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Dazedly, the man did. A gesture flickered. A weight dropped. Almost, in his surprise, he let the thing fall, before he closed fingers upon it.

“A coin of some value as men reckon value,” Irrendal declared. “Spend it wisely—but swiftly, this same night, lest your newly won luck go aglimmer.”

Was there a least hint of wistfulness in the melody? “Fare you well, always well, over the sea and beyond,” Irrendal bade him. “Remember me. Tell your children and ask them to tell

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theirs, that elvenkind not be forgotten. Farewell, farewell.”

And he was gone.

Long did Arvel stand alone, upbearing the heaviness in his hand, while his thoughts surged to and fro. At last he departed.

A street lamp glared where the city began. He stopped to look at what he held. Yellow brilliance sheened. He caught his breath, and again stood mute and moveless for a space. Then, suddenly, he ran.

Zulio Pandric the banker sat late at his desk, going through an account book which was not for anyone else’s eyes, least of all those of the king’s tax assessors. Lantern globes shone right, left, and above, to brighten the work, massive furniture, walnut wainscot, his gross corpulence and ivory-rimmed spectacles. From time to time he reached into a porcelain bowl for a sweetmeat. Incense made the air equally sticky.

To him entered the butler, who said with diffidence, “Sir, a young man demands immediate audience. I told him to apply tomorrow during your regular hours, but he was most insistent. Shall I have the watchman expel him?”

“Urn,” grunted Zulio. “Did he give you his name?”

“Yes, sir, of course I obtained that. Arvel Tarabine. He does not seem prosperous, sir, nor is his manner dignified.”

“Arvel Tarabine. Hm.” Zulio rubbed a jowl while he searched through his excellent memory.

40

The Unicorn Trade

“Ah, yes. A byblow of Torric, Landholder Merlin-hurst. Father impoverished, barely able to maintain the estate. Son, I hear, a wastrel.. .. Admit him.” Zulio had long pondered how me might lay such families under obligation. Here, conceivably, was a weak spot in the independence of one of them.

Eagerness made the fellow who entered as vivid as his flame-red hair. “I’ve a marvel to show you, Master Pandric, a whopping marvel!” he declaimed.

“Indeed? Be seated, pray.” The moneylender waved at a chair. “What is this matter that cannot wait until morning?”

“Behold,” said Arvel. He did not sit but, instead, leaned over the desk. From beneath his cloak he took a thing that thudded when he slapped it down.

Zulio barely suppressed an exclamation of his own. It was a gold coin that gleamed before him—but such a coin, as broad as his palm and as thick as his thumb. In a cautious movement, he laid hold on it and hefted. The weight was easily five pounds avoirdupois, belike more; and the metal was pure, he felt its softness give beneath his thumbnail.

A sense of the eerie crept along his nerves. “How did you come by this, young sir?” he asked low.

“Honestly.” Arvel jittered from foot to foot.

“What do you wish of me?”

“Why, that you change it into ordinary pieces of money. It’s far too large for my use.”

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“Let us see, let us see.” Zulio puffed out of his chair and across the room to a sideboard. Thereon stood scales of several sizes, a graduated glass vessel half full of water, an arithmetical reckoner, and certain reference works. He needed no more than a pair of minutes to verify the genuineness of the gold and establish its exact value at those present rates of exchange which scarcity had created—four hundred aureates.

He brought the coin closer to a lantern and squinted. The lettering upon it was of no alphabet he knew, and he had seen many. The obverse bore a portrait of someone crowned who was not quite human, the reverse a gryphon.

Abruptly he knew what he held. Chill shivered through his blubber. He turned about, stared at Arvel, and said, each word falling like lead down a shot tower: “This is fairy gold.”

“Well—” The youth reached a decision. “Yes, it is. I did a service for the elves, and it is my reward. There’s naught unlawful about that, is there? I’d simply liefer the tale not be noised abroad. Too many people have an unreasoning dread of the Fair Folk.”