The witcher raised his eyebrows. “What’s on your mind?”

“Surely it’s obvious. You’re going to kill her.”

“I’m not a hired thug, Stregobor.”

“You’re not a thug, agreed.”

“I kill monsters for money. Beasts which endanger people. Horrors conjured up by spells and sorceries cast by the likes of you. Not people.”

“She’s not human. She’s exactly a monster: a mutant, a cursed mutant. You brought a kikimora here. Shrike’s worse than a kikimora. A kikimora kills because it’s hungry, but Shrike does it for pleasure. Kill her and I’ll pay you whatever sum you ask. Within reason, of course.”

“I’ve already told you. I consider the story about mutations and Lilit’s curse to be nonsense. The girl has her reasons for settling her account with you, and I’m not going to get mixed up in it. Turn to the alderman, to the town guards. You’re the town wizard; you’re protected by municipal law.”

“I spit on the law, the alderman and his help!” exploded Stregobor. “I don’t need defense. I need you to kill her! Nobody’s going to get into this tower—I’m completely safe here. But what’s that to me? I don’t intend to spend the rest of my days here, and Shrike’s not going to give up while I’m alive. Am I to sit here, in this tower, and wait for death?”

“They did. Do you know what, magician? You should have left that hunt for the girls to other, more powerful, wizards. You should have foreseen the consequences.”

“Please, Geralt.”

“No, Stregobor.”

The sorcerer was silent. The unreal sun in its unreal sky hadn’t moved toward the zenith but the witcher knew it was already dusk in Blaviken. He felt hungry.

“Geralt,” said Stregobor, “when we were listening to Eltibald, many of us had doubts. But we decided to accept the lesser evil. Now I ask you to make a similar choice.”

“Evil is evil, Stregobor,” said the witcher seriously as he got up. “Lesser, greater, middling, it’s all the same. Proportions are negotiated, boundaries blurred. I’m not a pious hermit. I haven’t done only good in my life. But if I’m to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all. Time for me to go. We’ll see each other tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” said the wizard. “If you get here in time.”

III

The Golden Court, the country town’s elegant inn, was crowded and noisy. The guests, locals and visitors, were mostly engaged in activities typical for their nation or profession. Serious merchants argued with dwarves over the price of goods and credit interest. Less serious merchants pinched the backsides of the girls carrying beer, cabbage and beans. Local nitwits pretended to be well-informed. Harlots were trying to please those who had money while discouraging those who had none. Carters and fishermen drank as if there were no tomorrow. Some seamen were singing a song which celebrated the ocean waves, the courage of captains and the graces of mermaids, the latter graphically and in considerable detail.