Chapter Nineteen
When I said I was plannin’ t’ enquire with some other folks, I meant, in particular, Oleander Whiteboots. See, Gabriel Winters was right about him — a counterfeiter, an’ a talented one at that. No trace o’ shame about him, either. Happy enough t’ pass off his wares as the genuine article.
But ye cannot make a convincin’ copy of sommat ye’ve never seen, right? If the wily fellow produced a Herald’s Harp that could deceive even My Lady Silver as t’ its provenance, then Whiteboots has seen a real one. An’ there is that shoe-buckle, too. That chap has been pokin’ about at Mirramay, an’ no mistake. I reckon as that’s what took Tyllanthine off t’ the Goblin Court. If Whiteboots is sellin’ counterfeits, what has he done wi’ the real articles? Mayhap he still has ‘em, someplace.
