. With him it’s nothing but books, legal codes, articles, rules. Well, that and evidence, evidence and once again that evidence of his. Like that story about the goat and the cabbage. Know it? They once locked a goat in a barn with a head of cabbage. In the morning, there wasn’t a trace of it and the goat was shitting green. But there was no evidence or witnesses, so they dismissed the case, causa finita. I wouldn’t like to be a prophet of doom, Witcher Geralt, but the case of your swords’ theft may end up likewise.”

Geralt didn’t comment this time, either.

“The first sword is steel.” Pyral Pratt rubbed his chin with a beringed hand. “Siderite steel, iron ore from a meteorite. Forged in Mahakam, in the dwarven hammer works. Total length forty and a half inches, the blade alone twenty-seven and one quarter. Splendid balance, the weight of the blade is precisely equal to the weight of the hilt, the entire weapon certainly weighs less than forty ounces. The execution of the hilt and cross guard is simple, but elegant.

“And the second sword, of a similar length and weight, is silver. Partially, of course. A steel tang fitted with silver, also the edges are steel, since pure silver is too soft to be sharpened effectively. On the cross guard and along the entire length of the blade there are runic signs and glyphs considered by my experts indecipherable, but undoubtedly magical.”

“A precise description.” Geralt was stony-faced. “As though you’d seen the swords.”

“I have indeed. They were brought to me and I was invited to buy them. The broker representing the interests of the current owner, a person of impeccable reputation and known to me personally, pledged that the swords were acquired legally, that they came from a find in Fen Carn, an ancient necropolis in Sodden. Endless treasures and artefacts have been unearthed in Fen Carn, hence in principle there were no grounds to question the source’s veracity. I had my doubts, though. And didn’t buy the swords. Are you listening to me, Witcher?”

“I’m hanging on your every word. Waiting for the conclusion. And the details.”

“The conclusion is as follows: you scratch my back… Details cost money. Information has a price tag.”