M atthias 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 obelisk 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.
“The rules of the auction are clear,” said the Tidemaker. “Neither the indenture nor his representatives are permitted to interfere with the auction’s outcome. The market must decide.”
The members of the Merchant Council were on their feet now, demanding answers, gathering around Radmakker at the front of the stage. Van Eck made a great show of shouting along with the others, but he paused beside Kaz, and Matthias heard him murmur, “Here I thought I would have to be the one to reveal your scheme with the Ravkans, but it seems the Tides will have the honor.” His mouth curved in a satisfied smile. “Wylan took quite a beating before he gave you and your friends up,” he said, moving toward the podium. “I never knew the boy had so much spine.”
“A false fund was created to swindle honest merchants out of their money,” continued the Tidemaker. “That money was funneled to one of the bidders.”
“Of course!” said Van Eck in mock surprise. “The Ravkans! We all knew they didn’t have the funds to bid competitively in such an auction!” Matthias could hear how greatly he was enjoying himself. “We’re aware of how much money the Ravkan crown has borrowed from us over the last two years. They can barely make their interest payments. They don’t have one hundred and twenty million kruge ready to bid in an open auction. Brekker must be working with them.”
All the bidders were out of their seats now. The Fjerdans were shouting for justice. The Shu had begun stamping their feet and banging on the backs of the pews. The Ravkans stood in the middle of the maelstrom, surrounded by enemies on every side. Sturmhond, Genya, and Zoya were at the center of it all, chins held high.
“Do something,” Matthias growled at Kaz. “This is about to turn ugly.”
Kaz’s face was as impassive as always. “Do you think so?” “Damn it, Brekker. You—”
The Tides raised their arms and the church shook with another resonant boom . Water sloshed in through the windows of the upper balcony. The crowd quieted, but the silence was hardly complete. It seethed with angry murmurs.
Radmakker banged his gavel, attempting to reassert some authority. “If you have evidence against the Ravkans—”
The Tidemaker spoke from behind her mask of mist. “The Ravkans have nothing to do with this. The money was transferred to the Shu.”
Van Eck blinked, then changed tack. “Well then, Brekker struck some kind of deal with the Shu.”
Instantly, the Shu were shouting their denials, but the Tidemaker’s voice was louder.
“The false fund was created by Johannus Rietveld and Jan Van Eck.” Van Eck’s face went white. “No, that’s not right.”
“Rietveld is a farmer,” stammered Karl Dryden. “I met him myself.”
The Tidemaker turned on Dryden. “Both you and Jan Van Eck were seen meeting with Rietveld in the lobby of the Geldrenner Hotel.”
“Yes, but it was for a fund, a jurda consortium, an honest business venture.”
“Radmakker,” said Van Eck. “You were there. You met with Rietveld.”
Radmakker’s nostrils flared. “I know nothing of this Mister Rietveld.” “But I saw you. We both saw you at the Geldrenner—”
“I was there for a presentation on Zemeni oil futures. It was most peculiar, but what of it?”
“No,” said Van Eck, shaking his head. “If Rietveld is involved, Brekker is behind it. He must have hired Rietveld to swindle the Council.”
“Every one of us put money into that fund at your encouragement,” said one of the other councilmen. “Are you saying it’s all gone?”
“We knew nothing of this!” countered the Shu ambassador.
“This is Brekker’s doing,” insisted Van Eck. His smug demeanor was gone, but his composure remained intact. “The boy will stop at nothing to humiliate me and the honest men of this city. He kidnapped my wife, my son.” He gestured to Kaz. “Did I imagine you standing on Goedmedbridge in West Stave with Alys?”
“Of course not. I retrieved her from the market square just as you asked,” Kaz lied with a smoothness even Matthias found convincing. “She said she was blindfolded and never saw the people who took her.”
“Nonsense!” said Van Eck dismissively. “Alys!” he shouted up to the western balcony where Alys was seated, hands folded over her high, pregnant belly. “Tell them!”
Alys shook her head, her eyes wide and baffled. She whispered something to her maid, who called down, “Her captors wore masks and she was blindfolded until she reached the square.”
Van Eck released a huff of frustration. “Well, my guards certainly saw him with Alys.”
“Men in your employ?” said Radmakker skeptically.
“Brekker was the one who set up the meeting at the bridge!” said Van Eck. “He left a note, at the lake house.”
“Ah,” said Radmakker in relief. “Can you produce it?” “Yes! But … it wasn’t signed.”
“Then how do you know it was Kaz Brekker who sent the note?” “He left a tie pin—”
“His tie pin?”
“No, my tie pin, but—”
“So you have no proof at all that Kaz Brekker kidnapped your wife.”
Radmakker’s patience was at an end. “Is the business with your missing son as flimsy? The whole city has been searching for him, rewards have been offered. I pray your evidence is stronger on that account.”
“My son—”
“I’m right here, Father.”
Every eye in the room turned to the archway by the stage. Wylan leaned against the wall. His face was bloodied and he looked barely able to stand.
“Ghezen’s hand,” complained Van Eck beneath his breath. “Can no one do their jobs?”
“Were you relying on Pekka Rollins’ men?” Kaz mused in a low rasp. “I—”
“And are you sure they were Pekka’s men? If you’re not from the Barrel, you might find it hard to tell lions from crows. One animal is the same as the next.”
Matthias couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction he felt as he saw realization strike Van Eck. Kaz had known there was no way to get Wylan into the church without Van Eck or the Dime Lions finding out. So he’d staged a kidnapping. Two of the Dregs, Anika and Keeg, with their armbands and fake tattoos, had simply strolled up to the stadwatch with their captive and told the men to fetch Van Eck. When Van Eck arrived in the chapel, what did he see? His son held captive by two gang members bearing the insignia of Pekka’s Dime Lions. Matthias hadn’t thought they’d rough Wylan up quite so badly, though. Maybe he should have pretended to break sooner.
“Help him!” Radmakker shouted to a stadwatch officer. “Can’t you see the boy is hurt?”
The officer went to Wylan’s side and helped him limp to a chair as the medik hurried forward to attend him.
“Wylan Van Eck?” said Radmakker. Wylan nodded. “The boy we’ve been tearing apart the city searching for?”
“I got free as soon as I could.” “From Brekker?”
“From Rollins.”
“Pekka Rollins took you captive?” “Yes,” said Wylan. “Weeks ago.”
“Stop your lies,” hissed Van Eck. “Tell them what you told me. Tell them about the Ravkans.”
Wylan lifted his head wearily. “I’ll say whatever you want, Father. Just don’t let them hurt me anymore.”
A gasp went up from the crowd. The members of the Merchant Council were looking at Van Eck with open disgust.
Matthias had to stifle a snort. “Has Nina been giving him lessons?” he whispered.
“Maybe he’s a natural,” said Kaz.
“Brekker is the criminal,” said Van Eck. “Brekker is behind this! You all saw him at my house the other night. He broke into my office.”
“That’s true!” said Karl Dryden eagerly.
“Of course we were there,” said Kaz. “Van Eck invited us there to broker a deal for Kuwei Yul-Bo’s indenture. He told us we’d be meeting with the Merchant Council. Pekka Rollins was waiting to ambush us instead.”
“You’re saying he violated a good faith negotiation?” said one of the councilmen. “That seems unlikely.”
“But we all saw Kuwei Yul-Bo there too,” said another, “though we did not know who he was at the time.”
“I’ve seen the poster offering a reward for a Shu boy matching Kuwei’s appearance,” Kaz said. “Who provided his description?”
“Well …” The merchant hesitated, and Matthias could see suspicion warring with his reluctance to believe the charges. He turned to Van Eck, and his voice was almost hopeful when he said, “Surely, you didn’t know the Shu boy you described was Kuwei Yul-Bo?”
Now Karl Dryden was shaking his head, less in denial than disbelief. “It was also Van Eck who pushed us to join Rietveld’s fund.”
“You were just as eager,” Van Eck protested.
“I wanted to investigate the secret buyer purchasing jurda farms in Novyi Zem. You said—” Dryden broke off, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “It was you! You were the secret buyer!”
“Finally,” muttered Kaz.
“You cannot possibly believe I would seek to swindle my own friends and neighbors,” Van Eck pleaded. “I invested my own money in that fund! I had as much to lose as the rest of you.”
“Not if you made a deal with the Shu,” said Dryden.
Radmakker banged his gavel once more. “Jan Van Eck, at the very least, you have squandered the resources of this city in pursuing unfounded accusations. At the worst, you have abused your position as a
councilman, attempted to defraud your friends, and violated the integrity of this auction.” He shook his head. “The auction has been compromised. It cannot go on until we have determined whether any member of the Council knowingly channeled funds to one of the bidders.”
The Shu ambassador began yelling. Radmakker banged his gavel.
Then everything seemed to happen at once. Three Fjerdan drüskelle surged toward the stage and the stadwatch rushed to block them. The Shu soldiers pushed forward. The Tidemakers raised their hands, and then, over all of it, like the keening cry of a woman in mourning, the plague siren began to wail.
The church went silent. People paused, their heads up, ears attuned to that sound, a sound they had not heard in more than seven years. Even in Hellgate, prisoners told stories of the Queen’s Lady Plague, the last great wave of sickness to strike Ketterdam, the quarantines, the sickboats, the dead piling up in the streets faster than the bodymen could collect and burn them.
“What is that?” asked Kuwei.
The corner of Kaz’s mouth curled. “That, Kuwei, is the sound that death makes when she comes calling.”
A moment later, the siren could not be heard at all over the screaming as people shoved toward the church’s double doors. No one even noticed when the first shot was fired.
