Stars of Fortune (The Guardians Trilogy 1)
Page 48
“What are those words?” Annika demanded.
“It’s Russian.” Riley got up herself to circle around, looked into the bag. “And to borrow a phrase. Yobanny v rot. Mind?” she said to Annika, and without waiting for an answer, tipped the bag onto the table so part of the contents poured out.
Gold coins and silver, copper and bronze. Many, even with her untrained eye, Sasha recognized as old. Possibly ancient.
“We have here a lot of euros,” Riley began, “your pounds, punts, lire, drachma, yen, ducats, francs—Swiss and French—U.S. and Canadian coins, halfpennies, and yo-ho-ho, me hearties, your pieces of eight.”
“Pirate coins?” The notion had Sasha getting up for a closer look. “Like this?”
“Yeah, a reasonable shitload of them, from what I see. They’d be worth about a hundred bucks each.”
“Each.” Sasha turned the oddly shaped coin in her hand.
“Each, if they’re in decent condition and the inscription’s legible, like the one you’re holding. And this?”
Riley did a butt wiggle. “This is a Carlos and Johanna. Gold doubloon, stamped 1521. A collector would pay a grand easy for this.”
She poked through more as Annika stood back smiling in delight.
“Hell of a collection here,” Riley muttered. “And you shouldn’t keep it in a sack like this. Christ, this is a silver tetradrachm, circa 420 BC, probably worth a few thousand easy. And . . . Gamoto. Greek for holy shit.” She held up a gold coin. “Do you have a clue what this is?” she demanded of Annika.
“A coin.”
“See this guy on here, the one wearing the laurel? See this name? This is Augustus Caesar, founder of the Roman Empire. And this cow on the back—it’s a heifer. This coin? It was made somewhere between 27 and 18 B fucking C. It’s worth millions.”
“Of dollars?” Sawyer managed.
“There are only a handful of these known to exist. One went up for auction a couple years back. Went for, I think it was about fifteen, and yeah, brother, that’s freaking million.”
“It will buy hiking boots.”
Riley stared at Annika as if she’d grown gossamer wings. “You could buy a small third-world country with what’s in this sack, and I’ve only skimmed over a part of it. Where the hell did you get this?” She shook the gold coin.
“I found it.”
“You . . . found it.”
“Yes. It’s fun to find things, and I like pretty things. Do you like it?”
“I freaking love it.”
“You can have it.”
“Say what?”
“You can keep it. A gift.”
Seeing Sawyer about to speak, Riley held up a finger. “You’re going to just give it to me.”
“You like it, so a gift. For a friend.”
“Riley, you can’t—”
She cut Sawyer off with a look. “What do you take me for? Can I have another one instead?”
“One you like better? Yes, you pick. Everyone should pick one, the one they like better.”
“I’d like this.” Riley picked an old drachma. “Ten, maybe fifteen bucks,” she told Sawyer. “I’m going to keep it with me, for good luck. Thanks.”