18 #3

“The order says external service. The last wagon went south and came back empty on the third day.”

“Did you sign?”

“They copy our marks from the ration tokens.”

A woman showed an ink-stained thumb. Officials had pressed each print onto documents no one was allowed to read.

“How many workers remain below?” Kaoran asked.

“Forty-three by day. Eighteen at night. Many sleep inside the depot because their residence was corrected.”

The system fed itself. It erased a home, recruited its inhabitants, and used their labor to sort the next ones.

A whistle came from the staircase.

Maive closed the fence.

“Watchman.”

Sela hid behind a stack of canvas. Isolde and Kaoran went down one flight. The man wore a Royal Guard uniform beneath a black armband.

Isolde recognized him.

Ser Jalen Arv had guarded the upper courtyard when she was twelve. Rheskan burned off one of his eyebrows while shedding scales. Aelyn gave him a false eyebrow made of horsehair. He wore it for a week so the girls would stop feeling guilty.

Now both his eyebrows were white.

“The upper level is closed,” he said.

Isolde raised the safe-conduct.

“Timber inspection.”

Jalen read the name Mara Venn. He looked at the left shoe, the bag hiding her hand, and the way she held her shoulders.

“The beams belong to the commission,” he said.

“Any damage could affect the auctioned cargo.”

The guard came closer.

Jalen’s eyes moved to her face and stayed there. Isolde lowered the bag slightly to put it between them. She had no idea how much he could recognize beneath the coif. He looked at the safe-conduct again before speaking.

“I knew an inspector who climbed stairs without permission,” he said.

“What happened to her?”

“She died almost four years ago.”

The words hurt. Jalen waited for an answer Isolde did not give. Behind the door, a prisoner struck the bars, and the guard turned toward the noise.

Jalen looked at Kaoran. Then he studied the closed fourth-floor door.

“Veren is moving the transfer forward,” he said. “The wagon leaves when the private auction ends, in an hour. He received a notice from the White Gate.”

“About us?”

“About a marked family that entered with a Bren seal.”

Behind the canvas, Sela squeezed her daughter’s hand.

“Why are you warning us?” Isolde asked.

Jalen touched the black armband.

“My sister is in that room. Her name is Nara Arv. The census says she accepted work in Arkhe. She’s been sleeping six paces from me for three weeks.”

“Help us get them out.”

“There are fourteen guards inside, eight in the yard, and a blue plate in the office. Veren will burn the records if he loses control. His orders authorize it.”

“We need to close the exits before we open the gate.”

“The auction will bring buyers from minor Houses. That doubles the witnesses.”

Kaoran studied the old guard.

“And the swords.”

“The buyers are coming for beds. They’ll defend their reputation before the manager.”

Isolde lowered her voice.

“Do you know the royal inventory code?”

Jalen nodded.

“I served twenty years in the Citadel.”

“A competing claim suspends the transfer of goods until they’ve been counted before two independent witnesses.”

“Veren ignores that code.”

“The buyers know it. Their Houses use it to protect merchandise.”

Maive understood.

“Each family can file a claim on an object.”

“We need to fill the yard with owners before the wagon arrives,” Isolde said.

Sela came out from behind the canvas.

“The baker knows a hundred and twelve red tokens.”

“Go through the streets,” Isolde decided. “Take a copy of every number. Sela, find the people with white doors. Jalen will delay departure. Kaoran and I will examine the books.”

“Veren will be waiting downstairs,” Maive warned.

“Then we’ll start with him.”

* * *

The private auction began with seventeen buyers and a closed wagon in the yard.

Veren had set tables in front of the entrance. The most valuable objects occupied a platform: chests, carved beds, copper tools, and a set of chairs from the river district. A clerk announced prices.

Isolde arrived as they offered Lenda’s chest.

“Competing claim,” she said.

The clerk stopped speaking.

Veren Cos raised his head.

“Your hour is over.”

“The piece bears a residence seal and a royal service mark. The Ressa Consortium claims damages. The Housing Commission claims custody. A third party may claim Citadel ownership.”

The buyers examined the chest.

A man wearing House Teravel’s insignia asked to see the mark. Isolde showed the sheet with the Citadel’s emblem.

“The inventory lacks authorization to sell royal property,” he said.

“The laundress abandoned the residence,” Veren replied. “Her possessions entered city custody.”

“The Citadel retains ownership of the cloth.”

“We’ll remove the sheets.”

“The wood may have transported them and is attached to the claim,” Isolde said.

Veren understood the trap.

“We suspend that piece. Continue the auction.”

A woman entered the yard.

“Competing claim on bed number fourteen.”

It was Neira’s mother. She had reached Caleryon by another route with six families from Bren. She carried a copy of Sela’s token.

The baker appeared behind her.

“Claim on two tables from River Street.”

Maive opened the south door. Families came in with tokens, contracts, letters, and neighbors. Each called out a number.

The clerk lost his place in the auction.

“These people have no authorization,” Veren said.

Jalen took position at the wagon door.

“The inventory code requires competing claims to be heard.”

“The regency has replaced that procedure.”

“Show the order.”

Veren pointed to two guards.

“Clear the yard.”

The men advanced. They found buyers, families, and three Royal Guard uniforms that had joined Jalen. No one knew which group posed the greater political risk.

Isolde climbed onto the platform.

“Read the residence names before moving each piece.”

The baker took an auction book.

“Lenda Aris, residence four-eighty-eight.”

A woman raised her hand.

“I’m her daughter.”

She had come from the landing stage. She saw the blue chest and placed both hands on its lid.

“My mother disappeared during a laundry shift.”

The next object belonged to the Dors.

Sela spoke from the doorway.

“My husband is upstairs. My children sleep in that bed.”

The voices continued.

Each number returned a family to the building trying to erase it.

Veren backed toward the office. Isolde saw his hand seek the administrative ring. The books and the blue plate were kept inside.

“Kaoran.”

He understood. He circled the platform by the loading stairs. Isolde went down after Veren.

The manager closed the office.

Kaoran reached the side window and broke the latch with one of the nails he had bought.

“Handles use rivets,” Isolde said as she entered.

“This contract allows innovation.”

Veren stood beside a brazier. He had opened three books on the floor and was pouring oil over them. The blue plate rested on the desk.

“The commission authorizes the destruction of records in cases of sedition,” he said.

“The housing code calls the people outside ‘owners,’” Isolde replied.

“Their residences were corrected.”

“By your office.”

“By the census.”

“The same hand signs both books.”

Veren threw a sheet into the brazier.

Isolde took hold of the fire before it reached the oil. She kept it inside the bowl. The blue plate woke. A cold pulse struck the room.

Kaoran overturned the desk onto the instrument.

Veren threw the brazier at the books.

Isolde extended her right hand. The flame curved around the oil. Some of it fell on a curtain, which caught fire at once.

“Fire!” someone shouted in the yard.

The manager ran toward a second door. Kaoran tried to block him. Veren took an iron key and triggered a latch in the floor. A trapdoor opened beneath a rug. The man disappeared down stairs.

“Do we follow?” Kaoran asked.

Isolde saw flames climbing toward the beams. Twenty-six people were locked in above.

“We open the gate.”

Kaoran took the two books still intact. Isolde contained the oil inside the brazier and guided the curtain fire toward the wall. Smoke was already pouring into the yard.

Jalen sounded the alarm.

The workers formed a chain from the river. The buyers left the platform. Several families protected their belongings. Others ran toward the stairs.

“The fourth floor!” Sela shouted.

Maive climbed with the key. Isolde followed. Smoke filled the second floor. Cradles and mattresses offered fuel.

“Take the objects into the yard,” Maive ordered.

The sorters began with the cradles. Each person carried a piece. The same labor used to erase homes was saving their contents.

At the crane staircase, Jalen opened the fence. The large key turned in the upper gate.

Iven organized the prisoners by mobility. Three could help others. Two needed to go down sitting. Nara Arv had a broken rib and a fever.

“Those who need support first,” Isolde said.

“The crane takes eight,” Iven replied. “We’ll lower six on the first trip to make room for those needing support. The brake is controlled below.”

Kaoran stayed at the winch. Jalen and Maive filled the platform. Isolde held the gate as they passed.

The fire found the stairwell.

The blue plate in the office reacted to every movement of her core. A broad barrier might trigger another discharge. Isolde concentrated heat in two window hinges. The metal expanded. Iven opened the windows, and smoke escaped toward the river.

“Six prisoners down!” Kaoran shouted.

He raised the empty platform.

Sela waited in the yard with the children. She saw Nara descend with the first group and called a healer. Maive gathered the bandages left beside the gate and took the inner stairs down to help below. Jalen stayed upstairs.

“Your sister,” Isolde said.

“She’s with a healer now.”

“You can go to her.”

“I served in this yard before Veren. I’ll close the last shift.”

The second platform carried eight prisoners. The third lowered another eight.

Four prisoners remained: Iven, two adolescents, and a woman. Jalen and Isolde stayed with them.

A burning beam fell onto the stairs. The lower flight broke.

Kaoran shouted from below.