‘Does anyone have any further business?’ called Haversham, returning to the ceremonial tone, clearly expecting that to be the end of the auction.

Ross stepped forward before she had time to think, shrugging off Costain’s slight attempt to restrain her. This was her only chance. This was clearly what the barmaid had meant in sending her here. Or if it wasn’t, this was her trying to tell her own story. ‘I do,’ she said.

‘What do you offer or wish for?’ Haversham sounded as if she sort of knew, as if she was willing her on. Was that real, or was it just for the sake of spectacle?

‘I wish for … that book.’ She pointed at it. Bernie raised his eyebrows in shock. There was a combination of amazement and amusement from the audience. Haversham raised a finger and they were silent. ‘We’ve heard that before, haven’t we, ladies and gentlemen and others? Please, young lady, before you begin anything you can’t finish, understand the value of what you seek.’ She went over and held up the ledger. ‘This book is a cornucopia, a concentration, a concordance of what are known in the vernacular as right proper names. My own name, Haversham, is a nom de gesture’ – she again pronounced the words as if they were English – ‘because I don’t want this lot knowing what I was born as, in case there’s a dispute and it’s used against me. My real name is as valuable to me as my life. This volume contains more than a thousand such names. Do you really think you have anything to offer, girl, that could convince us to sell it to you?’

‘No. Which is why I don’t want to buy it. I know the object I’m after only arrived in Britain in the last five years. So I only want to see those entries. I want … the chance to read that book for fifteen minutes.’

Haversham let out a bemused breath. ‘You’ll still need an offer of enormous value. But…’ Ross got the feeling she was making use of some internal power rather than merely deciding. ‘It’s possible you may have something worth it.’

Ross could see, out of the corner of her eye, Costain looking sidelong at her, wondering what she was going to offer. She glanced at him, asking him the question first, then back to the auctioneer. They were about to find out if he really did have any secret funds. ‘What’s the opening bid,’ she asked, ‘in cash?’

The crowd groaned. There were shouted insults at her, but also scattered cheers. She got the feeling this would be the furthest anyone had tried to push the imposition of monetary value on this community.

Haversham thought for a moment, her inner power doing the maths. ‘Twenty million pounds,’ she said.