Anthony had expected the auction to finish by 11:00, at the latest. But at noon, when the auctioneer paused one hour for lunch, it was barely half over. A surprising number of bidders had attended, and they had competed long and hard on a number of items. Lot 18 had taken half an hour alone. Twice, the auction had paused to grant a bidder an extra inspection.

Bidder 3, a thin man in an immaculate white suit and matching boater hat, had been the most active. He sat in the front row and seemed not to care about his fellow bidders or any kind of strategy, and seemed not to care how much money he spent. He mostly seemed interested in pottery, but had purchased two clay tablets, as well. Overall, he had purchased the most number of items, and Anthony couldn't recall that he had lost any item he wanted.

Bidder 8 was a plump woman in her fifties in the fifth row, wearing a lovely floral dress. She was also pretty active, and had won the second highest number of items, all of them pottery of a lesser quality than that purchased by Bidder 3. Another woman, about the same age, sat beside her, possibly a best friend or a sister. They conferred constantly, always whispering loudly enough to be heard easily, discussing the merits of each item, looking around the room, and trying to outguess their fellow bidders.

Bidder 4, an elderly man who somehow gave the bearing that perhaps he'd once been in the military, had driven up the price on a few pieces of pottery, but hadn't actually bought anything.

Bidder 11, a man in his thirties, had also won nothing, and was visibly agitated. His pockets weren't deep enough to compete with the big sluggers, and every time he lost, he exhaled a deep sigh of irritation, and each sigh was louder than the previous one. He evidently felt the universe was wronging him somehow by depriving him of his right to purchase whatever he wanted. People occasionally scowled at him, but he didn't seem to notice.

There were maybe fifteen more attendees, scattered around the large ballroom. Most had paddles, and their bidding seemed sporadic and unpredictable.

Some things just weren't worth bidding on. There were a few items of ancient metalwork: nails, spikes, spearheads, hinges, etc. Things only a museum would really care about. No one bid on those.

It was about 2:00 when the auction finally reached the moment Anthony had come for. He was disappointed to see that almost all the bidders were still present, especially Bidder 3, whom he dreaded. He'd hoped that, having acquired what they came for, previous winners would have trickled out.

Two auction staff members, wearing masks and gloves, carefully set an ancient book on an easel beside the auctioneer.

"Lot 42," the auctioneer said. "One codex with pages made of vellum. Dating estimated from 1200 to 1400 AD, found inside a sealed clay jar in a cave in the Taurus Mountains. Its title has worn off very much, but is still barely legible. It roughly translates to Secrets of the Ocean. Its pages are slightly brittle, but not too bad. Its text is perfectly readable. Its text is mainly Anatolian hieroglyphs, but a few pages near the end contain Hittite cuneiform. Bidding shall open at fifty thousand dollars."

Out of curiosity, Anthony hesitated. For about five seconds, no one did anything. Interesting.

Anthony raised his paddle for the first time that day. He was Bidder 19.

"We have fifty thousand. Do we have fifty-five?"

After several seconds, Bidder 3 raised his paddle.

Damn! Anthony thought.

"We have fifty-five thousand. Do we have sixty?"

Bidder 11 raised his paddle, which surprised Anthony.

"We have sixty thousand. Do we have sixty-five?"

Anthony sighed, but unlike Bidder 11, he was smart enough to keep it quiet. Oh, well, he thought. I planned for this. This is what budgets are for. He raised his paddle.

Sensing a competition, the auctioneer stopped raising in five-thousand-dollar increments and went bigger. "We have sixty-five thousand. Do we have seventy-five?"

Bidder 3 didn't even hesitate. Anthony growled to himself, while Bidder 11 let out the biggest sigh of frustration all day, indicating he was finished.

Anthony and the man in the white suit traded a few more bids, until the other man casually bid one hundred thousand, which was Anthony's limit. He knew he wasn't going to get the codex.

"I request an inspection," Anthony said.

Anthony left his seat and stepped onto the stage. An auction staff member handed him plastic gloves, a mask, and a small stick, similar to a conductor's baton. He told Anthony he had to stand at least eighteen inches from the codex, and that he had five minutes.

The codex had about eighty pages. Using the stick, Anthony turned them as quickly as he could while maintaining decorum, balancing care with speed. If he damaged the codex, he did not have the money to pay for it now.

From the day the codex's discovery had been announced, eighteen months ago, Anthony had daily taught himself both Anatolian hieroglyphs and Hittite cuneiform. He had mastered neither, but was competent enough in each to know what he was looking for.

With just forty seconds left, he found it. Cunning women-fish was the rough translation, or dangerous mystery women (part fish) of the sea. It was the heading of a section of text, and he could read enough of the text to know that this passage was the prize he sought. He pulled a small digital camera from his pocket.

"No flash, sir?" the auctioneer asked, though it was really more of a command.

Anthony nodded, indicating the camera's flash was off. He carefully photographed three pages.

"Time," the auctioneer said.

Anthony gave the auctioneer a slight bow of gratitude, then handed the gloves, mask, and stick back to the staff member. Another staff member delicately closed the codex.

Anthony resumed his seat and immediately inspected the photos, making absolutely sure they had captured all the text clearly.

The auctioneer looked at Anthony. "Bidding stands at one hundred thousand dollars. Do we have one hundred ten thousand?"

Anthony looked up and shook his head.

"One hundred five thousand dollars?" the auctioneer asked him hopefully.

Anthony shook his head again, and made a vertical slicing motion with his finger, indicating he would no longer bid on the item at all.

The auctioneer looked around the rest of the room. "Bidding still stands at one hundred thousand dollars. Do we have one hundred five?"

Silence.

"Going once. Going twice." The auctioneer tapped his gavel on the podium. "Sold for one hundred thousand dollars to bidder number three."

Anthony was already out the door. He had a plane to catch.

Owning the codex would have been much better. Who knew how many secrets it contained? But at least he had the main prize, an arcane piece of knowledge which he had guessed – correctly – would be found within the codex's ancient pages.

Yes, indeed. Anthony had most certainly gotten exactly what he came for.

Which meant nothing could stop him now.