“What about that chest full of bills he brought to Vellgeluk?” asked Jesper.
“Bunk,” said Kaz, disgust in his voice. “Probably quality counterfeits.”
“So then how do we get the money? Rob the city? Rob the Council?” Jesper sat up straighter, hands drumming eagerly on the table. “Hit twelve vaults in one night?”
Wylan shifted in his chair, and Matthias saw the disquiet in his expression. At least someone else in this band of miscreants was reluctant to keep committing crimes.
“No,” said Kaz. “We’re going to make like merchers and let the market do the work for us.” He leaned back, gloved hands resting on his crow’s head cane. “We’re going to take Van Eck’s money, and then we’re going to take his reputation. We’re going to make sure he can never do business in Ketterdam or anywhere in Kerch ever again.”
“And what happens to Kuwei?” asked Nina.
“Once the job is done, Kuwei—and any other convicts, Grisha, and disinherited youths who may or may not have prices on their heads—can lie low in the Southern Colonies.”
Jesper frowned. “Where will you be?”
“Right here. I’ve still got plenty of business that requires my attention.”
Though Kaz’s tone was easy, Matthias heard the dark anticipation in his words. He had often wondered how people survived this city, but it was possible Ketterdam would not survive Kaz Brekker.
“Wait a minute,” said Nina. “I thought Kuwei was going to Ravka.”
“Why would you think that?”
“When you sold your Crow Club shares to Pekka Rollins, you asked him to send a message to the Ravkan capital. We all heard it.”
“I thought it was a request for aid,” said Matthias, “not an invitation to bargain.” They had never discussed giving Kuwei to Ravka.
Kaz considered them with some amusement. “It was neither. Let’s just hope Rollins is as gullible as you two.”
“It was a decoy,” Nina moaned. “You were just keeping Rollins busy.”
“I wanted Pekka Rollins preoccupied. Hopefully, he has his people trying to chase down our Ravkan contacts. They should prove difficult to find, given that they don’t exist.”
Kuwei cleared his throat. “I would prefer to go to Ravka.”
“I’d prefer a pair of sable-lined swimming trunks,” said Jesper. “But we can’t always get what we want.”
A furrow appeared between Kuwei’s brows. The limits to his understanding of Kerch had apparently been reached and surpassed.
“I would prefer to go to Ravka,” he repeated more firmly. Kaz’s flat black gaze fastened on Kuwei and held. Kuwei squirmed nervously. “Why is he looking at me this way?”
“Kaz is wondering if he should keep you alive,” said Jesper. “Terrible for the nerves. I recommend deep breathing. Maybe a tonic.”
“Jesper, stop,” said Wylan.
“Both of you need to relax.” Jesper patted Kuwei’s hand. “We’re not going to let him put you in the ground.”
Kaz raised a brow. “Let’s not make any promises just yet.”
“Come on, Kaz. We didn’t go to all that trouble to save Kuwei just to make him worm food.”
“Why do you want to go to Ravka?” Nina asked, unable to hide her eagerness.
“We never agreed to that,” Matthias said. He did not want to argue about this, especially not with Nina. They were supposed to set Kuwei loose to live an anonymous life in Novyi Zem, not hand him over to Fjerda’s greatest enemy.
Nina shrugged. “Maybe we need to rethink our options.”
Kuwei spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. “It’s safer there. For Grisha. For me. I don’t want to hide. I want to train.” Kuwei touched the notebooks in front of him. “My father’s work can help find—” He hesitated, exchanged a few words with Nina. “An antidote for parem.”
Nina clasped her hands together, beaming.
Jesper tipped back farther in his chair. “I think Nina may be about to burst into song.”
An antidote. Was that what Kuwei had been scribbling about in his notebooks? The prospect of something that might neutralize the powers of parem was appealing, and yet Matthias couldn’t help but be wary. “To put this knowledge in the hands of one nation—” he began.
But Kuwei interrupted. “My father brought this drug into the world. Even without me, what I know, it will be made again.”
“You’re saying someone else is going to solve the riddle of parem?” Matthias asked. Was there truly no hope this abomination could be contained?
“Sometimes scientific discoveries are like that,” said Wylan. “Once people know something is possible, the pace of new findings increases. After that, it’s like trying to get a swarm of hornets back into their nest.”
“Do you really think an antidote is possible?” Nina asked.
“I don’t know,” said Kuwei. “My father was a Fabrikator. I am just an Inferni.”
“You’re our chemist, Wylan,” said Nina hopefully. “What do you think?”
Wylan shrugged. “Maybe. Not all poisons have an antidote.”
Jesper snorted. “That’s why we call him Wylan Van Sunshine.”
“In Ravka, there are more talented Fabrikators,” Kuwei said. “They could help.”
Nina nodded emphatically. “It’s true. Genya Safin knows poisons like no one else, and David Kostyk developed all kinds of new weapons for King Nikolai.” She glanced at Matthias. “And other things too! Nice things. Very peaceable.”
Matthias shook his head. “This isn’t a decision to be made lightly.”
Kuwei’s jaw set. “I would prefer to go to Ravka.”
“See?” said Nina.
“No, I do not,” said Matthias. “We can’t just hand such a prize over to Ravka.”
“He’s a person, not a prize, and he wants to go.”
“Do we all get to do what we want now?” asked Jesper. “Because I have a list.”
There was a long, tense pause, then Kaz ran a gloved thumb over the crease of his trousers and said, “Nina, love, translate for me? I want to make sure Kuwei and I understand each other.”
“Kaz—” she said warningly.
Kaz shifted forward and rested his hands on his knees, a kind older brother offering some friendly advice. “I think it’s important that you understand the changes in your circumstances. Van Eck knows the first place you’d go for sanctuary would be Ravka, so any ship bound for its shores is going to be searched top to bottom. The only Tailors powerful enough to make you look like someone else are in Ravka, unless Nina wants to take another dose of parem.”
Matthias growled.
“Which is unlikely,” Kaz conceded. “Now, I assume you don’t want me to cart you back to Fjerda or the Shu Han?”
It was clear Nina had finished the translation when Kuwei yelped, “No!”
“Then your choices are Novyi Zem and the Southern Colonies, but the Kerch presence in the colonies is far lower. Also, the weather is better, if you’re partial to that kind of thing. You are a stolen painting, Kuwei. Too recognizable to sell on the open market, too valuable to leave lying around. You are worthless to me.”
“I’m not translating that,” Nina snapped.
“Then translate this: My sole concern is keeping you away from Jan Van Eck, and if you want me to start exploring more definite options, a bullet is a lot cheaper than putting you on a ship to the Southern Colonies.”
Nina did translate, though haltingly.
Kuwei responded in Shu. She hesitated. “He says you’re cruel.”
“I’m pragmatic. If I were cruel, I’d give him a eulogy instead of a conversation. So, Kuwei, you’ll go to the Southern Colonies, and when the heat has died down, you can find your way to Ravka or Matthias’ grandmother’s house for all I care.”
“Leave my grandmother out of this,” Matthias said.
Nina translated, and at last, Kuwei gave a stiff nod. Though Matthias had gotten his way, the dejection on Nina’s fa
ce left a hollow feeling in his chest.
Kaz checked his watch. “Now that we’re in agreement, you all know what your responsibilities are. There are a lot of things that can go wrong between now and tomorrow night, so talk through the plan and then talk through it again. We only have one shot at this.”
“Van Eck will set up a perimeter. He’ll have her heavily guarded,” said Matthias.
“That’s right. He has more guns, more men, and more resources. All we have is surprise, and we’re not going to squander it.”
A soft scraping sounded from outside. Instantly, they were on their feet and ready, even Kuwei.
But a moment later Rotty and Specht slipped into the tomb.
Matthias released a breath and returned his rifle to where he kept it, always within arm’s reach.
“What business?” asked Kaz.
“The Shu have set up at their embassy,” said Specht. “Everyone on the Lid is talking about it.”
“Numbers?”
“Forty, give or take,” said Rotty, kicking the mud from his boots. “Heavily armed, but still operating under diplomatic flags. No one knows exactly what they want.”
“We do,” said Jesper.
“I didn’t get too near the Slat,” said Rotty, “but Per Haskell’s antsy, and he’s not being quiet about it. Without you around, work’s piling up for the old man. Now there are rumors you’re back in the city and had a run-in with a merch. Oh, and there was some kind of attack at one of the harbors a few days ago. Bunch of sailors killed, harbormaster’s office turned into a pile of splinters, but no one knows details.”
Matthias saw Kaz’s expression darken. He was hungry for more information. Matthias knew the demjin had other reasons for going after Inej, but the fact remained that, without her, their ability to gather intelligence had been severely compromised.
“All right,” said Kaz. “But no one’s connected us to the raid at the Ice Court or parem?”
“Not that I heard,” said Rotty.
“Nope,” said Specht.
Wylan looked surprised. “That means Pekka Rollins hasn’t talked.”
“Give him time,” said Kaz. “He knows we have Kuwei stashed somewhere. The letter to Ravka will only keep him chasing his tail for so long.”
Jesper tapped his fingers restlessly on his thighs. “Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or wants to kill us?”
“So?” said Kaz.
“Well, usually it’s just half the city.”
Jesper might joke, but Matthias wondered if any of them really understood the powers arraying against them. Fjerda, the Shu Han, Novyi Zem, the Kaelish, the Kerch. These were not rival gangs or angry business partners. They were nations, determined to protect their people and secure their futures.
“There’s more,” said Specht. “Matthias, you’re dead.”
“Pardon?” Matthias’ Kerch was good, but perhaps there were still gaps.
“You were shanked in the Hellgate infirmary.”
The room went quiet. Jesper sat down heavily. “Muzzen is dead?”
“Muzzen?” Matthias could not place the name.
“He took your place in Hellgate,” Jesper said. “So you could join the Ice Court job.”
Matthias remembered the fight with the wolves, Nina standing in his cell, the prison break. Nina had covered a member of the Dregs in false sores and given him a fever to make sure he was quarantined and kept from the larger prison population. Muzzen. Matthias should not have forgotten such a thing.
“I thought you said you had a contact in the infirmary,” said Nina.
“To keep him sick, not to keep him safe.” Kaz’s face was grim. “It was a hit.”
“The Fjerdans,” said Nina.
Matthias folded his arms. “That’s not possible.”
“Why not?” Nina said. “We know there are drüskelle here. If they came to town looking for you and made noise at the Stadhall, they would have been told you were in Hellgate.”
“No,” said Matthias. “They wouldn’t resort to such an underhanded tactic. Hiring a killer? Murdering someone in his sickbed?” But even as he said the words, Matthias wasn’t sure he believed them. Jarl Brum and his officers had done worse without a twinge of conscience.
“Big, blond, and blind,” Jesper said. “The Fjerdan way.”
He died in my stead, Matthias thought. And I didn’t even recognize his name.
“Did Muzzen have family?” Matthias asked at last.
“Just the Dregs,” said Kaz.
“No mourners,” Nina murmured.
“No funerals,” Matthias replied quietly.
“How does it feel to be dead?” asked Jesper. The merry light had gone from his eyes.
Matthias had no answer. The knife that had killed Muzzen had been meant for Matthias, and the Fjerdans might well be responsible. The drüskelle. His brothers. They’d wanted him to die without honor, murdered in an infirmary bed. It was a death fit for a traitor. It was the death he had earned. Now Matthias owed Muzzen a blood debt, but how would he ever pay it? “What will they do with his body?” he asked.
“It’s probably already ashes on the Reaper’s Barge,” said Kaz.
“There’s something else,” said Rotty. “Someone’s kicking up dust looking for Jesper.”
“His creditors will have to wait,” said Kaz, and Jesper winced.
“No,” Rotty said with a shake of his head. “A man showed up at the university. Jesper, he claims he’s your father.”
4
INEJ
Inej lay on her belly, arms extended in front of her, wriggling like a worm through the dark. Despite the fact that she’d been as good as starving herself, the vent was still a tight fit. She couldn’t see where she was going; she just kept moving forward, pulling herself along by her fingertips.
She’d woken sometime after the fight on Vellgeluk, with no sense of how long she’d been unconscious and no idea where she was. She remembered plummeting from a great height as one of Van Eck’s Squallers dropped her, only to be snatched up by another—arms like steel bands around her, the air buffeting her face, gray sky all around, and then pain exploding over her skull. The next thing she knew she was awake, head pounding, in the dark. Her hands and ankles were bound, and she could feel a blindfold tight across her face. For a moment, she was fourteen, being tossed into the hold of a slaver ship, frightened and alone. She forced herself to breathe. Wherever she was, she felt no ship’s sway, heard no creak of sails. The ground was solid beneath her.
Where would Van Eck have brought her? She could be in a warehouse, someone’s home. She might not even be in Kerch anymore. It didn’t matter. She was Inej Ghafa, and she would not quiver like a rabbit in a snare. Wherever I am, I just have to get out.
She’d managed to nudge her blindfold down by scraping her face against the wall. The room was pitch-black, and all she could hear in the silence was her own rapid breathing as panic seized her again. She’d leashed it by controlling her breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, letting her mind turn to prayer as her Saints gathered around her. She imagined them checking the ropes at her wrists, rubbing life into her hands. She did not tell herself she wasn’t afraid. Long ago, after a bad fall, her father had explained that only fools were fearless. We meet fear, he’d said. We greet the unexpected visitor and listen to what he has to tell us. When fear arrives, something is about to happen.
Inej intended to make something happen. She’d ignored the ache in her head and forced herself to inch around the room, estimating its dimensions. Then she’d used the wall to push to her feet and felt along it, shuffling and hopping, searching for any doors or windows. When she’d heard footsteps approaching, she’d dropped to the ground, but she hadn’t had time to get her blindfold back in place. From then on, the guards tied it tighter. But that didn’t matter, because she’d found the vent. All she needed then was a way out of her ropes. Kaz could have managed it in the dark and probably underwate
r.
The only thorough look she got at the room where she was being held was during meals, when they brought in a lantern. She’d hear keys turning in a series of locks, the door swinging open, the sound of the tray being placed on the table. A moment later, the blindfold would be gently lifted from her face—Bajan was never rough or abrupt. It wasn’t in his nature. In fact, she suspected it was beyond the capabilities of his manicured musician’s hands.
There was never any cutlery on the tray, of course. Van Eck was wise enough not to trust her with so much as a spoon, but Inej had taken advantage of each unblindfolded moment to study every inch of the barren room, seeking clues that might help her to assess her location and plan her escape. There wasn’t much to go on—a concrete floor marked by nothing but the pile of blankets she’d been given to burrow into at night, walls lined with empty shelves, the table and chair where she took her meals. There were no windows, and the only hint that they might still be near Ketterdam was the damp trace of salt in the air.
Bajan would untie her wrists, then bind them again in front of her so that she could eat—though once she’d discovered the vent, she’d only picked at her food, eating enough to keep up her strength and nothing more. Still, when Bajan and the guards had brought her tray tonight, her stomach had growled audibly at the smell of soft sausages and porridge. She’d been woozy with hunger, and when she’d tried to sit down, she’d tipped the tray from its perch on the table, smashing the white ceramic mug and bowl. Her dinner slopped to the floor in a steaming heap of savory mush and broken crockery and she’d landed ungracefully next to it, barely avoiding a face full of porridge.
Bajan had shaken his dark, silky head. “You are weak because you don’t eat. Mister Van Eck says I must force-feed you if necessary.”
“Try,” she’d said, looking up at him from the floor and baring her teeth. “You’ll have trouble teaching piano without all your fingers.”
But Bajan had only laughed, white grin flashing. He and one of the guards had helped her back into the chair, and he’d sent for another tray.
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