He jabbed from the elbow, aiming at the crop beneath the crimson dewlap, which was large, twice as big as a turkey’s. He found the target, and felt his blade slice the body open. The blow’s force knocked the beast to the ground, against the wall. The skoffin screamed, and it was almost a human scream. It thrashed around among broken bricks, writhed and fluttered its wings, splashing blood and lashing its whip-like tail around. The Witcher was certain the battle was over, but the monster surprised him unpleasantly. It unexpectedly lunged for his throat, croaking horribly, talons outstretched and beak snapping. Geralt dodged, pushed off from the wall with his shoulder and smote with great force from below, taking advantage of the momentum he’d generated. The wounded skoffin tumbled among the bricks again, and stinking gore splashed on the dungeon wall, describing fanciful patterns. Wounded, the monster stopped thrashing around and was only trembling, croaking, extending its long neck, swelling its crop and shaking its dewlap. Blood flowed swiftly between the bricks it lay on.

Geralt could easily have finished it off, but didn’t want to damage its hide too much. He waited calmly for the skoffin to bleed to death. He moved a few steps away, turned around to the wall, undid his trousers and pissed, whistling a sad song. The skoffin stopped croaking, lay still and went quiet. The Witcher moved closer and poked it gently with the point of his sword. Seeing it was done, he seized the monster by the tail and picked it up. He held it by the base of its tail at hip height. The skoffin’s vulture-like beak reached the floor and its wingspan measured more than four feet.

‘You’re light, kurolishek.’ Geralt shook the beast, which indeed didn’t weigh much more than a well-fattened turkey. ‘You’re light. Luckily they’re paying me by the piece, not the pound.’

‘It’s the first time,’ Reynart de Bois-Fresnes whistled softly through his teeth, which, as Geralt knew, he did to express the highest admiration. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever seen anything like it. An absolute oddity, by my troth, an oddity to end all oddities. Does that mean it’s the infamous basilisk?’

‘No.’ Geralt raised the monster higher so the knight could examine it better. ‘It isn’t a basilisk. It’s a kurolishek.’

‘Is there a difference?’

‘A crucial one. A basilisk, also known as a regulus, is a reptile; but a kurolishek, also known as a skoffin or cockatrice, is neither a reptile nor a bird. It’s the only member of an order that scholars called ornithoreptiles, for after lengthy debate they found—’

‘And which one,’ interrupted Reynart de Bois-Fresnes, clearly uninterested in the scholars’ motives, ‘can kill or petrify with a look?’

‘Neither of them. That’s fiction.’