Essi fell silent and lowered her head, but not quickly enough for Geralt not to see the tear which sparkled in the corner of her gorgeous eye. The girl touched the little flower with silver petals hanging around her neck, the flower in the centre of which nestled a large, sky blue pearl. The little flower had intricate, plaited petals, executed in masterly fashion. Drouhard, the Witcher thought, had come up trumps. The craftsman he had recommended did a good job. And had not taken a penny from them. Drouhard had paid for everything.

‘So, Your Grace,’ Little Eye continued, raising her head, ‘don’t make a fool of yourself by offering the Witcher the role of a mercenary in an army you plan to field against the ocean. Don’t expose yourself to ridicule, for your suggestion could only prompt mirth. Don’t you understand yet? You can pay the Witcher for carrying out a task, you can hire him to protect people from evil, to remove the danger that threatens them. But you cannot buy the Witcher, you cannot use him to your own ends. Because the Witcher–even wounded and hungry–is better than you. Has more worth. That is why he scorns your meagre offer. Do you understand?’

‘No, Miss Daven,’ Agloval said coldly. ‘I do not understand. On the contrary, I understand less and less. And the fundamental thing I indeed do not understand is why I have not yet ordered your entire trio hanged, after having you thrashed with a scourge and scorched with red-hot irons. You, Miss Daven, are endeavouring to give the impression of somebody who knows everything. Tell me, then, why I do not do that.’

‘As you please,’ the poet shot back at once. ‘You do not do that, Agloval, because somewhere, deep inside, glimmers in you a little spark of decency, a scrap of honour, not yet stifled by the vainglory of a nouveau riche and petty trader. Inside, Agloval. At the bottom of your heart. A heart which, after all, is capable of loving a mermaid.’

Agloval went as white as a sheet and gripped the armrests of his chair. Bravo, the Witcher thought, bravo, Essi, wonderful. He was proud of her. But at the same time he felt sorrow, tremendous sorrow.

‘Go away,’ Agloval said softly. ‘Go away. Wherever you wish. Leave me in peace.’

‘Farewell, duke,’ Essi said. ‘And on parting accept some good advice. Advice which the Witcher ought to be giving you; but I don’t want him to stoop to giving you advice. So I’ll do it for him.’

‘Very well.’

‘The ocean is immense, Agloval. No one has explored what lies beyond the horizon, if anything is there at all. The ocean is bigger than any wilderness, deep into which you have driven the elves. It is less accessible than any mountains or ravines where you have massacred werelynxes. And on the floor of the ocean dwells a race which uses weapons and knows the arcana of metalworking. Beware, Agloval. If archers begin to sail with the pearl divers, you will begin a war with something you don’t understand. What you mean to disturb may turn out to be a hornets’ nest. I advise you, leave them the sea, for the sea is not for you. You don’t know and will never know whither lead those steps, which go down to the bottom of the Dragons Fangs.’