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.' Sell him the boy."
"But--"
"You heard me."
"My lord, I cannot sell on one bid. The law is clear; one bid is not an auction. Nor even two unless the auctioneer has set a minimum. With no minimum, I am not allowed to sell with less than three bids. Noble sir, this law was given to protect the owner, not my unhappy self."
Someone shouted, "That's the law!"
The Syndonian frowned. "Then declare the bid."
"Whatever pleases my lords and ladies." He faced the crowd. "For lot ninety-seven: I heard a bid of two minims. Who'll make it four?"
"Four," stated the Syndonian.
"Five!" a voice called out.
The Syndonian motioned the beggar to him. Baslim moved on hands and one knee, with the stump of the other leg dragging and was hampered by his alms bowl. The auctioneer started droning, "Going at five minims once . . . five minims twice . . ."
"Six!" snapped the Syndonian, glanced into the beggar's bowl, reached in his purse and threw him a handful of change.
"I hear six. Do I hear seven?"
"Seven," croaked Baslim.
"I'm bid seven. You, over there, with your thumb tip. You make it eight?"
"Nine!" interposed the beggar.
The auctioneer glared but put the bid. The price was approaching one stellar, too expensive a joke for most of the crowd. The lords and ladies neither wanted the worthless slave nor wished to queer the Syndonian's jest
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