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Wylan shifted uncomfortably in front of Kaz Brekker. He’d known that Dirtyhands had somewhat of an interest in him, but he’d never faced him in this kind of environment. And he’d never really been offered a job. He looked at the crow-topped cane, staring him down from across the desk’s wooden surface, and swallowed.
“I’ve been asking Kaz for a demolitions expert for the longest time,” Jesper came up behind Wylan and winked. “Nice to know he’s listening to me, as he should. He—”
Jesper seemed to weigh whether or not he wanted to finish that statement as he faced Kaz’s somewhat perpetually murderous glare, and then dropped into a chair. Wylan could only assume that he’d decided he valued his cocky life. “I’m no expert.”
Jesper leaned into him. “Can you blow stuff up?”
He was rather close. Wylan’s eyes bugged as he took in the other boy’s well-defined features. Jesper was mischievous and . . . pretty. Wylan wasn’t always the best with words. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Uh, yeah, I can do that.”
Jesper winked at him. Wylan’s breath caught. Kaz coughed violently from his desk, where he had a list of materials laid out, written in unintelligible scribble. Inej raised an eyebrow from where she stood behind him, but didn’t seem as erred by the conversation. “Would you both stop,” Kaz demanded, “and let me finish this? Resume your flirting after we’ve got the thirty million kruge.”
Flirting. Wylan couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive a heist all the way in Fjerda.
“Of course, boss,” Jesper said, flipping around his pistols and angling his chair towards Inej rather than Wylan. She sent him a disapproving look. Wylan’s eyes followed Jesper until Kaz slammed his cane down on the ground near him and brought his attention back.
“To be easily distracted isn’t a skill I want in someone who’s working with explosives, Wylan. Now pay attention or you’re leaving the Barrel.”
Wylan thought about this insane reality that he was living, that he wanted to stay in the Barrel. “Of course. The apothecary in the eighth quarters should have most of this . . .”
Partway through the dictation with Kaz, Inej had dragged Jesper downstairs, saying that he needed to do some work on the club’s floor. For all of Kaz’s talk, he silently traced Inej’s back with his eyes until she disappeared through the door.
“And then you should have secure transport to ensure they don’t leak,” Wylan finished, leaning up against one of Kaz’s wooden chairs. He wondered if Dirtyhands chose chairs that were so absolutely uncomfortable just to keep guests on their toes. Scheming to kill him would be hard with splinters up their spine. “It’ll be over for anyone on the ship if they do, especially if it’s capsizing. Something that’s almost impossible to open would be ideal. Like a safe.”
Kaz laid his gloved hands on the desk and almost seemed smug, though his expression barely moved. “I’ll handle that,” he said calmly. Wylan truly believed him. He knew Kaz Brekker was a terrible person, but he did feel peace in having the man on his side of Stave. There was a reason nobody crossed him. Kaz stepped up, leaning on his cane. “Have you checked to see if Inej has your size? We can get lunch briefly at the club.”
Wylan was a bit awestruck for a moment, partly because the idea of breaking bread with Kaz Brekker felt extraordinary. Kaz quirked an eyebrow at him, like he was telling him off. “This is not the time to be weak, Wylan. I won’t have you fainting on me.”
Wylan was used to walking around dignitaries and and esteemed merchers and smiling politely, but Kaz Brekker was none of those things. He ended up walking ahead of Kaz’s limping gait, slowly and steadily down a set of stairs that seemed unnecessarily long. It was afternoon, so the Crow Club wasn’t the busiest. It took him just a moment to see Jesper and Inej whispering quietly in the room’s corner, and another to get there.
Wylan slid into a booth next to Jesper. It made him feel uncomfortable, but something in him knew that he should leave Inej Ghafa to Kaz Brekker. He wasn’t aware what existed between the two of them, but it was surely something he didn’t want to antagonize. Jesper winked at him—again—and then pressed a hand around Wylan’s shoulders.
It was a friendly gesture, and Wylan truly didn’t mind it—but it also made him shiver a bit. He’d never been the best socially, and Jesper was a massive flirt. And Wylan . . . he blushed. Kaz almost looked disgusted at the blood rushing so clearly across Wylan’s face and the hands Jesper and Wylan had on each other. He and Inej were a foot apart, but she whispered something and he turned to her and listened intently to what she had to say.
There was still a light din in the room. “What will it be, young mercher?” Jesper asked. “Do you eat on plates of gold?”
That stung. Wylan shifted away from Jesper’s arm and kept a small distance between him as Inej smiled peacefully at him. He was grateful for her—her presence in the room was soothing, not flustering like Jesper’s or overwhelming and frightening like Kaz’s.
“Waffles?” she asked. Jesper nodded at that, and Wylan did too. Kaz raised an eyebrow in her direction.
“Nina must be rubbing off on you.”
Inej stared back at him intensely. Wylan was scared they’d burn each other with those glares. “Perhaps she is, indeed. We’re ordering waffles.”
Kaz nodded curtly and pushed back into the booth, drifting out of the reality of lunch. Wylan felt as though he was simply thinking, plotting, fitting bolts and bullets and chemicals together in order to create a daring plan. A waiter came to them and Inej rattled something off. Jesper gave her a charming smile.
“Nothing like waffles at the Crow Club,” he yawned. “Delicious.”
“Undignified,” Kaz snorted, his gloved hands tracing the table’s surface. The waiter stared at them and let out a small squeal before leaving.
Inej turned to him and sniffed the air. “Then why do you sell them?”
“You like waffles.” His tone made no room for argument. Wylan raised his eyebrows and shifted further into his seat. A moment passed, and then Inej leaned towards him a bit.
“So what do you love to eat, Wylan?” Kaz seemed to shake his head at the conversation he likely thought was ridiculous, but didn’t say anything.
Wylan thought for a moment. “Pastries, flaky ones.”
“Oh, I love those,” Inej smiled. “We ate the best ones in this small place in Os Kervo—”
“You were able to enjoy them,” Jesper sighed. “I was too busy mourning Milo.”
Kaz let out a small sigh. Even Inej rolled her eyes. “He didn’t die.”
“He left with that barmaid.”
“You let him,” Kaz groaned. “My life would be particularly better if I wasn’t surrounded by your obsession with that ridiculous creature—would you let it go—”
“Don’t disrespect him! His name is Milo, and I loved him.”
Something strange dropped through Wylan’s chest, and he scooted a bit further away from Jesper. He’d—
He’d almost thought Jesper was interested in him, but if that was the case he certainly wouldn’t have brought up an ex-lover at the table. “You knew him for hours.”
“Long enough to fall in love,” Jesper complained. “All I can do now is hope he’s living a healthy—”
“They eat goat meat in Ravka,” Kaz sniped, and Jesper’s eyes bugged as he faced Wylan.
“You’re well-read. Tell me that isn’t true.”
I’m not, Wylan thought. And now you want me to tell you that your lover hasn’t had an allergic reaction to goat meat, of all things. “I think it’s true.”
“No!” Jesper cried dramatically, dropping his pistols by his side and head-banging his face into the table. “Milo! All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”
“Why don’t we get you another one?” Inej offered almost calmly.
“There aren’t any others like him,” Jesper sniffed, still face-down. From this perspective, the three of them seemed less like the deadly crew he’d heard story after story about, and more like two parents who wanted to murder their child. Wylan knew that dynamic keenly.
Jesper’s words kept on stinging him. He knew his feelings weren’t likely to be reciprocated—Jesper was two years older than him and had lived life in a thousand more real ways than him—but he had been flirting a bit with him. He was certain about that. He felt almost cheated out of something.
They got their waffles, and Inej and Jesper continued to talk about their time in Ravka. Apparently they’d both joined an acrobatics show for a while and he’d shot a card out of her mouth. Wylan had heard about their adventure to Ravka, though he wasn’t sure what came out of it. All he did know was that when Kaz Brekker came back to Ketterdam he’d come with enough gold to pay out half of West Stave.
Kaz didn’t take off his gloves to eat. He quietly took out a knife and fork and ate carefully and measuredly. It was strange to realize that he needed sustenance like anyone else. It was strange to remember Kaz was human.
Wylan picked at his waffles. Something rapped at his knees. “Eat.” Kaz raised his eyebrows. “I need your brain at full functionality.”
Wylan ate.
“We should do the routine again,” Jesper said. “That was fun.”
“It was terrifying,” Inej laughed, “but fun, too. Perhaps one day. Perhaps we’ll need to put on a show in—”
“The Ice Court,” Kaz hissed and got up. “Now finish quickly. Inej, would you go check on Matthias? And Jesper,” he threw something at him, “no detours, get Wylan his supplies. And I mean that—no detours.” He turned to Wylan. “Don’t let him wander near any gambling tables. Pull him away if he gets close because I’m not giving you any more money.”
Then Dirtyhands stalked back up the stairs. Inej smiled at Wylan before leaving the Crow Club, and Wylan was left next to Jesper. He quickly scarfed down the rest of his waffles while Jesper twisted his Zemeni revolvers. They headed out the door.
“So,” Jesper said. “Just the ingredients, merch?”
“Don’t call me that,” Wylan said. “I’m not.”
He stomped a bit ahead of Jesper, but not before grabbing the coins from his hand. He knew what he needed, and he didn’t want Jesper to notice that he couldn’t read.
“Fine, fine,” Jesper said. Wylan’s feet hit the ground hard. “Damn, what’s your deal? You were light as air upstairs.”
“I’m fine,” Wylan said.
Jesper scoffed. “Uh-huh. C’mon, what was it? Was it Ravka? Are you scared?”
Wylan took in a deep breath. “It didn’t take hearing about your amazing escapades in Ravka to scare me. That began when Kaz-freaking-Brekker asked me to make him seven different types of bombs.”
“They weren’t amazing escapades, Wylan,” Jesper caught up to him and put another arm loosely around him. Wylan didn’t have the willpower to shake it off. “You missed the volcra and the sweaty goat, sure, but we did barely make it out alive.”
“I’m sorry?” Wylan turned to him. “Goat?”
“Yeah, Milo,” Jesper stared dreamily out into the distance as they rounded into the apothecary. “The light of my life.”
Something over Wylan’s heart dropped and he pushed open the door to the store calmly. “Milo is a goat,” he said, heart racing.
“Yeah, of course,” Jesper flipped his guns around in front of the shop-owner, who seemed terrified and squeaked out something about a discount. “Perhaps we’ll meet a new one on this heist. Nothing will ever replace him, though.”
Wylan smirked almost uncharacteristically as he picked up a vial of absinthe. A small part of him wanted to take up that challenge.