Chapter 10

Leaning forward, as far as he could see, the alley was empty except for the beckoning old man. When the Dervish was stood opposite his table, he turned his gaze back from the corner of his eyes, where it followed the thoroughfare, and his slivered-moon of a face smiled. His lips formed little words before he spoke. "Here."

The Dervish glanced at where the man gestured, back out to the city street, then back again. The alabaster statues around the fountain caught the light, but there did not seem to be so many people about.

"I'm not sure..."

The man stretched out his hand, palm up – the other pointed still to the worn velvet bag. The Dervish moved his open hand also up. It rolled left and right at the wrist slightly, beginning to apologising for him. The stall-tender gently took it in his own, and the hand that pointed stroked at it twice.

His lips moved again. "One gold." The pointed finger – which pointed again – was held up. "One. For a great artifact."

"Listen, I appreciate what you are trying to do for me-"

"My Master is the similitude of tact." A velvet grin slid to the Dervish's shoulder. The other a tail gripped. "While I am a simulacrum of his will and his taxonomic class upon Life's tree. I can hence disassemble his polite dissembly – being his auxiliary – to state that he finds little to recommend trust in a dealer in a shady lane. I might further add that, if your faultering speech be a mark of original immigrancy, then you will sympathise, for as like you are he is, and more freshly."

The man's eyes had widened at the appearance of the homunculous, but as the speech stopped, he still held the Dervish's hand, beginning to coat it in a foist.

The Dervish had long ceased trying to stop the interventions, but he turned his head, slightly but firmly, and the globe of hair, eyes and teeth was pressed somewhat to move. He turned back to the tender of the stall.

"Yes, I will take one. I'll take whatever it is." He smiled, and proffered a coin into the warm hand, moving his away. Yellow eyes turned to their corners, following the action as best they might.

The trader folded his hand over the piece and into his robes – puce below a ragged midnight shawl. The other took one lip of the velvet mouth of the bag, which was shook twice - the tanned, wrinkled fingers bunched to a claw. The Dervish reached into the bag.

From the bag emerged was a metal triangle. From it dangled a thin chain – the Dervish let go the body of the object, caught it by this, and stepped from the alleyway to hold it to the sunlight, framed by the backdrop of the statues of kings.