Black smoke from the northern poison altars stained the upper atmosphere, but business at the Black-Crow Ghost Market had never been more vibrant.
Deep beneath the jagged sea caves of Crow-Beak Atoll, floating jade lanterns cast a warm, golden glow across thousands of masked merchants and sect delegates. Three hundred armed private galleons were moored in the subterranean lagoon, their captains clutching bulging bags of spirit stones.
Deacon Vane stood atop the raised obsidian auction block, his silver spectacles gleaming in the light.
He was wearing an exquisite crimson silk coat lined with white ermine fur, his thin mustache combed to razor-sharp perfection. Beside him on the velvet podium rested thirty round, pale purple root vegetables nestled in a bed of damp river moss.
They were ordinary garden turnips.
“Honored patriarchs, grand elders, and esteemed trading syndicates,” Vane purred, his voice amplified across the cavern by an acoustic jade horn. “Today, we offer an opportunity that will never be repeated in this mortal millennium.”
He lifted a single turnip with two velvet-gloved fingers, displaying its plump, earthy skin to the crowd.
“These thirty turnips were cultivated in the outer vegetable patch of Reed-Shadow Atoll,” Vane announced, bowing with theatrical reverence. “They grew three paces from the humble wooden bench where the elusive Grandmaster Ash sat while contemplating the infinite Dao.”
