Page 83 of Crooked Kingdom (Dregs 2)
Radmakker’s bark ricocheted off the cathedral walls like gunfire. Sturmhond waited, letting the Fjerdans and Shu bat numbers back and forth, the Zemeni delegate occasionally upping the price in more cautious increments, trying to slow the bidding’s momentum. The Kaelish sat quietly in their pews, observing the proceedings. Inej wondered how much they knew, and if they were unwilling or simply unable to bid.
People were standing now, unable to keep to their seats. It was a warm day, but the activity in the cathedral seemed to have driven the temperature higher. Inej could see people fanning themselves, and even the members of the Merchant Council, gathered like a jury of magpies, had begun to dab at their brows.
When the bidding hit forty million kruge, Sturmhond finally raised his hand.
“Fifty million kruge,” he said. The Church of Barter fell silent.
Even Radmakker paused, his cool demeanor shaken, before he repeated, “Fifty million kruge from the Ravkan delegation.” The members of the Merchant Council were whispering to one another behind their palms, no doubt thrilled at the commission they were about to earn on Kuwei’s price.
“Do I hear another offer?” Radmakker asked.
The Shu were conferring. The Fjerdans were doing the same, though they seemed to be arguing more than discussing. The Zemeni appeared to be waiting to see what would happen next.
“Sixty million kruge,” the Shu declared.
A counter-raise of ten million. Just as Kaz had anticipated.
The Fjerdans offered next, at sixty million two hundred thousand. You could see it cost their pride something to move in such a small increment, but the Zemeni seemed eager to cool down the bidding too. They bid at sixty million five hundred thousand.
The rhythm of the auction changed, climbing at a slower pace, hovering below sixty-two million until at last that milestone was reached, and the Shu seemed to grow impatient.
“Seventy million kruge,” said the Shu ambassador.
“Eighty million,” called Sturmhond.
“Ninety million.” The Shu weren’t bothering to wait for Radmakker now.
Even from her perch, Inej could see Kuwei’s pale, panic-stricken face. The numbers had gone too high, too fast.
“Ninety-one million,” Sturmhond said in a belated attempt to slow the pace.
As if he’d grown tired of the game, the Shu ambassador stepped forward and roared, “One hundred and ten million kruge.”
“One hundred and ten million kruge from the Shu delegation,” cried Radmakker, his calm obliterated by the sum. “Do I hear another offer?”
The Church of Barter was silent, as if all those assembled had bent their heads in prayer.
Sturmhond gave a jagged-edged laugh and shrugged. “One hundred and twenty million kruge.”
Inej bit her lip so hard she drew blood.
Boom. The massive double doors blew open. A wave of seawater crashed through into the nave, frothing between the pews, then vanishing in a cloud of mist. The crowd’s excited chatter turned to startled cries.
Fifteen figures cloaked in blue filed inside, their robes billowing as if captured by an invisible wind, their faces obscured by mist.
People were calling for their weapons; some were clutching one another and screaming. Inej saw a mercher hunched over, frantically fanning his unconscious wife.
The figures glided up the aisle, their garments moving in slow ripples.
“We are the Council of Tides,” said the blue-cloaked figure in the lead, a female voice, low and commanding. The mist shrouded her face completely, shifting beneath her hood in a continuously changing mask. “This auction is a sham.”
Shocked murmurs rose from the crowd.
Inej heard Radmakker call for order, and then she was dodging left, moving on instinct as she heard a soft whoosh. A tiny, circular blade cut past her, slicing the sleeve of her tunic and pinging off the copper roof.
“That was a warning,” said Dunyasha. She perched on the scrollwork of one of the spires thirty feet from Inej, her ivory hood raised around her face, bright as new snow beneath the afternoon sun. “I will look you in the eye when I send you to your death.”
Inej reached for her knives. Her shadow demanded an answer.
PART SIX
ACTION & ECHO
33
MATTHIAS
Matthias held his body quiet, taking in the chaos that had erupted over the Church of Barter. He was keenly aware of the Council members seated behind him, a flock of black-suited ravens squawking at one another, each louder than the next—all but Van Eck, who had settled deeply into his chair, his fingers tented before him, a look of supreme satisfaction on his face. Matthias could see the man called Pekka Rollins leaning on a column in the eastern arcade. He suspected that the gang boss had deliberately positioned himself in Kaz’s line of vision.
Radmakker demanded order, his voice rising, the tufts of his pale orange hair quivering with every bang of his gavel. It was hard to tell what had riled up the room more—the possibility that the auction was fixed or the appearance of the Council of Tides. Kaz claimed that no one knew the identities of the Tides—and if Dirtyhands and the Wraith could not suss out such a secret, then no one could. Apparently, they had last appeared in public twenty-five years before to protest the proposed destruction of one of the ob
elisk towers to create a new shipyard. When the vote had not gone in their favor, they’d sent a huge wave to crush the Stadhall. The Council had reversed themselves and a new Stadhall had been erected on the old site, one with fewer windows and a stronger foundation. Matthias wondered if he would ever grow used to such stories of Grisha power.
It’s just another weapon. Its nature depends on who wields it. He would have to keep reminding himself. The thoughts of hatred were so old they had become instincts. That was not something he could cure overnight. Like Nina with parem, it might well be a lifelong fight. By now, she would be deep into her assignment in the Barrel. Or she might have been discovered and arrested. He sent up a prayer to Djel. Keep her safe while I cannot.
His eyes strayed to the Fjerdan delegation gathered in the front pews and the drüskelle there. He knew many of them by name, and they certainly knew him. He could feel the sharp edge of their disgust. One boy glared at him from the first row, quivering with fury, eyes like glaciers, hair so blond it was nearly white. What wounds had his commanders exploited to put that look in his eyes? Matthias held his gaze steadily, taking the brunt of his rage. He could not hate this boy. He’d been him. Eventually, the ice-haired boy looked away.
“The auction is sanctioned by law!” shouted the Shu ambassador. “You have no right to stop the proceedings.”
The Tidemakers raised their arms. Another wave crashed through the open doors and roared down the aisle, arcing over the heads of the Shu and hovering there.
“Silence,” demanded the lead Tidemaker. She waited for another protest, and when none came, the wave curved backward and sloshed harmlessly to the floor. It slithered up the aisle like a silver snake. “We have received word that these proceedings have been compromised.”
Matthias’ eyes darted to Sturmhond. The privateer had schooled his features into mild surprise, but even from the stage, Matthias could sense his fear and worry. Kuwei was trembling, eyes closed, whispering to himself in Shu. Matthias could not tell what Kaz was thinking. He never could.
