At midnight two nights after the first payment, with the second batch finished, the Ghost Market gathered under the Old Imperial Aqueduct. Green fungus shone on the old arches. Fish-oil torches smoked above three hundred hunters, fighters, and merchants packed together on the muddy stones.
Four bronze lamps lit the granite auction block. The twenty-two-foot crocodile now hung over it from an iron frame. They’d moved it from the weighing frame at Slipway Seven for the formal sale.
“Thirty-two mid-grade stones,” called a man from the South Sea Tannery Guild.
“Thirty-six,” said a buyer from the Thousand Treasures Pavilion.
“Forty!” A merchant in purple velvet raised his token. “And four bags of spirit rice for the crew.”
Captain Hong Tao stood on the block with his arms folded over his breastplate. Meng Tie sat beside him with a pair of iron scales.
The auctioneer struck the granite with his brass mallet. “Forty going once. Twice. Sold to Purple Cloud Pavilion.”
The merchant came forward with green prisms in his hands. Before he could finish counting them, a cold voice came from the front row.
