‘Well, if it’s like that, I’m coming. Bye, Geralt. We’ll continue our flirting later!’

‘Ah,’ said the blonde, sizing him up. ‘Geralt. The Witcher, the man Yennefer lost her head over? I’ve been watching you and wondering who you might be. It was tormenting me terribly.’

‘I know that kind of torment,’ he replied, smiling politely. ‘I’m experiencing it right now.’

‘Do excuse the gaffe. I’m Keira Metz. Oh, caviar!’

‘Be careful. It’s an illusion.’

‘Bloody hell, you’re right!’ said the sorceress, dropping the spoon as though it was the tail of a black scorpion. ‘Who was so barefaced… You? Can you create fourth-level illusions?’

‘I,’ he lied, continuing to smile, ‘am a master of magic. I’m pretending to be a witcher to remain incognito. Do you think Yennefer would bother with an ordinary witcher?’

Keira Metz looked him straight in the eyes and scowled. She was wearing a medallion in the form of an ankh cross; silver and set with zircon.

‘A drop of wine?’ he suggested, trying to break the awkward silence. He was afraid his joke hadn’t been well received.

‘No thank you… O fellow master,’ said Keira icily. ‘I don’t drink. I can’t. I plan to get pregnant tonight.’

‘By whom?’ asked the fake-redheaded friend of Sabrina Glevissig, who was dressed in a transparent, white, georgette blouse, decorated with cleverly positioned details, walking over to them. ‘By whom?’ she repeated, innocently fluttering her long eyelashes.

Keira turned and gave her an up-and-down glare, from her white iguana slippers to her pearl-encrusted tiara.

‘What business is it of yours?’

‘It isn’t. Professional curiosity. Won’t you introduce me to your companion, the famous Geralt of Rivia?’

‘With great reluctance. But I know I won’t be able to fob you off. Geralt, this is Marti Södergren, seductress. Her speciality is aphrodisiacs.’

‘Must we talk shop? Oh, have you left me a little caviar? How kind of you.’

‘Careful,’ chorused Keira and the Witcher. ‘It’s an illusion.’

‘So it is!’ said Marti Södergren, leaning over and wrinkling her nose, after which she picked up a goblet and looked at the traces of crimson lipstick on it. ‘Ah, Philippa Eilhart. I should have known. Who else would have dared to do something so brazen? That revolting snake. Did you know she spies for Vizimir of Redania?’

‘And is a nymphomaniac?’ risked the Witcher. Marti and Keira snorted in unison.

‘Is that what you were counting on, fawning over her and flirting with her?’ asked the seductress. ‘If so, you ought to know someone’s played a mean trick on you. Philippa lost her taste for men some time ago.’

‘But perhaps you’re really a woman?’ asked Keira Metz, pouting her glistening lips. ‘Perhaps you’re only pretending to be a man, my fellow master of magic? To remain incognito? Do you know, Marti, he confessed a moment ago that he likes to pretend.’

‘He likes to and knows how to,’ smiled Marti spitefully. ‘Right, Geralt? A while back I saw you pretending to be hard of hearing and unable to understand the Elder Speech.’