Klaus was haggling over the price of a small, pouch in a bazaar in the bordertown of el-Azhr. Money, gems, and guns littered the table, but at the centre of it all were two matched lenses in a simple velvet pouch. Polished to perfection. The Eyes of On'uhq'el.
“Does he know how much this gun is worth?” he yelled at his guide. Both Klaus and the dealer were clutching at a nickel-plated Kalashnikov on the table, feeling its cold metal in their hands, spitting harsh words at one another.
“Really,” he demanded, “does he know? Ask him if he knows how much this thing is worth. Does he know who it belonged to?”
The guide animatedly tried to explain the rifle's worth to the dealer. He was having none of it.
“He wants more money!” Klaus screamed. “Of course he does! Fine! Fine, look at this.” Klaus reached into a battered leather attaché and withdrew another stack of hundreds, angrily throwing it down on the table. “You want money, I've got money! Here's ten thousand more.”
The dealer smiled a broad, toothless grin and calmly slid the small velvetine pouch across the table.
