The auctioneer’s brass gavel caught the light of the lamps. A bead of sweat slid from his temple and fell on the split lectern. He had sold iron mountains and imperial treasures in thirty years at that block. He still took a breath to steady his hand.
“Twelve hundred high-grade spirit stones. Going once.”
Beitang sat deep in his throne. He had pulled his hands into his sleeves. His eyes stayed on Box Thirty-Seven. Wu watched from behind the wolf pelt, the corner of his mouth turned up.
“Twelve hundred high-grade spirit stones. Going twice.”
No one raised an ivory tablet. The auctioneer waited three heartbeats and brought the gavel down.
“Sold. Lot Three Hundred and Sixty, the Precursor World-Severing Tablet Fragment, to Box Thirty-Seven for twelve hundred high-grade spirit stones.”
People rose from the benches all at once. Young swordsmen beat their sheaths against the stone. Students ran for the exits to get the story to the lower markets. A man who had come in on a freight skiff had used the clans’ money to buy the lot they had wanted.
The older wanderers stood more slowly. Some were already watching the doors. They had seen enough to know what a clan might do when the hammer failed to give it what it wanted.
