“Am I? Oh, yes, true, I’d forgotten. Your confraters and their plans concerning me. Have the plans taken shape, perhaps?”

“That’s right. I’ve received news. You’ve been asked to go to Rissberg Castle.”

“Been asked? What an honour. To Rissberg. The seat of the renowned Ortolan. A request, I presume, I cannot decline.”

“I wouldn’t advise it. You’re asked to go forthwith. Bearing in mind your injuries, when will you be able to set off?”

“Bearing in mind my injuries, you tell me. Physician.”

“I shall tell you. Later… But now… You won’t be around for some time and I shall miss you… How do you feel now? Will you be able… That’ll be all, Mozaïk. Go to your room and don’t disturb us. What’s the meaning of that smirk? Am I to freeze it permanently to your mouth?”

INTERLUDE

Dandelion, Half a Century of Poetry

(a passage of a rough draft never officially published)

Verily, the Witcher was greatly in my debt. More and more every day.

The visit to Pyral Pratt in Ravelin, which ended, as you know, turbulently and bloodily, brought certain benefits, however. Geralt had picked up the sword thief’s trail. It was to my credit, in a way, for it was I, using my cunning, who led Geralt to Ravelin. And the following day it was I, and no other, who fitted Geralt out with a new weapon. I couldn’t bear to see him unarmed. You’ll say that a witcher is never unarmed? That he is a mutant well-versed in every form of combat, twice as strong as a normal fellow and ten times as fast? Who can fell three armed thugs with a cooper’s oaken stave in no time? That to cap it all he can work magic using his Signs, which are no mean weapon? True. But a sword is a sword. He repeated relentlessly that he felt naked without a sword. So, I fitted him out with one.

Pratt, as you now know, rewarded the Witcher and I financially, none too generously, but I mustn’t grumble. The next day, as Geralt had instructed me, I hurried with the cheque to the Giancardi branch and cashed it. I’m standing there, looking around. And I see that somebody is observing me intently. A lady, not too old, but also not in the first flush of youth, tastefully and elegantly attired. I am no stranger to a lady’s delighted look; plenty of women find my manly and wolfish features irresistible.

The lady suddenly walks over, introduces herself as Etna Asider and claims to know me. Huh, what a thing! Everybody knows me, my fame precedes me, wherever I go.