‘Who doesn’t?’ said Yennefer, bowing her head and proffering her hand to Dijkstra. The spy kissed it with reverence. ‘I’m delighted to see you again, Your Excellency.’
‘It’s a joy for me to see you again, Yennefer,’ replied the chief of King Vizimir’s secret service. ‘Particularly in such agreeable company. Geralt, my respects come from the bottom of my heart . . .’
Geralt, refraining from telling Dijkstra his respect came from the heart of his bottom, shook the proffered hand – or rather tried to. Its dimensions exceeded the norm which made made shaking it practically impossible.
The gigantic spy was dressed in a light beige doublet, unbuttoned informally. He clearly felt at ease in it.
‘I noticed,’ said Philippa, ‘you talking to Sabrina.’
‘That’s right,’ snorted Yennefer. ‘Have you seen what she’s wearing? You’d either have to have no taste or no shame to . . . She’s bloody older than me by at least— Never mind. And as if she still had anything to show! The revolting cow!’
‘Did she try to question you? Everyone knows she spies for Henselt of Kaedwen.’
‘You don’t say?’ said Yennefer, faking astonishment, which was rightly considered an excellent joke.
‘And you, Your Excellency, are you enjoying our celebration?’ asked Yennefer, after Philippa and Dijkstra had stopped laughing.
‘Extraordinarily,’ said King Vizimir’s spy, giving a courtly bow.
‘If we presume,’ said Philippa, smiling, ‘that the Count is here on business, such an assurance is extremely complimentary. And, like every similar compliment, not very sincere. Only a moment ago, he confessed he’d prefer a nice, murky atmosphere, the stink of flaming brands and scorched meat on a spit. He also misses a traditional table swimming in spilt sauce and beer, which he could bang with his beer mug to the rhythm of a few filthy, drunken songs, and which he could gracefully slide under in the early hours, to fall asleep among hounds gnawing bones. And, just imagine, he remains deaf to my arguments extolling the superiority of our way of banqueting.’
‘Indeed?’ said the Witcher, looking at the spy more benignly. ‘And what were those arguments, if I might ask?’
This time his question was clearly treated as an excellent joke, because both enchantresses began laughing at the same time.
‘Oh, you men,’ said Philippa. ‘You don’t understand anything. How can you show off your dress or your figure if you’re hiding behind a table in the gloom and smoke?’
Geralt, unable to find the words, merely bowed. Yennefer squeezed his arm gently.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I see Triss Merigold over there. I just have to exchange a few words with her . . . Excuse me for abandoning you. Take care, Philippa. We will certainly find an opportunity for a chat today. Won’t we, Your Excellency?’
‘Undoubtedly,’ said Dijkstra, smiling and bowing low. ‘At your service, Yennefer. Your wish is my command.’
They went over to Triss, who was shimmering in shades of blue and pale green. On seeing them, Triss broke off her conversation with two sorcerers, smiled radiantly and hugged Yennefer; the ritual of kissing the air near each other’s ears was repeated. Geralt took the proffered hand, but decided to act contrary to the rules of etiquette; he embraced the chestnut-haired enchantress and kissed her on her soft cheek, as downy as a peach. Triss blushed faintly.
The sorcerers introduced themselves. One of them was Drithelm of Pont Vanis, the other his brother, Detmold. They were both in the service of King Esterad of Kovir. Both proved to be taciturn and both moved away at the first opportunity that presented itself.
‘You were talking to Philippa and Dijkstra of Tretogor,’ observed Triss, playing with a lapis-lazuli heart set in silver and diamonds, which hung around from her neck. ‘You know who Dijkstra is, of course?’
‘Yes, we do,’ said Yennefer. ‘Did he talk to you? Did he try to get anything out of you?’
‘He tried,’ said the enchantress, smiling knowingly and giggling. ‘Quite subtly. But Philippa was doing a good job throwing him off his stride. And I thought they were on better terms.’
‘They’re on excellent terms,’ Yennefer warned her gravely. ‘Be careful, Triss. Don’t breathe a word to him about – about you know who.’
‘I know. I’ll be careful. And by the way . . .’ Triss lowered her voice. ‘How’s she doing? Will I be able to see her?’
‘If you finally decide to run classes at Aretuza,’ smiled Yennefer, ‘you’ll be able to see her very often.’