A Man of The Arts

“I am of the theatre, a man of the arts,” the gentleman said. “If you know what I mean–but perhaps you don’t because Mordreidi art is unique, world class, reknown and one of a kind.”

“That’s all the same thing,” said Quida.

Without pause, the man said, “I wouldn’t expect you to know of true art. True art is worth a thousand of you,” continued Sir Cadric.

Quida stole a treat from a spotless, gem encrusted cookie platter and chewed the crumbling biscuit as she spoke. “Yet you need me to acquire said precious art.” She dusted off her tunic, a faded, dark purple with a black, braided belt.

“So it seems,” he said with a tone of disapproval. “As I’ve mentioned, you mustn’t touch it. I’ve prepared special gloves to handle the piece with.”

Quida rolled her eyes. “I’m a professional. I won’t muck up the merchandise.”

Sir Cadric stroked his pointy beard, his skin a perfect, unblemished almond brown. “This isn’t your regular job.”

With another cookie in her mouth, Quida shrugged. “I think I can handle a piece of art.”

Sir Cadric, for once, bore no expression. It made Quida stop and look at the man. All of her alarms suddenly told her she may have been better off declining the wealthy art collector but she ignored her feeling and accepted Sir Cadric’s offer.

“Whatever it is, we can get it. You’ll pay well?”

“5 billion zil and the sunny swallow estate.”

Quida grunted.

“And an Alexandi horse,” she said.

He nodded and waved a hand. “And a horse.”

Quida thought again. “Also the cookie platter.”

Sir Cadric sighed. “Yes, yes.”

“Then we got a deal,” she said. “So, tell me the job.”

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