He was a man first of all who liked the quiet life, the beer on the front porch with Gloria at his side and a sort of eternal summer evening in the air. Perhaps he’d been born a generation too late, unfit for the bustle of the Sixties. Perhaps that was why he took a special interest in the crystal crown affair. “We understand you will steal anything,” the man with the monocle said. His name was Vonderberg, and he too was of another generation. “Anything but money,” Nick Velvet replied. “My price is twenty thousand dollars, plus expenses. Thirty thousand for especially dangerous jobs.” “This is not dangerous, but my people are prepared to pay you thirty thousand.” “Nice of you,” Nick Velvet agreed. “Are you familiar with the country of New Ionia? We are a very old and very small island in the Mediterranean, between the southern tips of Italy and Greece. We are a constitutional monarchy, with a ruling family that is centuries old and very, very tired.” Velvet decided that very was Vonderberg’s favorite word.
