Laura turns to Jie and saysxièxiè, thank you. Her tone is polite but her expressive face screams disappointment. Jie clasps Laura’s hands and speaks with an intense, almost tearful earnestness. I don’t understand the words, but I get the gist.
As we leave the building, Laura’s expression is tight. I must look even tenser, given how hard I’m clenching my jaws. With a sharp wave, I flag down a passing cab. Laura leans in to speak to the driver, her Mandarin fluid as she requests Chengdu Poly Auctions. The driver nods, and we slide into the back.
The car lurches forward. I text Adam with the latest info. As the city flashes by, a nagging fear rises in the pit of my stomach.What if the buyer was Kurt?
I grip the edge of the seat and force myself to stop panicking and start thinking. Logically, it doesn’t add up. The music box was sold in May. If Kurt had bought it, he would’ve already had the key in his possession by the time Henri and Gigi embarked on their quest.
That would have meant the end of the game for us. Our royals need all nine keys to open the impenetrable vault. If Kurt beat a key seeker to even one, he would have won not just that battle,but the entire war. If we assume he already had the key I’m after, why would he risk his life to snatch another one from Gigi and Henri? Again, all Kurt needs is to get to a single key before we do. If he’d managed that back in May, he’d be gloating and sending selfies with that key to the royal family.
Right?Is there a hole in my logic?
I don’t think so. To recap, the timing of the events doesn’t support the theory that Kurt was the buyer of the seventh key, although the possibility can’t be completely ruled out.
Laura touches my hand. “You’re quiet. Everything OK?”
“Just hypothesizing,” I say. “The auction house will hopefully have the answers.”
She studies me for a moment longer before turning to the window.
As the cab jostles through the relentless traffic, I finally regain my composure.One step at a time.First, we confirm the buyer’s details at the auction house. Then, we approach whoever that is.
Lauraand I have been leafing through the catalogs for the last twenty minutes. The front desk lady has been smiling politely for just as long, watching us scan page after page.
“This is it!” Laura cries out, pointing at an entry.
I push my catalog aside. She slides hers closer to me. The first thing I focus on is a photograph of an antique music box that exactly matches the oracle’s description. Next, my eyes shift to the text. Thankfully, this catalog is bilingual, just like the one I was looking at. I read the English entry aloud:
Antique music box with an intricate rose and ribbon motif delicately etched on its surface. Estimated to have been crafted in France during the mid-eighteenth century, this piece exudes the elegance and refinement of the period. The mechanism is currently nonfunctional, but experts believe it can be restored to working condition by a skilled artisan specializing in historical music boxes.
“Sold for one hundred ten thousand yuan,” Laura picks up where I left off, then glances at me, her voice dropping. “That’s fifteen thousand euros. Wow.”
I skip to the most important bit of information. “The buyer is listed as anonymous.”
“That’s unhelpful.”
No shit, Sherlock.
I choke back the resentment. This debacle is unfolding through no fault of Laura’s. She’s been honest and cooperative from start to finish, and there’s no way in hell I’m giving her a hard time over my bad luck.
“It’s a standard practice for high-end auctions like this,” I say.
“But how do we figure out who bought it? Can’t we, I don’t know, ask someone? The manager, maybe?”
The employee behind the counter looks up, her smile sharper.
“No manager will disclose a buyer’s identity, Madame,” she says in an accented but correct French. “If the buyer has requested anonymity, then they will remain anonymous.”
I thank her for her assistance and grab Laura’s elbow. “Let’s go.”
We step out onto the sunlit sidewalk of Chengdu’s business district. Glass-fronted boutiques and luxury cars gleam in the midday sun. I pull Laura into the shade of an awning.
She stares at me. “Well? What now?”
“I need a moment,” I say, whipping my phone from my pocket. “Wait in the shop, OK?”
“Why?”
“It’s air-conditioned.”
