Now Dandelion visibly blushed. Little Eye, however, laughed joyously, flung an arm around his neck all of a sudden and kissed him on the cheek. The Witcher was taken aback, but not too greatly. A professional colleague of Dandelion’s could not, indeed, differ much from him in terms of predictability.

‘Dandelion, you old bugger,’ Essi said, still hugging the bard’s neck. ‘I’m glad to see you again, in good health and in full possession of your mental faculties.’

‘Pshaw, Poppet.’ Dandelion seized the girl around the waist, picked her up and spun her around so that her dress billowed around her. ‘You were magnificent, by the Gods, I haven’t heard such marvellous spitefulness for ages. You bicker even more captivatingly than you sing! And you look simply stunning!’

‘I’ve asked you so many times,’ Essi said, blowing her lock of hair away and glancing at Geralt, ‘not to call me Poppet, Dandelion. Besides, I think it’s high time you introduced me to your companion. I see he doesn’t belong to our guild.’

‘Save us, O Gods,’ the troubadour laughed. ‘He, Poppet, has no voice or ear, and can only rhyme “rear” with “beer”. This is Geralt of Rivia, a member of the guild of witchers. Come closer, Geralt, and kiss Little Eye’s hand.’

The Witcher approached, not really knowing what to do. One usually only kissed ladies of the rank of duchess and higher on the hand, or the ring, and one was supposed to kneel. Regarding women of lower standing that gesture, here, in the South, was considered erotically unambiguous and as such tended to be reserved only for close couples.

Little Eye dispelled his doubts, however, by willingly holding her hand out high with the fingers facing downwards. He grasped it clumsily and feigned a kiss. Essi, her beautiful eye still popping out of her head, blushed.

‘Geralt of Rivia,’ she said. ‘What company you keep, Dandelion.’

‘It is an honour for me,’ the Witcher muttered, aware he was rivalling Drouhard in eloquence. ‘Madam—’

‘Damn it,’ Dandelion snorted. ‘Don’t abash Little Eye with all that stammering and titling. She’s Essi, he’s Geralt. End of introductions. Let’s get to the point, Poppet.’

‘If you call me Poppet once more you’ll get a slap. What point do we have to get to?’

‘We have to agree on how we’re going to sing. I suggest one after the other, a few ballads each. For the effect. Of course, singing our own ballads.’

‘Suits me.’

‘How much is Drouhard paying you?’

‘None of your business. Who goes first?’

‘You.’

‘Agreed. Hey, look who’s joined us. The Most Noble Duke of Agloval. He’s just coming in, look.’

‘Well, well,’ Dandelion said gleefully. ‘The audience is going up-market. Although, on the other hand, we oughtn’t to count on him. He’s a skinflint. Geralt can confirm it. The local duke bloody hates paying. He hires, admittedly. But he’s not so good at paying.’

‘I’ve heard a few things about him.’ Essi, looking at Geralt, tossed the lock of hair back from her cheek. ‘They were talking about it in the harbour and by the jetty. The famous Sh’eenaz, right?’