When the chime sounded again, Jhegan put aside his cup, tidied the papers in front of him and walked calmly out on to the balcony. The magician; what was his name – Temise, that was it, was back, with reinforcements. No less than four magicians approached, two using Flight, one on a stuffed animal that made a steady woofing sound, the last whirring away supported by extended feathered ears. Ternise halted himself a prudent distance from the balcony.
“I demand admittance, at once. Comply, or spend your days as a Living Hat!”
“I am indeed prepared to admit you to this dwelling. The conditions are simple. You must post a bond of five thousand silver tulips, whereon you will be registered as a prospective purchaser and allowed to inspect the interior at a nominated time. Should you be the winning bidder, the bond will be offset against the agreed price. In any other case, it will be returned, unless of course you have in the interim caused any damage or absconded with any item within.”
“A bond? Silver? What nonsense is this? I bring forces you cannot withstand!”
“Myself? No. However these are the conditions set by Green Sea Mercantile, which has undertaken to act as agent for the estate. Notice of the sale has been circulated through the Association, and I believe they posted a copy on the roof and again at the foot of the tower. A representative is within, cataloguing the contents.”
Ternise rallied. “This is the Wild. There is no law here.”
“Of course not,” agreed Jhegan affably. “Any such process here would incur the displeasure of the land. The auction will be conducted in Dtlag, at the offices of Green Sea. All contracts were and will be finalised there, and there will be no recourse to League courts. You should know, however, that Green Sea has indicated that it is prepared to act, ah, informally should its interests be threatened.” Given the commission he had agreed, they bloody well should be, thought Jhegan privately.
The eared magician had whirred upwards, and now came down to speak quietly to the other three. Ternise joined in, waving his hands and speaking furiously, if low. The one on the stuffed animal threw up his hands and woofed away, then the ear-winged one followed. Ternise turned back to face Jhegan. The fellow at his side swung a long wooden tube from his back and began fitting parts to it. Jhegan was about to retreat when a voice spoke from behind.
“There you are, Messer. I was wondering if the Live Seascape in the small sitting room should be listed for auction or among your personal effects. Quite a pretty piece – the Corillion Coast, if I am not mistaken.”
“Ah, we are about to be assaulted. Perhaps I could decide later.”
The cataloguer looked up, took in the scene. “Hmm, a One-Shot Devastator. Could be quite effective, almost certain to do some damage. Can’t have that.” He took out a small box and opened it, releasing a stream of bright butterflies. A horde of multi-coloured flashing insects enveloped the two magicians, multiplying even as purple flashes ripped through the air. The magicians were briefly visible when a small tornado cleared a space, only to be closed in again. The cloud drifted lower and lower, and the Devastator fell out, twisting through the air to disappear into the trees below. The butterflies followed, and Jhegan thought to hear faint yelps as they sank below the foliage.
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The cataloguer snapped the box shut. “Hmm, the auction is still five days away. You, of course, must remain in residence as holder of the key and recognised tenant, but would you object if the bank provided some extra security? At your charge, of course.”
Jhegan had no objection at all, at all.
* * * *
The auctioneer raised her hand, palm open once, twice, then closed her fingers into a fist. “Final bid accepted. Thank you all. If the winner can now come forward and complete arrangements our business is concluded.”
Jhegan stood to one side of the podium. Next to him stood Rikel Sanviere tel Tsure, Senior Fellow of the Association, adviser to the board of Green Sea Mercantile and, not coincidentally, a client of Jhegan.
“Well done, my boy,” she murmured as the winning bidder tendered their bank seal. “Your letter had me quite worried – I had no idea the penalties for a late tax return were so savage. I trust things are now back in hand?”
“I spoke briefly to the League fiscal this morning. They accept that the circumstances constitute force majeure and have granted an extension,” replied Jhegan a trifle smugly. “I will have your return in within the week. Here comes the buyer.” A plump young man approached, smiling uncertainly. Jhegan took in the vibrant slug-silk sarong, flared coat and extravagant cloth hat. Clearly a youth from a family of means, one with a good accountant.
“Messer Jhegan? I believe the key is the final element in our transaction.” Jhegan looked past the youth at the clerk for Green Sea Mercantile, who gave him a nod.
“You are correct, Messer. I have it here, and wish you many happy days at your new residence.” He took the case from a side table and proffered it. The youth lifted the top and asked “How does it work?” as he reached within.
“Like that,” said Jhegan as the youth vanished.
“I will have someone look in tomorrow,” promised Rikel.
* * * *
Jhegan was true to his word. Three days later he set Rikel’s file with the others stamped with the fiscal mark of acceptance, and penned a short note. A whistle, a rap of a nut on the table and the squirrel zoomed in. Now it wore an orange cape printed with the letter ‘jha’.
“Could you take this to Rikel Sanviere please. There will be another delivery later, but I will be dining with Verva Gillisa at Foxglove Square.” The squirrel nodded and took off, cape fluttering.
The Items in the tower had included a Fake Head. This was a light bag which, fitted over the head, changed the appearance as desired. Jhegan had kept this and now donned it. A moment in a mirror and he was unrecognisable, able to walk the streets without fear of meeting his Aunt Hersinne. She and her children had reacted to the will much as his grandfather had predicted, only with even more noise. If it were not for the hat he would have relocated from Dtlag to some other city rather than chance a vituperative tirade every time he went out. He was glad it had not come to that, for he liked Dtlag, his work, his clients and now Ghillisa. Experiment had confirmed that the tub was ample for two.
He assumed his grandfather had worn the hat when in the city for much the same reasons as he himself did, and idly wondered if the old man had amused his dear friends Tansy, Cleome, Peony, Begonia and Astilbe with various disguises. Gillisa had located the ladies for him (he had been relieved to find they were all of mature years), they had taken their gifts in a proper spirit and earnestly promised to feast well in fond memory of his grandfather.
The squirrel would find him at the apartment, as it had at the tower. How? Magic, of course. But sensible magic, the kind that delivered messages and heated soup. Useful, but his key resource had been what people paid accountants for: concern that their wealth be maintained and increased. His grandfather had spells, Jhegan had a client list. A message to Rikel pointing out the effects of his inability to meet the solstice tax date, a suggestion that Green Sea could profit from the sale of the tower, and help arrived. Ternise and those venturers in their greed thought they could snatch away the tower; Jhegan had brought in a greater force to oppose them and their ilk. As the joke had it it, the difference between banks and dragons was that dragons enjoyed a joke. He turned into Foxglove Square and mounted the steps.