Chapter 23 - 22
Late into the night, Lumberling opened his eyes.
He slipped out of bed, pulled on a hooded cloak, and fastened a plain mask to his face. Without a sound, he left the inn and vanished into the winding back alleys of Novgord.
After a long walk under flickering torchlight and damp cobblestone streets, he stopped in front of an unmarked wooden door at the back of a dilapidated tavern. He knocked twice.
A peephole slid open.
"I’m here for the silent auction," he whispered.
The eye behind the slit narrowed before the door creaked open. A hulking man with a scar across his nose looked him over.
Lumberling handed over three silver coins.
The man nodded and stepped aside.
Inside, Lumberling passed through a tight corridor and opened another door. He emerged into a hidden auction hall—a dark, wide chamber humming with murmured anticipation. Chandeliers swayed overhead, casting warped shadows over rows of seats filled with cloaked attendees.
He walked directly to a waiting staff member and handed over a black scroll.
"Please wait while we verify the item’s authenticity," the staff member said, bowing politely.