Trader

The owner of the shop wore a clean gold monocle over a pale blue eye. His other eye was brown. I suspected the blue eye was plunder. It would be expensive to go to the wetmage every week to keep it from being rejected. Ths was the buyer, I guessed. He had money.

I had goods to sell.

In the time box, I had a full two years stored going for a low rate of twenty dollars a second. I had a wrath-bone jawblade worn from use but it still had a few molars of kill power in it. I had a twin charm for subterfuge and fertility plus a roving ear to go with it as a sentry. I had some Adjunct bodies in the ice trunk ready for posession. They were vaulable but they very expensive to store and my upkeep was eating into the possible profits.

I needed gun oil, soap and bullets. I also needed some Dead Man's Money, two rods (one lightning and one sunstrike), and some short-life conduit screamers.

He leered at me over an enormous moustache while wiping an already gleaming counter.

I sensed the travel dust I was tracking into his tidy store was making him twitch so I pressed the advantage in the hopes that he'd trade or buy early just to get me to leave.

I slapped my hat down on the mirror finish of the counter in an explosion of dust.

"Good day, sah," I said. "Might you be the proprietor?"



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