Jesper always felt better when people were shooting at him. It wasn’t that he liked the idea of dying (in fact, that potential outcome was a definite drawback), but if he was worrying about staying alive, he couldn’t be thinking about anything else. That sound – the swift, shocking report of gunfire – called the scattered, irascible, permanently seeking part of his mind into focus like nothing else. It was better than being at the tables and waiting for the flop, better than standing at Makker’s Wheel and seeing his number come up. He’d discovered it in his first fight on the Zemeni frontier. His father had been sweating, trembling, barely able to load his revolver. But Jesper had found his calling.
Now he braced his arms on the top of the crate where he’d taken cover and let loose with both barrels. His weapons were Zemeni-made revolvers that could fire six shots in rapid succession, unmatched by anything in Ketterdam. He felt them getting hot in his hands.
Kaz had warned them to anticipate competition, other teams bent on gaining the prize at any cost, but this was early in the job for things to be going so badly. They were surrounded, at least one man down, a burning ship at their backs. They’d lost their transportation to Fjerda, and if the shots raining down on them were any indication, they were seriously outnumbered. He supposed it could have been worse; they could have been on the boat when it exploded.
Jesper crouched down to reload and couldn’t quite believe the sight that met his eyes. Wylan Van Eck was actually curled up on the dock, his soft mercher’s hands thrown over his head. Jesper heaved a sigh, lay down a few shots for cover and lunged out from behind the sweet security of his crate. He seized Wylan by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back to shelter.
Jesper gave him a little shake. “Pull it together, kid.”
“Not a kid,” Wylan mumbled, batting Jesper’s hands away. “Fine, you’re an elder statesman. Do you know how to shoot?” Wylan nodded slowly. “Skeet.”
Jesper rolled his eyes. He snagged the rifle from his back and shoved it into Wylan’s chest. “Great. This is just like shooting clay pigeons, but they make a different sound when you hit one.”
Jesper whirled, revolvers raised, as a shape sprang into his peripheral vision, but it was just Kaz.
“Head east to the next dock, board at berth twenty-two,” Kaz said. “What’s at berth twenty-two?”
“The real Ferolind.” “But—”
“The boat that blew was a decoy.” “You knew?”
“No, I took precautions. It’s what I do, Jesper.” “You could have told us we—”
“That would defeat the purpose of a decoy. Get moving.” Kaz glanced at Wylan, who stood there cradling the rifle like an infant. “And make sure he gets to the ship in one piece.”
Jesper watched Kaz vanish back into the shadows, cane in one hand, pistol in the other. Even on one good leg, he was eerily spry.
Then Jesper gave Wylan another jostle. “Let’s go.” “Go?”
“Didn’t you hear what Kaz said? We need to make it to berth twenty-two.”
Wylan nodded dumbly. His eyes were dazed and wide enough to drink from.
“Just stay behind me and try not to get killed. Ready?” Wylan shook his head.
“Then forget I asked.” He placed Wylan’s hand on the rifle’s grip. “Come on.”
Jesper laid down another series of shots, sketching a wild formation he hoped would disguise their location. One revolver empty, he lunged away from the crate and into the shadows. He half expected Wylan wouldn’t follow, but he could hear the merchling behind him, breathing hard, a low whistle in his lungs as they pounded towards the next stack of barrels.
Jesper hissed as a bullet whizzed by his cheek, close enough to leave a burn.
They threw themselves behind the barrels. From this vantage point, he saw Nina wedged into a space between two stacks of crates. She had her arms raised, and as one of their attackers moved into view, she clenched her fist. The boy crumpled to the ground, clutching his chest. She was at a disadvantage in this maze, though. Heartrenders needed to see their targets to bring them down.
Helvar was beside her with his back to the crate, his hands bound. A reasonable precaution, but the Fjerdan was valuable, and Jesper had a moment to wonder why Kaz had left him in such straits before he saw Nina produce a knife from her sleeve and slash through Helvar’s bonds. She slapped a pistol into his hands. “Defend yourself,” she said with a growl, and then returned her focus to the fight.
Not smart, Jesper thought. Do not turn your back on an angry Fjerdan. Helvar looked like he was seriously considering shooting her. Jesper lifted his revolver, prepared to bring the giant down. Then Helvar was standing next to Nina, aiming into the maze of crates beyond. Just like that they were fighting side by side. Had Kaz left Matthias bound with Nina deliberately? Jesper could never tell how much of what Kaz got away with was smarts and planning and how much was dumb luck.
He gave a sharp whistle. Nina glanced over her shoulder, and her gaze found Jesper’s. He flashed two fingers, twice, and she gave a quick nod. Had she known berth twenty-two was their real destination? Had Inej? Kaz was at it again, playing with information, keeping one or all of them blind and guessing. Jesper hated it, but he couldn’t argue with the fact that they still had a way to get to Fjerda. If they lived to board the second schooner.
He signalled to Wylan, and they continued to make their way past the boats and ships moored along the dock, keeping as low as possible.
“There!” he heard a voice shout from somewhere behind him. They’d been spotted.
“Damn it,” Jesper said. “Run!”
They pounded down the dock. There, at berth twenty-two, was a trim-looking schooner with Ferolind written on its side. It was almost eerie how much it looked like the other boat. No lanterns had been lit aboard it, but as he and Wylan bolted up the ramp, two sailors emerged.
“You’re the first ones here,” said Rotty.
“Let’s hope we’re not the last. Are you armed?”
He nodded. “Brekker told us to stay hidden until—”
“This is until,” Jesper said pointing to the men storming towards them on the dock and snatching his rifle back from Wylan. “I need to get to high ground. Keep them back and distracted as long as you can.”
“Jesper—” began Wylan.
“No one gets past you. If they take down this schooner, we’re done for.” The men gunning for them didn’t just care about keeping the Dregs from leaving the harbour. They wanted them dead.
Jesper fired at the two men leading the charge down the dock. One fell and the other rolled left and took cover behind the bowsprit of a fishing boat. Jesper squeezed off three more shots, then sprinted up the mast.
Below he could hear more gunfire erupt. Ten feet up, twenty, boots catching in the rigging. He should have stopped to take them off. He was two feet from the crow’s nest when he felt a hot blade of pain sear through the flesh of his thigh. His foot slipped and for a moment he dangled above the distant deck with nothing but his slippery palms clinging to the ropes. He forced his legs to work and sought purchase with the toes of his boots. His right leg was nearly worthless from the gunshot, and he had to pull himself up the last few feet with his arms trembling and his heart pounding in his ears. Every one of his senses felt as if it was on fire. Definitely better than a winning streak at the tables.
He didn’t stop to rest. He hooked his bad leg in the rigging, ignoring the pain, checked the sight on his rifle, and began picking off anyone in range.
Four million kruge, he told himself as he reloaded and found another enemy in his sights. The mist made visibility poor, but this was the skill that had kept him in the Dregs even after his debts had mounted and it had become clear that Jesper loved the cards more than luck loved him. Four million kruge would erase his debt and land him in clover for a good long while.
He spotted Nina and Matthias trying to make their way onto the pier, but at least ten men were in their way. Kaz seemed to be running in the opposite direction, and Inej was nowhere to be found, though that didn’t mean much when it came to the Wraith. She could be hanging from the sails two feet away from him, and he probably wouldn’t know it.
“Jesper!”
The shout came from far below, and it took a moment for Jesper to realise it was Wylan calling to him. He tried to ignore him, taking aim again.
“Jesper!”
I’m going to kill that little idiot. “What do you want?” he shouted down.
“Close your eyes!”
“You can’t kiss me from down there, Wylan.” “Just do it!”
“This better be good!” He shut his eyes. “Are they closed?”
“Damn it, Wylan, yes, they’re—”
There was a shrill, shrieking howl, and then bright light bloomed behind Jesper’s lids. When it faded, he opened his eyes.
Below, he saw men blundering around, rendered blind by the flash bomb Wylan had set off. But Jesper could see perfectly. Not bad for a mercher’s kid, he thought to himself, and opened fire.
