Of course it’s real, you bloody git,” Frank said to the young man behind the fruit cart, who had apparently questioned the legitimacy of this form of currency. “That’s a genuine piece of eight. I could buy your whole cart with it.”
Great, I thought, sarcastically. John and his crew were doing an excellent job of blending in.
Kayla appeared to be thinking along similar lines, since she asked, “Where are those guys from, anyway?”
“Here,” I assured her.
“Really?” She looked skeptical. The fruit vendor had apparently decided the piece of eight was authentic, and was surrendering more fruit on a stick than Henry could carry. “Because I’d have remembered seeing him around here. And I don’t want to get into some whole long-distance thing. Those never work out.”
I smiled, meeting John’s gaze.
“Oh,” I said, “you never know.

Auteur: Meg Cabot