The street lights came on as the sun set, turning the fog and smoke that filled the air into glowing bubbles that flickered slightly as the particulates drifted along the roads. I created my own miniature version, tiny sparkles bursting from my skin, as a sense of anticipatory glee suffused my being. My internal menagerie was calm for once, bar Greed, who was bouncing up and down on the spot.

  I had hoped to pass through the city unnoticed, but Bulb had shafted me on that score. The trail of fairydust I left behind me had drawn the attention of the outremonde urchins, half a dozen of whom had been trailing me for half an hour. Every few minutes, a new one would arrive, and another would peel off and disappear around a corner at a flat run.

  Dalgliesh must know I was back in the city by now. With a bit of luck, I’d be able to see to my business and get out of town without being expected to deliver another load of Arkendrite. I’d portalled Kat into the Long Horn and left her to negotiate the details of our merger with Beville’s pub. She’d confirmed my fear: I couldn’t act directly against Dalgliesh. It would break the contract, and I would earn the wrath of the godda–beloved system.

  Checking the street signs, smudged with soot and barely legible, I turned left and made my way towards Killrat, Gonglash and Boff. Ankmapak’s premier auction house, frequented by people with more money than god. I intended to part them from that cash. I had half a dozen glass jars containing Dragon’s Might Decoctions, and a solitary, impossibly precious Immortality Injection tucked away in my belly pouch.

  Plus all the shit I’d stolen from Bulb, but the real gems were the potions. They were going to take me from a few million to hundreds of millions. My hoard was going to become a thing of beauty, the mightiest, comfiest bed of shinies to ever exist in the history of the world. All the other dragons, and the greedier humans, elves, pixies, dwarves, whatever, all of them, would be green with envy.

  Hollow Shot Vale was posh. The street was cleaned, and the storefronts all had neat little signs hanging over their doors. Expensive clothing, magical trinkets intended to make one's servants more efficient when one's servants were cleaning and tidying one's mansion, a variety of weapon and armour shops that specialised in ornate showpieces that cost as much as a modest house; HSV had it all, as long as it was crazily expensive, it was there.

  I counted the building numbers as I went along until I found what I was looking for. HSV 1 was a low, broad building that ran a hundred metres along the side of the street. It was also right in the middle of the rows of buildings, so I could only assume they bribed someone to be number one, even though it wasn’t at the end of the street. While I personally found the thought of such a frivolous use of shinies abhorrent, I had to respect the commitment to aesthetics and reputation.

  The urchins had stopped at the corner, unwilling to wander down this road with me. Half of them sprinted off to the right, no doubt looking to stake out any of the other exits and prevent me from losing my tails. It didn’t matter; I would portal out to the Horn then back to my lair once I was done here. I’d successfully dodged having to deal with the Glaswegian criminal.

  The double door was broad, seemingly cut from a single plank and split in two, then worked with delicate engravings, geometric patterns and odd symbols that vaguely reminded me of something I had seen before. I couldn’t place the memory, so I shrugged and pushed them open. They swung silently on well-oiled hinges, and when they came to a stop facing each other, a series of beams flashed between some of the symbols, creating a rainbow coloured webwork of glowing lines.

  “Welcome, valued customer, to Killrat, Gonglash and Boff, Auction house to the fabulously fabulous. Please come in.” I didn’t see her arrive. One second, there was a brightly lit hallway full of warm tones as the light bounced off polished wooden panels; the next, there was a stunningly pretty woman in front of me, bowing slightly with her hands clasped in front of her waist.

  She wore a neat grey suit with a skirt that stopped halfway down her thighs, and shiny high heels that reflected the light orbs to either side of her. I stepped forward, the rainbow beams mixing with my sparkles to create a miniature fireworks display.

  “Thanks for having me. I’ve got some stuff to put up for sale, and I hear this is the best place for offloading very expensive items.”

  She rose from her bow and blushed. “Sir…” she waved a hand up and down in my direction. “Impressive as your physique may be, we will require you to wear clothes.”

  I glanced down and realised I was naked. Glowing motes exploded around me, from every part of me. Esme was in for a treat the next time we got a moment.

  Standing naked and imagining my buxom barmaid's behaviour the next time we had some sexy-fun-times was not a wise move. I hurriedly pulled out some clothes and got dressed. “What the hell happened?” Dragons don’t feel embarrassed. We get angry instead.

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  “The doors cancel all forms of illusion spells. As you can probably imagine, we are a prime target for thieves and miscreants.”

  “Yeah, I had a thing earlier and I’d forgotten to put proper clothes back on.” I hadn’t forgotten. It had felt kind of liberating, and they weren’t my chairs that had been graced by my buttocks, so…

  “And what can we do for you at Killrat, Gonglash and Boff today?” she asked politely as I slipped boots onto my feet.

  “I’ve got some items I want to offload.”

  “We wouldn’t use that term here, sir. Perhaps you could give me a list?”

  I ran down a few of the choicer items I’d taken from Bulb’s warehouse, but I saved the best for last.

  “– I also have an alchemist who has access to some rare ingredients. Angel feathers, dragon’s blood and scales, that kind of stuff. I have an Immortality Injection available for sale.”

  She had looked politely bored throughout most of the list, but as I mentioned the last item, her eyes lit up brighter than the rain of sparks I was shedding and she had been politely ignoring. She looked me up and down in a suspicious fashion, then met my eyes and smiled brightly.

  “I’m sorry, I am going to have to ask you to leave. We don’t deal with charlatans.”

  “I’m not lying. See this?” I waved a glittering hand at her. “I’m the Champion of the god of Light. I’m pretty sure I can’t lie,” I lied.

  “That isn’t how it works, sir.” Curses. “Show me.”

  “You’ve seen everything I’ve got, lady.” I would not be mentioning my embarrassing wardrobe malfunction to Esme. Or Kat, but for different reasons.

  “The item in question, please, sir.”

  I glanced around furtively. The doors had closed silently behind me without my noticing, and we were alone in the entry hall. I produced the Immortality Injection. It looked like an ampoule of faintly luminescent white liquid, like milk. Just milk. I held it up in front of her, but pulled my hand back as she reached for it.

  “Look, don’t touch,” I growled.

  She produced a gilded monocle and frowned slightly as she held it in place over her right eye. Leaning forward to get a closer look, she began muttering to herself. I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but I liked the tone. Distrust gave way to shock, approval, worry, and fear.

  After a few moments, the monocle fell from her face, deftly caught and secreted into a pocket on her suit jacket. “If… If you’d please follow me, sir. I’ll arrange for a senior partner to meet with you as soon as possible.”

  “Oh. Ok. Sounds good.”

  She led me to a door and opened it, waving me through into a well-appointed lounge. Chilled foods sat on floating plates above a sturdy-looking cabinet, covered in bottles and decanters. I wandered over and picked at a couple of the plates.

  “Please help yourself, Mr…?”

  “Just call me Bob. I’m Baronet of the Mill and Longbottom. Who’s your chef? These are great.”

  “I will arrange for him to visit at your convenience to discuss the food. Make yourself comfortable, sir. If there is anything you need, please ring the bell on the counter over there. I’ll return as soon as possible, sir.”

  I nodded absently, picking up another morsel, something fishy wrapped in delicate pastry that would leave Jenny in fits of jealousy, and examined the booze. I wasn’t sure what the date was, let alone the year, as far as the Empire counted it, but I assumed the numbers on the bottles of wine meant this stuff was old, and hence valuable.

  I glanced around with narrowed eyes as I poured a small glass of something labelled Bruningers Harlot, 3206. The sniff was enough to set me to sipping, then I drained my glass and topped it off. She did say help myself… I swept the array of wine and spirits into my storage space, then took my glass and a plate of tiny snacks over to one of the leather armchairs, lowering myself down with a happy sigh.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share the Harlot 3206, Baronet?”

  A broad man, nearly as wide as he was tall, stepped through the now open door. I needed to find out what oil they used on the hinges in this place and put the company out of business. He wore pince-nez glasses perched on a bright red nose and was dressed in flowing green robes adorned with gold embroidery.

  I produced a glass and the bottle of fancy wine, setting both on the table next to my chair.

  “I am Sir Arbuthnot Killrat, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He held out a hand, and I rose and shook politely, before we settled into our chairs. He filled a glass and topped mine off at the same time.

  “A fine vintage. Nearly eighty years old, and there are only six bottles known to still exist,” he said as he took a tiny sip.

  “It’s good stuff. You got any more?”

  “I’m afraid not. The other bottles are held by private collectors. Most people don’t tend to take the phrase ‘help yourself’ quite so literally; however, Miss Rosebaum was not aware of your draconic dispositions, and there is no fault. Please do not help yourself to any other twenty thousand gold bottles you happen to see lying about,” Killrat said drily.

  “Noted. You don’t mind if… keep the ones I’ve got?”

  “Not all, Lord Champion. Would you object to me examining the goods you are looking to auction?” His eyes glinted. I could respect a greedy man.

  I laid the glowing vial on the side table between us, and he reached out with shaking fingers to lift the thing towards his face. “This… this is amazing. It’s almost perfect. There hasn’t been an item like this available for at least two hundred years. Where did you get the angel feather?”

  “I know a guy.”

  “I don’t think ‘it fell off the back of a wagon’ will cut it. I am willing to assume it was acquired legally?”

  “Yeah, no worries on that score.”

  “Well then. The next step will be to set a date and discreetly reach out to a few of our more select clientele and partners. The number of individuals who can afford this treasure is vanishingly small, and perhaps six or seven companies have the liquid assets available to consider it. But we will bring them together.”

  “What about the other stuff?” I asked.

  “We can bundle that up into the special auction for the injection. Will you be leaving this with us in the meantime?”

  I snaked out a hand and pulled my non-shiny treasure from his grip.

  “Not a bloody chance. And I’d like to speak to your chef, as well.”