“Lot number nine: Ymago mundi, also known as Mundus novus. An extremely rare book, only one copy in the possession of the University of Oxenfurt and a few in private hands. Bound in cordovan. Excellent condition. Starting price: one thousand five hundred crowns. One thousand six hundred, the Honourable Vimme Vivaldi. One thousand six hundred and fifty, the Reverend Prochaska. One thousand seven hundred, the lady at the back of the room. One thousand eight hundred, Master Vivaldi. One thousand eight hundred and fifty, the Reverend Prochaska. One thousand nine hundred, Mr. Vivaldi. Bravo, Reverend Prochaska, two thousand crowns. Two thousand one hundred, Mr. Vivaldi. Do I hear two thousand two hundred?”

“That book is godless, it contains a heretical message! It ought to be burned! I want to buy it to burn it! Two thousand two hundred crowns!”

“Two thousand five hundred!” snorted Vimme Vivaldi, stroking a well-groomed white beard. “Can you top that, you devout arsonist?”

“It’s a scandal! Mammon is triumphing over probity! Pagan dwarves are treated better than people! I shall complain to the authorities!”

“Sold for two thousand five hundred crowns to Mr. Vivaldi,” Abner de Navarette announced calmly. “However, I remind the Reverend Prochaska about the rules and regulations of the Borsody Auction House.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Farewell. Please forgive the disturbance. It can happen that the uniqueness and wealth of the Borsody Auction House’s portfolio calls forth strong emotions. Let us continue. Lot number ten: an absolute curio, an exceptional find, two witcher swords. The House has decided not to offer them separately, but as a set, in honour of the witcher whom they served years ago. The first sword, made of steel from a meteorite. The blade was forged and sharpened in Mahakam, there are authentic dwarven punched patterns confirmed by our experts.

“The other sword is silver. There are runic signs and glyphs, confirming its originality, on the cross guard and along the entire length of the blade. Starting price: one thousand crowns for the set. The gentleman with number seventeen, one thousand and fifty. Any more bids? Do I hear one thousand one hundred? For such rare items?”

“Shit, not much money,” muttered Nikefor Muus, court clerk, who was sitting in the back row, by turns nervously clenching his ink-stained fingers into a fist and pulling his fingers through his thinning hair. “I knew it wasn’t worth bothering—”

Antea Derris shut him up with a hiss.

“Count Horvath, one thousand one hundred. The gentleman with number seventeen, one thousand two hundred. The Honourable Nino Cianfanelli, one thousand five hundred. The gentleman in the mask, one thousand six hundred. The gentleman with number seventeen, one thousand seven hundred. Count Horvath, one thousand eight hundred. The gentleman in the mask, two thousand. The Honourable Master Cianfanelli, two thousand one hundred. The gentleman in the mask, two thousand two hundred. Any more bids? The Honourable Master Cianfanelli, two thousand five hundred… The gentleman with number seventeen…”