Fleeing the Guard of the Day Watch By Day, he ducked into a fetid alleyway, ran through festoons of greasy laundry, then doubled back to the square.
Watch out, said his sword, too late to save a barrowful of spoiled yams spilling into the mire.
The vendor mumbled an oath. “Pay! You pay me!”
“No need to worry, old man.” He searched his pouch for an onyx stone, the initials of the Insurer’s Guild intaglioed around its rim.
The stone stubbornly refused to glow in response to his muttered charms. “But we have full comprehensive with third party stallkeepers’ cover.”
I reminded you to pay the premium. Last month.