They always went there. Since they had arrived at Beauclair two weeks before. Geralt, Regis, Angoulême and Milva. Only Dandelion broke his fast elsewhere.

‘They serve him his dripping and scratchings in bed!’ commented Angoulême. ‘And they pay obeisance to him!’

Geralt was inclined to believe it was like that. And that day he decided to investigate.

He found Dandelion in the knights’ hall. The poet was wearing a crimson beret, as big as a loaf of sourdough rye bread, and a matching doublet richly embroidered with golden thread. He was sitting on a curule seat with his lute in his lap and reacting with careless nods to the compliments of the ladies and courtiers surrounding him.

Anna Henrietta, fortunately, wasn’t in sight. So Geralt without hesitation broke protocol and went boldly into action. Dandelion saw him at once.

‘Lords and ladies,’ he said pompously, waving a hand just like a real king, ‘if you could leave us alone? The servants may also absent themselves!’

He clapped and before the echo had died away they were alone in the knights’ hall with suits of armour, paintings, panoplies and the intense, lingering smell of the ladies’ powder.

‘What fun,’ Geralt remarked without excessive malice. ‘You shoo them away like that, do you? It must feel nice to issue orders with one lordly gesture, one clap, one regal frown. Watch as they scuttle backwards like crayfish, bending over towards you in a bow. What fun. Eh? My Lord Favourite?’

Dandelion grimaced.

‘Is it about anything particular?’ he asked sourly. ‘Or just to talk for the sake of it?’

‘Something particular. So particular, it couldn’t be more so.’

‘Say on, if you please.’

‘We need three horses. That’s for me, Cahir and Angoulême. And two unmounted packhorses. Together, three good steeds and two hacks. Hacks, well, as a last resort, mules, laden with vittles and feed. Your duchess must consider you worth that much, what? You’ve earned at least that, I trust?’

‘There won’t be a problem with it.’ Dandelion, not looking at Geralt, got down to tuning his lute. ‘I’m only surprised by your haste. I’d say it surprises me to the same degree as your foolish sarcasm does.’

‘My haste surprises you?’

‘You’d better believe it. October is ending, and the weather is visibly worsening. Snow will fall in the passes any day now.’

‘And you’re surprised by my haste.’ the Witcher nodded. ‘But I’m glad you reminded me. Sort out some warm clothing. Some furs.’

‘I thought,’ Dandelion said slowly, ‘that we’d sit out the winter here. That we’d stay here—’

‘If you want to stay,’ Geralt blurted out, ‘then stay.’

‘I do.’ Dandelion stood up suddenly and put down his lute. ‘And I will.’