One Rusty Septim Perhaps


“Sir, the Monetary Business Bureau has contacted us.” Winston stood with the message held in his white gloved hands.

Indigoblade perked up immediately. “Bandits raiding their offices?”

“Not according to Singpe Ctoomild.”

Indigoblade felt one bead of sweat forming on his forehead. “From MIMCIC?”

“Yes, sir. She sent this paint..” Winston attempted to explain why Singpe contacted them.

“I’m not being audited, am I?” Indigoblade began to pace.

“No, sir. She merely wishes to know…”

Indigoblade was leafing through his papers. “Everything is in order? I can’t believe I’m being audited!”

“You aren’t, sir. She is asking if you know…”

“Winston! I know nothing! Tell her that!” Indigoblade was starting to panic. “I’m not prepared to be audited! I still need to cook my books!”

Winston sighed and placed the painting on the desk along with the message. “Apparently your mind is baked already.”

“What’s this? Some kind of code?” Indigoblade looked at the painting. “A new method of auditing?”

“No, sir. She wants to know if that round silver coin on the bandit’s arm is the rusty septim.” Winston flicked a piece of dust off his sleeve that only he could see. “You being the bandit expert and all.”

“That I be!” Indigoblade was studying the painting. “Not the rusty septim! I know coin when I see it. I can smell it, too. One jingle of a coin bag and my cat-like ears can pick it up”

“Then use your nose to sniff it out.” Winston replied as he headed for the door.

“Indeed, my good man Winston!” Indigoblade raised his bottle of Nord mead to the departing butler. “Glad that distraction is over.” He opened a secret drawer filled with silver coins and smiled. “Back to organizing my bandits!