“We still need a target,” I said, slightly hurt.
“How about that one? It looks breakable.”
I looked where she was pointing and nodded.
“Good enough. Give me a twenty count head start. If they’re not protected, I’ll be back out. If you don’t see me in twenty, they’re fair game. Do your worst.”
“You know,” she smiled rubbing her hands together, “this could be fun.”
“Just remember that I’m in there before you decide exactly what today’s ‘worst’ is.”
The display she had chosen was a small, three-sided tent with a striped top. It was lined with shelves that were crowded with an array of stoppered bottles of all sizes and colors. As I entered, I noticed there was something in each of the bottles
smoky things that shifted as if they were alive.
“May I help you, sahr?” The Deveel proprietor asked, baring what he doubtless thought was a winning smile.
“Just browsing,” I yawned. “Actually, I’m seeking refuge from gossip. All anyone can talk about is this pack of ruffians that’s selling insurance.”
The Deveel’s face darkened and he spat out the door.
“Insurance! Extortion I call it. They ruined two of my treasures before I could stop them long enough to subscribe to their services. It was a dark day when they first appeared at the Bazaar.”
“Yes, yes. Believe me, I’ve heard it before.”
Having established that this shop was indeed under the protection of the Mob, I turned my attention to the displays.
With studied nonchalance, I plucked up a small bottle, no more than a hand’s-width high, and peered at the contents. Murky movement and a vague sparkle met my gaze.