"I get it, I get it."
Raising his hands in surrender, the old man lifted his chin toward Malik and Safira, signaling her to move on.
She did, striding back toward them, smug.
"You're welcome."
Malik raised an eyebrow.
"For what?"
"For being better at this than you."
"It's not my fault my eyes spook them out."
"Then close them while talking!"
He opened his mouth to argue further, but Safira grabbed his arm.
"Shut up, both of you. We've got bigger problems."
She pointed across the market to where Ali Baba stood in front of a massive man, deep in conversation.
The guy was built like a fortress, with arms thicker than Malik's thighs.
Judging by the thick gold rings on his fingers, he wasn't just some merchant.
"Who's that?"
Malik muttered.
"That," Safira whispered, "is Balthazar the Weigher."
He whistled low.
"Shit."
Balthazar wasn't just a merchant—he was a king of the eastern part of the south trade routes.
