Crooked Kingdom (The Six of Crows Duology #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,171

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 .”

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