The chambers’ walls were draped with sumptuous tapestries and splendid wall hangings depicting religious and hunting scenes, and idylls featuring disrobed women. The furniture gleamed with inlays and brass fittings, and one sunk ankle-deep into the carpets. Ciri had no time to note the details, though, for Bonhart walked swiftly, dragging her by the chain.

‘Greetings, Houvenaghel!’

Lit by the spectrum of colours cast by a stained-glass window, his back to a hunting tapestry, stood a man of impressive corpulence, attired in a kaftan dripping with gold and a fur-lined coat trimmed with karakul pelts. Although in the prime of his manhood, he had a bald pate and pendulous jowls like those of a great bulldog.

‘Greetings, Leo,’ he said. ‘And you, lady—’

‘That’s no lady.’ Bonhart showed him the chain and collar. ‘No need to welcome her.’

‘Politeness costs nothing.’

‘Nothing but time.’ Bonhart tugged the chain, walked up and unceremoniously patted the fat man’s belly.

‘You’ve put on a good deal,’ he remarked. ‘By my troth, Houvenaghel, were you to stand in the way it would be easier to jump over you than walk around.’

‘Prosperity,’ Houvenaghel explained jovially, shaking his cheeks. ‘Greetings to you, greetings, Leo. ‘Tis wonderful to host you, for I am most inordinate joyful today. My business affairs are going so admirably well that I feel like touching wood. The till’s a-ringing! Only today, may this serve as an example, a captain in the Nilfgaardian reserve horse, the quartermaster responsible for supplying gear to the front, flogged me six thousand military bows, which I shall retail with a ten-fold profit to hunters, poachers, brigands, elves and diverse other freedom fighters. I also bought a castle from a local marquess…’

‘Why the hell do you need a castle?’

‘I must live regally. Getting back to my business affairs: one deal is quite simply thanks to you, Leo. A seemingly hopeless debtor paid me back. Quite literally a moment ago. His hands were shaking as he paid me. The fellow saw you and thought—’

‘I know what he thought. Did you receive my letter?’

‘I did.’ Houvenaghel flopped down heavily, knocking the table with his belly and making the carafes and goblets on it ring. ‘And I’ve prepared everything. Haven’t you seen the handbills? The rabble must have torn them down… Folk are already heading for the theatre. The till’s a-ringing… Sit you down, Leo. There’s time. Let’s talk, enjoy some wine…’

‘I don’t want your wine. It’s army issue, no doubt, stolen from Nilfgaardian transports.’

‘You must be jesting. It’s Est Est from Toussaint, the grapes picked when our gracious emperor, Emhyr, was a mere nipper, shitting in his cradle. It was a good year. For wine. Cheers, Leo.’

Bonhart silently raised a toasting goblet. Houvenaghel smacked his lips, examining Ciri extremely critically.

‘So this is the doe-eyed nymph,’ he said at last, ‘who is to guarantee the sport promised in your epistle? I know that Windsor Imbra is already nearing the town. And has with him several decent cut-throats. And a few local swordsmen have seen the bills…’