“I’ve been guarding law and order in the Hills for a long time,” he continued, looking Geralt in the eyes. “Without wishing to boast, I’ve captured many a villain and bedecked many a tall tree with them. But what’s been going on lately… That requires an additional person; somebody like you. Somebody who is well-versed in spells and knows about monsters, who isn’t scared of a beast or a ghost or a dragon. And so, right well, we shall guard and protect folk together. I for my meagre salary, you for the sorcerers’ purse. I wonder if they pay you well for this work?”

Five hundred Novigradian crowns, transferred in advance to my bank account. Geralt had no intention of revealing that. The sorcerers of Rissberg bought my services and my time for that sum. Fifteen days of my time. And when fifteen days have passed, irrespective of what happens, the same amount will be transferred again. A handsome sum. More than satisfactory.

“Aye, they’re surely paying a good deal.” Frans Torquil quickly realised he wouldn’t be receiving an answer. “They can afford to. And I’ll tell you this: no money here is too much. For this is a hideous matter, Witcher. Hideous, dark and unnatural. The evil that raged here came from Rissberg, I swear. As sure as anything, something’s gone awry in the wizards’ magic. Because that magic of theirs is like a sack of vipers: no matter how tightly it’s tied up, something venomous will always crawl out.”

The constable glanced at Geralt. That glance was enough for him to understand that the Witcher would tell him nothing, no details of his agreement with the sorcerers.

“Did they acquaint you with the details? Did they tell you what happened in Yew Trees, Arches and Rogovizna?”

“More or less.”

“More or less,” Torquil repeated. “Three days after Beltane, the Yew Trees settlement, nine woodcutters killed. Middle of May, a sawyers’ homestead in Arches, twelve killed. Beginning of June, Rogovizna, a colony of charcoal burners. Fifteen victims. That’s the state of affairs, more or less, for today, Witcher. For that’s not the end. I give my word that it’s not the end.”

Yew Trees, Arches, Rogovizna. Three mass crimes. And thus not an accident, not a demon who broke free and fled, whom a bungling goetic practitioner was unable to control. It was premeditated, it has all been planned. Someone has thrice imprisoned a demon in a host and sent it out thrice to murder.