The stones glowed, and of its own volition, the wand bent to a blank piece of paper. I leaned in to watch it etch a series of Roman numerals, followed by numbers. IX¯DCCXIII 4793883
Lucian whistled.
“What?” Silver asked before I could.
He shrugged. “It’s just, my grandfather’s safety boxes are in Roman numerals. I don’t think anyone else in town has accounts this old.”
“A few individuals do,” the banker asserted. “You’ll excuse me if I can’t name names—client privacy and all. As Mr. Regis inferred, your account is rather ancient, but the location enchantment took the liberty of converting the contents to its current estimated value in Highvale gold.”
He pointed to the number.
Silver gasped. “Is there supposed to be a comma somewhere?”
The banker didn’t snort, but he very much looked like he wanted to. “It’s an estimate. We don’t bother with decimals.”
“It’s a large amount?” I gleaned from Silver’s reaction.
“Almost five million golds—yes, I’d say you’re not destitute,” Kleos quipped. “Let’s put it that way: I earned about six thousand gold per year at my old job. I mean, it’s peanuts to the likes of Lucian, but you’re comfortable.”
“I’ll even let you pay for drinks next time,” Lucian said. “Could you handle a modernized subaccount for him? Something that can handle bills, withdrawals, cards and the like.”
“Easily,” the banker starts. “The account is ready to be used immediately and we can?—”
“Wait, wait,” Silver interrupted, standing to have a better look at the wand currently resting quietly next to the paper. “Can this thing tell us the name on the account? Who is he?”
The banker looked from Silver to me. I guessed he was thinking of something along the lines of client privacy again.
I nodded slowly.
“Well, accounts this old don’t actually have names attached to them, so to speak. Sometimes, the contents can enlighten us. If you’d like to visit the safe, we can—” He grew quiet, watching his bejeweled artifact hover of its own volition, pointing straight at Silver.
She stiffened, returning to her seat, but it was too late.
The wand vibrated impatiently until the banker pushed the first paper away, laying down a fresh sheet.
It started to write. IV¯DCXII.
“Ha!” I laughed, as the wand continued with a number sadly longer than mine. “You’re one to talk.”
“What?” Silver snapped.
“Mine was 9713. Yours is 4612. It’s much older. Right?” I asked around, as Silver stiffened.
The banker was the first to answer. “Yes. Not much, however. Back in those days, creation was rather prolific, and banking, a rather new concept. For a few centuries, no one bothered with it, and all of a sudden, everyone wanted an account. I’d say the first thousand are spread over hundreds of years. By 3000 or so, everyone and their sister wanted an account. We’ll have to check dates, but I’d say safes 9713 and 4612 were opened a year or two apart.”
Kleos reached out to Silver’s hand. “When would you say they were both opened?”
“Sometime in the Bronze Age. Why, miss, it seems you were more apt at squirrelling gold away than your friend.”
The number next to her safe’s identification was longer than mine.
“Oh, gods.” Silver plopped to the ground, head between her knees.
Kleos rubbed her back. “Breathe. Breathe, darling.”
“I take it this was unexpected?” the banker asked mildly, helping himself to another beignet.
“Well.” Kleos grimaced, exchanging a glance with Lucian. “We didn’t know she’d have an account, no.”
