“Absolutely.”

“You see. The royal instigator confirms absolutely. Well?”

“Let them first recover the swords. Absolutely.”

“You’re a stubborn character. But let it be. I stress that you will receive payment for your services and I assure you that you won’t find me parsimonious. Regarding other benefits, however, some of them you will gain at once, as an advance, as proof of my goodwill, if you like. You may consider your court case dismissed. The formalities must be carried out, and bureaucracy doesn’t recognise the concept of haste, but you may now consider yourself a person free of suspicion, with freedom of movement.”

“I am inordinately grateful. And the testimonies and invoices? The leucrote from Cizmar, the werewolf from Guaamez? What about the documents? The ones Your Royal Highness deigned to use as… theatrical properties?”

“The documents will remain with me.” Egmund looked him in the eye. “In a safe place. An absolutely safe place.”

* * *

King Belohun’s bell was just striking midnight when he returned.

Coral, it ought to be acknowledged, kept calm and reserved. She knew how to control herself. Even her voice didn’t change. Well, almost.

“Who did that to you?”

“A vigilosaur. A kind of lizard…”

“A lizard put in those stitches? You let a lizard stitch you up?”

“The stitches were put in by a physician. And the lizard—”

“To hell with the lizard! Mozaïk! A scalpel, scissors and tweezers. A needle and catgut. Elixir of woundwort. Decoction of aloes. Unguentum ortolani. A compress and sterile dressing. And prepare a mustard seed and honey poultice. Move, girl!”

Mozaïk made short work of it. Lytta set about the procedure. The Witcher sat and suffered in silence.

“Physicians who don’t know magic ought to be banned from practising,” drawled the sorceress, putting in the stitches. “Lecture at universities, why not? Sew up corpses after post-mortems, by all means. But they shouldn’t be allowed to touch living patients. But I probably won’t live to see it, everything’s going the opposite way.”

“Not only magic heals,” Geralt risked an opinion. “And physicians are necessary. There’s only a handful of specialised healing mages, and ordinary sorcerers don’t want to treat the sick. They either don’t have time or they don’t think it worth it.”

“They think right. The results of overpopulation may be disastrous. What’s that? That thing you’re fiddling with?”

“The vigilosaur was tagged with it. It had it permanently attached to its hide.”

“You tore it from it as a trophy deserving of the victor?”

“I tore it off to show you.”

Coral examined the brass oval plate the size of a child’s hand. And the signs embossed on it.

“A curious coincidence,” she said, applying the mustard poultice to his back, “bearing in mind the fact that you’re heading that way.”