The old man watched through a crack in the door as the watchman walked past, as Bastard caught his breath in the hallway. He hadn't realised he'd been holding it. Once he was reasonably satisfied they were safe, he turned to Bastard, but couldn't get his words out before him. "How in Illums name did you know I was there, Mindel?", he blurted out.
Mindel snorted. "Please. Any sufficiently connected man in this town has already heard that a giant Outcast almost killed our dearest Sergeant Wulf, and any sufficiently clever fence knows that means you. I am both." He gestured Bastard to follow, and led him to a table. They lit an oil lamp and sat. "What kept you, boy, I've been up for hours expecting you." Placing his bag on the table, he glowered at Mindel. "You already know, don't fish for more secrets, I won't give them for free." Mindel shrugged, expecting the response, and already opening the bag. "Still, a child is a surprising thing to appear, especially with someone like yourself. It does not suit you, I think. You are a lonely person, you should remain as such." He pulled out a ring, Bastard was particularly proud of this find, it was beautiful with a shining stone central, enclosed by claws of golden metal. Mindel placed a pair of thick glasses on and looked at it for half a second before placing it down. "Worthless."
"You're joking, no gold? How do you explain the colour then? Your glasses must be broken, surely." By the time Bastard had finished speaking, 4 more objects had been discarded. "Brass, not gold, for this I do not need my glasses." He stopped at the next object though, a shining plate with golden inlay. "This, I can sell. The army may even buy it, make it into a Thimble or some such. I will buy it for 2 Hands, you will accept as thanks for saving your life a few minutes ago. No bartering on this now, Mr Bastard." He nodded in response. Mindel was probably the fairest fence he had ever met, which was not to say he was fair, he still charged an extortionate tax, but he was far better than Formans in the High Quarter, Bastard had made the mistake of selling to them enough times.
The bag was combed through thoroughly, most items were disposed of for half a finger at most, and the occasional knick-knack got a second look and a nod of approval. Bastard noticed a few more grey hairs since he'd last seen him when he'd come into town two years ago. He'd went unseen then, but he'd gone in by paying off a Watchman to let him pass through the wall entrance, which had almost entirely taken all of his profits he'd earned from Mindel then. Despite the name of the shop, Mindel had no sons, or any family at all, as far as he knew. He'd probably named it to make it seem more approachable and homely, but honestly he doubted anyone would think of Mindel as approachable, his eyes were too pale, and his expressions held a carefully learned evenness that was uncanny in its perpetuity.
The bag was finally searched to Mindels satisfaction, and it's contents had been sorted into three piles. One, the largest, Mindel looked at and stated, "No gold in these, but some iron and silver. More than most bring me. I will give you two Hands for these." The unfortunate truth of trying to barter with Mindel was that it would always be fruitless. This wasn't to say Bastard had never tried, but it had always ended in a stern stare down that could silence the seas frothing if needs be. Mindel was perhaps the only person living who could kill a man with a look.
The second pile, Mindel glossed over like it was nothing, a slight crease in his nose as he passed what he deemed as worthless junk on his way to the third pile, the smallest. "In this, boy, you have done extremely well. Pure, beautiful gold not only in this plate but in this pen as well. For these two alone I can give you four hands. The rest contain alloys with varying amounts of gold. For them, one hand." Mindel finally removed the glasses and placed them in their case, an ugly wooden thing with edged sides and poor varnishing, a small iron clasp connecting them. The peculiar thing was, out of all the objects that had ever come through his shop, the glasses probably outshone them all by a landslide, despite their plain appearance. They could see the Fog in the world, and the Fog feared gold. The Fog ran from it, like a scared child. Bastard still had no idea who the old man had got them from, but he knew now wasn't the time to ask. He doubted Mindel would ever tell anyway.
Bastard nodded at the price, and Mindel shuffled off to fetch his money from an old wine cellar downstairs. Twenty years ago Mindel had been an Alderman on the Ardorf table, he'd even judged on Bastards crimes, and though he hadn't spoken much he knew that Mindel had voted for his death. He'd told him so when Bastard was Inked and exiled, out into the Greygrass. They didn't talk about it much, perhaps Mindel felt guilty, or more likely he didnt care enough to talk about it. The next time he'd seen him was 9 years later when he'd returned to Ardorf for the fourth time. By then the skinny man had opened his shop and earned himself a reputation with the scavs, who, for the most part, weren't aware of his prior affliction of being a man of the law. If any did know they were clearly pleased enough by his prices to turn a blind eye. Ever since Greygrass-scavving had been banned under the rule of Rudolf the Iron (named for the Iron city, built in his reign), there had been a gentleman's agreement with the Ardorf City Watch, you give them a couple fingers (or a hand, if you're unlucky), and they conveniently forgot ever meeting you. This was probably the most trustworthy and longest-lasting relationship ever wrought in Ardorf.
The sweeping of Mindels slippers signalled the arrival of sweet payment as he dumped a hefty brown pouch onto the table. Bastard picked it up and felt its contents, irregular shaped copper, some long and spindly, Fingers, and some fat and round, Hands. He opened the drawstring to peer in and count the coin, much to Mindel's faux-indignation. They were all there, as expected.