“Currency is not accepted here,” he proclaimed. “You must trade something in your possession for these items.”
“Currency not accepted,” challenged North, his voice hard.
Isobel waved him off—they didn’t have time to argue. “Very well,” she said. “What sort of trade? Howmany of our own items will compensate for all ofthis?” She gestured to her not insignificant pile of purchases.
“That depends,” mumbled Mr. Godfrey speculatively. “What do you have?”
North was growing indignant. “Now wait a bloody min—”
“How about this?” Isobel cut in, reaching inside the collar of her gown to pull up a small compass on a gold chain.
“Ah,” said Mr. Godfrey, his eyes lighting up. He held out meaty hands, fingers spread eagerly as Isobel unlooped it from her neck.“What have we here?”
“Isobel, wait—” ordered North, but she ignored him.
“The pendant of this necklace is a golden compass,” she said. “The needle actually spins; it functions like a real compass. You may take the chain too, if it is enough for these items.”
“A compass necklace,” marveled Mr. Godfrey, holding it up to the light.
While Isobel waited and North drummed his fingers in irritation, the shopkeep examined the necklace under a magnifying glass and smoothed his fingers over the compass face.
“Oh, it’s engraved,” cooed Mr. Godfrey.
“It is,” confirmed Isobel.
“ ‘Second star to the right,’ ” read Mr. Godfrey, squinting at the back of the compass. “EoC.”
“Yes,” said Isobel. She was well aware of the inscription. She waited for some reaction inside her chest, some cry of regret or clawing hesitation, but she felt nothing. The inscription might as well have read, “Made in Birmingham.” She was glad to see it go and what better place to part with it than Iceland?
“But was this a gift, Isobel?” North asked lowly. “Who is EoC?”
Isobel shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. If Mr. Godfrey will accept the trade, we can be on our way. We’ve lingered in the village too long.”
“Look,” said North, turning to Mr. Godfrey, “I’ve a sword on my ship, Spanish steel, gold and silver on the hilt, if you must have—”
“Swords are of far less interest,” dismissed Godfrey. “Jewelry with some function—like this compass—is rare, and this piece is also beautiful. A true ‘treasure’ for my ‘trove.’ I’ll gladly accept this in trade; in fact, I am in your debt. Will you not take something else from the shop?”
Isobel exhaled in relief. “Thank you. I require nothing more, but if you will remain quiet on the topic of this visit, I would be grateful. No man and woman called today, nothing was traded, youdid not see us.”
“Never you fear,” assured Mr. Godfrey. “All of my clients are entirely confidential.”
“Excellent,” she said.
While North glared at Mr. Godfrey, shaking his head and making wordless noises of discontent, Isobel loaded his arms with her purchases and wound her way out of the shop and into the street.
The sun had burned through the white haze of morning, and wet rooftops and slick pathways sparkled.
“Isobel,” North said lowly, coming up beside her, “the initials on the necklace wereEoC. That can only meanEarl of Cranford. Have you traded a piece of jewelry given to you by your father?”
“I did, in fact,” she said, “and good riddance.” She pulled up her hood.
If she expected him to protest or scold her for makingthe trade, he did not. He stood silently beside her, frowning at the possessions in his arms.
Isobel said, “These clothes will need to be... roughed up a bit. There is a canyon just outside of the village. A shallow river runs through it.”
She looked right and left. The street was deserted except for milling dogs and a handful of sailors from their own ship. No one would notice them slipping away.
“If I dunk them now and beat them against a rock,” she mused, “they should be dry by tomorrow. I’ll need to look worse for the wear.”
