“No humans,” I noted.

“No humans,” agreed Ampi.

“Right then,” I said. “We keep an eye on the place at least until noon. Then we meet the fair Drusila for lunch and figure out what she wants to bid for her heirloom.”

Ampratines was silent at the suggestion, so I prompted, “Yes?”

“With your permission,” said the genie, “I would like to investigate in another direction. I know a marid, another genie, in contact with a local sage named Prespos, and I would like to seek that sage’s advice as to this situation. Discretely, of course.”

I thought about the request for a moment, then nodded. Ampi faded from view immediately, and I sat down again on the bench, waiting for the world to unfold before me.

Morning in the Lower City is a clamorous affair, and the first of the coster caravans were already clattering through the streets. The last of the night wagons were long gone at this hour, replaced by cargo haulers and teamsters, sprinkled with carts of the hand-, dog-, and pony- varieties. And of course all manner of luggers, toters, handlers, and haulers and various day laborers. I thought from my perch I would be able to observe without being observed.

I was wrong. After about half an hour a shadow moved alongside my left. I did not turn my head toward it, but instead dipped my head forward, trying to keep as much of the broad-brimmed hat between me and the new arrival as possible. For all I knew it could be one of the city guard, seeking to roust a malingerer from the main thoroughfares. Or worse yet, a particularly strong ogre. The Burrows was closed at this hour, and there was no sign of life either from the front door or the haifling door to the side. Perhaps, I thought at the time, it would be best to move back to the Wyvern for an early start at lunch.

The shadow’s owner, in a wheezing, nasal voice, said, “So, you’ve seen anything interesting?”

Despite myself, I raised my head slightly, and was rewarded with a nasal laugh that sounded like migrating geese. My cheeks reddening with embarrassment, I looked at the individual addressing me.

He wasn’t much to look at. A neat set of leggings and a nondescript tunic, topped with a vest of moderately valuable brocade. A trim, balding head. His eyes, however, were overlarge, made almost monstrous when viewed through his thick spectacles. The latter were like sheets of block crystal and continually slid down his nose. When he talked they would slide further down, necessitating he push them back with a finger. He seemed human, but at best would reach up to my shoulder.

“I said,” repeated the little man with the thick lenses. “See anything interesting?”

“Sorry,” I tried. “Not from around here.”

“Indeed you aren’t,” said the short man. “Otherwise you’d know that while that outfit was suitable for nighttime surveillance, you stick out like a sore thumb with the light of day.”

I scowled at him. In the mystoricals this would have the effect of melting him where he stood, and forcing him to leave me alone. Instead the short human smiled.

“You were watching the Burrows,” he said. “I was watching you. Oh, and your tall companion as well, but he’s gone. Word has already gone out that the place will be closed for tonight. Private business with Big Ugly. And I think we both know what that means.”

I tried scowling again, but the short human remained unmeltable. “Who are you?” I said at last.

“Ah,” he said, as if rewarded with my attention, “a response. The first step to a conversation, and from that a lasting relationship. Its always so horrible when no one wants to talk to you.”

“Who…?“ I began again, but the man waved me silent.

“I heard you the first time,” he said with a smile. “I was just enjoying the moment. Call me a collector. A hunter of rare and unique items. Let’s say that it has reached my ears that there is a certain item, such as an amber box, that is currently in the possession of the owner of that establishment. And let’s say that the owner does not like to deal with individuals such as I.”

He meant human. Ampi had mentioned that several humans had been turned away. They were not welcome. I waved for him to continue.

“As a collector,” he said, “I would be more than eager to lay my hands on that box and its contents. And I thought that you might be willing to help me.”

“I'm not…“ I started, but then paused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hmmmm, yes,” said the little collector, “I don’t think you do, at that. I assumed that you were working for some accumulator of curios or an enterprising hedge mage. But I think you’re involved deeper. You want the amber box as well, for what it is.”

“Only to return it to its true owner,” I said hotly.

“Ah!” the small man spread his hands wide. “And here I am before you, the true owner.”

“No, you’re not,” I exclaimed, feeling my face burn from more than embarrassment. “The true owner never mentioned you. I don’t think she ever would.”

The collector put a finger to his lips and hummed. “A ‘she,’ is it? Well, I can think of one ‘she’ in particular, and your answer is, while she was an owner, she is not the true owner. The rightful owner. The legal owner. She traded it away, long ago. You understand that?”

I said nothing, and the small man continued, “Its good to know she’s in the hunt, at least. Do me a favor, young man. You look like a reasonable individual. And when this is all over and done with you might find an offer I have to be very appealing. But for the moment…”

He fished around inside his tunic for a moment, then pulled out a thin black wand. “I suspect you’ll want to get in for the bidding tonight, without being noticed, and without the price being driven up for your human appearance. This will let you get past the bouncers. Here, take it. I offer it free and without strings.”

Despite myself, I reached out and took the wand. It had an oily touch to it, and almost seemed to want to squirm out of my grasp.

The collector smiled, “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” and touched his forehead by way of salutation, turned smartly on his heels, and headed off. I watched him until he disappeared from sight. Then, regarding the cold, empty building of the Burrows, I walked two blocks over, hailed a carriage, and returned to the Wyvern.

Drusilla did not show up for lunch as promised, which added to my consternation. I wanted to ask her who the little man was and exactly what the box was all about. As it was, the luncheon hour arrived and passed without so much as a note from her. After spending most of the previous evening on a cold bench, I was in no mood to wait any longer than I had to. I was halfway through the shellfish course-Prawns du Chionthar-when there was the slightest waft of air over my left shoulder. Long experience told me who had arrived and I did not even look up from my crustacean.

“She has not shown up,” I said simply.

“I did not think she would,” said Ampi calmly. “The idea that a simple acquisition would turn into an auction has probably upset her. She is probably making other plans to acquire the box even as we speak.”

I frowned at my prawn. I didn’t want to believe that Drusilla would abandon me so easily. “Perhaps she is in trouble herself. Waylaid by bandits or short collectors or something.”

Ampi drifted slowly into my line of sight. His face was drawn with concern. Say whatever else you want about genies, when they are concerned you know they are concerned. Still, he would not voice them until I asked. “How was your research?”

The djinni nodded slightly and said, “Productive, but I fear expensive. The sage Prespos could teach the dao something about hard negotiations. What I discovered was of interest, however.”

“And that is?”

“The Vermeers were an Iriaebor household,” said the djinni. “But their forte was more magic than money. They were a household of spellcasters.”