Tuthani diligently records the names, but laughs a bit at Sadar’s suggestion this area of the market will be closed for the day, "this is Katapesh! The street sweepers guild has already been contacted and this plaza should be cleaned up within the hour," glancing over at the noxious spidery carcass, she adds, "...hopefully. That said, it is likely many of the merchants will go home for the day, after their ordeal. You do not need my permission to celebrate, and I suspect if any merchant were to complain, the others would run them out of town." She removes two pieces of parchment and a quill from a small scroll case in her belt and begins to write something.

Galtho approaches Sadar, and shakes his hand, placing the promised eight silver in them. "You’ve my gratitude and my coin for the day’s work. I’m going home for the rest of the day, but you saved my life today - so do go celebrate. And thank you." The merchant begins to pack away his cart, discarding anything smeared with violet goo.

Tuthani returns and hands Zetath one of the papers and says bluntly, "this is your lot number. All of your goods will be at that repository. After they have been deemed safe, you can pick them up. Should take a week or so." Her guards begin to grab the items on his stand and the crates and load them up onto the Aluum golem.

Even when attacked by the foul spider horror, and even when Kharesh punched him hard in the face - twice, Zetath seemed more calm than he does in this moment. He screams frantically in a wide-eyed mad panic, "NO!!! No, not my goods? No! You must let me sell! I HAVE TO SELL!!! I own nothing else to sell!" He grasps pleadingly at the sergeant, who smacks away his hands. "Please! Don’t take my goods! Don’t take them!!!"

Tuthani bellows with a fierce tone, "I will reconsider arresting you if you don’t stop this nonsense!" The reproach seems sufficient to shunt Zetath into the throes of silent despair. The sergeant curtly thanks you for your time and departs with her squadron, the golem, the unconscious man in the yellow turban, and Zetath’s goods.

Zetath clutches his parchment, drops to his knees, and sobs.