“You see correctly, but try explaining that to Nenneke. Sit, let’s talk.”

Dandilion sat and peeped into the book lying on the lectern. “History?” He smiled. “Roderick de Novembre? I’ve read him, I have. History was second on my list of favorite subjects when I was studying at the Academy in Oxenfurt.”

“What was first?”

“Geography,” said the poet seriously. “The atlas was bigger and it was easier to hide a demijohn of vodka behind it.”

Geralt laughed dryly, got up, removed Lunin and Tyrss’s The Arcane Mysteries of Magic and Alchemy from the shelf and pulled a round-bellied vessel wrapped in straw from behind the bulky volume and into the light of day.

“Oho.” The bard visibly cheered up. “Wisdom and inspiration, I see, are still to be found in libraries. Oooh! I like this! Plum, isn’t it? Yes, this is true alchemy. This is a philosopher’s stone well worth studying. Your health, brother. Ooooh, it’s strong as the plague!”

“What brings you here?” Geralt took the demijohn over from the poet, took a sip and started to cough, fingering his bandaged neck. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. That is, I could go where you’re going. I could keep you company. Do you intend staying here long?”

“Not long. The local duke let it be known I’m not welcome.”

“Hereward?” Dandilion knew all the kings, princes, lords and feudal lords from Jaruga to the Dragon Mountains. “Don’t you give a damn. He won’t dare fall foul of Nenneke, or Melitele. The people would set fire to his castle.”

“I don’t want any trouble. And I’ve been sitting here for too long anyway. I’m going south, Dandilion. Far south. I won’t find any work here. Civilization. What the hell do they need a witcher here for? When I ask after employment, they look at me as if I’m a freak.”

“What are you talking about? What civilization? I crossed Buina a week ago and heard all sorts of stories as I rode through the country. Apparently there are water sprites here, myriapodans, chimera, flying drakes, every possible filth. You should be up to your ears in work.”

“Stories, well, I’ve heard them too. Half of them are either made up or exaggerated. No, Dandilion. The world is changing. Something’s coming to an end.”

The poet took a long pull at the demijohn, narrowed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Are you crying over your sad fate as a witcher again? And philosophizing on top of that? I perceive the disastrous effects of inappropriate literature, because the fact that the world is changing occurred even to that old fart Roderick de Novembre. The changeability of the world is, as it happens, the only thesis in this treatise you can agree with. But it’s not so innovative you have to ply me with it and put on the face of a great thinker—which doesn’t suit you in the least.”

Instead of answering, Geralt took a sip from the demijohn.

“Yes, yes,” sighed Dandilion anew. “The world is changing, the sun sets, and the vodka is coming to an end. What else, in your opinion, is coming to an end? You mentioned something about endings, philosopher.”