“His Grace Prince Egmund, here present,” explained the instigator, “deigned for a moment to impersonate Xander, his younger brother. And also, symbolically, his other brothers, the pretenders to the throne. The prince suspected that Xander or another of his brothers would want to make use of this convenient witcher with the aim of seizing the throne. So we decided to stage this… spectacle. And now we know that if it were in fact to occur… Should someone indeed make a proposition, you wouldn’t be lured into princely favour. Or be daunted by threats or blackmail.”

“Quite.” The Witcher nodded. “And I acknowledge your talent. Your Majesty entered the role splendidly. I didn’t detect any artifice in what you deigned to say about me, in the opinion you had of me. On the contrary. I sensed pure frankness—”

“The masquerade had its objective.” Egmund interrupted the awkward silence. “I achieved it and don’t intend to account for myself before you. And you will benefit. Financially. For I indeed mean to engage you. And reward your services amply. Tell him, Ferrant.”

“Prince Egmund,” said the instigator, “fears an attempt on the life of his father, King Belohun, which may happen during the nuptials planned for the feast of Lughnasadh. The prince would feel better if at that time somebody… like a witcher… could be responsible for the king’s safety. Yes, yes, don’t interrupt, we know witchers aren’t bodyguards, that their raison d’être is to defend people from dangerous magical, supernatural and unnatural monsters—”

“That’s how it is in books,” the prince interrupted impatiently. “In life it’s not so simple. Witchers have been employed to defend caravans, trekking through wildernesses and backwoods teeming with monsters. It has happened, however, that instead of monsters, the merchants were attacked by ordinary robbers, and the witcher’s role was not at all to assault their persons, and yet he did. I have grounds to fear that during the nuptials the king may be attacked by… basilisks. Would you undertake to defend him from basilisks?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether this is still a set-up. And whether I’m the object of another entrapment. From one of the other brothers, for instance. A talent for impersonation is not, I wager, a rarity in your family.”

Ferrant bristled with rage. Egmund banged a fist on the table.

“Watch your step,” he snapped. “And don’t forget yourself. I asked you if you would undertake it. Answer!”

“I might undertake the defence of the king from hypothetical basilisks.” Geralt nodded. “Unfortunately, my swords were stolen from me in Kerack. The royal services have still not managed to pick up the thief’s trail and are probably doing little in that regard. I’m unable to defend anyone without my swords. I must therefore decline for practical reasons.”

“If it is merely a matter of your swords, there’s no problem. We shall recover them. Shan’t we, Lord Instigator?”