N ina was furious to learn that Genya had tailored not only Wylan but Kaz as well, and she hadn’t gotten to watch.
He’d let the Tailor set his nose, reduce the swelling on his eye so that he could actually see, and deal with some of the worst damage he’d taken to his body. But that was all he’d permitted.
“Why?” said Nina. “She could have—” “She didn’t know when to stop,” said Kaz.
Nina had a sudden suspicion that Genya had offered to heal Kaz’s bad leg. “Well, you look like the worst kind of Barrel thug,” Nina complained. “You should have at least let her clean up the rest of your bruising.”
“I am the worst kind of Barrel thug. And if I don’t look like I just trounced ten of the best toughs Per Haskell had to offer, then no one’s going to believe I did. Now let’s get to work. You can’t throw a party if nobody gets the invitation.”
Nina was not looking forward to this particular party, but the next morning, the announcement went in all the daily broadsheets, stuck to the columns at the east and west entries of the Exchange, and tacked to the front door of the Stadhall.
They’d kept it simple:
Kuwei Yul-Bo, son of Bo Yul-Bayur, Chief Chemist of Bhez Ju, makes available his service and will offer his indenture as the market and the hand of Ghezen commands. Those wishing to bid are invited to participate in a free and fair auction in compliance with the laws of
Kerch, the rule of the Merchant Council, and the supervision of the Council of Tides at the Church of Barter in four days’ time. Parties will convene at noon. Sacred is Ghezen and in commerce we see His hand.
The city had already been in an uproar over the curfews, barricades, and blockades. Now gossip raced through the coffeehouses and taverns, changing and taking on new force from the salons of the Geldstraat all the way to the slums of the Barrel. According to Kaz’s new Dregs troops, people were eager for any kind of information on the mysterious Kuwei Yul-Bo, and his auction was already being linked to the bizarre attack on West Stave that had nearly leveled two pleasure houses and left reports of flying men in its wake. Inej staked out the Shu Embassy herself and returned with word that messengers had been coming and going all morning and that she’d seen the ambassador himself storm down to the docks to demand the Council of Tides release one of their dry-docked ships.
“He wants to send for a Fabrikator so they can make gold,” said Jesper.
“Pity the harbors are locked down,” said Kaz.
The doors to the Stadhall were closed to the public, and the Merchant Council was said to be in an emergency meeting to determine whether they would sanction the auction. This was the test: Would they support the laws of the city, or—given what they at least suspected about Kuwei
—would they falter and find some way to deny his rights?
At the top of the clock tower, Nina waited with the others, watching the eastern entrance to the Exchange. At noon, a man in mercher black approached the arch with a stack of documents. A horde of people descended on him, tearing the flyers from his hands.
“Poor little Karl Dryden,” said Kaz. Apparently, he was the most junior member of the Council, so he’d been stuck with this job.
Moments later, Inej burst through the door of the suite clutching a flyer. Incredible. Nina had been staring straight at the crowd around Dryden and had never glimpsed her.
“They’ve validated the auction,” she said, and handed the paper to Kaz, who passed it around the group.
All the flyer said was: In accordance with the laws of Kerch, the Merchant Council of Ketterdam agrees to act as representatives to Kuwei Yul-Bo in the legal auction of his indenture. Sacred is Ghezen and in commerce we see His hand.
Jesper blew out a long breath and looked at his father, dutifully studying commodities reports and the script Nina and Kaz had prepared for him. “My luck they said yes.”
Inej laid a hand on his arm. “It’s not too late to change course.” “It is,” said Jesper. “It was too late a long time ago.”
Nina said nothing. She liked Colm. She cared about Jesper. But this auction was the best chance they had of getting Kuwei to Ravka and saving Grisha lives.
“The merchers are perfect marks,” said Kaz. “They’re rich and they’re smart. That makes them easy to dupe.”
“Why?” asked Wylan.
“Rich men want to believe they deserve every penny they’ve got, so they forget what they owe to chance. Smart men are always looking for loopholes. They want an opportunity to game the system.”
“So who’s the hardest mark to swindle?” asked Nina.
“The toughest mark is an honest one,” said Kaz. “Thankfully, they’re always in short supply.” He tapped the glass of the clock face, gesturing to Karl Dryden, who was still standing by the Exchange, fanning himself with his hat now that the crowd had dispersed. “Dryden inherited his fortune from his father. Since then, he’s been too timid an investor to substantially add to his wealth. He’s desperate for a chance to prove himself to the other members of the Merchant Council. We’re going to give him one.”
“What else do we know about him?” asked Nina.
Kaz almost smiled. “We know he’s represented by our good friend and dog lover, Cornelis Smeet.”
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.
“I learned from the captain of the ship you traveled on,” said Van Eck. “He’s lying,” said Nina.
“How could you possibly know that?” Dryden asked irritably.
“I am Grisha,” Nina said with a dramatic wave. “No secret is beyond my grasp.” She might as well enjoy herself.
Dryden’s lower lip disappeared as he sucked on it nervously, and Van Eck said grudgingly, “It’s possible some sensitive information may have made its way into our hands through Cornelis Smeet’s office.”
“I see,” said Colm, looking very grim indeed.
Nina wanted to applaud. Now the merchers were on the defensive. “We are interested in the possibility of adding to your list of
investors,” said Van Eck.
“I don’t need more investors.”
“How can that be?” asked Dryden. “You’ve been in the city less than a week.”
“The climate has changed somehow. I don’t completely understand it, but there’s been a run on jurda .”
Now Van Eck leaned forward, eyes slightly narrowed. “That is interesting, Mister Rietveld. How is it that you appeared in Ketterdam at such a fortuitous time? Why choose now to start a jurda consortium?”
So much for the defensive. But Kaz had prepared Colm for this.
“If you must know, a few months ago, someone began buying up jurda farms surrounding Cofton, but no one could discover his identity. Some of us realized something must be brewing, so we chose not to sell to him, and instead started our own enterprise.”
“An unknown buyer?” asked Dryden curiously. Van Eck looked a bit ill.
“Yes,” said Nina. “Mister Rietveld and his partners had no success in learning who he might be. But perhaps you gentlemen might have better luck. There’s talk that he’s Kerch.”
Van Eck sank back in his seat. His pale skin had acquired a clammy sheen. The power at the table had shifted once again. The last thing Van Eck wanted was anyone looking into who had been buying up those jurda fields. Nina gave Colm another gentle nudge. The less interested they seemed in the Council’s money, the more eager the Council members would be to give it up.
“Actually,” continued Colm, “if you suss him out, you might be able to go in on his scheme instead. He may still be seeking investors.”
“No,” said Van Eck a bit too sharply. “After all, you are here now and able to represent our interests. Why waste time and effort in pointless sleuthing? Each man has the right to seek profit where he finds it.”
“All the same,” said Dryden. “It’s possible this investor knew something about the situation with the Shu—”
Van Eck cast Dryden a warning look; he clearly didn’t want Council business spread around so casually. The younger merch shut his mouth with a snap.
But then Van Eck pressed his fingers together and said, “It’s certainly worth gathering all the information we can. I will take it upon myself to investigate this other buyer.”
“Then perhaps we needn’t move quite so soon,” said Dryden.
Timid indeed , thought Nina. She glimpsed Anika’s signal from across the lobby. “Mister Rietveld, your next appointment?” She cast a meaningful glance at the lobby, where Rotty—looking marvelously dapper in mercher black—led a group of men through the entry and past the dining room.
Van Eck and Dryden exchanged a glance at the sight of Jellen Radmakker, one of the wealthiest investors in all of Kerch, walking through the lobby. In fact, as soon as Dryden’s note had arrived requesting a meeting, several investors had been invited to a presentation on Zemeni oil futures that had nothing to do with the fictional Johannus Rietveld. Of course, Van Eck and Dryden didn’t know that. The important thing was they believed they might lose their opportunity to invest. Nina was almost sorry she wouldn’t get a chance to hear Jesper hold forth on the resources market for an hour.
Nina gave Colm another kick under the table.
“Well,” he said hurriedly. “I must be on my way, gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure—”
“What’s the stake price?” asked Dryden.
“I’m afraid at this late date, I couldn’t really take on more—” “What if we came in together?” Van Eck said.
“Together?”
“The Merchant Council believes jurda prices may change soon. Until recently, our hands were bound by our roles as public servants. But the upcoming auction has freed us to pursue new investments.”
“Is that legal?” Colm asked, his brow furrowing with every appearance of deepest concern.
“Absolutely. We are prohibited from influencing the outcome of the auction, but an investment in your fund is well within the law and could be mutually beneficial to us both.”
“I see how the fund may benefit you, but—”
“You’ve been seeking investments from various sources. What if the Merchant Council became your primary investors? Imagine if this fund was exclusively ours. The Council consists of thirteen of the most established families in Kerch, each with prosperous businesses and substantial capital. Your consortium’s farmers couldn’t find better partners.”
Colm hesitated. “I’m intrigued, but I’d need solid assurances to mitigate the risk. If the Council pulled out, we’d lose all our investors simultaneously.”
Dryden stiffened. “No Merchant Council member would breach a contract. We’ll sign it with our seals and have it witnessed by any judge you choose.”
Nina could almost visualize Van Eck’s mind at work. Likely, some farmers in Novyi Zem had refused to sell. Now, he had the opportunity to control not only the jurda fields he’d acquired but also many he hadn’t. Nina also speculated that, given the financial strain of searching for his son, Van Eck might feel pressured to present the Council with a lucrative opportunity.
“Give us forty-eight hours to—” Van Eck started.
Colm looked apologetic. “I must conclude my business here by tomorrow night. My passage is already booked.”
“The harbors are closed,” Van Eck replied. “You’re not leaving.” Jesper’s father gave Van Eck a steely glare that sent a chill down Nina’s spine. “I feel distinctly coerced, Mister Van Eck, and I—”
don’t like it.”
For a moment Van Eck held his gaze. Then his greed got the better of
him.
“Twenty-four hours, then,” said Van Eck.
Colm pretended to hesitate. “Twenty-four hours. But I make no promises. I must do what’s best for the consortium.”
“Of course,” Van Eck said as they rose and shook hands. “We only ask that you make no final decision until we’ve had a chance to make our case for taking over the fund. I think you’ll find our offer very generous.”
Colm glanced in the direction that Radmakker had gone. “I suppose I can do that. Good day, gentlemen.”
As Nina turned to follow him out of the dining room, Van Eck said, “Miss Zenik.”
“Yes?”
“I hear you worked out of the House of the White Rose.” His lip curled slightly, as if even saying the name of a brothel constituted debauchery.
“I did.”
“I’d heard the Heartrender there occasionally works with Kaz Brekker.”
“I’ve done jobs for Brekker before,” Nina conceded easily. Best to go on the offense. She took Van Eck’s hand in hers, delighted at the way his whole body seemed to recoil. “But please believe me, if I had any idea where he’s taken your son, I would tell the authorities.”
Van Eck stiffened. Clearly he hadn’t intended to take the conversation in that direction. “I … thank you.”
“I can’t imagine the anguish you must be going through. How did Brekker even lay hands on the boy?” Nina continued. “I would have thought your security—”
“Wylan wasn’t at home.” “No?”
“He was studying music in Belendt.”
“And what do his teachers have to say about the abduction?”
“I …” Van Eck looked uneasily at Dryden. “They are flummoxed as well.”
“Perhaps he fell in with bad company?” “Perhaps.”
“I hope he didn’t cross Kaz Brekker,” Nina said with a shudder. “Wylan wouldn’t—”
“Of course not,” said Nina as she shook out the cuffs of her kefta and prepared to exit the dining room. “Only a fool would.”
