department, and gives me the answers to these questions. And he'll be left in peace. I'll calm the Temerians and guarantee his safety.'
'What questions are you talking about? Maybe I can answer them?'
'Don't make me laugh, Dandilion.'
'Yet,' Philippa Eilhart said suddenly, 'perhaps he can? Maybe he can save us time? Don't forget, Dijkstra, our poet is mixed up to his ears in this affair and we've got him here but we haven't got the witcher. Where is the child seen with Geralt in Kaedwen? The girl with ashen hair and green eyes? The one Rience asked you about back in Temeria when he caught and tortured you? Eh, Dandilion? What do you know about the girl? Where has the witcher hidden her? Where did Yennefer go when she received Geralt's letter? Where is Triss Merigold hiding, and why is she hiding?'
Dijkstra did not stir, but his swift glance at the magician showed Dandilion that the spy was taken aback. The questions Philippa had raised had clearly been asked too soon. And directed to the wrong person. The questions appeared rash and careless. The trouble was that Philippa Eilhart could be accused of anything but rashness and carelessness.
'I'm very sorry,' he said slowly, 'but I don't know the answer to any of the questions. I'd help you if I could. But I can't.'
Philippa looked him straight in the eyes.
'Dandilion,' she drawled. 'If you know where that girl is, tell us. I assure you that all that I and Dijkstra care about is her safety. Safety which is being threatened.'
'I have no doubt,' lied the poet, 'that's all you care about. But I really don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen the child you're so interested in. And Geralt-'
'Geralt,' interrupted Dijkstra, 'never confided in you, never said a word even though, no doubt, you inundated him with questions. Why do you think that might be, Dandilion? Could it be that this simple soul, this simpleton who despises spies, sensed who you really are? Leave him alone, Philippa, it's a waste of time. He knows shit-all, don't be taken in by his cocksure expressions and ambiguous smirks. He can help us in only one way. When the witcher emerges from his hide-out, he'll get in touch with him, no one else. Just imagine, he considers him to be a friend.'
Dandilion slowly raised his head.
'Indeed,' he confirmed. 'He considers me to be such. And just imagine, Dijkstra, that it's not without reason. Finally accept the fact and draw your conclusions. Have you drawn them? Right, so now you can try blackmail.'
'Well, well,' smiled the spy. 'How touchy you are on that point. But don't sulk, poet. I was joking. Blackmail between us comrades? Out of the question. And believe me, I don't wish that witcher of yours any ill nor am I thinking of harming him. Who knows maybe I'll even come to some understanding with him, to the advantage of us both? But in order for that to happen I've got to see him. When he appears, bring him to me. I ask you sincerely, Dandilion, very sincerely. Have you understood how sincerely?'
The troubadour snorted. 'I've understood how sincerely.'
'I'd like to believe that's true. Well, go now. Ori, show our troubadour to the door.'
'Take care.' Dandilion got to his feet. 'I wish you luck in your work and your personal life. My regards, Philippa. Oh, and Dijkstra! Those agents traipsing after me. Call them off.'
'Of course,' lied the spy. Til call them off. Is it possible you don't believe me?'
'Nothing of the kind,' lied the poet. 'I believe you.'
Dandilion stayed on the Academy premises until evening. He kept looking around attentively but didn't spot any snoops following him. And that was precisely what worried him most.
At the Faculty of Trouvereship he listened to a lecture on classical
poetry. Then he slept sweetly through a seminar on modern poetry. He was woken up by some tutors he knew and together they went to the Department of Philosophy to take part in a long-enduring stormy dispute on 'The essence and origins of life'. Before it had even grown dark, half of the participants were outright drunk while the rest were preparing for blows, out-shouting each other and creating a hullabaloo hard to describe. All this proved handy for the poet.
He slipped unseen into the garret, clambered out by the window vent, slid down by way of the gutter onto the roof of the library, and – nearly breaking his leg – jumped across onto the roof of the dissecting theatre. From there he got into the garden adjacent to the wall. Amidst the dense gooseberry bushes he found a hole which he himself had made bigger when a student. Beyond the hole lay the town of Oxenfurt.
He merged into the crowd, then quickly sneaked down the backstreets, dodging like a hare chased by hounds. When he reached the coach house he waited a good half hour, hidden in the shadows. Not spotting anything suspicious, he climbed the ladder to the thatch and leaped onto the roof of the house belonging to Wolfgang Amadeus Goatbeard, a brewer he knew. Gripping the moss-covered roof tiles, he finally arrived at the window of the attic he was aiming for. An oil lamp was burning inside the little room. Perched precariously on the guttering, Dandilion knocked on the lead frames. The window was not locked and gave way at the slightest push.
'Geralt! Hey, Geralt!'
'Dandilion? Wait… Don't come in, please…'
'What's that, don't come in? What do you mean, don't come in?' The poet pushed the window. 'You're not alone or what? Are you bedding someone right now?'
Neither receiving nor waiting for an answer he clambered onto the sill, knocking over the apples and onions lying on it.
'Geralt…' he panted and immediately fell silent. Then cursed under his breath, staring at the light green robes of a medical student strewn across the floor. He opened his mouth in astonishment and cursed once more. He could have expected anything. But not this.
'Shani.' He shook his head. 'May the-'
'No comments, thank you very much.' The witcher sat down on the bed. And Shani covered herself, yanking the sheet right up to her upturned nose.
'Well, come in then.' Geralt reached for his trousers. 'Since you're coming by way of the window, this must be important. Because if it isn't I'm going to throw you straight back out through it.'
Dandilion clambered off the sill, knocking down the rest of the onions. He sat down, pulling the high-backed, wooden chair closer with his foot. The witcher gathered Shani's clothes and his own from the floor. He looked abashed and dressed in silence. The medical student, hiding behind him, was struggling with her shirt. The poet watched her insolently, searching in his mind for similes and rhymes for the golden colour of her skin in the light of the oil lamp and the curves of her small breasts.
'What's this about, Dandilion?' The witcher fastened the buckles on his boots. 'Go on.'
'Pack your bags,' he replied dryly. 'Your departure is imminent.'
'How imminent?'
'Exceptionally.'
'Shani…' Geralt cleared his throat. 'Shani told me about the snoops following you. You lost them, I understand?'
'You don't understand anything.'
'Rience?'
'Worse.'
'In that case I really don't understand… Wait. The Redanians? Tretogor? Dijkstra?'
'You've guessed.'
'That's still no reason-'
'It's reason enough,' interrupted Dandilion. 'They're not concerned about Rience any more, Geralt. They're after the girl and Yennefer. Dijkstra wants to know where they are. He's going to force you to disclose it to him. Do you understand now?'
'I do now. And so we're fleeing. Does it have to be through the window?'
'Absolutely. Shani? Will you manage?'
The student of medicine smoothed down her robe.
'It won't be my first window.'
'I was sure of that.' The poet scrutinised her intently, counting on seeing a blush worthy of rhyme and
