“He’s a criminal, I’m a-“

“A lady of the law?” Selander offered.

“A decorated Lieutenant,” Nahara growled. “And we would very much like to access your vault.”

The balding clerk nodded quickly, a visible sheen of sweat prickling his forehead. “Of course, Lieutenant,” he mumbled, “a moment, if you please.”

He hopped down from his stool at the counter and waddled towards the back.

Selander ran his fingers idly along one of the nearby shelves, carving a crater of dust.

“Well,” he muttered, “isn’t this quaint?”

“Whatever you’re trying to say,” Nahara said levelly, “don’t.”

Selander clutched his chest in mock surprise. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Lieutenant.”

Nahara’s steely expression didn’t waver.

“Fine,” Selander sighed, “I’ll keep quiet.”

“Good.” Nahara replied.

With Nahara waiting patiently by the counter, Selander decided to explore the curiosity shop. And curious it was.

The ancient wooden shelves buckled with the strain of their artefacts. Music boxes with plumes of peacock feathers elbowed for space with gaudy pantomime masks. The air was thick with dust, it coated the back of Selander’s throat, making him hack and cough.

“Struggling?” Nahara’s voice was sweet as a sickly syrup.

“Just peachy,” Selander croaked.

“Uh-huh,” Nahara replied.

When Selander had recovered from his coughing fit, he sauntered back round to Nahara not quite daring to meet her eyes.

“You know what I think?” Selander mused.

“Do tell!” Nahara said flatly.

“It’s dreadfully quiet in here.”

As soon as he said it, Selander felt Nahara tense as if she expected something to leap out at them from between the shelves. Somewhere, in the depths of the shop, a lonesome clock chimed the hour.

“And you know what else I think?”

“What?” Nahara arched an eyebrow.

“That clerk is taking an awfully long time.”

Nahara’s face split with a blinding grin as she reached for her pistol.

“Then perhaps he needs some encouragement.”