Eventually, Van Eck strode down the aisle from wherever he’d been lurking by the stage and snapped, “If you wished to be seated in the front, you should have forgone the drama of a grand entrance and gotten here on time.”
The Shu and the Kerch went back and forth a while longer until at last, the Shu settled in their seats. The rest of the crowd was crackling with murmurs and speculative glances. Most of them didn’t know what Kuwei was worth or had only heard rumors of the drug known as jurda parem , so they were left to wonder why a Shu boy had drawn such bidders to the table. The few merchers who had seated themselves in the front pews with the intention of placing a bid were exchanging shrugs and shaking their heads in bafflement. Clearly, this was no game for casual players.
The church bells began to chime three bells, just behind those from the Geldrenner clock tower. A hush fell. The Merchant Council gathered on the stage. And then Inej saw every head in the room turn. The great double doors of the church opened and Kuwei Yul-Bo entered, flanked by Kaz and Matthias and an armed stadwatch escort. Matthias wore simple tradesman’s clothes but managed to look like a soldier on parade nevertheless. With his black eye and split lip, Kaz looked even less reputable than usual, despite the sharp lines of his black suit.
The shouting began immediately. It was hard to know who was causing the loudest uproar. The most wanted criminals in the city were striding down the center aisle of the Church of Barter. At the first glimpse of Kaz, the Dime Lions stationed throughout the cathedral started booing. Matthias had instantly been recognized by his drüskelle brethren, who were yelling what Inej presumed were insults at him in Fjerdan.
The sanctity of the auction would protect Kaz and Matthias, but only until the final gavel fell. Even so, neither of them seemed remotely concerned. They walked with backs straight and eyes forward, Kuwei safely wedged between them.
Kuwei was faring less well. The Shu were screaming the same word again and again, sheyao , sheyao , and Whatever it meant, with every shout, Kuwei seemed to curl further in on himself.
The city auctioneer approached the raised dais and took his place at the podium next to the altar. It was Jellen Radmakker, one of the investors they had invited to Jesper’s absurd presentation on oil futures. From the investigation she’d done for Kaz, Inej knew that he was scrupulously honest, a devout man with no family except an equally pious sister who spent her days scrubbing the floors of public buildings in service to Ghezen. He was pale, with tufty orange brows and a hunched posture that gave him the look of a giant shrimp.
Inej scanned the undulating spires of the cathedral, the rooftops of the finger naves radiating from Ghezen’s palm. Still no patrol on the roof. It was almost insulting. But maybe Pekka Rollins and Jan Van Eck had something else planned for her.
Radmakker brought his gavel down in three furious swings. “There will be order,” he bellowed. The clamor in the room dulled to a discontented murmur.
Kuwei, Kaz, and Matthias climbed the stage and took their places by the podium, Kaz and Matthias partially blocking the still shaking Kuwei from view.
Radmakker waited for absolute quiet. Only then did he begin to recite the rules of the auction, followed by the terms of Kuwei’s proffered indenture. Inej glanced at Van Eck. What was it like for him to be so close to the prize he’d sought for so long? His expression was smug, eager. He’s already calculating his next move , Inej realized. As long as Ravka did not have the winning bid—and how could they, with their war chest badly depleted—Van Eck would get his wish: the secret of jurda parem unleashed upon the world. The price of jurda would rise to unimaginable heights, and between his secret private holdings and his investments in the jurda consortium run by Johannus Rietveld, he would be rich beyond all dreaming.
Radmakker waved forward a medik from the university, a man with a shiny bald pate. He took Kuwei’s pulse, measured his height, listened to his lungs, examined his tongue and teeth. It was a bizarre spectacle, uncomfortably close to Inej’s memory of being prodded and poked by Tante Heleen on the deck of a slaver ship.
The medik finished and closed up his bag.
“Please make your declaration,” said Radmakker.
“The boy’s health is sound.”
Radmakker turned to Kuwei. “Do you freely consent to abide by the rules of this auction and its outcome?”
If Kuwei replied, Inej couldn’t hear it.
“Speak up, boy.”
Kuwei tried again. “I do.”
“Then let us proceed.” The medik stepped down and Radmakker lifted his gavel once more. “Kuwei Yul-Bo freely gives his consent to these proceedings and hereby offers his service for a fair price as guided by Ghezen’s hand. All bids will be made in kruge . Bidders are instructed to keep silence when not making offers. Any interference in this auction, any bid made in less than good faith will be punished to the fullest extent of Kerch law. The bidding will start at one million kruge .” He paused. “In Ghezen’s name, let the auction commence.”
And then it was happening, a clamor of numbers Inej could barely track, the bids climbing as Radmakker jabbed his gavel at each bidder, repeating the offers in staccato bursts.
“Five million kruge ,” the Shu ambassador shouted.
“Five million,” repeated Radmakker. “Do I have six?”
“Six,” the Fjerdans countered.
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 .”