"I'll give you twenty crowns each." the fellow said; a lowdown fast talker if Markus had ever seen one. Slick backed hair and sporting a coat he must have cheated a rich merchant out of. He was a lanky man, slightly taller than the Captain, likely uninhibited by fleeting emotions such as "empathy" and "compassion." Markus had already spoken to a few men on prices, but in the market square he suspected to find some more established men with the coin to actually be able to pay for such a rare trove of arms and armor. While his hopes of being paid had yet to be met, this man here did tick every disreputable mark of a truly successful sartosan salesman. 

"Two hundred each," Markus replied, his manner calm and his tone matter-of-fact. At this reasonable proclamation, the man guffawed incredulously. Even Markus laughed, though there was no mirth in his  He was either a fool or trying to pull a fast one, and considering where they were, the latter was not only the most probable outcome, but the objective truth. The fellow stepped closer and whispered, as if they were committing a truly surreptitious affair. 

"Forty crowns for a new partnership, eh?" He said, peeking over his shoulder as if he expected people to be dropping eaves. He didn't notice Markus' hand closing about the hilt of a knife, cautious as always. "I can see you'll be coming back a lot. Any man what can bring druchii arms is one to be rightly feared. If I were you I'd get rid of them quickly, before others start gnawing at your heels, eh?"  

It was Markus' turn to lean in, and he said softly. "It's a big island. I'll find another buyer." 

The look on the man's face as Markus turned to walk away was a mixture of contempt and shock. "Hold you damned pirate bastard!" He snapped, losing the facade of the trustworthy and magnanimous merchant. "Ok ok! A hundred and twenty crowns for each, and you'll not find a better deal on this Gods forsaken island! Go and find out if you think differently, wretch!" Markus turned back to see him red in the face, a pleading in his eyes. This time Markus did have some mirth. 

"Sold. Was that so hard?" He asked as the salesman straightened his coat, smoothing his hair again to bring back the pleasant disguise. 

The two conversed for another minute before the transaction took place, Markus receiving the sum he had hoped for. He knew the leech of a man would get double that when he sold it, but he had contacts and Markus did not. He had the money he and his crew needed. Raising the small chest of coins in appreciation to the man, who had given him the name Gilderoy, he turned back to see something his crew didn't need. 

Emmaline spoke to what appeared to be a new manservant. Someone he wasn't entirely keen on having aboard his ship. Her blue eyes brightened when she saw him approaching, introducing the Ind man Rajad with a showy bow and wave of her hands, as of presenting a gift to Markus. 

"No." said the Captain, nearly tripping up Emmaline's supposed grace. As she caught herself, he continued. "I never said you could have a manservant, and we don't have room or the provisions for another crewmember." 

Emmaline opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. Huffing, she whispered. "I bought this man with my own counterfeit money and promised him passage on our ship. I am a woman of my word!" He waited, letting her realize the cognitive dissonance of that statement. He watched her face contort through the five stages of grief before she clutched his jacket, fluttering her lashes. "Please? Please, please please?"

He looked away, sighing. She begged further and he raised his hands. "Ok, ok! Blessed Gods of the Old World save me, yes ok he can come with us. But he's your baggage until he proves he's of worth. And you-" Markus stopped, having noticed a strange, alien stillness in the air. He looked around and saw half of the people who had congregated in the marketsquare had fled, the rest now quiet and stepping back. At first he thought it was because he and Emmaline had made a scene, but when his dark eyes looked passed her golden hair, he saw six men standing in a line, straddling one of the lanes that connected to the square. At their head was who he could only guess was Von Roberts, watching both he and Emmaline like a wolf on the prowl. 

"Let go of me and find cover." He told her, his eyes not leaving the men.