A cool river breeze whipped across the third tier of the Red-Bridge Tea-House, fluttering the crimson silk curtains.
Below the carved cedar balcony, the murky waters of the Red River tumbled through the central arches of the great stone bridge.
Deacon Vane leaned across the lacquered mahogany table, tapping a rolled parchment deed against his porcelain saucer.
“A genuine five-furnace private courtyard,” Vane whispered, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the screen partitions. “Situated directly above the Third Fire-Vein tributary on Iron-Willow Street. The guild auction opens next week, but my contacts can secure the deed beforehand for two thousand spirit stones.”
Vane unrolled a secondary sheet of inked sheepskin across the lacquered mahogany.
It was an architectural floor plan showing high double-brick outer walls, an underground furnace chamber, and an enclosed courtyard garden shaded by three bitter-plum trees.
“The previous owner was a master apothecary who retired to the southern coast,” Vane continued in a hurried, eager whisper. “The perimeter is completely shielded by sound-dampening stone tiles. No street noise, no nosy neighbors, and direct subterranean heat vents that never require hauling firewood.”
Opposite him, Kaelen sat slouched against a silk bolster.
