row, and Declan ducked behind them, pressing against the rough wood. He peeked around the edge at the footpath. Lusk was steps away.
“Damn,” he hissed, sliding the opposite way. He dropped into a crouch.
What now? Helena mouthed, crouching beside him. Her eyes were bright, cheeks were flushed. She looked excited and hopeful and startlingly beautiful.
Declan forced himself to focus. “The fastest route to the horses is through a side field with very few people,” he whispered. “We can move quickly, but I’m worried about my livery. It was foolish to embark on the market without covering the yellow. I stand out like a torch in the dark. Even if I make the entire jaunt by hopping booth to booth, I must blend in.”
He looked around. An adjacent stall was decorated with fluttering strips of fabric, jangling metal trinkets, and bead garland. Rusted farm tools, antique furniture, and an Jacobean gown on a form flanked the opening. Colorful fishing buoys were tangled in a heap on the ground. Empty wine bottles had been embedded into the ground to form a walkway. An old sign read “Mr. Godfrey’s Treasure Trove. Fripperies, Baubles, Oddities, and Relics.”
He looked at Helena, brows raised, and inclined his head. There?
Helena nodded.
Checking the crowded row, he mouthed a countdown—Three, two, one.
They bolted.
He looked left but darted right, obscuring his face. Helena followed as if she’d been evading men in crowded markets all her life. They didn’t stop until they were secluded by the flaps of the stall.
Declan looked around. Thankfully, the booth was empty. The sides were strung with animal pelts, antique clothing, cloudy tentacles of discarded chandeliers, and faded oil paintings of tropical plants. Fluffy peacock fans hung from the ceiling. The floor was littered with clay pots. A teetering shelf bulged with scientific specimens in glass jars and old books.
“What is this place?” she whispered.
“Do not know, do not care,” said Declan, searching for anything to drape over his livery. A weathered oilcloth coat hung from a peg and he snatched it off. “I can manage with this.” He whirled it over his shoulders.
Whistling could be heard from behind a curtain and Declan called out, “Shopkeep?”
“Just a moment!” came the reply, then more whistling, then something shattered. Declan growled and darted to the entrance, peering out. Helena browsed behind him. When he looked back, she was fingering the crystal beads on a tear-shaped reticule.
“Ah, the Prussian officer’s coat,” said a voice behind them. “An excellent choice.”
They whirled around. A large man with shrewd eyes and a kind smile bellied up to the counter at the rear of the stall. “How fine it looks with your . . .” he squinted, “. . . golden tunic.”
“How much?” Declan asked.
“Sadly, I don’t operate in pounds and shillings, sir. Godfrey’s Treasure Trove only does business in trade.”
“You’re joking,” Declan said. “A merchant who refuses money?”
“But I am a very special merchant, my good sir.” He gestured to the colorful walls and hodgepodge of items spilling from the shelf. “My treasures are both payment and inventory. Never fear, customers are typically able to locate some tradable item on their very person.”
Declan looked at Helena. She held out her hands in a gesture of Don’t look to me.
“If it’s lady’s jewelry you’re after,” said Declan, “you should think again. She doesn’t bother with it. And jewels are hardly an even trade for this coat. It’s dank and moth-eaten and fifty years old.”
“Jewelry is sometimes sufficient,” mused Mr. Godfrey, “but never my first choice. Rather expected, isn’t it? I prefer to deal in the realm of the . . . extraordinary.” He made a fanning gesture with both hands.
“I’ve a comb?” Helena said, stepping up. She pulled an ivory comb from her hair and clattered it on the counter. Her hair swung behind her in a long, damp curtain.
Godfrey examined the comb with suspicion, tapping the tines with a conductor’s wand he pulled from behind his ear. “Anything else?” he wheedled.
“You’re looking for weaponry?” Declan guessed, his eyes narrowing. They didn’t have time for this.
“Not necessarily,” said Mr. Godfrey. “I’ve been known to accept the odd war hammer or hurling star, but only if they’re imprinted with the date and country of origin. What more could you have?”
Helena and Declan shared a look. Their list of offers was fast and impatient and so ridiculous Helena was laughing by the end.
“Botany reference book?” She held out a field guide from her pocket.
“Not unless it’s Viennese,” said Mr. Godfrey.
“Livery tunic?” Declan asked.
“I’m overinventoried in