It wasn’t ostentatious. I’d have thought the temple of the god of wealth would be a bunch of things I liked. Gilded. Opulent. Shiny.

  It looked like a heavily fortified bank. The kind of bank that has armed guards both outside and inside the doors, for sure, but still just a slab of grey where bureaucrats and number crunchers abused bureaus and crunched numbers. Dull.

  Inside, it was a bit more in line with what I’d expected. Neat men and women in expensive-looking business wear, whichever outremonde had introduced that concept to Helstat was getting a downgrade next reincarnation, scurried back and forth with papers and glowing crystals. Everything positively sparkled, and not only due to the shower of golden motes I was shedding like a husky in winter at the sight of so much wealth.

  It wasn’t glaringly obvious, bragging about how much you make is always a dick move, and this place seemed to follow the Second Golden Rule: don’t be a dick. But if you knew what to look for, you could see it.

  Arguably, I had no idea what to look for, but damn that guy over there had a very shiny set of cufflinks, and the lady in the corner at the back was wearing enough pearls around her neck to buy a modest mercenary company. There were subtleties to be observed in this place, and that made my buttcheeks tighten. For all my many, many, fine qualities, I was aware that subtlety was not among them.

  “Hello. I’d like to open an account.” Clean and to the point. The young man on the other side of the magically reinforced glass looked me up and down from where he sat, and gave me the faintest of smiles.

  “I’m not sure this is the right establishment for you, sir? There are some very fine banks over on Mint Street that will gladly handle smaller accounts.”

  “I’m Baron Bob of the Mill. If I do choose to seriously invest in this bank, I will be one of your biggest customers.” I’m not proud of it, but Wrath may have gotten out of my control for a moment, egged on by Vanity. It had come out as a sybillant hiss. When my tongue touched the air, the place smelled like paper and old people.

  “I’m sure you would, sir. Perhaps you could come back another time when someone might be in a position to help you? May Denarios shower you with… bronze, I think in your case. Good day. Next, please?”

  I held out an arm to stop the woman behind me from stepping forward. She looked like a pile of potatoes wearing their sack, and I was not amused that I was being treated so cavalierly when she was getting respect.

  “No. Sorry, spudface, but I’m not moving till I speak to this prick’s…” I did not want to invoke the manager and have to deal with aficionados of the goddess Karen, may she be blessed in triplicate. “Until I receive reasonable treatment.”

  “Spudface?” she asked icily.

  “My mistake. Spudbod. If you’ll just hang on a minute while I deal with—what’s your name anyway?” I swung my head back to the cashier and treated him to a level nine smile and a level six glare at the same time.

  I could only conclude that the magic in the partition was the good stuff, as he didn’t seem phased at all. “My Name is Clunge, sir.” His voice made plain what he thought of me. Derisive, supercilious, unconcerned…

  “Clunge?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Surname or first name?”

  “Both, sir.” He really wasn’t happy about this line of questioning. My bout of uproarious laughter, which left me leaning with one hand a Spudbod, probably didn’t help matters. “If you’re done, sir, please be on your way, or I will have to call for security.”

  “Piss off.” I swallowed loudly. “I need to speak to your manager.”

  Spudbod lurched away from me, brushing at where my hand had rested on her shoulder like I had leprosy. Clunge, son of Clunge smirked at me. The bastard.

  I extended a finger, shaping it into a claw and dragged it down the glass, leaving a shallow groove between myself and the man with the unfortunate name. I upped the smile to a level ten, my teeth lengthening as I did so.

  “Now, please.”

  He nodded shakily and hurried off through a door behind the counter. I turned to Spudbod so I could apologise, but she had made herself scarce. The other customers all avoided meeting my eyes, taking a great deal of interest in the plasterwork and the ceiling.

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  Being a pariah, someone others were scared or wary of, was normal for me. But usually only in places where people knew me. A bunch of total strangers treating me like a toddler with a minigun was a new experience.

  “Mr Bob?”

  “Just Bob.” The manager was the embodiment of drab. Grey hair, grey eyes, grey suit. He was built for stealth on a foggy day. I restrained my smile a couple of notches.

  “You are a baron?” He held up a plain white crystal that looked like cheap quartz.

  “I am Baron of Fidler’s Mill and Longbottom at the moment.” The crystal glowed green.

  “And you intend to open a substantial account with us?” The man drawled everything he said like he was bored and wanted to be somewhere else. I’d seen his sort back on Earth.

  “I did, now I’m not so sure. I recently sold an Immortality Injection, and find myself with funds I would like to earn some interest on.”

  Another green glow from the crystal. I wasn’t sure I’d get away with that one, but I must have phrased it well enough to hide the real truth. I genuinely would have liked to earn interest on my hoard, but letting any of it out of my claws and the endless traps and undead guards currently around it was not an appealing choice.

  “If you’ll come through, I think we can discuss this later. Back to your desk, please, Clunge.”

  My erstwhile interlocutor scowled at me for a fraction of a second, almost too fast to notice, but he schooled his expression as soon as his boss glanced in his direction. “Sir.” He sounded stiff and angry. Good. Fuck that guy.

  I made my way down the end of the counter, and there was a brief flash as the defensive spells deactivated. I stepped through, and Captain Grey’s face looked briefly human as the flicker of light behind me put some colour on his cheeks and lit up the bags under his eyes. I was now within the den of the beast.

  “Please follow me, Baron.”

  Everything reeked of corporate sterility. I would have thought the god of wealth would have at least splashed out on some paintings or something to brighten up the walls. Beige and grey corridors were left behind as the manager showed me into his office. More drabness greeted me.

  He sat behind his desk and gestured me to the chair opposite him. It was comfy, but I didn’t relax. Memories of spilling my guts due to the truth-chair Tim had knocked together sent a shiver of fear down my spine.

  I shifted uncomfortably. “So what kind of interest are we looking at?”

  “Well, Baron. It very much depends on what you’d like to deposit. Over a million gold will earn a reliable six per cent interest. Lower amounts, less so.”

  “Six is pretty good. How do you earn the interest?”

  “Loans, mostly to nobles and secured on their estates. We’ve never had a bad year yet.”

  A bank that never had a bad year? I was reaching for the X to doubt button.

  “How long have you been in operation?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Over two hundred years. I can arrange for some testimonials if you like. I believe you’re in touch with both Mr Dalgliesh and Mr Phillpot?”

  I looked around, searching for Nyal’s shadowy minions who were probably in the room with us. I should pay Phillpot a visit at some point soon. I owed him some feathers. “I know them both.”

  “Baron Bob, if I might ask, do you know anything about the disappearance of Big Kenny? There have been a couple of instances where his appearance seemed warranted, but he did not… do what he does best. It is destabilising things. I would be willing to negotiate some more generous clauses if you could provide any information on this troubling matter.”

  Jesus, the guy even talked in beige. “I might.” There was a flicker of green light from below the desk. “You going to put the truth crystal down?”

  “I am not. So Mr Kenny is no longer with us?”

  “He’s still around. Here and there.” Green light. The bastard was, one part in the sea or as a minor crater in the wilderness, the other subdivided into a bunch of arachnoshroom stomachs. Assuming those monsters had stomachs.

  “And he will return to his former duties?”

  “Who are you asking for?” I snapped.

  “There are many interested parties. Several of whom are also account holders here. Bankers appreciate knowledge that might affect the economy, and we tend to be very giving to those who provide it to us.”

  “What’s it worth to you?” Greed was rubbing his claws together again.

  “Favourable terms. Perhaps we can manage some sort of quid pro quo?”

  “Are you an Outremonde?”

  “Of course I’m not. I’m Ankmapakian, born and bred. Grew up in The Gloom and did well for myself.”

  “That was Latin.”

  “Oh, it’s a common enough phrase on Helstat. We may have imported it.” He shrugged. “Back to the matter at hand?”

  “Gimme the crystal.” He looked blankly at me. “I need to trust you as well.” He passed it across his desk, his elbow nudging a neat pile of paperwork into a less tidy array, which he hastily straightened.

  I weighed the crystal in my hand, then fixed him with a low-tier glare. “What are you planning to do with any information I may or may not have?”

  “Use it to the advantage of the bank.” Green light.

  “Just the bank?”

  “Of course.” Amber light. He winced. “Mostly the bank. There are other interested parties.”

  “Who?”

  “The Thieves Guild, the Armaments Guild, a number of nobles,” he ground out through a fake smile.

  “What about the Emperor?”

  “The Madson is a client of ours.” Green light.

  “Is it worth it for me to give you this information? Is the reward worthwhile?”

  “I believe so.” Green light. I passed him the stone, deliberately upsetting a stack of paperwork because being petty is fun sometimes.

  “Right. Kenny is dead.”

  “You killed Kenny?”

  “Do not call me a bastard.” I received a blank look and sighed. “Peasants.” Green light.

  “Peasants killed Kenny?” His eyes were wide. “What kind of peasants do you have on your estates?”

  “No. I killed Kenny. I used portals to chop the guy in half. Half of his body is fish food, the other half is monster poop.”

  “Dalgliesh will not be happy.” This seemed to perk the guy up like a kid getting a puppy for Christmas.

  “So, rewards, please?”

  “I think I will handle this, Hordram.”

  I hadn’t heard the door move, but maybe they used the same lube as the auction house had done. I would have certainly heard a mammal so close behind me. I turned to look, and my jaw dropped. Bald, skinny, and a face I recognised.

  “You’re the god of wealth? I thought you were still alive!”