The Grand Walkway of Crown-Reach—a wide, terraced avenue of polished white limestone overlooking the river gorge, where for four ages the directors of the Grand Royal Trade ring and high chancellors had strolled in fur-lined velvet mantles—was fully transformed by the sixth hour of the morning into a vast, bustling open-air auction concourse.
Where private liveried sentries had once barred common workers from walking on the marble flags, three thousand commoners, guild delegates, and free farmers now stood assembled in dense, orderly ranks. On the raised steps of the former Trade ring Headquarters sat the Liquidation Commission. Hester Quill stood behind an oak auctioneer’s desk. She held a heavy bone gavel carved from whale ivory. Meanwhile, Apprentice Olla and four scribes stood before large slate chalkboards, ready to record bids in white chalk.
Tomas Reed stood at the stone railing overlooking the river, his ash-wood pack frame resting against the stone railing beside him. The morning sun was warming the valley. But the wind off the gorge carried a crisp, autumnal bite that made the scar tissue on his left forearm feel tight beneath his buckled calfskin brace. He rubbed the scarred gristle with his right thumb, feeling the steady, rigid leather hold his wrist firm. Watching the grand pleasure villas of corrupt ministers sold off to peasant farming collectives felt like a huge clockwork balance weight finally swinging to its true balance point.
