The Vermeer, Dorothy had desperately wanted to see. A smile tugged at her lips as she pulled her gaze away.

She stopped beside Roman, lifting the king’s scepter. “You know, I don’t really understand the point of a scepter. Is it just a stick that you’re supposed to hold? Or another place to put—”

Someone cleared her throat, interrupting her. Still holding the scepter, Dorothy turned.

The girl standing in the doorway was tall and broad-shouldered, with round hips and long red hair that she wore in a braid down her back. Her face was so freckled that it was hard to make out the color of her skin beneath, but her eyes were dark brown and vibrant.

“Mira,” Dorothy said, surprised. Mira worked in Mac Murphy’s whorehouse. Mac didn’t usually trust women, but Mira had been with him since before the flood, and so he often allowed her a few small tasks outside of her usual duties.

But Mac always dealt with the Black Cirkus himself. Something must’ve happened for him to send Mira in his place.

Dorothy looked around, suddenly anxious. No one had seen the treasures down here except for Roman and herself. “Perhaps we should speak in the hall. . . .”

Mira cocked her head, amused. “I’m not here for any of this,” Mira said in her rasp of a voice. But her eyes lingered on the jewels, impressed.

“Then why are you here?” asked Roman.

“Mac was . . . unavailable this evening.” She spoke coolly enough, but Dorothy thought she saw a flash in her eyes—humor, perhaps, or delight. There was a story there. “He sent me to collect your payment.”

The Black Cirkus had been squatting in the Fairmont since the mega-quake flooded the city. It was a dilapidated mess, but it was also the only hotel in downtown Seattle that was still livable and, as such, it was incredibly valuable real estate. The Cirkus had managed to hold it for so long by paying off some rather unsavory people—Mac included.

Roman pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Mira.

She nodded, lips pressed tight as she counted the bills inside. After a moment, she paused, glancing up. “I’m afraid you’re a bit light.”

“We’ll make it up next week,” Dorothy promised.

“Will you?” Mira pocketed the envelope, looking unconvinced. “This is the third time you’ve handed over less than the agreed-upon amount. Rumor has it you’ve been more interested in playing Robin Hood than making money lately.”

A beat of uncomfortable silence followed her statement. Dorothy placed the king’s scepter back on the table; Mira followed the movement with her eyes.

Dorothy wished this could be solved as easily as handing over the scepter—or any one of the other treasures—as payment. But, priceless though the items were, their actual worth here was very little. No one in New Seattle was flush enough to hand over money for jewels and gold.

Resources had always been slim in New Seattle. After the mega-quake destroyed most of the West Coast, the United States government moved the country’s borders inland, leaving the remains of the devastated cities to save themselves. With all the nation’s wealth consolidated to a dozen or so states at the center of the country, inflation along the coasts skyrocketed.