Work Text:
When it came to women, Gerrit wasn’t too fond of his job.
Not that he actually enjoyed it in any case, but with men it was different. It was personal. It reminded him of his own mistakes and foolishness. The Boss made sure that memory was kept fresh in his mind.
The first time it had been a boy, a little rat who liked to play clever and had kept some angle for himself, valuable information and profitable threats. He was sleeping like a baby when the knife first hit him, then he’d scrambled to the floor, trying to stand up and run. Gerrit had cut his throat in one single slash.
<< That’s what happens to traitors. >> the Boss said, then. << Consider yourself lucky. >>
The smell of blood had condensed into his toothless mouth, and the last remnant of what had been his tongue tasted it and twisted, but it was just a slight echo, a vague memory of the pain of that day. Of the day he had been on the other side of the blade, of the day he’d tried to betray his betters.
There was some sort of twisted justice to it. However unfavourable deal the gang had given you, you had to be grateful for it. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you, even if all it holds out for you is trash.
<< You eat, you swallow, you say thank you. >> those had been the Boss’s words, that day, and ‘thank you’ had been the last complete word to leave his bleeding lips.
That’s why he usually went for their mouth first.
But this time it was different.
The theatre looked grand, and very different from the old hole it used to be before the Boss had taken hold of it. Green flashy curtains framed the stage, a single but ample light keeping the scene alive, as if it had been nothing more than a late rerun going on. Kruge and valuable-looking pieces of paper were scattered all around them mingling with the props. At the centre of it, Gerrit felt like some sort of important actor, playing the last act of a great tragedy. Only he had no lines, just his fists. His directions had been not to touch her hands, and possibly that she could talk. That was a completely different script from the usual.
<< That's enough. >>
His first stopped mid-air and froze. The woman’s green eyes met his for the briefest part of an instant.
The Boss crouched on the ground and ran a hand on his thinning hair.
<< I have to admit, this is a surprisingly good job. >> he said, picking up the closest piece of paper he could reach.
It looked like a bank check, it almost hurt Gerrit when the Boss tear it down. Then again, proper bank checks didn’t tear up that easily.
<< Just a little more care for materials… >> the Boss said ruefully shaking his head. << …and timing… >> he added. << …and some better acting too, I’m afraid. >>
<< I swear, >> said the woman hoisting her chest as much as she could. << I can… >>
The Boss shushed her softly, resting a hand on her broken lip.
<< Forging is a terrible insult to the sanctity of Ghezen, they tell me. >> he whispered softly. << And even for a foreign Kaelish like me, repaying hospitality with fake money sounds like a supreme act of ingratitude towards those who have sheltered you, fed you, given you these splendid clothes and a safe place to live. >>
His fingers had slipped from her mouth to her white neck to the edge of her dress.
<< Gerrit here is my witness of what usually happens to such a low class of traitors. >>
The green eyes flashed with horror to his crooked jaw for an instant, then set back on the Boss.
<< But Ghezen doesn’t gift just anybody with this level of craft, I guess. >> his fingers had reached one of the woman’s fine, untouched hands. << And for a pious businessman like myself to refuse such gift would seem unrespectful. >>
The woman gulped down saliva and blood.
<< I can do it for you. I’ll forger whatever document you need, I can get even better, you know I learn fast… >>
The Boss kissed the woman’s hands and caressed them with tenderness.
<< I know you can, darling. With better materials, better timing, >> the grin on his lips felt dangerously charming. << and better hands. >>
Gerrit almost lost his grip on her at the sudden shrill.
The blade of an oyster knife pierced her hands together, blood dripping along the hilt to the floor. The Boss yanked it free and the woman screamed in agony as her flesh was torn apart.
<< You’re not that good an actress, dear, you've never been. >> he said getting up on his feet and wiping the blade clean. << If you could forge something that well, I would have found out a long time ago. The same goes for each and every one of your fellow actors here. You’re all indented to me, and I know how to manage my investments. >>
The woman was crying and holding her hands to her chest on the freshly blood-stained wood of the stage. Something inside Gerrit torn loose. When it came to women, everything was just a little more difficult. But yet again, he wanted to live on. And displeasing a man like Pekka Rollins was really not the right way to go about it.
<< Gerrit. >> the Boss called his attention and gave the faintest nod to his left, the glimpse of a shadow grappled at the darkest edge of the curtain.
<< No! >>
The most desperate scream from the woman froze his guts as he lounged to the darkness. His hand grabbed before he could even see what it was. The kid kicked him hard and struggled.
<< Easy on that one. >> the look on the Boss’s face seemed suddenly cheerful, almost gentle. << This little stage rat has gifted paws, I heard say. >>
The little girl stopped kicking, as if enchanted, eyes locked on the Boss’s face.
<< Maya, run! >> her mother screamed trying to hoist herself up, and screamed harder as a foot stomped on her broken hands.
<< Don’t listen to your Mama, little one. She didn’t get that far, did she? >>
Gerrit felt the girl’s muscles stiffen under his grip.
<< She’s only a girl from the countryside who hasn’t learnt much. >> the Boss knelt to look at the girl eye-to-eye. << But you were born in Ketterdam, a true daughter of the Barrel. You will listen to my honest proposal, won’t you? >>
Gerrit felt the weight of the kid shifting back on him and held tight.
<< Your Mama lives, she pays for her crimes, but she lives. And you get a new home, maybe a little damp, but with plenty of food on the table every night. And a job. And the promise that no one ever will touch your precious little hands and get away with their life. Look at your mother, >> he said pointing to the woman agonising on the stage. << I’ll never let that happen to you. Not as long as you work for me, until you pay your Mama’s debt, plus a little something for living expenses. >> he added with a friendly wink.
<< What will happen to Mama? >> the kid asked with a feeble voice.
<< Hellgate, for a while. Just to pay off for her crimes. Luckily enough, I run business there, and she will be fine. Afterall, she will have her lovingly daughter providing for her, right? >>
<< You promise? >>
The Boss smirked kindly and raised his finger in front of her little face, as to teach her a lesson.
<< In Ketterdam, we don’t make promises, we make deals. >> he said. << Can I presume you know the words? >>
The Boss’s hand opened offering its palm.
The little kid’s head jerked back to catch her mother’s gaze.
Gerrit saw her mouthing at her daughter, trying to look as convincingly as she could.
<< I’ll be fine. >> her lips ran.
Gerrit felt the little muscles relax, and he felt confident enough to let her go.
The little hand reached for the Boss’s one still held mid-air.
<< The deal is the deal. >>
<< The deal is the deal, my darling. >> the Boss repeated with a broad, reassuring smile. << Now, go say goodbye to your Mama, as a good girl. >>
The child skidded away, curling up on the woman in a bloody hug.
<< Rearrange her luggage as we found it, let her free to try and escape the stadtwatch if she wants to, kill the others. >> he instructed quickly. << And set this place on fire, I might even get my insurance back. >> they both turned to the tender scene of whispers and tears that was going on on stage. << I’ll take care of the kid. >>
The following day, the papers in the merchants’ cafes would describe the terrible fire that had burned the newly refurbished Lion Theatre down to ashes. A bad feat for the Dime Lions, someone would comment. Maybe some of the other gang tried to undermine their growing reign. They say one of his whores decided to take vengeance by burning the place down and make it to the docks with a purse full of Kruge. Someone would wonder about the entity of the insurance of such a well-furnished theatre, others would shake their heads at the endless violence of the Barrel.
Only Gerrit saw two shadows hurrying away in the night covered in the long cloaks of a madman and a very small imp. Only Gerrit knew about the new bet Pekka Rollins had been choosing to place that night.
But in Ketterdam everyone receives a gift from Ghezen: to some it was good hands, to others good wit, to many the eternal peace of mind.
To Gerrit it was undoubted silence. And he was grateful for that.