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“As well one might, considering their notorious deviousness. Don’t you know—” Zulio checked himself. “May I ask why this haste to be rid of it?”

“I told you. I cannot spend it as it is. You can find a buyer, or have it melted into bullion, and none will suspect you of robbery as they could perchance suspect me. Chiefly, though, I want

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The Unicorn Trade

to travel. This will buy me a share in Sir Falcovan Roncitar’s enterprise, and whatever else I’ll need to win my fortune in the New Lands.”

“Could you not at least wait until morning?”

“No. I was counselled—well, I know nothing about these matters, only that he warned me I’d lose my luck if I didn’t act at once—and I do want to leave. Come morning I’ll buy a horse and a new sword and be off to Croy, out of this wretched town forever!”

Zulio decided Arvel was honest. He really had no idea of the curious property of fairy gold. His impatience might be due to something as trivial as a love affair gone awry.

Yes, probe that. “No farewells, no sweetheart?” Zulio asked slyly.

Arvel whitened, flushed, and whitened. “She never wants to see me again—What’s that to you, you fat toad? Break my coin and take your commission, or I’ll find me another banker.”

“I fear—” Zulio began, and stopped.

“What?” Arvel demanded.

Zulio had changed his mind. He did not need to explain the situation. He would be extravagantly foolish to do so.

“I fear,” he said, ignoring the insult, “that I shall have to charge you more than the usual brokerage fee. As you yourself realize, a coin so valuable, and alien to boot, is not easily exchanged. It will take time. It will require paperwork, to stave off the royal revenue collectors. Meanwhile the money I give you is earn-FAIRY GOLD

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ing no interest for me, and I must purchase additional precautions against theft—”

Arvel proved to be even less versed in finance and bargaining than Zulio had hoped. The banker got the elven piece for three hundred and fifty aureates, paid over in gold and silver of ordinary denominations while the watchman witnessed the proceedings.

“Help the gentleman carry these bags back to his lodgings, Darron,” Zulio ordered courteously. “As for you, Master Tarabine, let me wish you every success and happiness in your New Lands. Should you find you have banking needs, the house of Pandric is at your service.”

“Thank you,” Arvel snapped. “Goodnight. Goodbye.” Somehow, the immense adventure before him had not brought joy into his eyes. He lifted his part of the money easily enough, but walked out as if he were under a heavy burden.

Scarcely were the two men gone when Zulio stuffed the coin into a satchel and waddled forth to Crystal Street by himself. He could realize a large profit this night, but only this night. If he waited until dawn, his loss would be vast.

He did not think that Natan Sandana the jeweler, whose family and associates had been city-bred for generations, had heard anything about fairy gold. Quite probably Sandana did not believe the Halfworld was more than a nursery tale. Zulio came of backwoods peasant stock, and had dabbled in magic—without result, save that he acquired much arcane lore. Panting,

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sweating, he elbowed onward through crowds, amidst their babble and the plangencies of beggar musicians, underneath walls and galleries and lamp-flare, until he reached the home he wanted.

Natan was at his fireside, reading aloud from an old book—the verses of wayward Cappen Varra, which this prudent, wizened modern man loved—to his wife and younger children. He did not like or trust Zulio Pandric, and received his guest with an ill grace. Nevertheless, manners demanded that he take the banker into a private room as requested, and have the maidservant bring mulled wine.

Candles in antique silver holders threw mild light over bookshelves and paintings. The leather of his chair creaked beneath Natan as he leaned back, bridged his fingertips, and inquired the visitor’s wishes.

“This is an irregular hour, yes,” Zulio admitted. “I’d not ordinarily trouble you now. But the circumstances tonight are special. You are a man of discretion, Master Sandana; you will understand if I spaVe you long and tedious explanations. Suffice it that I have urgent need of gemstones, and do not wish to risk it becoming a subject of gossip.”