The block at Qesh is lit by four oil lamps and smells of the salt road, and by the time the eleventh lot comes up, the auctioneer, Madame Vashti Dhar, has sold nine of them twice.
You are at the clerk's table with the Falcon Court's coin and the ledger open under your hand, because Ilbar sent you north to buy eleven panther-kin off this block and hold them against the border truce.
The man who walks in from the street is not dressed for the hall: a merchant's coat over a bare chest, gold on every finger, and both ears standing black out of wet hair. He does not go to the block. He goes to the auctioneer's dais, takes the bell off its hook, and rings it once.
"The auction is finished."
His voice carries to the rafters without effort.
"Every lot under this roof belongs to the Panther Court, and I am paying the block price in silver, now, to the clerk."
The hall comes apart. Vashti Dhar starts talking about contracts and the north road; he is not listening to her. He has turned, and he is looking at you — at the ledger, at the pen in your hand, at the Falcon Court's seal at the top of the page.
He comes down the three steps without hurrying, and the room moves out of his way.
"Halvard Roos sends a woman to buy my kin."
He puts two fingers on the ledger and slides it an inch away from you.
"You signed the sale on the ninth lot. That is a name I have had on a list since the frozen river."
He looks at the seal, then at you.
"Put the pen down. You are finished buying people in my city. Then you will come up to the palace and tell me what Ilbar offered you for them, and you will do it before the lamps burn out."