‘I’m not a gossip,’ Essi said sulkily, sharply tossing her lock from her forehead. ‘If I ask you something it isn’t in order to dash off to the well at once and blab it to the washerwomen.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I must go,’ Dandelion suddenly said. ‘I’ve got a rendezvous with Akeretta. Geralt, I’m taking your jerkin, because mine is incredibly filthy and wet.’

‘Everything here is wet,’ Little Eye said sneeringly, nudging the articles of clothing strewn around with the tip of her shoe in disgust. ‘How can you? They need to be hung up and properly dried… You’re dreadful.’

‘It’ll dry off by itself,’ Dandelion pulled on Geralt’s damp jacket and examined the silver studs on the sleeves with delight.

‘Don’t talk rubbish. And what’s this? Oh, no, that bag is still full of sludge and seaweed! And this–what’s this? Yuck!’

Geralt and Dandelion silently observed the cobalt blue shell Essi was holding between two fingers. They had forgotten. The mollusc was slightly open and clearly reeked.

‘It’s a present,’ the troubadour said, moving back towards the door. ‘It’s your birthday tomorrow, isn’t it, Poppet? Well, that’s a present for you.’

‘This?’

‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ Dandelion sniffed it and added quickly. ‘It’s from Geralt. He chose it for you. Oh, is that the time? Farewell…’

Little Eye was quiet for a moment after he had gone. The Witcher looked at the stinking shellfish and felt ashamed. Of Dandelion and of himself.

‘Did you remember my birthday?’ Essi asked slowly, holding the shell at arm’s length. ‘Really?’

‘Give it to me,’ he said sharply. He got up from the palliasse, protecting his bandaged arm. ‘I apologise for that idiot…’

‘No,’ she protested, removing a small knife from a sheath at her belt. ‘It really is a pretty shell, I’ll keep it as a memento. It only needs cleaning, after I’ve got rid of the… contents. I’ll throw them out of the window, the cats can eat them.’

Something clattered on the floor and rolled away. Geralt widened his pupils and saw what it was long before Essi.

It was a pearl. An exquisitely iridescent and shimmering pearl of faintly blue colour, as big as a swollen pea.

‘By the Gods.’ Little Eye had also caught sight of it. ‘Geralt… A pearl!’

‘A pearl,’ he laughed. ‘And so you did get a present, Essi. I’m glad.’

‘Geralt, I can’t accept it. That pearl is worth…’

‘It’s yours,’ he interrupted. ‘Dandelion, though he plays the fool, really did remember your birthday. He really wanted to please you. He talked about it, talked aloud about it. Well, fate heard him and did what had to be done.’

‘And you, Geralt?’

‘Me?’

‘Did you… also want to please me? That pearl is so beautiful… It must be hugely valuable–don’t you regret it?’

‘I’m pleased you like it. And if I regret anything, it’s that there was only one. And that…’

‘Yes?’

‘That I haven’t known you as long as Dandelion, long enough to be able to know and remember your birthday. To be able to give you presents and please you. To be able to call you Poppet.’