“Would you have heard if someone in town had been robbed?” Dahria asked.
“The luxorite community is quite small, madam,” said Ansveld Jr. “It is the nature of things in a market with a static amount of tradable product. As you so shrewdly observed, much of what is for sale has been circulating for years, and most of it I know by sight. Given time and access to my records, I could produce a listing of the current location of ninety percent of the luxorite sold in the last thirty years. Some has been kept quietly in old families, but it is the glory of the mineral that it attracts attention. What the boy had, I would swear, was unknown to any dealer in the city.”
“He wanted it appraised?” asked Dahria, rapt.
“He said he was prepared to sell it,” huffed Ansveld Jr., “but without papers of provenance and certification of ownership, that was impossible. I told the police to take him in for questioning, but the brat escaped.”
Dahria hesitated, unsure what to ask next, and I, balancing on those absurd heels, gestured quickly toward the clock.
“When was this?” asked Dahria.
“Waterday of last week.”
The day before Ansveld Sr. showed up in the Drowning, looking for Berrit.
She considered this, and her gaze strayed once more to me, hovering unnoticed by the door. I nodded sequentially toward the other luxorite dealers in the street outside, then turned my attention to a silver-topped cane in a stand, so Ansveld wouldn’t see how hard I was listening.
“And did he try to sell the piece to any of your competitors?” Dahria asked, managing to sound merely intrigued.
“Well, that’s the curious thing,” said Ansveld Jr. reflectively. “So far as I know, he did not venture into any shop but ours. I spoke to my neighbors. Several saw him hanging around, but he made no attempt to enter. Most peculiar.”
“Indeed,” said Dahria.
“That’s not for sale,” he said suddenly, addressing me.
“I’m sorry?” I said, half turning toward him but trying to shield my face.
“That cane,” he explained. “The one with the fussy little one-horn emblem on the top. It’s not for sale. Someone left it here. I assume my father was supposed to be setting a stone in it. The handle is quite intricate.”
I nodded, mute, and moved away from the cane.
“So,” said Dahria, carefully steering his attention back to her. “Forgive my gossiping, but has anyone bought anything new lately? I long to know what everyone will be talking about.”
“Well,” he said with a hint of glee. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I’ve heard that Dowager Eileen Hamilton will be unveiling a new necklace this evening at the opera. I hear it is very fine, bought the moment it went on sale at one of my less salubrious competitors over the road. Macinnes,” he said with sour astonishment. “If you can believe that. When times are hard, people don’t always ask too many questions. Anyway, the dowager must have snapped it up in an instant because I never even got a whiff of it. I’m agog to see it.”
He was momentarily transformed, shifting from a rather stuffy little shopkeeper to a delighted enthusiast.
“Assuming I haven’t already,” he added slyly.
“You think it’s the same piece the boy had?” Dahria asked. “That she got it from him?”
“Not directly, I’m sure,” said Ansveld Jr. “But Macinnes may have lied about not dealing with the boy. If not, it’s a remarkable coincidence. Two previously unknown pieces in the Bar-Selehm market!” He clapped his hands together with rapture.
“Sounds delicious,” said Dahria. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for more. These, I will, I’m afraid, have to think about,” she said, unhooking the earrings. “But you have such a charming emporium that I will not be able to keep away for long.”
She said it with such grace, with such beatific elegance born as much from wealth, beauty, and privilege as from the luxorite glow around her face, that he did not even seem disappointed.
“It’s a lovely thing, luxorite,” he said musingly. “I work with it every day but it never loses its appeal, somehow. My father understood that.” He tried to smile, but some other powerful feeling, a deep sorrow, ambushed it, contorted it into a grimace that was hard to look at. His jaw set and his eyes, which had been laughing only moments before, shone with unshed tears.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Dahria, surprised and uncomfortable.
“We did not see eye to eye on many things, my father and I,” said Ansveld Jr. “We argued a great deal. I wish now … But he loved luxorite, and not only because selling it had made him a very wealthy man. It’s funny, isn’t it?” he added thoughtfully. “Everyone knows that if they live long enough, they will see their parents die, but it still comes as a surprise. Turns you into a child again.” He blinked and tried to smile. “I expect the feeling passes.”