They were supposed to be running errands and supplying the Reefrunner. They were supposed to be locating extra sailcloth and dye for Armando. They were supposed to find some extra missile weaponry to replace the ones exhausted in the battle with the pirates. Instead, they are drinking coffee at Fezzik's.

Yamalla hadn't put up an argument about it - there was plenty of time to get those errands done. Kalaban had pretty much stated he could find all they needed within a day, leaving plenty of time to enjoy the pleasures of Octopon. And naturally, Kal wanted to enjoy a little of it first.

Yamalla sits on a stool to accommodate his tail, which is wound discreetly around the base so as to avoid being stepped on. Kal seems to assume that Yamalla has the same hurried obsession with time as does Triangle. He grins a scaly grin at his companion, and takes a sip of coffee. So like humans to think all Lizardmen are the same. At least the Reef Runner had gotten itself at least one crew member that like to play with those around him. Yamalla kept grinning as he realized shore would no longer be boring as it was with just Triangle and Azziza.

Kalaban is preoccupied talking amiably with a boy who had come by and offered to shine his floppy black boots for a few bits of copper. The thief's dark eyes are wide and bright with interest, and wander often across the street to the well kept establishment of a carpet seller. With his short, dark wavy hair and flashy smile, Yamalla imagines he is handsome for a human. For a lizard man, however, he is ugly. His eyes are too narrow and close together, his legs too spindly, his skin soft like the underbelly of a fish. Their faces were bizarre - always wriggling around like a plate full of worms. Worst of all - no tail. How do they walk without falling face down?

Yamalla takes another sip of his coffee. Kalaban tips the boy a whole piece of silver for the shoe shine, rubs his head, and says, "Come find me here in three days, and see if your tale of woe turns from tails to heads, Omar." The boy grins at him sheepishly, nods shyly at Yamalla, and leaves.

Yamalla sets down his coffee, certain his new friend is up to something, but not in a hurry to find out. Instead, he addresses a more obvious problem. "Not that I-and-I be worried, but Yamalla be wondering if jew know dat we have to be feedin' the crew before we be drinkin' da rum."

Kalaban's eyes widen in faux surprise. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Yam. After all, I wouldn't want to starve on shipboard."

"Jah mon, dats good. I be hopin' dat you still intend on relaxin' a couple of days anyway?"

He shrugs. "I do not like to pass up a good time, but it seems we have work to do after all."

"Work? Yamalla didn't know jew could even say de word!"

"In a manner of speaking. A project. It seems that we lack funds for a good time at the moment."

"And jew got a way to handle that problem?" Yamalla smiles as he sees the seas of creativity churning in Kalaban's head.

"The beginnings of one, Yam. It needs more... legwork. Maybe while I make some inquiries, we can take care of buying the supplies after all and postpone our fun until later."

The lizard man nods, happy that Kalaban has taking the Reefer Rules to heart and has not put the ship's needs aside for some harebrained plot, and also excited that he might get to see a little of it unfold.

"Dis plot, it be poppin' in jour hairy head in the past few minutes. Does it hafta do with dat little boy?"

Kal grins a predatory grin, one full of mirth and mischief. "No," he says, looking across the street again at the carpet shop. "A fat shrimp."

Farouk ibn Najib sits at the little table as a happy man. For one thing, he is about to buy that house on the harbor that his mistress Milandra had been whining about for a year, thus assuring a large dose of pleasurable gratitude from the dancing girl. For another, his wife will be none the wiser. And of course, business at the carpet store has been good and his profit excellent thanks to his favorite worker Habib, who has been more than happy to put in extra hours at no cost due to the mortgage Farouk owns on Habib's house.

Yes, he is a happy man.

He rubs his hands together in anticipation of this deal. He had long had the opportunity to buy the house on the harbor from Ali Ra'bin but he was in no hurry to meet Ali's 120 gold piece price. That was before he had learned of the other buyer, who was interested in that same house. That other buyer would pay him ten times the amount. His stupification as to why someone would pay so much for such a dump, and his discreet inquiries into the matter had yielded a very interesting revelation. A certain recently unearthed treasure map in the hands of the eager "other buyer" showed the house may be built upon a buried cash of pirate gold. Moreover, the other buyer was a foolish loose-tongued half-gnome salvager from a renowned family. One clearly of more means than brains.

Farouk was not born yesterday. He doesn't give such rumors of treasure much credence. The isles abound with phony pirate's maps and tales of lost treasure. Still, if he could buy the place on the cheap, he could look around a bit for the treasure himself, or better yet, sell it at enough profit to retire and rid himself of his shrewish wife and clingy family.

Farouk looks across the table at the agent -- Rashad. The man was all salesmen, touting up the dump as a paradise. The agent had a fine office, well appointed, and a private coffee room for closing deals. Ali had done well to hire such an agent having failed to sell the hovel for all these years. Sadly, he will have paid the commission for nothing.

"Yes, yes. I am well aware of the alleged virtues of the place," Farouk says impatiently. "If I were civic minded, I would have insisted it be demolished as a public nuisance last year. I am prepared to make the overly generous offer of 110 gold pieces, almost the price Ali asked of me a month ago."

Rashad shakes his head no. He is a good dresser. Farouk wonders how Ali could afford the commission on such an agent for this pitiful property.

Farouk scowls. "Very well, I do not have time to dicker on price. 120. This is what Ali last asked for, and it is more than fair. The hovel has likely depreciated another 30 in the last month."

"Sadly, I must decline," says Rashad, his voice as smooth as honeyed tea. The owner has been entertaining... other offers. The price has gone up."

Farouk pounds his hammy hand on the coffee table, spilling some of his untouched beverage (it is best not to share salt with strangers in business...). "That is larcenous, Rashad! Ali offered to sell at 120!"

"That was then. This is now. The owner feels some loyalty to you in light of past offers made and rejected, which is why you may bid on the property."

"B-b-bid? You must be joking..."

"No, I am quite serious," he says, getting up and going to the door of his private room. He opens the door and calls out to the woman who attends the reception area. "Felice? Could you send in Mr. Rockfinder?"

Farouk does not like the look or sound of this at all. He could always find another harbor front flop for his dancing girl -- although it wouldn't be one rumored to be full of treasure. None of this makes sense... the fine office, the fancy agent, and now a "bidder" on Ali's dive?

His competition enters the room. He is a tall gnome, or a short human - or both - and he is not at all what Farouk imagined. He dressed very finely to be sure, but soberly, as befits an experienced businessman. His silk belt carried the Rockfinder family crest in a discreet but plainly visible pattern. He carries in one hand a bag of coin. The other holds the hilt of his jambiya.

Mr. Rockfinder clearly means business.

Farouk is a successful merchant, but he cannot compete with the Rockfinder family in a bidding war. Over what? A tiny harbor front house that shelters no one but rats? It makes no sense.

Yamalla --- now known as Rockfinder, does his best to keep a serious expression. He is not used to manipulating the squirmy facial features, so he is very subtle. The result is almost a deadpan glare. The lizard man pats his vest, the signal for his Maridon to appear. It slithers out of his pocket with the desired look of stunned shock on the face of Farouk.

"The owner instructs that bidding shall start at 300 gold. Cash only," Rashad remarks. "Keep in mind that my commission is 10%, and that is the responsibility of the seller. My commission must be in cash, paid in advance of the sale, and then I will get the title and deed from the owner and we will complete the transaction."

Farouk chokes. He has nearly had enough of this. He has not brought even 300 gold with him.. and could hardly raise much more than that in cash. He stands up to leave, but then Rockfinder promptly accepts the terms. He drops his bag on the table where it makes an audible clink.

"Honorable Najib, do you accept the terms?"

Farouk hesitates. He should just leave. Why is Rockfinder willing to drop that kind of money on this venture?

Rashad bows politely. "Very well. I understand. Perhaps this transaction is too rich for you. There is no dishonor in that. As I said, the owner merely wished to give you an opportunity to bid in light of past offers. Mr. Rockfinder, since there will be no bidding, the sale price shall be 300, for which you must pay me a 30 gold commission. Felice will bring you coffee and stay with you as security until I return with the title and the owner to collect the agreed price."

Farouk has a terrible sinking feeling in his gut as the deal is closed without him. As Rockfinder reaches into his purse, he blurts out:

"Wait! I do wish to bid."

Rashad nods gravely. Rockfinder jumps from his seat, protesting in a vile language that Farouk does not understand.

Farouk gamely swallows down his nervousness, but now feels more certain than ever that he has to at least try to buy the property.

"Do you agree to the terms, sir?"

Farouk nods. "I will have to get more cash. I will be right back." he says, trying to judge the weight of the half-gnome's purse.

Rashad looks around warily at that, then leaps to his feet and gets to the door first. He opens it and calls out to the waiting room... "Felice? Please go to the owner's home and tell him we will yet be a few minutes."

He then backs into the room and lets Farouk past. The rug merchant hardly casts a second glance around the room and does not notice or care that Felice is not there or that the door to the street had not opened nor closed. He cares only about one thing... finding coin.

Rashad closes the door to the "office" behind him and leans back on it and sighs. "That was close, Yam," he says. "Next time, I will have to remind you to leave a note behind when you change into another person."

The lizard man is enjoying this game immensely. It is like the Lizardman game "Shells", only the stakes are much higher and the moves not quite predictable. "Jew maybe can be goin' over the goal of dis game so that I-and-I not be screwin' da pooch at a critical time?" he asks.

"You have to beat his last bid, no matter how high. I would say... by 50 gold. This means he has exhausted his cash. You have to then make a remark that you are all in. I mean, that it is your final offer because you have no more cash."

"What good is it if Yamalla win de bid?"

"He will offer paper," says "Rashad." " That is when we really have him. I will tell both of you that the owner will consider paper, but each should make their best offer and he will decide whose contract is worth a risk. Farouk will sell his own mother to get this property now. I want the mortgage he has on Habib's house, plus whatever else he throws in. Remember that you offer a note (unsecured) in an amount at least 50 more than his best offer. I then collect my commissions from both of you. You just hand me the bag - too preoccupied to count it out, and ask me to leave the balance with my assistant (who is you as Felice of course). I will take all of his gold. Then you leave, saying you need to get blank contracts with the family crest in case your offer of paper is accepted. Out in the foyer, turn back into Felice. I will then leave, buy the property and get the deed from Ali for 150, come back here and "complete" the deal with Farouk. Sadly for you, the owner does not know you as well as Farouk and so chooses his paper over yours."

"Wait, I be seein' a problem with jour plan - jew say that jew gonna be bringin' in da oowner - won't Ali screw up da whole ting?"

Kal smiles his predatory smile. "Who said anything about Ali?"

Farouk is a nervous man. He is nervous that he has stripped himself of his cash reserves. He is nervous that he has mortgaged his business, and he is nervous that he has given up his financial hold on Habib. He is nervous, but not too concerned.

It had been a fun contest -- exhilerating -- bidding against a wealthy merchant house. The result was at first disappointing, but not surprising, He was slightly outbid. In retrospect, waiting for the agent to return with the title, the owner, and the owner's acceptance, Farouk is a little relieved. The prospect that Ali would actually take Farouk's paper over a contract to pay from Rockfinder is remote. Indeed, only a foolish businessman would do that, and Ali is no fool. Oh well... this had been a grand try.

He mentally pats himself on the back for swimming with the big fish. He is certain the treasure of that pirate must indeed be under that house to command such a price, but maybe he wasn't cut out for such risky enterprises.

The door opens. Rockfinder comes in with his papers in one hand, and behind him comes Rashad. "Wait a moment while I close this," he says into the foyer.

Farouk stands, prepared to graciously accept defeat.

"Congratulations," Rashad says to him. "The owner, strangely enough, prefers your paper to that of Mr. Rockfinder. It seems he places great stock on your prior dealings."

Farouk swallows hard. Rashad gathers up his money, his mortgage, Habib's mortgage... and sets down the title to the property. Farouk, his hands shaking, picks it up. It appears to be in order. He owns the dive on the harbor.

"Aheh," he chokes. "My girlfr- my associates will be pleased."

Rockfinder scowls at him and says something in that foul language. He turns to Rashad. "This is most unusual. I will make my complaints to the owner."

"You may pick up the commission you paid me from Felice. I regret your ill feelings, and hope that you will provide me a good reference to your House?"

"It is not your conduct that angers me. The owner has no business acumen." Rockfinder looks back at Farouk. "Congratulations sir. Good luck finding the treasure, since you apparently heard about that."

Farouk is somewhat mollified at the display of pique. He rubs his ear nervously. "I don't suppose you would care to part with the map?"

"You couldn't afford it anymore," is the curt reply.

Rashad grins to himself. [Well played, Yam...] Through the open door to the foyer, the voice of Rockfinder rolls in like the fog cursing the owner for not taking the paper of his House.

Farouk smiles weakly. "I guess... I got the better of him?"

Rashad shrugs. "It is not for me to say." He takes the payment and exits the room.

Farouk is shaking. His mind wanders to demolition costs and the costs of excavation. It will be tight for a while, but he doesn't have to tell Habib his paper has been sold and so he might yet get extra work from him. It will be tight, but he can get by. Barely. Perhaps Ali will renegotiate terms on the mortgage if things get too tight?

He picks up the deed and exits. To his surprise, Ali is not there. No one is there. There is only the furniture and the small desk that the receptionist sat behind. On the desk, there is a note.

Greetings, Farouk, you fat-assed bottom feeder. You had better get to work right away to pay down your new mortgage, or your former employee Habib will foreclose on your shop the very first chance he gets.

PS: Do not bother with recriminations. It was all quite legal. There is no defense to poor business judgment. Besides, you wouldn't want your wife to know about a certain dancing girl I am sure.

[Prince of Thieves]