Monsieur Montague, looking dejected, urges the gang back towards the door with his arms wide. “Friends, I’m afraid this establishment is not a charity, and we’re not in the habit of giving out baths and shaves for free. Good day!”
He straightens his back, lifting his nose into the air, the wires of his moustache quivering. He holds his eyes closed and waits to hear the door, but the noise doesn’t come.
“We wanna make a trade,” Shyan says.
“A most over-generous offer on our part,” Cang adds with a surly look.
The gang huddles so Monsier Montague can’t see exactly what they’re doing, then turn and withdraw the heavy golden necklace, holding it aloft.
“Yes,” Monsier Montague says as though in a sudden trance. “Yes, this object should just about cut it.”
Logan Bright — Works 