19. DOING THEIR BIDDING.

There was a stir, a commotion, and maybe even a kerfuffle going on in the center of the nobles quarter. The town criers were dashing to and fro and announcing a charity auction.

The auction would include jewels from the palace alongside dresses and, to the delight of royalist bootlickers everywhere, actual boots worn by royals. (Possibly, maybe, or maybe just glanced at once and thrown in the back of the closet for four or five years, then dutifully dug out when decided they must have a clear out, examined, hummed and hawed over, then thrown back into the closet like some treasured keepsake, only for the process to be repeated all over again in another couple of years.)

So purse strings were loosened, and accountants screamed at them until they let go of the purse strings long enough to loosen them further. Favours were called in, and a few days later, the auction took place.

Mibbet gazed dubiously at the assorted monstrosities in fabric form that she had gathered and pondered if any of them could possibly sell. It seemed unlikely the ones Rosalind had eventually been convinced to part with would give an eldritch horror self-esteem issues. They included hats wider than her shoulders, ridiculous dresses with more poof than a stage magicians show, more ribbons than a typewriter factory, and more layers than an egg farm. Shoes that could easily be mistaken for a performer's stilts (one set even had an illusory goldfish swimming in the wedges), and a bracelet so bulky she was fairly sure it could be mistaken for prison manacles. Yet, the bidders were lined up around the street.

“It isn’t about the dresses”, Rosalind explained. “It’s about showing off, and this way they get to show off their wealth, potentially own something belonging to a royal, and if anybody complains, then they have the excuse they’re helping out with a charity.” She couldn’t suppress a snicker at that thought; none of these nobles would give a brass farthing to a charitable cause without there being something in it for them.

Apparently, the auctioneer had become somewhat overexcited and had to be made to slow down several times.

After some probing questions to the servants, Mibbet now had a vague idea of the value of money she asked them to translate a single gold coin into cups of coffee, and was surprised when a single one came to 1 thousand cups (it took even longer for her to wrap her head around the concept of a thousand.) Or 100 from that posh artisanal place down the road. Though only a single cup of Civet coffee (Mibbet had returned to a froggish green when the process of making that stuff was explained, they used WHAT to make it? How on this good green earth did something else digesting the stuff first somehow make it more valuable? She pondered if that applied to all foods, or if only delicacies passed through something else delicacies prior to consumption.) So now she had a vague idea when the bidding started at an eye-watering 250 gold coins for the first dress.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

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Duchess Brassneq was LIVID; how dare that harpy Countess Flynthart bid against her; she’d clearly said she wanted that dress. This was so like her; she’s been that way since school when Bunty (there’s always a Bunty it is a rule) had offered her the last slice of cake, only to have Lady Flynthart (who of course had married into the title, Brassneq seemed quite irate at that, quite seeming to miss the fact that she had too.) Swoop in without so much as a by your leave, and swipe it, well not this time. Countess Flynthart, meanwhile, was furious; she’d called out and said she wanted the damned dress (never mind that the dress in question looked like something a dozen clowns and a dancing bear would congregate beneath, it was the principle of the thing.) And now that thieving good for nothing, Duchess Brassneq was trying to outbid her, of all the nerve. Oh well, she thought grimly. Two could play at that game, as her bidding board was raised once more with lightning speed, it seemed that indeed two would.

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The auctioneer saw the sparks of the bidding war ignite and quickly took a swig of water, bracing himself for the coming storm. And what a storm it was, those two had been at each other’s throats since school, and the only reason that wasn’t in a literal sense was that they had far too much fun sniping at each other from afar, and because disposing of a body was always so much of a hassle.

Before long, the auctioneer was turning white, then blue, then pinkish purple, and eventually a spectacular shade of plum as he valiantly struggled for his tongue to keep pace with the quick tempers before him. The bidding rose, and rose, with neither side relenting, until eventually their husbands (who were quite unaware of the pitfalls dug into the conversation, and actually thought it was a firm friendship) unwisely pleaded with the pair, then in a splendid display of innocent ignorance, and completely unaware of the proverbial powder keg they were seated upon, decided to light a match, proposing the pair share the dress.

One collapsed auctioneer and a purple replacement later, the bidding finally ended at 1000 gold coins and a triumphant Countess Flynthart.

At that, the replacement auctioneer glanced back at the motley array of clothing and accessories that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an explosion at a paint factory conveniently located directly next door to a jumble sale. Then at the eager nobles, absolutely determined to outdo each other, he couldn’t help but gulp. After all, this was over and done with; he was going to need a lot of honey and lemon tea.

But Sincere Singingway was not one to back down from a challenge, and he had a job to do, so he raised his gavel and started the bidding on the second item; today was shaping up to be a very long day. But at least his previous experience as a racecourse commentator wasn’t going completely to waste.

It was the costliest battle the world ever saw, with bidders looking on in shock and awe. But the final bid passed (the rest saw their better.) To Baron Rogers in a sweat stained-sweater.

The accountants tallied while Mibbet looked in shock, and awe at the total; she had never seen so much money, (literally, in case you forgot, frogs are not exactly known for their extensive financial background, and to be fair, even for a non-frog, it was a lot.)

“Not bad,” Rosalind said, “you made about a month's pocket money.”