From their earlier surveillance of Cornelis Smeet’s office, they knew the attorney had runners taking documents back and forth to clients all day long, gathering necessary signatures and conveying important information. The messengers were too well paid to consider bribing—especially if one of them turned out to be among those few dreaded honest men.
And in a way, they had Van Eck to thank for the ease with which Kaz baited the trap. Dressed in stadwatch uniforms, Anika and Pim stopped Smeet’s messengers with impunity, demanding to see their identification while their bags were searched. The documents inside were confidential and sealed, but they weren’t after the documents. They just needed to plant a few crumbs to entice young Karl Dryden.
“Sometimes,” said Kaz, “a proper thief doesn’t just take. He leaves something behind.”
Working with Specht, Wylan had created a stamp that could be pressed to the back of a sealed envelope. It gave the impression that the envelope had absorbed the ink from another document, as if some thoughtless clerk had left the papers somewhere damp. When the messengers delivered Dryden’s files, if he was curious at all, he’d at least glance at the words that seemed to have leached onto his packet of papers. And he’d find something very interest ing indeed—a letter from one of Smeet’s other clients. The client’s name was unreadable, but the letter was clearly an inquiry: Did Smeet have knowledge of a farmer named Johannus Rietveld, the head of a consortium of Kerch and Zemeni jurda growers? He was taking meetings at the Geldrenner Hotel with select investors only. Would an introduction be possible?
Prior to the announcement of Kuwei’s auction, the information would have been of mild interest. Afterward, it was the kind of tip that could make fortunes.
Even before they’d baited the trap with the false letter, Kaz had Colm taking meals in the Geldrenner’s lavish purple dining room with various members of Kerch’s trade and banking community. Colm always sat a good distance away from any other customers, ordered extravagantly, and spoke with his guests in hushed tones. The content of the discussions was completely benign—talk of crop reports and interest rates—but no one in the dining room knew that. Everything was done in conspicuous view of the hotel staff, so that when members of the Merchant Council came asking about how Mister Rietveld spent his time, they got the answers that Kaz wanted them to.
Nina was present at all these meetings, playing the role of Mister Rietveld’s multilingual assistant, a Grisha Heartrender seeking work after the destruction of the House of the White Rose. Despite dousing herself in coffee extract to mislead the senses of the Kherguud, she felt exposed just sitting out in the open in the dining room. Kaz had members of the Dregs constantly watching the streets around the hotel for signs of the Shu soldiers. No one had forgotten that they were hunting Grisha, and that Nina might present a very appealing target if they found out about the meetings. Acquiring a Heartrender they could dose with parem would mean they could radically alter the course of the auction and might be well worth antagonizing the Council of Tides. Still, Nina felt pretty confident that the merchers who learned of Rietveld’s presence at the hotel would be keeping quiet. Kaz had educated her well on the power of greed, and these men wanted every bit of profit for themselves.
Nina also appreciated the attention Kaz had paid to Colm’s appearance. He was still dressed as a farmer, but Kaz had made a few subtle improvements—a finer coat, polished boots, a silver tie pin set with a small chunk of raw amethyst. These were the signs of prosperity that the merchers would notice and appreciate—nothing too gaudy or loud, nothing that might provoke suspicion. Merchers were like most men; they wanted to believe they were the ones doing the courting.
As for Nina, Genya had offered up a glorious red kefta from her collection and they’d pulled out the embroidery, altering it from blue to black. She and Genya were hardly the same size, but they’d managed to let out the seams and sew in a few extra panels. It had felt strange to wear a proper kefta after so long. The one Nina had worn at the House of the White Rose had been a costume, cheap finery meant to impress their clientele. This was the real thing, worn by soldiers of the Second Army, made of raw silk dyed in a red only a Fabrikator could create. Did she even have a right to wear such a thing now?
When Matthias had seen her, he’d frozen in the doorway of the suite, his blue eyes shocked. They’d stood there in silence until he’d finally said, “You look very beautiful.”
“You mean I look like the enemy.”
“Both of those things have always been true.” Then he’d simply offered her his arm.
Nina had been nervous about Colm taking the lead role in this charade. He was most definitely an amateur, and during their first few meetings with bankers and consultants, he’d looked nearly as green as his pea soup. But with every passing hour, his confidence had grown, and Nina had begun to feel the stirrings of hope.
And yet, no member of the Merchant Council had come to see Johannus Rietveld. Maybe Dryden had never seen the trace of the fake document or had decided not to act on it. Or maybe Kaz had just overestimated his greed.
Then, only forty-eight hours before the auction, Johannus Rietveld received a note from Karl Dryden announcing that he would call on Mister Rietveld that day and hoped to discuss matters of business that might be profitable to them both. Jesper tried to calm his father’s nerves while Kaz dispatched instructions to Anika and Pim. If they wanted to hook Dryden, they’d need to make sure other, bigger fish were interested in the bait. Nina and Colm had gone through their morning meetings in the dining room as usual, and she’d done her best to try to calm him.
At eleven bells, she spotted two men in staid mercher black entering the dining room. They didn’t pause to ask the host where to find Johannus Rietveld, but walked directly to his table—a sure sign they’d been watching him and gathering information.
“They’re here,” she whispered to Colm, then instantly regretted it when he sat up straighter and started to turn in his seat.
She grabbed his hand. “Look at me,” she said. “Ask me about the weather.”
“Why the weather?” he said, sweat beading on his brow.
“Well, you could ask me about the latest fashion in footwear if you prefer. I’m just trying to get you to act natu ral.” She was attempting to steady her own heart rate—something she used to be able to do without ridiculous attempts at deep breathing—because she’d recognized the man with Dryden. It was Jan Van Eck.
The men approached the table, then removed their hats.
“Mister Rietveld?”
“Yes?” Colm squeaked. Not an auspicious beginning. Nina gave him the gentlest kick she could manage beneath the table. He coughed. “What business, gentlemen?”
During their preparations, Kaz had insisted that Nina learn all the Merchant Council’s house colors and symbols, and Nina recognized their tie pins—a golden wheat sheaf bound with a blue enamel ribbon for the Dryden family, and the red laurel for Van Eck. Even without the pin, she would have recognized Jan Van Eck’s resemblance to Wylan. She eyed his receding hairline. Poor Wylan might have to invest in a good tonic.
Dryden cleared his throat importantly. “I am Karl Dryden, and this is the esteemed Jan Van Eck.”
“Mister Dryden!” Colm said, his surprise a bit overblown. “I received your note. Unfortunately, my day is fully booked.”
“I wonder if we might secure just a few minutes of conversation?”
“We have no wish to waste your time, Mister Rietveld,” said Van Eck with a surprisingly charming smile. “Or ours.”
“Very well,” Jesper’s father said, projecting reluctance rather convincingly. “Please join us.”
“Thank you,” Van Eck said with another smile. “We understand you represent a consortium of jurda farmers.”
Colm looked around as if concerned that someone might overhear. “It’s possible I do. How do you come by this information?”
“I’m afraid that’s not within my power to disclose.”
“He’s hiding something,” said Nina.
Dryden and Van Eck frowned in unison.