We passed shop after shop, their beveled glass windows filled with stands of freshly baked bread or shelves of wares and hand-stitched boots. The Merchant’s District was exactly what it sounded like, the corner of the city where anyone with a merchant’s ring lived and worked. Among them, the most elite were the masters of the guilds that made up the members of the Trade Council. There wasn’t any power in the Unnamed Sea to be had that they didn’t hold. Even the traders that braved the storms of the open water were at their mercy to secure permits to trade. But there was still leverage to be acquired in Bastian without a seat at the merchant’s table. The Roths were proof of that. Now, I needed to find my own.
Establishing a stake in the family was the best way of securing my place among them. I’d learned a lot from Sariah and the multifaceted schemes she ran on behalf of the Roths in Nimsmire. If I played my cards right, I could do the same here in Bastian.
“What is it you do for the family?” I asked, trying not to sound too inquisitive.
Murrow kept his pace, eyes on the street ahead. “I handle Henrik’s relationships with the crews that come in on their regular routes. Navigators vying for a position as a helmsman, strykers with need of a little extra coin … whoever’s willing to talk.”
His trade was information, and I could see why he would be good at it. Murrow was as amiable as he was handsome.
Of all the things I’d heard discussed at dinner, nothing sounded out of the ordinary. They were all the pieces of a well-thought-out plan and they’d worked for three generations. But if I was going to impress Henrik, I needed an idea. A good one.
“Already scheming?” Murrow arched an eyebrow at me.
The corner of my mouth lifted. “Maybe.”
“Good,” he answered. “Eden was like that. Smart.”
His mention of my mother caught me off guard. I hadn’t heard anyone speak about her yet. “Sariah said the tea house Eden was going to open was here in the Merchant’s District.”
“Still is.”
My brow furrowed. “What?”
“It’s still there. Been boarded up for years.”
“But why?”
Murrow shrugged. “Don’t ask me. My father has tried more than once to get Henrik to sell it, but he won’t. It’s just rotting at the end of Fig Alley.”
I watched his face, trying to uncover whatever he wasn’t saying. Sariah had told me about the tea house, but I’d assumed that when it didn’t open, it was sold. It wasn’t like the Roths to hold onto things that weren’t producing coin.
Murrow led me up a set of wide steps, to a stained wooden door that was carved with a wreath of laurels. The shop front was immaculate, with a sign that hung from a golden chain and a window without a single smudge. Behind it, I could see a row of glass cases and a marble floor as white as moonlight.
“Choose the most expensive one,” Murrow said, keeping his voice low.
“What?”
But he was already pulling the door open and moving aside for me to enter. I hesitated, the scent of balsam meeting me in a gust of warm air. Murrow jerked his chin, signaling for me to step inside, and I bit my tongue, obeying. Every time one of them opened their mouths, it was only to offer half-speak and riddles. I was tiring of trying to keep up, and it had only been a day.
Inside, stone walls encircled a small room where glass cases were lined up with a single aisle for customers to walk and browse. Behind one of them, a widely statured man looked up from his stool. His thick, gray beard covered his mouth beneath the gold-rimmed spectacles atop his round nose.
“Welcome.” He stood, setting down the small tool in his hand before he straightened his burgundy vest. “How may I help you?”
His nice suit and the sparkling watch chain that hung from his pocket told me he wasn’t an apprentice. He was the merchant of this shop.
Murrow’s eyes skimmed the cases. Inside, gold and silver watches were set onto small, velvet cushions with an array of chains and faces to choose from. I recognized the maker’s mark on the piece the man was working on. These watches were sold in Nimsmire, a favorite among the merchants’ circle there.
The watchmaker’s eyes squinted as he looked Murrow over. “I know you, don’t I?”
“Murrow Roth.” Murrow extended a hand a little too forcefully, his voice louder than necessary for the intimate size of the shop.
The man took it, shaking dutifully. “Ah. Henrik’s nephew.” There was the faintest trace of suspicion in his words. “I’m Simon.”
The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place it until I remembered Henrik saying it the night before at dinner. This was the man whom Henrik wanted an invitation from. To what, I had no idea, but I understood now why he’d wanted me to change my frock.
Simon took off his gloves and set them on the counter, revealing the merchant’s ring on his finger. It was set with a polished tiger’s-eye stone, signifying his membership to the gem guild of the Unnamed Sea. It was a ring that many craftsmen would kill for.
When he finally looked at me, he smiled. “And you are?”
“I’m Bryn.” I gave him a respectful nod and Simon looked pleased. I knew how to make an impression, as Henrik had put it. If this was a test from my uncle, I was going to pass it.
“A friend of yours?” He asked the question to Murrow, but his eyes were on me.
I answered before Murrow could. “My cousin,” I said, pulling the reins of the conversation back into my own hands. “Bryn Roth.” I let the name hang in the air between us.
Simon’s eyebrows raised at that. It was exactly the kind of reaction Sariah would have loved. Anyone who spent a handful of minutes with my family would be able to see that they weren’t refined, but they were also too elegant to seamlessly fit in Lower Vale. They were a strange breed of something in between. Now that I was in Bastian, it would be my job to give the Roths a seat at the table in the Merchant’s District. That job began now. With the watchmaker.
“I see. I didn’t know Henrik had a niece,” Simon mused.
“I’ve just returned to Bastian from Nimsmire,” I said.
His smile widened knowingly. “Ah, Sariah.”
“You know my great-aunt?”
“Of course.” He laughed. “There aren’t many in this city who don’t, even if it’s been a long time since she made her escape.”
My eyes narrowed at his words. After her son died at sea, Sariah convinced her brother, Felix, to let her set up her own stake as a fail-safe for the Roths’ business in Nimsmire at a time when they had a lot of enemies in Bastian. It wasn’t until after he died that she actually made the preparations for the move, and at Henrik’s urging. According to Sariah, Henrik didn’t want her looking over his shoulder when he took charge of the family. I wasn’t part of the deal until my parents died and Henrik was left with a four-year-old orphan girl to raise.
“I’ve heard she’s made quite a place for herself up there in Nimsmire,” Simon said.
“She has.” It was true. Sariah was highly respected, and she had little competition because she’d never aspired to join the guild. She was an expert at mutually beneficial enterprise.
“I knew your mother, too.” The tone of his voice changed, making me look up. But as soon as I met his eyes, Simon set both hands on the case before him. He was careful to only touch the bronze frame and keep his fingers from the glass. “And what exactly are we looking for today?”