‘Believe me, Dandelion,’ Geralt interrupted, steering his horse down the hillside. ‘I don’t give a damn who remembers what.’

A colourful tent resembling a cake stood outside the city, not far from the turnpike. A white shield with a red chevron hung on a pole in front of it. A knight in full armour and a white surcoat decorated with the same arms as the shield was standing under the raised flap of the tent. The knight was scrutinising women in headscarves, tar and pitch makers with kegs containing their wares, herdsmen, pedlars and beggars. His eyes lit up in hope at the sight of Geralt and Dandelion riding slowly along.

‘The lady of your heart—’ Geralt dispelled the knight’s hope in an icy voice ‘—whoever she is, is the most beautiful and most virtuous virgin from the Yaruga to the Buina.’

‘By my troth,’ the knight snapped back. ‘You speak the truth, sir.’

A fair-haired girl in a densely studded leather jacket vomited in the middle of the street, bent in two, holding on to the stirrup of a flea-bitten grey mare. The girl’s two male companions, identically attired, carrying swords on their backs and wearing bands on their foreheads, cursed the passers-by filthily, in somewhat incoherent voices. Both were more than tipsy, unsteady on their feet, bumping into horses’ sides and the bar of the hitching post situated outside the inn.

‘Must we really go in there?’ asked Dandelion. ‘There may be more nice lads like that inside.’

‘I’m meeting someone here. Have you forgotten? This is The Rooster and Mother Hen mentioned in a notice on the oak tree.’

The fair-haired girl bent over again, puked spasmodically and extremely profusely. The mare snorted loudly and jerked, knocking the girl over and dragging her through the vomit.

‘What are you gawking at, you fool?’ mumbled one of the youngsters. ‘You grey-haired old bum?’

‘Geralt,’ muttered Dandelion, dismounting. ‘Don’t do anything foolish, please.’

‘Fear not. I won’t.’

They tied their horses to the hitching post on the other side of the steps. The young men stopped paying attention to them and began insulting and spitting at a townswoman crossing the street with a child. Dandelion glanced at the Witcher’s face. He didn’t like what he saw.

The first thing that stuck out after entering the inn was a sign: WANTED: COOK. The next was a large picture on a signboard made of planks of wood, portraying a bearded monster holding a battle axe dripping blood. The caption announced: THE DWARF–A WRETCHED, TREACHEROUS RUNT.