The gentleman with number seventeen was suddenly seized under the armpits by two burly thugs who had entered the room unnoticed.

“Jerosa Fuerte, known as Needle,” drawled a third thug, tapping the arrested man in the chest with a club. “A hired killer, with a warrant issued for his apprehension. You are under arrest. Take him away.”

“Three thousand!” yelled Jerosa Fuerte, known as Needle, waving the sign with the number seventeen that he was still holding. “Three… thousand…”

“I’m sorry,” said Abner de Navarette coldly. “It’s the rules. A bidder’s offer is cancelled on the event of his arrest. The current bid is two thousand five hundred, offered by the Honourable Master Cianfanelli. Do I hear a higher bid? Count Horvath, two thousand six hundred. The gentleman in the mask, two thousand seven hundred. The Honourable Master Cianfanelli, three thousand. Going once, going twice…”

“Four thousand.”

“Oh. The Honourable Molnar Giancardi. Bravo. Four thousand crowns. Do I hear four thousand five hundred?”

“I wanted them for my son,” snapped Nino Cianfanelli. “And you have only daughters, Molnar. What do you want with those swords? Ah well, have it your own way. I yield.”

“Sold,” declared de Navarette, “to the Honourable Master Molnar Giancardi for four thousand crowns. Let us go on, noble ladies and gentlemen. Lot number eleven: a cloak of monkey fur…”

Nikefor Muus, joyful and grinning like a weasel in a chicken coop, slapped Antea Derris on the back. Hard. Only the last remnants of her will prevented Antea from punching him in the mouth.

“We’re leaving,” she hissed.

“And the money?”

“After the auction is over and the formalities have been completed. That will take some time.”

Ignoring the grumbling of Nikefor Muus, Antea walked towards the door. She was aware of somebody observing her and glanced surreptitiously. A woman. With black hair. Attired in black and white. With an obsidian star hanging in her cleavage.

She felt a shiver.

* * *

Antea had been right. The formalities did take some time. They could only go to the bank two days later. It was a branch of one of the dwarven banks, smelling—like all the others—of money, wax and mahogany panelling.

“The sum to be paid is three thousand three hundred and sixty-six crowns,” declared the clerk. “After subtracting the bank’s charges of one per cent.”

“The Borsodys: fifteen, the bank: one,” growled Nikefor Muus. “They’d take a cut from everything! Daylight robbery! Hand over the cash!”

“One moment.” Antea stopped him. “First, let’s sort out our affairs, yours and mine. I’m also due a commission. Of four hundred crowns.”

“Hold on, hold on!” yelled Muus, attracting the gaze of other clerks and customers. “What four hundred? I’ve barely got three thousand and a few pennies from the Borsodys…”

“According to the contract I’m owed ten per cent of the sale price. The costs are your affair. And they apply only to you.”

“What are you—?”