T hey stayed up planning well past midnight. Kaz was wary of the changes to the plan as well as the prospect of managing Nina’s pack of Grisha. But though he gave no indication to the others, there were elements of this new course that appealed to him. It was possible that Van Eck would piece together what the Shu were doing and go after the city’s remaining Grisha himself. They were a weapon Kaz didn’t want to see in the mercher’s arsenal.
But they couldn’t let this little rescue slow them down. With so many opponents and the stadwatch involved, they couldn’t afford it. Given enough time, the Shu would stop worrying about those dry-docked warships and the Council of Tides, and find their way to Black Veil. Kaz wanted Kuwei out of the city and removed from play as soon as possible. At last, they put their lists and sketches aside. The wreckage of their makeshift meal was cleared from the table to avoid attracting the rats of
Black Veil, and the lanterns were doused.
The others would sleep. Kaz could not. He’d meant what he’d said. Van Eck had more money, more allies, and the might of the city behind him. They couldn’t just be smarter than Van Eck, they had to be relentless. And Kaz could see what the others couldn’t. They’d won the battle today; they’d set out to get Inej back from Van Eck and they had. But the merch was still winning the war.
That Van Eck was willing to risk involving the stadwatch , and by extension the Merchant Council, meant he really believed he was invulnerable. Kaz still had the note Van Eck had sent arranging the
meeting on Vellgeluk, but it was shoddy proof of the man’s schemes. He remembered what Pekka Rollins had said back at the Emerald Palace, when Kaz had claimed that the Merchant Council would never stand for Van Eck’s illegal activities. And who’s going to tell them? A canal rat from the worst slum in the Barrel? Don’t kid yourself, Brekker.
At the time, Kaz had barely been able to think beyond the red haze of anger that descended when he was in Rollins’ presence. It stripped away the reason that guided him, the patience he relied on. Around Pekka, he lost the shape of who he was—no, he lost the shape of who he’d fought to become. He wasn’t Dirtyhands or Kaz Brekker or even the toughest lieutenant in the Dregs. He was just a boy fueled by a white flame of rage, one that threatened to burn the pretense of the hard-won civility he maintained to ash.
But now, leaning on his cane among the graves of Black Veil, he could acknowledge the truth of Pekka’s words. You couldn’t go to war with an upstanding merch like Van Eck, not if you were a thug with a reputation dirtier than a stable hand’s boot sole. To win, Kaz would have to level the field. He would show the world what he already knew: Despite his soft hands and fine suits, Van Eck was a criminal, just as bad as any Barrel thug—worse, because his word was worth nothing.
Kaz didn’t hear Inej approach, he just knew when she was there, standing beside the broken columns of a white marble mausoleum. She’d found soap to wash with somewhere, and the scent of the dank rooms of Eil Komedie—that faint hint of hay and greasepaint—was gone. Her black hair shone in the moonlight, already tucked tidily away in a coil at her neck, and her stillness was so complete she might have been mistaken for one of the cemetery’s stone guardians.
“Why the net, Kaz?”
Yes, why the net? Why something that would complicate the assault he’d planned on the silos and leave them twice as open to exposure? I couldn’t bear to watch you fall. “I just went to a lot of trouble to get my spider back. I didn’t do it so you could crack your skull open the next day.”
“You protect your investments.” Her voice sounded almost resigned. “That’s right.”
“And you’re going off island.”
He should be more concerned that she could guess his next move. “Rotty says the old man’s getting restless. I need to go smooth his
feathers.”
Per Haskell was still the leader of the Dregs, and Kaz knew he liked the perks of that position, but not the work that went with it. With Kaz gone for so long, things would be starting to unravel. Besides, when Haskell got antsy, he liked to do something stupid just to remind people he was in charge.
“We should get eyes on Van Eck’s house too,” said Inej. “I’ll take care of it.”
“He’ll have strengthened his security.” The rest went unspoken. There was no one better equipped to slip past Van Eck’s defenses than the Wraith.
He should tell her to rest, tell her he would handle the surveillance on his own. Instead, he nodded and set out for one of the gondels hidden in the willows, ignoring the relief he felt when she followed.
After the raucous din of the afternoon, the canals seemed more silent than usual, the water unnaturally still.
“Do you think West Stave will be back to itself tonight?” Inej asked, voice low. She’d learned a canal rat’s caution when it came to traveling the waterways of Ketterdam.
“I doubt it. The stadwatch will be investigating, and tourists don’t come to Ketterdam for the thrill of being blown to bits.” A lot of businesses were going to lose money. Come tomorrow morning, Kaz suspected the front steps of the Stadhall would be crowded with the owners of pleasure houses and hotels demanding answers. Could be quite a scene. Good. Let the members of the Merchant Council concern themselves with problems other than Jan Van Eck and his missing son. “Van Eck will have changed things up since we lifted the DeKappel.”
“And now that he knows Wylan is with us,” agreed Inej. “Where are we going to meet the old man?”
“The Knuckle.”
They couldn’t intercept Haskell at the Slat. Van Eck would have been keeping the Dregs’ headquarters under surveillance, and now there were probably stadwatch swarming over it too. The thought of stadwatch grunts searching his rooms, digging through his few belongings, sent fury prickling over Kaz’s skin. The Slat wasn’t much, but Kaz had converted it from a leaky squat to a place you could sleep off a bender or lie low from the law without freezing your ass off in the winter or being bled by fleas in the summer. The Slat was his, no matter what Per
Haskell thought.
Kaz steered the gondel into Zovercanal at the eastern edge of the Barrel. Per Haskell liked to hold court at the Fair Weather Inn on the same night every week, meeting up with his cronies to play cards and gossip. There was no way he’d miss it tonight, not when his favored lieutenant—his missing favored lieutenant—had fallen out with a member of the Merchant Council and brought so much trouble to the Dregs, not when he’d be the center of attention.
No windows faced onto the Knuckle, a crooked passage that bent between a tenement and a factory that manufactured cut-rate souvenirs. It was quiet, dimly lit, and so narrow it could barely call itself an alley— the perfect place for a jump. Though it wasn’t the safest route from the Slat to the Fair Weather, it was the most direct, and Per Haskell never could resist a shortcut.
Kaz moored the boat near a small footbridge and he and Inej took up their places in the shadows to wait, the need for silence understood. Less than twenty minutes later, a man’s silhouette appeared in the lamplight at the mouth of the alley, an absurd feather jutting from the crown of his hat.
Kaz waited until the figure was almost level with him before he stepped forward. “Haskell.”
Per Haskell whirled, pulling a pistol from his coat. He moved quickly despite his age, but Kaz had known he would be packing iron and was ready. He gave Haskell’s shoulder a quick jab with the tip of his cane, just enough to send a jolt of numbness to his hand.
Haskell grunted and the gun slipped from his grasp. Inej caught it before it could hit the ground and tossed it to Kaz.
“Brekker,” Haskell said angrily, trying to wiggle his numb arm. “Where the hell have you been? And what kind of skiv rolls his own boss in an alley?”
“I’m not robbing you. I just didn’t want you to shoot anyone before we had a chance to talk.” Kaz handed the gun back to Haskell by its grip. The old man snatched it from his palm, grizzled chin jutting out stubbornly.
“Always overstepping,” he grumbled, tucking the weapon into a pocket of his nubbly plaid jacket, unable to reach his holster with his incapacitated arm. “You know what trouble you brought down on me today, boy?”
“I do. That’s why I’m here.”
“There were stadwatch crawling all over the Slat and the Crow Club. We had to shut the whole place down, and who knows when we’ll be able to start up again. What were you thinking, kidnapping a mercher’s son? This was the big job you left town for? The one supposed to make me wealthy beyond my wildest dreams?”
“I didn’t kidnap anyone.” Not strictly true, but Kaz figured the subtleties would be lost on Per Haskell.
“Then what in Ghezen’s name is going on?” Haskell whispered furiously, spittle flying. “You’ve got my best spider,” he said, gesturing to Inej. “My best shooter, my Heartrender, my biggest bruiser—”
“Muzzen is dead.”
“Son of a bitch,” Haskell swore. “First Big Bolliger, now Muzzen.
You trying to gut my whole gang?” “No, sir.”
“Sir. What are you about, boy?”
“Van Eck is playing a fast game, but I’m still a step ahead of him.” “Don’t look like it from here.”
“Good,” said Kaz. “Better no one sees us coming. Muzzen was a loss I didn’t anticipate, but give me a few more days and not only will the law be off your back, your coffers will be so heavy you’ll be able to fill your bathtub with gold and take a swim in it.”
Haskell’s eyes narrowed. “How much money are we talking?”
That’s the way , Kaz thought, watching greed light Haskell’s gaze, the lever at work.
“Four million kruge. ”
Haskell’s eyes widened. A life of drink and hard living in the Barrel had turned the whites yellowy. “You trying to cozy me?”
“I told you this was a big haul.”
“Don’t matter how high the pile of scrub is if I’m in prison. I don’t like the law in my business.”
“I don’t either, sir.” Haskell might mock Kaz’s manners, but he knew the old man lapped up every gesture of respect, and Kaz’s pride could take it. Once he had his own share of Van Eck’s money, he wouldn’t have to obey another order or soothe Per Haskell’s vanity ever again. “I wouldn’t have gotten us into this if I didn’t know we’d come out of it clean as choirboys and rich as Saints. All I need is a little more time.”
Kaz couldn’t help but be reminded of Jesper bargaining with his
father, and the thought didn’t sit well with him. Per Haskell had never cared for anyone other than himself and the next glass of lager, but he liked to think of himself as the patriarch of a big, criminally inclined family. Kaz could admit he had a fondness for the old man. He’d given Kaz a place to begin and a roof over his head—even if Kaz had been the one to make sure it didn’t leak.
The old man hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his waistcoat, making a great show of considering Kaz’s offer, but Haskell’s greed was more reliable than a faithfully wound clock. Kaz knew he’d already started thinking of ways to spend the kruge .
“All right, boy,” said Haskell. “I can portion you a little more rope to hang yourself. But I find out you’re running game on me and you’ll regret it.”
Kaz schooled his features to seriousness. Haskell’s threats were almost as empty as his boasts.
“Of course, sir.”
Haskell snorted. “The deal is the deal,” he said. “And the Wraith stays with me.”
Kaz felt Inej stiffen by his side. “I need her for the job.” “Use Roeder. He’s spry enough.”
“Not for this.”
Now Haskell bristled, puffing his chest out, the false sapphire of his tie pin glinting in the dim light. “You see what Pekka Rollins is up to? He just opened a new gambling hall right across from the Crow Club.” Kaz had seen it. The Kaelish Prince. Another jewel in Rollins’ empire, a massive betting palace decked out in garish green and gold as some ridiculous homage to Pekka Rollins’ homeland. “He’s muscling in on our holdings,” said Haskell. “I need a spider, and she’s the best.”
“It can wait.”
“I say it can’t. Head on down to the Gemensbank. You’ll see my name at the top of her contract, and that means I say where she goes.”
“Understood, sir,” said Kaz. “And as soon as I find her, I’ll let her know.”
“She’s right—” Haskell broke off, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “She was right here!”
Kaz forced himself not to smile. While Per Haskell had been blustering, Inej had simply melted into the shadows and silently scaled the wall. Haskell searched the length of the alley and peered up at the
roof-tops, but Inej was long gone.
“You bring her back here,” Haskell said furiously, “right now .” Kaz shrugged. “You think I can climb these walls?”
“This is my gang, Brekker. She doesn’t belong to you.”
“She doesn’t belong to anyone,” Kaz said, feeling the singe of that angry white flame. “But we’ll all be back at the Slat soon enough.” Actually, Jesper would be headed out of the city with his father, Nina would be off to Ravka, Inej would be on a ship under her own command, and Kaz would be getting ready to split from Haskell forever. But the old man would have his kruge to comfort him.
“Cocky little bastard,” growled Haskell.
“Cocky little bastard who’s about to make you one of the richest bosses in the Barrel.”
“Get out of my way, boy. I’m late for my game.”
“Hope the cards are hot.” Kaz moved aside. “But you may want these.” He held out his hand. Six bullets lay in his gloved palm. “In case of a tussle.”
Haskell whisked the pistol from his pocket and flipped open the barrel. It was empty. “You little—” Then Haskell barked a laugh and plucked the bullets from Kaz’s hand, shaking his head. “You’ve got the devil’s own blood in you, boy. Go get my money.”
“And then some,” murmured Kaz as he tipped his hat and limped back down the alley to the gondel .
Kaz kept sharp, relaxing only slightly when the boat slid past the boundaries of the Barrel and into the quieter waters that bordered the financial district. Here the streets were nearly empty and the stadwatch presence was thinner. As the gondel passed beneath Ledbridge, he glimpsed a shadow separating itself from the railing. A moment later, Inej joined him in the narrow boat.
He was tempted to steer them back to Black Veil. He’d barely slept in days, and his leg had never fully recovered from what he’d put it through at the Ice Court. Eventually, his body was going to stop taking orders.
As if she could read his mind, Inej said, “I can handle the surveillance.
I’ll meet you back on the island.”
Like hell. She wasn’t going to be rid of him that easily. “What direction do you want to approach Van Eck’s house from?”
“Let’s start at the Church of Barter. We can get eyes on Van Eck’s
house from the roof.”
Kaz wasn’t thrilled to hear it, but he took them up Beurscanal, past the Exchange and the grand facade of the Geldrenner Hotel, where Jesper’s father was probably snoring soundly in his suite.
They docked the gondel near the church. The glow of candlelight spilled from the doors of the main cathedral, left open and unlocked at all hours, welcoming those who wished to offer prayers to Ghezen.
Inej could have climbed the outer walls with little effort, and Kaz might have managed it, but he wasn’t going to test himself on a night when his leg was screaming with every step. He needed access to one of the chapels.
“You don’t have to come up,” Inej said as they crept along the perimeter and located one of the chapel doors.
Kaz ignored her and swiftly picked the lock. They slipped inside the darkened chamber, then took the stairs up two flights, the chapels stacked one on top of another like a layered cake, each commissioned by a separate merchant family of Kerch. One more lock to pick and they were scaling another damned staircase. This one curled in a tight spiral up to a hatch in the roof.
The Church of Barter was built on the plan of Ghezen’s hand, the vast cathedral located in the palm, with five stubby naves radiating along the four fingers and thumb, each fingertip terminating in a stack of chapels. They’d climbed the chapels at the tip of the pinky and now cut down to the roof of the main cathedral, and then up the length of Ghezen’s ring finger, picking their way along a jagged mountain range of slippery gables and narrow stone spines.
“Why do gods always like to be worshipped in high places?” Kaz muttered.
“It’s men who seek grandeur,” Inej said, springing nimbly along as if her feet knew some secret topography. “The Saints hear prayers wherever they’re spoken.”
“And answer them according to their moods?”
“What you want and what the world needs are not always in accord, Kaz. Praying and wishing are not the same thing.”
But they’re equally useless. Kaz bit back the reply. He was too focused on not plummeting to his death to properly engage in an argument.
At the tip of the ring finger, they stopped and took in the view. To the southwest, they could see the high spires of the cathedral, the Exchange,
the glittering clock tower of the Geldrenner Hotel, and the long ribbon of the Beurscanal flowing beneath Zentsbridge. But if they looked east, this particular rooftop gave them a direct view of the Geldstraat, the Geldcanal beyond, and Van Eck’s stately home.
It was a good vantage point to observe the security Van Eck had put in place around the house and on the canal, but it wouldn’t give them all the information they needed.
“We’re going to have to get closer,” said Kaz.
“I know,” said Inej, drawing a length of rope from her tunic and looping it over one of the roof’s finials. “It will be faster and safer for me to case Van Eck’s house on my own. Give me a half hour.”
“You—”
“By the time you make it back to the gondel , I’ll have all the information we need.”
He was going to kill her. “You dragged me up here for nothing.” “Your pride dragged you up here. If Van Eck senses anything amiss
tonight, it’s all over. This isn’t a two-person job and you know it.” “Inej—”
“My future is riding on this too, Kaz. I don’t tell you how to pick locks or put together a plan. This is what I’m good at, so let me do my job.” She yanked the rope taut. “And just think of all the time you’ll have for prayer and quiet contemplation on the way down.”
She vanished over the side of the chapel.
Kaz stood there, staring at the place she’d been only seconds before. She’d tricked him. The decent, honest, pious Wraith had outsmarted him. He turned to look back at the long expanse of roof he was going to have to traverse to get back to the boat.
“Curse you and all your Saints,” he said to no one at all, then realized he was smiling.
Kaz was in a decidedly less amused frame of mind by the time he sank into the gondel . He didn’t mind that she’d duped him, he just hated that she was right. He knew perfectly well that he was in no shape to try to slink into Van Eck’s house blind tonight. It wasn’t a two-person job, and it wasn’t the way they operated. She was the Wraith, the Barrel’s best thief of secrets. Gathering intelligence without being spotted was her specialty, not his. He could also admit that he was grateful to just sit for a moment, stretch out his leg as water lapped gently at the sides of the
canal. So why had he insisted that he accompany her? That was dangerous thinking—the kind of thinking that had gotten Inej captured in the first place.
I can best this , Kaz told himself. By midnight tomorrow, Kuwei would be on his way out of Ketterdam. In a matter of days, they would have their reward. Inej would be free to pursue her dream of hunting slavers, and he’d be rid of this constant distraction. He would start a new gang, one built from the youngest, deadliest members of the Dregs. He’d rededicate himself to the promise he’d made to Jordie’s memory, the painstaking task of pulling Pekka Rollins’ life apart piece by piece.
And yet, his eyes kept drifting to the walkway beside the canal, his impatience growing. He was better than this. Waiting was the part of the criminal life so many people got wrong. They wanted to act instead of hold fast and gather information. They wanted to know instantly without having to learn. Sometimes the trick to getting the best of a situation was just to wait. If you didn’t like the weather, you didn’t rush into the storm
—you waited until it changed. You found a way to keep from getting wet.
Brilliant , thought Kaz. So where the hell is she?
A few long minutes later, she dropped soundlessly into the gondel . “Tell me,” he said as he set them moving down the canal.
“Alys is still in the same room on the second floor. There’s a guard posted outside her door.”
“The office?”
“Same location, right down the hall. He’s had Schuyler locks installed on all of the house’s exterior windows.” Kaz blew out an annoyed breath. “Is that a problem?” she asked.
“No. A Schuyler lock won’t stop any pick worth his stones, but they’re time-consuming.”
“I couldn’t make sense of them, so I had to wait for one of the kitchen staff to open the back door.” He’d done a shoddy job of teaching her to pick locks. She could master a Schuyler if she put her mind to it. “They were taking deliveries,” Inej continued. “From the little bit I was able to hear, they’re preparing for a meeting tomorrow night with the Merchant Council.”
“Makes sense,” said Kaz. “He’ll act the role of the distraught father and get them to add more stadwatch to the search.”
“Will they oblige?”
“They have no reason to deny him. And they’re all getting fair warning to sweep their mistresses or whatever else they don’t want discovered in a raid under the rug.”
“The Barrel won’t go easy.”
“No,” said Kaz as the gondel slid past the shallow sandbar that abutted Black Veil and into the island’s mists. “No one wants the merchers poking around in our business. Any notion of what time this little meeting of the Council will take place?”
“The cooks were making noises about setting a full table for dinner.
Could make for a good distraction.”
“Exactly.” This was them at their best, with nothing but the job between them, working together free of complications. He should leave it at that, but he needed to know. “You said Van Eck didn’t hurt you. Tell me the truth.”
They’d reached the shelter of the willows. Inej kept her eyes on the droop of their white branches. “He didn’t.”
They climbed out of the gondel , made sure it was thoroughly camouflaged, and picked their way up the shore. Kaz followed Inej, waiting, letting her weather change. The moon was starting to set, limning the graves of Black Veil, a miniature skyline etched in silver. Her braid had come uncoiled down her back. He imagined wrapping it around his hand, rubbing his thumb over the pattern of its plaits. And then what? He shoved the thought away.
When they were only a few yards from the stone hull, Inej halted and watched the mists wreathing the branches. “He was going to break my legs,” she said. “Smash them with a mallet so they’d never heal.”
Thoughts of moonlight and silken hair evaporated in a black bolt of fury. Kaz saw Inej tug on the sleeve of her left forearm, where the Menagerie tattoo had once been. He had the barest inkling of what she’d endured there, but he knew what it was to feel helpless, and Van Eck had managed to make her feel that way again. Kaz was going to have to find a new language of suffering to teach that smug merch son of a bitch.
Jesper and Nina were right. Inej needed rest and a chance to recover after the last few days. He knew how strong she was, but he also knew what captivity meant to her.
“If you’re not up for the job—”
“I’m up for the job,” she said, her back still to him.
The silence between them was dark water. He could not cross it. He
couldn’t walk the line between the decency she deserved and the violence this path demanded. If he tried, it might get them both killed. He could only be who he truly was—a boy who had no comfort to offer. So he would give her what he could.
“I’m going to open Van Eck up,” he said quietly. “I’m going to give him a wound that can’t be sewn shut, that he’ll never recover from. The kind that can’t be healed.”
“The kind you endured?”
“Yes.” It was a promise. It was an admission.
She took a shaky breath. The words came like a string of gunshots, rapid-fire, as if she resented the very act of speaking them. “I didn’t know if you would come.”
Kaz couldn’t blame Van Eck for that. Kaz had built that doubt in her with every cold word and small cruelty.
“We’re your crew, Inej. We don’t leave our own at the mercy of merch scum.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted to give. It wasn’t the answer she wanted.
When she turned to him, her eyes were bright with anger.
“He was going to break my legs ,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When I couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?”
Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on.
“I would come for you,” he said, and when he saw the wary look she shot him, he said it again. “I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”
The wind rose. The boughs of the willows whispered, a sly, gossiping sound. Kaz held her gaze, saw the moon reflected there, twin scythes of light. She was right to be cautious. Even of him. Especially of him. Cautious was how you survived.
At last she nodded, the smallest dip of her chin. They returned to the tomb in silence. The willows murmured on.
