'A great many times, sir,' said Slant, with slightly less than his usual keen diplomacy. He realized this, and added, 'A valuable insight, I'm sure.'
'Good.' The most important chair sniffed. 'Keep an eye on our... workmen, Mr Slant.'
It was midnight in the Temple of Om in the Street of Small Gods, and one light burned in the vestry. It was a candle in a very heavy ornate candlestick and it was, in a way, sending a prayer to heaven.
The prayer, from the Gospel According to the Miscreants, was: don't let anyone find us pinching this stuff.
Mr Pin rummaged in a cupboard.
'I can't find anything in your size,' he said. 'It looks as though-- Oh, no... sheesh, incense is for burning.'
Tulip sneezed, pebble-dashing the opposite wall with sandal-wood.
'You could've --ing told me before,' he muttered. I've got some papers.'
'Have you been Chasing the Oven Cleaner again?' said Mr Pin accusingly. I want you focused, understand? Now, the only thing I can find in here that will fit you--'
The door creaked open and a small elderly priest wandered into the room. Mr Pin instinctively grasped the big candlestick.
'Hello? Are you here for the, mm, midnight service?' said the old man, blinking in the light.
This time it was Tulip who grabbed Mr Pin's arm as he raised the candlestick.
'Are you mad? What kind of person are you?' he growled.
'What? We can't let him--'
Mr Tulip snatched the silver stick out of his partner's hand.
'I mean, look at the --ing thing, will you?' he said, ignoring the bemused priest. 'That's a genuine Sellini! Five hundred years old! Look at the chasing work on that snuffer, will you? Sheesh, to you it's nothing more than five --ing pounds of silver, right?'
'Actually, mm, it's a Futtock,' said the old priest, who still hadn't yet got up to mental speed.
'What, the pupil?' said Mr Tulip, his eyes ceasing their spin out of surprise. He turned the candlestick over and looked at the base. 'Hey, that's right! There's the Sellini mark, but it's stamped with a little "f", too. First time I've ever seen his --ing early stuff. He was a better --ing silversmith, too, it's just a shame he had such a --ing stupid name. You know how much it'd sell for, reverend?'
'We thought about seventy dollars,' said the priest, looking hopeful. 'It was in a lot of furniture that an old lady left to the church. Really, we kept it for sentimental value
'Have you still got the box it came in?' said Mr Tulip, turning the candlestick over and over in his hands. 'He did wonderful --ing presentation boxes. Cherrywood.'
'Er... no, I don't think so...'
'--ing shame.'
'Er... is it still worth anything? I think we've got another one somewhere.'
To the right collector, maybe four thousand --ing dollars,' said Mr Tulip. 'But I reckon you could get twelve thousand if you've got a --ing pair. Futtock is very collectable at the moment.'
'Twelve thousand!' burbled the old man. His eyes gleamed with a deadly sin.
'Could be more,' Mr Tulip nodded. 'It's a --ing delightful piece. I feel quite privileged to have seen it.' He looked sourly at Mr Pin. 'And you were going to use it as a --ing blunt instrument.'
He put the candlestick reverentially on the vestry table and buffed it carefully with his sleeve. Then he spun round and brought his fist down hard on the head of the priest, who folded up with a sigh.
'And they were just keepin' it in a --ing cupboard,' he said. 'Honestly, I could --ing spiti'
'You want to take it with us?' said Mr Pin, stuffing clothes into a bag.
'Nah, all the fences round here'd probably just melt it down for the silver,' said Mr Tulip. 'I couldn't have something like that on my --ing conscience. Let's find this --ing dog and get right out of this dump, shall we? It makes me so --ing despondent.'