Eva accepts them gracefully, putting the soul onto her desk so she can hold them all. 

"Oh, Grey will love to play with these. Thank you. What about supply?" 

Thorn pulls a five-sovereign coin out of her pocket. "I've been able to sell a few of my gold coins. This is worth five sovereign; one of my gold coins is worth eighty-seven sovereign. And if I can just get my boot off..." 

She sits down and starts unlacing it.

Eva holds the coin up to the light. "This is certainly duplicatable. But you'll have to be careful with forgery, especially if it's a hailstorm of small coins like this one."

"Yes, I'm as aware of the native interference guidelines as you are. Not to mention the issue of attracting attention. That's why I'm here, in part; I'd like you to exchange some of my gold coins for native currency at a fair rate so I don't have to rely on native jewellers." 

She pulls the fifty-sovereign piece out of her bootheel, and holds it up so its central stained glsss can catch the light. "And this is the coin that will make that practical. Fifty sovereigns."

Eva nods. "So two of your gold coins is worth three of those and some change. Seems like a reasonable exchange rate." 

"I have a one-sovereign coin too, of course." She shows the steel coin. 

"How much of your gold would you like transformed?" 

"Let's say five coins. I don't want to be suspected of forgery if there's some larger denomination I've yet to find. Oh, and I'm fairly sure I'll be able to make up another fifty in change: don't leave me with too many fives." 

"Are you sure? There's a reason why we send gold instead of counterfeiting usually. Selling gold is usually not a crime, however much of a risk it is to our covers." 

She considers for a moment, and then sighs. "I don't know enough about this world. They could well have some magical method for detecting counterfeits that we can't foil. Damn it, I liked this plan." 

"That's why we have each other. Anything else?" 

She pulls her nylon tent and camping food out of her bag. "I don't need these, and they risk my cover. I can get period-appropriate ones at the market. Speaking of which, I need to give you a sample of Chorister Honey. Next contact." 

"Next contact. You should get going; Beacons have been discovered by all sorts of people and things in the past, even in the most secure locations." 

"Yeah. Nice to see you!"

"Nice to see you too."

Thorn hefts her pack, draws her pistol, and heads back out the door to the city. She sweeps the room, then kneels to refold and stash the beacon if nothing disturbs her.

Nothing has disturbed the room.

Well then. Time to head back into town, purchase some Chorister for later, and have lunch. She thinks it's around lunchtime. 

It does seem to be around lunchtime, though there are fewer clocks in the run-down edges of the city.

...As she is walking past a storage rental place just on the edge of the actually inhabited bits of town, there is a sudden shrill whistle from somewhere inside the yard of storage units, and then a chorus of soft steam hisses and twangs reminiscent of bowstrings. Followed by shouting and a scream of pain.

... Not her business, but she's going to go against her Sigilite instincts here and actually investigate. One hand on her pistol, just in case.

The shouting and cursing continues. They got Marten! Fucking rats! How are they gonna get out of here?

A rat wearing aviator goggles and carrying a miniature crossbow loaded with some kind of dart pops up over the edge of one of the container roofs and demands, "Friend or foe!"

"Friend! What's happening?" 

"They owe us money and have been blowing us off about it, that's what's happening. So they're paying up. And we're loaded for nonlethal, because we're better than that. Remember that, everyone pays the Clatter Rats what they're owed."

There are a couple more hisses from behind the next row of containers.

She nods, persuaded by the street logic of it. "Fair enough. I'll leave you to your contest!"

"Ain't much of a contest against those amateurs. If you need something small stolen or something significant sabotaged, or want makeshift miniature mechanical marvels, look for the Clatter Rats at 17 Griggs Street!"