The booths here were almost stores, wide and platformed, with built sides and solid roofs, and the objects displayed in artful groupings. In the dens, ‘old’ pretty much meant unusable or the fancy stuff we left alone. What would we do with these delicate wooden chairs likely to collapse under any real weight, or those inlaid tables with their waxy sheen, the slim desks, the tall bookshelves overflowing with silver and glassware and gold-rimmed dishes? Anything fragile didn’t last long in a den. Besides, it took a major operation to swoop in, clean out a townhouse, and be gone by morning. We left that to the pirate crews, and the Merchants’ Association looking the other way.

That stuff ended up here, looking elegant and useless in the twinkle of tiny lights strung in the trees. Orphans of the storm, like me. Not that I was elegant. But I sighed over a gilt candelabra. That would sure bring cheer to my bunk space. With so many arms, I’d be trading half my nightly take for candles and end up burning the whole tier down.

Ha, ha, girl. Hot baths and chandeliers? Let’s keep those fantasies in check!

The crowd had thinned out, less noise, dimmer light. Classier turf. Still, very few books, and mostly tattered paperbacks, so water-damaged you could hardly read the titles. The occasional hardbacks were warped and torn.

About ready to pack it in, I rounded a corner and right in front of me was a whole row of books shelved neatly above a flatscreen showing an old video. This seemed like a good sign. A spot lit the shiny dark-red bindings, picking out gold lettering. Looked new and like they belonged together.

I nosed up to the counter for a better look. A tall guy with a sparse gray beard lunged over with a stick in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He cracked me hard across the knuckles as I reached for a book, and flared the light into my eyes.

“Hands to yourself!”

I bit back a curse and put on my best air of abused innocence. “I’d like to see one of those books, please.”

“You can see it well enough from there.”

“Not if you’re blinding me.”

He lowered the beam a fraction. “Looking or buying?”

I went for the lifted chin again. “I’m interested in the quality of your stock, as I have a book to sell.”

The beam dropped to my empty hands.

“But I see now that these are bound in cheap plastic and the lettering is flaking off.” I backed away. “My book is of superior quality, so it’s likely not your area of expertise.”

This time, I knew Jake would be proud.

The snark set his weapons on the counter, folding his arms across his pit-stained suit jacket. “I see. Superior quality, is it? Might be worth a look if you stole the provenance along with the book.”