Kelphin sighed as he looked up to the ceiling. “Please, Matthew, just try and breathe normally. We’re almost done.”

  Matthew stood in the middle of the ballroom with his arms extended. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He took a deep breath and tried to hold it. Servants were furiously pinning up his trousers and new jacket, working desperately to get him ready for the second time this morning. Kelphin, an old Elf and chief butler of the mansion, was pacing around him, lecturing even as he supervised the other staff. His voice was loud and sharp, almost frantic, but Matthew was having a hard time paying attention to them. His gaze kept sliding to the big double doors at the end of the ballroom, where just beyond, he could hear the clink of glasses and the soft murmur of party chatter. That sound was more terrifying to him right now than any number of factory sirens.

  “Now remember, greet each guest with their full names,” Kelphin stressed, fussing over him, “firm handshakes, and maintain eye contact - especially with the bankers! Don’t look away for even an instant! Believe me, they can sniff out weakness like a Kobold to rotting fruit!” He stepped in quickly and made a minute adjustment to Matthew’s collar. Kelphin was wearing his finest uniform, a threadbare ancient suit that was more frills and cravat than actual fabric.

  “Very nice. Now, do you have your speech?” he asked nervously.

  “Ye-yes,” Matthew stammered.

  “What about the flashcards? Let’s have another refresher!”

  “Kelphin, I’m fine-” but he was already snapping his fingers. A Goblin maid rushed over, holding a stack of cards over her squatty head. Each card had a detailed drawing of a figure, usually a man, with their name, business, and a particular sum underneath it, drawn in red ink.

  Kelphin cleared his throat and carefully enunciated each word. “Mr. Alan Purgue, Bank of New York. Ten thousand dollars.”

  Matthew sighed and repeated. “Mr. Alan Purgue, Bank of New York, ten thousand dollars.”

  The Goblin shuffled to the next card. “Mr. Richard Belks, Massachusetts Bank, fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “Mr. Richard Belks, Massachusetts Bank, fifteen thousand dollars.”

  The next card showed a glowering pale figure, bent and twisted with a decidedly pronounced overbite. “Barbaras the Ever-Hungry, Transylvanian Bank of the Third Circle, three thousand drams.”

  Matthew shook his head. “Ugh, that was a mistake.”

  “Well that mistake braved the sunlight to be here this morning, so the least you could do is be polite to him,” Kelphin snapped peevishly. He huffed for a moment, tugging at his own collar. “At least he has an excuse for not trying any of the appetizers. Do you know how much we spent on all that food? Honeycomb and cucumber sandwiches? Catoblepas meatballs? Sugar-crusted Faerie wings? No one’s touching anything!”

  “The food will keep,” a harsh voice croaked. A short, wrinkled figure, gray and bent with age, hobbled over and stood admiring Matthew. She wore a simple maid’s outfit, an odd look on her tiny, wrinkled body. Her black hair, as thick as strands of rope, was gathered under a little white bun leaving her round, blue ears, like teacups, flapping in the breeze. She supported herself on a gnarled cane, giving the Elf a raised eyebrow. “You’re in a foul mood this morning, Kelphin. You pushed so much for the Auction that I’d thought you’d be excited now it’s here.”

  “Well, Imi, I didn’t expect to have to fend off a hundred guests all on my own,” he remarked, glancing at Matthew. “They’ve been asking for you for more than an hour! What were you thinking, running all over the factory? And ruining your suit!”

  Matthew’s head dropped guiltily, but Miss Imi came to his rescue. “The Auction isn’t his own responsibility today,” she reminded Kelphin. “With the factory running, he’s got to be in two places at once, especially with Albert outside.”

  Matthew’s head turned suddenly to the window, wincing as he felt the pins still in his collar prick at him. “Are you sure Albert’s managing okay? I don’t want anyone hurt out there. He just has to keep things under control…”

  Kelphin reached over and turned his head around again. “Don’t worry about Albert, he’s very capable. You need to focus on this morning.” He suddenly looked serious. “I won’t lie to you Matthew. It’s quite grim out there.”

  Matthew flinched as if another pin had stuck him. “It is?”

  The old Elf nodded somberly. “I’ve been listening out there; rumor, gossip. They know we’re in trouble, my boy. We know that they know we’re in trouble. They know that we know that they know we’re in trouble. But we know something that they don’t know! Do you know what that is?”

  Matthew shook his head, a little lost.

  “Why you, of course! They don’t know a single thing about you!” he said. He smiled, showing off his Glamoured teeth, almost blindingly white. “You’re a complete mystery, why most of the guests out there wouldn’t even know your name if it hadn’t been printed on the invitation.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  “It’s the only thing we’ve got! So let’s use it!”

  “Use it?”

  “Yes! Sell yourself! Let them think that you’re brilliant! That you’re the second coming of Madelyn herself, rest her soul.”

  Matthew’s eyes were wide and twitching. “I don’t think that anyone’s going to buy that.”

  Kelphin waved his hands. “Don’t think so negatively. Oh! And that’s another thing. If anyone brings up something negative about yourself, spin it into a positive!”

  “What?”

  “For instance, if they say that you’re far too young to run a factory, just tell them that you have young man’s vigor and energy! See? You’ve got to spin your negative qualities into positives!” Kelphin was on a roll now, he couldn’t stop no matter how badly Matthew wanted him to.

  “So what if you’ve never run a business before? You’re surrounded by so many people who know so much more than you do. And your total lack of magical talent, why that’s just an opportunity to focus on the business side of the business for a change.” He gave Matthew an almost manic grin. “Why don’t you try one? Pick something!”

  Matthew was sweating like he was back in the fire. “I think I’m going to throw up,” he muttered.

  “Not in your new suit!” Kelphin snapped, all his humor gone. “We’re not doing this a third time today.”

  Miss Imi tapped her cane on the ground. “Why don’t we give him a minute here?” she suggested, looking at Kelphin and the servants.

  “We don’t have the time! The guests are expecting him-”

  She shrugged, unconcerned. “Let them wait. We owe them money, they’re not going anywhere.”

  Kelphin sputtered, but she nodded to the other servants, who gathered their things and vanished back into the small passageways in the rear of the ballroom. As Kelphin continued to pace, she hobbled closer to Matthew, looking up at him.

  “Matthew, all that you can do today is be yourself,” she told him simply.

  “I don’t think that’s the best suggestion,” Kelphin fretted, but she tapped her cane again, louder.

  “He’s not the second coming of Madelyn, despite what you may hope,” she frowned. She looked at Matthew and smiled. “You are a brave, hard-working young man. You’ve done more than anyone could have asked, leaving school, taking on running this decrepit old company.” She pointed out the double doors. “I doubt that any of them out there could do even half as well as you have. And if that’s not enough for them, then they don’t deserve you.”

  A smile flickered on Matthew’s face. He smiled and bowed his head at the old Hob. “Thank you, Miss Imi.”

  She nodded to him. “We all have faith in you, Matthew. You’ll do Old Coney proud today.”

  His eyes strayed out to the window again. Over the carriages and horses that were still arriving, he could just see the tops of the barricades that Albert had constructed earlier. “I wish all of Old Coney believed that,” he told her.

  “Pay them no mind, Matthew,” Kelphin snapped angrily. He paced to the window and stared out, almost bristling with fury. “Outside agitators, that’s all they are. Any true son or daughter of Old Coney trusts in the Maiersons. Your family has always watched over Old Coney, and guided its best interests.” He stamped his foot. “In Maierson’s we trust!”

  Miss Imi grumbled, shaking her head. “They’ll understand in time,” she told Matthew, more contritely. “What’s important is that we get through this morning. Save the factory today” she told him. “We’ll figure out rest of Old Coney tomorrow.” He nodded, not feeling any better about it, but he understood.

  “Good,” she nodded. She looked at Kelphin. “Is he ready?”

  Kelphin fretted for a moment, running a hand along Matthew’s collar and plucking out a last pin or two. “I wish we had more time, but I suppose it’ll have to do.” He stepped back and gave the boy a rare smile. “You remind me of your father,” he admitted, a tear coming to his eye.

  Miss Imi nodded again. “He’s ready then.” She smiled and looked towards the double doors. “It’s time.”

  Matthew took a deep breath. His stomach was roiling, turning over and over. He wanted to turn around and run back to the factory, say he’d forgotten something and hide in the darkest corner he could find until everyone went away. Instead, he took a faltering step forwards, then another and another. His hands shook as he took hold of the knobs, and took one last deep breath. Then he pulled the doors open and stepped through.

  The main floor of the mansion had been opened to the guests, aside from the ballroom, where the Auction was to be held, and the library. No expense had been spared in getting ready, and after weeks of preparations, Matthew hardly recognized the old place. Everything from the baseboards to the rafters had been dusted, scrubbed, polished, and painted; even the great, stuffed Griffin had had its beak buffed to a mirror shine and his shabby wings re-feathered. Gas lamp lights flickered overhead, while Polymoths flitted around the flames, their translucent, multi-colored wings sending spots of dazzling color shining down into the main hall. An Elvish quartet played softly by the stairs, while the finest of New York and abroad mingled.

  Matthew tapped his feet nervously, trying to gather his nerve. “Where’s Seward?” he asked.

  Kelphin stood with a grin frozen on his face. “I’m not sure. Working the crowd, I think.”

  “If you see him, tell him I have to speak with him.” Laughter echoed through the hall, and Matthew flinched, not that anyone in the crowd seemed to take any notice of him. The sound was almost overwhelming, guests drifting in and out of the main hall, laughing and calling to each other, music mixing with dozens of conversations, champagne corks popping, glasses filling. One woman was strutting through the crowd, showing off a phoenix feather headdress, the tips leaving a trail of fire above her head as she moved. A few men had Elven women on their arms, their Glamoured beauty almost otherworldly as they doted on their companions. Some couples danced, others laughed, a few, very few, even admired the display cases they’d set up to whet the crowd’s appetite. It was a rare party indeed. You’d hardly know there was a near-riot going on outside.

  Matthew watched them all, chewing on his fingernail. His eyes flickered around the room. Were there enough guests? Did they bring their money? Would anyone bid? Would it all work out? The questions nearly swamped him, and for a moment, he lost himself listening to the chatter of the party.

  “So wonderful to see you! How are you doing? It’s been too long!”

  “Have you seen what she’s wearing? A scandal! And of course he doesn’t bring his wife along to events like this.”

  “Did you read? Another factory destroyed in Norfolk this time! That’s the third in two months…”

  “Is that real gold do you think? How much will you be offering? I can’t afford to go that high!”

  “Have you seen Mr. Maierson?”

  The question startled Matthew out of his reverie. It had come from directly in front of them, a bored looking man and woman with their backs to him. He was idly looking at a twisted wooden sculpture of a Dryad, shaped out of living wood, while she watched the crowd, her eyes straying from dress to dress.

  The man finished his inspection and gave a bored huff. “Can’t say I have,” he admitted. “I’m beginning to wonder if he’s even real.”

  “Oh?” his companion asked, sounding bored rather than curious.

  “I had heard that all Hag Maierson’s children died young, now all of a sudden there’s a pair of grandchildren?” He shook his head. “Maybe the Lilim just made them up.” His companion hummed, perhaps in agreement and they turned, drifting on. When they saw Matthew behind them, then gave him only the most cursory of nods, smiling politely.

  It was true, Matthew realized. He turned slightly to Kelphin and muttered out the corner of his mouth. “No one has the slightest idea who I-” his voice cut off sharply as he saw Kelphin.

  The old Elf’s Glamour was almost blinding. His quaffed hair was a twinkling gold, his eyes electric blue, and his skin was as smooth as a baby’s bottom. The too-beautiful face stared back at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Turn it down!” Matthew hissed. “You look younger than I do!”

  “Sorry, sorry,” Kelphin gasped, and his features waved. He rapidly aged decades in a matter of moments, settling into a respectable fifty or sixty. “I’m so nervous, I can’t help it.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Just relax!” Matthew forced himself to smile and look back out at the crowd. “It’s not you they’re here to see.”

  “Mr. Maierson!”

  The voice cut through the party chatter like a battle ax. Before he could blink, Matthew was rushed by a mound of red-checkered cloth, his hand seized tightly and pumped up and down vigorously.

  “Salutations, salutations, sir! Oh, as I live and breathe! This is a rare treat!” An enormous, fat man in a red-checkered suit was working his hand, giving him an equally huge grin. “They say it’s luck to shake the hand of a wizard, did you know that? If it’s true, why it must be doubly lucky to shake the hand of a Maierson!”

  Matthew yanked his hand free with effort. This one had definitely not been on any of their flashcards. “Thank you, sir. Welcome to the Auction, Mr…”

  The man bowed like a prince, sweeping his red-checkered top-hat off with one hand. In a sea of dark suits and dinner jackets, he stood out like a sparkler. “Finnious Fink, at your service! Very much so at your service, at least, I hope.” He smiled, very much in a way that made Matthew want to take a step back.

  He glanced at Kelphin and tried to regain control of the situation. “Mr. Fink. Is that really your name?”

  Fink laughed uproariously, causing heads to turn. The way the patterns of his identically colored suit vest and jacket shifted and merged together confounded the eye and Matthew blink. “Why of course not, sir!” he said, still laughing. “‘Finnious Fink’, honestly. What self-respecting parent would inflict that on a child?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Matthew Maierson remarked. People in the crowd were beginning to glance over, and he felt a flush of embarrassment as more and more eyes were turned his way. He could almost hear the whispers starting as they realized who he was. He flushed with embarrassment, laughing slightly. Then he saw a few faces he did recognize from his flashcards, very high numbers in fact. They were beginning to push their way through the crowd, coming his way.

  “Uh, excuse me a moment,” he muttered, trying to edge his way clear. If he could make it to the landing, maybe he could start the Auction before they could reach him. Or he could always run back to the Factory, that was always an option.

  Fink suddenly laid his enormous round hand over Matthew’s arm, halting him. Rings sparkled on each of his sausage-sized fingers, but his touch was as light as a pick-pockets. “The name is more of a business handle,” he said in a wheedling tone. He put himself between Matthew and the creditors who were approaching, and his sheer bulk was enough to keep them back. “I needed something to sound mysterious and just slightly disreputable. You’d be amazed how many of the wrong doors that can open for you in my particular line of business, which is what I was hoping to discuss, if you had a minute…”

  “And what line of business would that be, sir?” Kelphin spoke up suddenly. He was frowning quite severely at the man, clearly distrusting him.

  “Why procurement and sales of rare magical artifacts! I represent only the top collectors, the most discerning of clients,” he boasted.

  Matthew nodded, looking towards the stairway landing. “Well, we’re not buying today, Mr. Fink. And we don’t need any help-”

  “Oh, but you do! I think you do!” The skin on his face was thin and papery, like it belonged to a much older person, but his eyes were a bright, piercing yellow, as sharp and alert as a hawk. He glanced around the room. “I’ve had some experience with auctions before, and if you ask me, you’re looking seriously understaffed.”

  “Now see here!” Kelphin started to sputter, but Matthew had to admit, he had a point. Even with more than half their workforce helping with the Auction, they’d been forced to hire on additional volunteers. Two of them were stationed nearby, an Elf and a Dryad standing in front of the Library, and though they might not have been up to the usual Maierson standard, they were pretty good at keeping the guests back. The Elf was un-Glamoured, his hair a haystack and his buck teeth protruding. He gawked shamelessly at the guests, who did their best to ignore him. The Dryad was a thin and mean looking youth, as hardy and wild as a weed growing through a crack in the sidewalk. Matthew watched him pick irritably at a twig growing from his antler-like branches, and winced as he saw him inevitably pluck it and pop it in his mouth.

  “Maybe we do need a bit of help…” Matthew admitted.

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Fink smiled. He threw his arm around Matthew, pulling him close. “Now, I can barker this auction for you, drive up bids, raise your take more than 50%, guaranteed, all for a small percentage of the fee - say 5% of the final take?”

  “Wait just a moment!” Kelphin protested, trying to cut in, but Matthew raised his hand.

  “I’m sorry, but Kelphin is perfectly capable-”

  “2% then,” Fink said, his voice quavering a bit. “Oh, I’m sure he’s capable of scolding the cleaning staff, but running an Auction takes more than that!” The big man seemed to swell, puffing out- well, it was either his stomach or his chest, it was hard to tell where either began. “You’ve got to be able to think fast on your feet, smell blood in the water, prick their egos, stoke their fears!”

  “I’ve-I’ve bargained with more than my fair share of ro-rogues,” Kelphin stammered, looking hurt. His Glamour slipped a bit more, and his quaffed hair receded inches at a time.

  Fink looked expectantly at Matthew, but he shook his head. “Thank you, but Kelphin can do it. Now if you could please excuse me…” He started to edge away again, but Fink grabbed his arm in a surprisingly strong grip.

  “Fine, fine! This goes against my better judgement, but perhaps I could look past my normal fee.” He bent low, going down on both knees, as he held onto Matthew’s arm. “Please! It would be the highlight of my career to be of some small assistance to the Maiersons in their hour of need,” he begged. “Won’t you please reconsider?”

  There were a few hushed laughs from the crowd at the sight of the fat man begging so pathetically. Matthew felt his face go hot as he tried to tug his arm away. “Uh, thank you, that is a really kind offer,” he started to say, when he looked over Fink’s head and saw some familiar faces from Kelphin’s flash cards moving closer through the crowd. “But I’m sorry, we’ve got everything under control!” He put one foot up on Fink’s knee and yanked hard, finally extracting his arm with a pop. As Fink rocked back like a ball, Matthew stumbled away, shouting, “Thankyoupleaseexcuseme!”

  He made a beeline for the staircase landing, pushing his way as politely as he could through the crowd. All of Kelphin’s careful coaching over the last few weeks seemed to vanish from his brain, and all he saw were random, blank faces before him. “Good morning,” he muttered. “How do you do? Wonderful to see you,” over and over again as he pushed his way through. Finally, nearly at a run, he ducked under the ropes that had been stretched across the grand staircase and climbed up onto the first landing. His vision seemed to swim for a moment as he looked over the crowd, and he felt himself go light-headed.

  The crowd slowly noticed him, standing there, and the chatter began to die away. At a signal from Kelphin, the quartet went silent, and the hall was quiet at last. Matthew stared out over them, his mouth bone dry. He heard someone say, “Good Morning,” and it took a moment for him to realize that it had been him.

  There was silence, and a few people nodded their heads. “Good Morning,” he said again. “My-My name is Matthew Maierson.” He couldn’t remember the rest of the speech! His mind was completely blank!

  He dimly saw Uncle Paicus emerge from a side-room, watching him with surprise and sadness. Matthew blinked, shaking his head. He had to keep going, no one was going to come up and save him. He opened his mouth again, but no more words would came. The moment stretched painfully on, and the crowd began to stir. He stared out at them, unable to focus, feeling the eyes of everyone on him. Even the paintings on the wall seemed to be staring back.

  They were the Maierson’s of the past, memorialized in portraits along the wall. There was Great-Uncle Morlan, standing behind the wheel of the Dark Breath, the terror of the nautical lanes in his time, or Great-Aunt Morena, encircled by her Sisters of Salem, in front of their favorite oak hanging tree, the same tree that now made up the staircase banister that Matthew now stood upon. Madelyn’s own grandfather, Morgan, stood resolute in his Revolutionary army uniform. They were an illustrious bunch: soldiers and explorers, criminals and scholars, sinners and saints. Their own common denominators were family, fame, and magic, of course. There were the black-sheeps of course, the occasional dentist or lawyer, but no paintings hung to mark their lives. Would that be his fate, he wondered fearfully. To be the last miserable heir in a once great line?

  There was one conspicuous blank space on the wall however, a large, reserved spot of honor in the middle of the room, twice as large as any other portrait nearby. A covered easel stood in front of it, waiting for the end of the day and the grand unveiling. It was no wonder to anyone who was underneath the tarp, who could possibly deserve such a space of honor. Matthew stared at the covered painting of his Grandmother, and he felt himself go still.

  You aren’t her, he reminded himself. You don’t have to be.

  He opened his mouth, forgetting his worry about the speech, forgetting the speech entirely, and he just began to speak.

  “I wanted to thank you all for coming out this morning. This day has been… a difficult decision for all of us to make. My family… has never been that open with the rest of the world. Some have accused us of keeping secrets, hoarding treasure, like a Dragon,” he laughed stiffly, and after an agonizing moment the rest of the crowd laughed with him. “So today is a day of change, of celebration. The end of one way of doing things, and the start of another. So again, I want to thank you and say to you all–”

  “That you’re not welcome!” a familiar voice shouted over him.

  Matthew froze. For a moment, he naively thought that it couldn’t be her. She’s all the way in Connecticut. She doesn’t know about the Auction. She can’t be here.

  The crowd stirred uneasily, looking around in confusion.

  “Sorry to cancel the party,” the voice shouted again, wiping out any hopeful doubt in Matthew’s mind, “but there’s not going to be any sale today! Please leave! Right now! All of you– Goodbye!”

  Matthew’s eyes searched desperately. The crowd started to mutter. A few workers stepped away from the wall, looking anxiously for direction. Kelphin was clutching at his chest, breathing hard, Glamour completely vanished. Even Uncle Paicus seemed to be in a panic.

  Then someone pointed up towards the landing behind Matthew.

  “Look there!”

  The crowd looked up, and Matthew turned, dreading what he knew he would see.

  The young girl standing behind him looked like she’d rolled out of a garbage heap. She wore heavy, scuffed engineer’s boots and a ratty old Maierson Factory uniform, almost more patches than fabric. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt, her fingers either stained with ink or wrapped up in make-shift bandages. Her hair was a nightmare, a gnarled, frizzy cloud that rose up from her head like there had been an explosion somewhere in the vicinity of her brain.

  Matthew stared up at his younger sister and let out a small moan. “Maine.”

  A few Maierson workers started towards the stairs, advancing towards his sister. “Wait!” Matthew called desperately, holding up his hand.

  Maine was already reaching into a duffel bag that hung off her hip, stuffed to the brink of bursting. When she saw Matthew looking at her, she gave him a wide gap-toothed grin. “Sorry to crash your party, brother! But look, I brought my own present to the Auction!”

  With a flourish, she pulled out a thick bronze cylinder, about a foot long. The surface was weathered and ancient looking, but what stood out clear as day were the runes chiseled into the surface. The workers coming up the stairs froze as they caught sight of it. They looked worriedly from Matthew to his sister and the cylinder in her hands.

  “Maine… What is that?” Matthew asked her slowly.

  She took hold of the cylinder on both ends, hefting it above her head. “This is Soloman’s Sand Trap!” She took a step down, watching with glee as the crowd stirred uneasily. “It was all alone, gathering dust in Uncle Marha’s room upstairs, and I thought all your guests might appreciate seeing it before they left.”

  Matthew blinked, trying desperately to flog his brain into gear. The Sand Trap looked vaguely familiar, he was sure he’d heard something about it before, but the last month had been filled with so many artifacts and catalogued items that they all seemed to blur together in his mind.

  She took another step. “King Soloman used it more than two thousand years ago to trap a nest of ravenous Dust Wights inside.” All eyes seemed to follow the trap as she waved it over her head. “Do you know what Dust Wights are? They’re fantastic creatures that can fly through the air as quick as a flash and devour a pack of camels in minutes. They don’t even leave the bones behind!”

  Matthew could feel the sweat dripping down his face as his sister took another step down the stairs. She was within hand reach of him now, but he didn’t dare move a muscle. What if he grabbed her and missed? What if she dropped it? Her spindly little arms seemed to tremble already as held up the Trap. God! What was she thinking? Could she really be crazy enough to let those things loose?

  The workers fell back as Maine stepped past her brother, her eyes focused on the crowd. “Now, we don’t have any camels here, but we do have a lot of you people here!” She shook the Trap over her head, and the crowd shuddered, taking a step back. She smiled, raising up on her tiptoes, her whole body trembling. Matthew took a breath, bracing himself to lunge forwards. “Unless you want to meet this Wights yourself you’re going to–”

  “-Open your pocketbooks now!”

  It was Fink. He was standing at the bottom of the staircase, arms extended wide, a bright, showman’s grin on his face.

  Everyone stared at him, the crowd, Matthew, the workers, even Maine was dumbfounded. Fink climbed the bottom step, raising himself above the crowd as he went on.

  “Obtained from the tomb of Khufu the Great in Egypt, if I’m not mistaken, during Madelyn’s apprenticeship under the wizard Solheim Sibeckha,” he told the crowd, his voice like liquid honey. “In any other collection, this Trap would be one of a kind, the very centerpiece, but here, today, ladies and gentlemen, it is but the appetizer!”

  Matthew risked a glance at his sister. She looked in complete confusion, the Trap almost forgotten in her hands.

  With a flourish, Fink extended his arms out over the crowd. “Please, forgive us for any momentary fright you may have felt, any threat intended,” he begged the crowd softly, and then his voice rose dramatically to a shout. “But it was NECESSARY!”

  The crowd jumped in fear, staring– completely captivated. He let the silence build for a moment then went on. “Make no mistake, my friends, this Auction is no place for the faint of heart. Those who are seeking simple curios and keepsakes are advised to flee now, flee for your very lives, for this Auction is not for you! On sale today are the treasures of Men! Trophies snatched from the darkest corners of the world! Curses that can swallow up the foolhardy!”

  He was castigating the crowd, shouting them back, but to Matthew’s amazement, they were drawing forwards. Fear was leaving their faces, replaced with looks of awe, wonder, and above all greed.

  “Wait!” Maine started to say. “This isn’t what–”

  “Yes, perhaps you’re right!” Fink shouted over her. “Perhaps we shouldn’t– perhaps we dare not let this treasure out of our safe-keeping! I’m sure I don’t need to remind anyone what happened to that ill-fated expedition?” he asked, looking gravely over the crowd. “How within two years of opening that tomb, Madelyn herself was the only survivor? Before you reach for your wallets, before you even utter a word, you must first ask yourself, are you brave enough to own such an item? Are you strong enough to laugh at the danger?”

  The crowd edged closer. Far from being frightened, they were almost salivating. All eyes were on Fink as he gestured to the door. “Those faint of heart be warned! You had best leave now! For if there’s one thing I can promise you today, it’s that you best expect the unexpected!”

  No one moved. The crowd hardly seemed to breathe.

  With a grandiose flourish, Fink gestured to Maine, who still held the Trap above her head. “Now! Do I hear an opening bid?” he asked.

  For a moment, there was silence. Then a voice called out across the hall. “Five hundred dollars!” Matthew looked up shocked. Maine’s jaw dropped.

  “Six hundred!”

  “Eight hundred!”

  Matthew could hardly believe it. Was this actually going to work out?

  “Wait, no!” Maine said angrily, tears nearly in her eyes. She raised the Sand Trap again, shaking it over her head. “This isn’t what I wanted! Get out!” She stamped her foot, but no one seemed to be listening to her. “Get out now!”

  “Nine hundred!”

  “One thousand!”

  She was distracted, staring out over the crowd, and Matthew saw his chance. He lunged for her, hurling his entire body. Maine saw him coming at the last minute and tried to dodge, but her foot slipped on the stairs. She fell, Matthew flying over her. And the Trap dropped from her hands.

  It tumbled through the air, turning end over end. Fink saw it coming and threw himself towards it, but the cylinder hit the bottom step, inches from his fingers. It bounced off and struck the floor, splintering in two.

  Everyone froze. Even the lamp lights seemed to stop flickering. Mathew lay on top of his sister on the stairs, neither struggling. They all watched the broken halves roll gently back and forth on the floor. Inside, something gave a dry rustle, and fell heavily. Then the pieces went still.

  After a moment, in which the crowd remained unravaged, Fink eased himself forwards. He stepped cautiously around the broken pieces, and gently nudged the larger with his toe. When nothing still happened, he bent low, and picked up the two halves, peering inside.

  “Hmm. Well. A slight correction is in order,” he announced. He gave a strained smile to the crowd. “For sale today, we have one, slightly damaged, Sand Trap, containing, not a horde, per se, but one mummified, perhaps very well-fed Dust Wight.”

  There was a low murmur of disappointment and Fink’s smile grew more forced. “Still, a tremendous find! Note the craftsmanship!” He clicked the broken ends of the cylinder back together, dislodging another small piece that fell clinking to the floor. “Do I hear five hundred?” he asked desperately. “Perhaps two?”

  There was a slight cough from the crowd, but no shouted numbers. Fink’s smile started to waver. He suddenly reached inside, plucking out a wrinkled looking shape, rather like a particularly plump piece of jerky. “Now for those of you with gourmet tastes, let’s talk about flavour!” He ran it under his nose, looking like he was in heaven. “The spices of the sands! Wonderful eating, or so I hear.”

  The crowd didn’t seem ready to bite. “Fifty dollars,” someone said finally, in a charitable voice.

  Fink stamped his foot. “Sold!” He started to applaud.

  As the crowd joined in, Matthew stared down at his sister. “My office!” he growled at her. “Now!”