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Fizz kicked Brann's chest with his tiny furry paws. A small leather purse slid out, the same soft heavy sound John had heard in the back room of that green door. Fizz dragged it to John like a thief with a grin and put both paws on it. "I require a drumroll. Let's see what's inside."
"No drumroll," John said. "Open it."
Fizz bit the tie with a small pop and spilled the purse into his paws. One coin big and yellow rolled to John's boot and spun there, ringing itself out. A gold coin. Not many men held one. Fewer men held two. There were also silvers —brighter, smaller— maybe sixteen, maybe twenty. Fizz's eyes went huge. He hurled his face into the pile and came up with two silvers stuck to his cheek.
"Jackpot," he whispered, holy. "Snack fund. Soup fund. Emergency pancake fund."
John put a finger on the gold and slid it back into the purse. "It's a gold coin. Where did you get it?" John asked Edda.
