“You can also kiss my arse. I invite you. And I wholeheartedly recommend it.”

“Or I can let you go.”

Smiřický turned away. But not quickly enough for Reynevan not to notice the glint in his eye.

“So, then,” Smiřický asked a moment later, “a ransom?”

“If you like. You’ll give me the answers to a few questions.”

The knight looked at him, saying nothing for a long while.

“You squirt,” he said at last, curling his lip and drawling. “You Silesian German. You quack doctor! Do you know who I am? I am Jan Smiřický of Smiřice, a Czech nobleman, a knight, the Hejtman of Mělnice and Roudnice! My ancestors fought at Legnano and Milan, at Ascalon and Arsuf. My great-grandfather covered himself in glory at Mühldorf and Crécy. Answer questions? Your questions? Go fuck yourself, dolt.”

“You, Lord Smiřický, plotted treachery against your own countrymen like a common thug. The men who made you hejtman entrusted you with Mělnice and Roudnice. In gratitude, you conspired against them with Konrad of Oleśnica, Bishop of Wrocław, in the Cistercian grange in Silesia two years ago. Two whole years have passed, but you no doubt remember every single word spoken there. Because I do.”

Smiřický fixed his eyes on him. He said nothing for a while, swallowing a few times. When he spoke, apart from astonishment, there was genuine admiration in his voice.

“So it was you… You were there. You eavesdropped… The Devil take it! You move widely and ambitiously in the world, I must confess. I admire you. But I feel sorry for you at the same time. Men like you die young. And usually violently.”

Samson Honeypot sent a mental signal using the magical amulet. But although the communication had functioned tolerably during the chase, now, at a distance of two paces, the signal was quite incomprehensible. Although the intent was clear, the content was unintelligible. Reynevan took it as an urge to act decisively.

“You will answer my question, Lord Smiřický.”