Marcus smiled and shook his head as Rebecca picked out a lark of soft powder blue with a deep green throat. Satisfied, she handed the single, precious coin up to the woman on the stool. Then she took the bird, cage and all, over to where her brother was standing.

The highly unusual, implied agreement with the vendor was that once the purchase had been made, the cage door was to be opened immediately, and the bird set free. Then the cage was to be returned to the stall.

Everyone knew, of course, that the birds were trained to fly immediately back to the old woman, only to be caged again by her assistant to await yet another customer. But none of that mattered to the buyers. Eutracian custom said that paying to set a caged creature free, even if for only a moment, would gladden the heart and bring good luck.

The practice had sprung up after the recent hostilities accompanying the return of the Coven. Mourners had begun freeing birds already in their possession to honor the departed souls of their loved ones, wishing them a safe journey to the Afterlife.

Smiling from ear to ear, Rebecca gingerly opened the cage door, releasing the throat lark to the sky.

With a short, clear call, the bird left the cage and went winging straight back to the stall, to land on the countertop. Rebecca turned back to her brother. Her eyes were wet. No one had to tell Marcus whom she had been thinking of when she had opened the cage door.

"Do you feel better?" he asked softly.

All she could do was nod. Then remembering her responsibility to the vendor, she hobbled back to the stall with the empty cage. Watching her go, Marcus couldn't help but think how much he loved her-and that he would do anything to make sure that, unlike the birds in the cages, she stayed free. It was just then that his thoughts were interrupted by a deep male voice.

"Good afternoon. Right on time, I see. I like that in a businessman. Shows proper intent, I always say."

Turning, Marcus took in the man's tall, plump frame, silver hair, and expensive clothes. His name was Gregory of the House of Worth, which fit him perfectly. Gold jewelry flashed at his fingers and wrists, and a thick, white mustache lay elegantly just above the decisive mouth. His predatory eyes were dark, and seemed never to miss a thing.

The moment Marcus had first met him, he had taken the fellow for a shrewd bargainer. After making a few polite inquiries, he had learned that Worth seemed to have an honest reputation. Still, Marcus remained nervous as he tried his best to steel himself against whatever first offer Worth might make. Even at the tender age of twelve Seasons of New Life, he knew that someone's first proposal was never the best, and he had no intention of being taken advantage of. He also had a plan.

With a distasteful grimace, Worth looked down at the rug lying in the wheelbarrow.

"Perhaps I was mistaken," he said slyly. "I didn't come here to buy a rug."

"That's good," Marcus answered calmly, "because I didn't come here to sell one."

Worth smiled. By now Rebecca had joined them, and Marcus bade her nearer.

"Are you alone?" Marcus asked him. He realized that it was a foolish question, for Worth could have any number of confederates waiting here in the plaza to rob him, and Marcus wouldn't recognize any of them. But he hoped the question would set a certain tone, rather than glean reliable information.

"Of course," Worth answered, stabbing his thumbs into the shiny, expensive vest that stretched its way around his prodigious middle. "That was our agreement, was it not?" Looking down at the rug again, he smiled, then twisted one of the ends of his mustache. "It's in there, isn't it?"

Checking to see that no one stood too near to them, Marcus beckoned Worth and Rebecca closer, until they all stood crowded around one end of the rug. From this position, even if someone walked directly behind them there would be little to see.

Slowly, carefully, Marcus removed the rags from the end of the rug, grasped the golden rod at the base of the scroll, then pulled it free a short distance. It was just enough to give Worth a taste of the glories promised within.

Worth gasped. He had never seen such a treasure of the craft. To his mind it was easily worth tenfold the entire contents of his shop. The glistening, golden rod and its end knobs alone were worth a king's ransom, to say nothing of the historical value of the elegant Old Eutracian script.

Knowing he had succeeded in whetting Worth's appetite, Marcus quickly slid the scroll back into the relative safety of the rug. "How much?" he asked, coming straight to the point.

Sweating, Worth ran a pudgy index finger around the inside of his shirt collar. "Six-six thousand kisa," he stammered.

Marcus thought he might faint. Six thousand kisa was a huge sum-more than he might earn in an entire lifetime of honest labor. Still, he tried to retain his composure.

"Twelve," he said sternly. Rebecca's eyes went wide. She was quite sure her brother had just lost his mind.

"You just doubled your price!" Worth exploded. "That's not how we negotiate where I come from!"

"Then we obviously don't come from the same place," Marcus countered boldly. "Besides, I didn't double my price. I never set one. I simply doubled your offer. Saves time."

Looking around again, he moved one corner of the rug back a bit to reveal another hint of the golden end knob, letting it shine in the sun. "You're wasting my time, and you're not the only artifacts vendor in Tammerland." He looked hard up into the man's eyes. "The price just went to fourteen."

"Ten," Worth found himself saying.

"Sixteen."

"Thirteen," Worth answered, hardly believing his own bid.

"Is that your final offer?" Marcus asked him. He began to sense resignation in the other man's eyes.

"I fear it must be," Worth answered. "It is all I have."

"Then I shall consider it," Marcus answered. "But as I told you before, I mean to speak to other interested parties." After replacing the rags in the open end of the rug, he picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow.

Worth took an anxious step forward. "But how will I know if it's mine?" he asked urgently. His forehead was bathed in sweat.

"I know where you work, remember?" Marcus answered. "You will hear from me. But in the meantime, I am leaving. If you ever wish to see the scroll again, you will now leave the plaza by walking away in the opposite direction."

Worth nodded. "But if someone outbids me, you will allow me the chance to make a better offer, will you not?" he asked desperately.

Marcus only smiled. "Why would I bother?" he asked bluntly. "Thirteen thousand kisa is all you supposedly have, remember?"

Marcus watched as the beaten vendor walked away. As they had planned, he and Rebecca headed the opposite way from their shack, ducked into an alley, and waited there for a long while. When they were sure they weren't being followed, Marcus began pushing the wheelbarrow toward home, his mind roiling with the unimaginable prospect of having thirteen thousand kisa. But he also knew he was playing a dangerous game, and that his luck couldn't last forever.

It was just then that the scroll began to glow.

From out of the folds of the rags at each end again came the unmistakable azure hue of the craft. Worried, he picked up the pace as fast as he could with 'Becca limping beside him. As one of the rags in the front came loose, he stole a glance up at the sky, to see that darkness was already falling.

As the glow bled out into the coming night, it would be a miracle if someone didn't notice.

G rizelda, Krassus, and Janus stood together on the rooftop of the Citadel, watching the blue streaks of the gazing flame dance in the darkness of the night. Grizelda tossed a few more of the herbs stolen from Shadowood into the fire, and the viewing window in the center started to take form.