Chapter Text
KAZ
Kaz Brekker could almost start skipping through the streets of Ketterdam. Almost. It was an average, dreary night in the city--the skies threatened rain, the wind was sharp on his bare cheeks, and his leg ached as it always did when the weather turned bad. And yet, Kaz felt light. Inej was coming home today--in a few hours, he would accompany Wylan and Jesper to the docks to greet her and Nina. The five of them hadn’t been all together in years, not since Nina surprised Inej with a visit for her 18th birthday, and they’d all had drinks at the Crow Club. This time, they were once again reuniting for a celebration--Wylan and Jesper were set to be married at Jesper’s childhood home in Novyi Zem in just under two weeks.
Kaz didn’t really care about all of that, if he was honest; he would have been content with another round of drinks at the Slat while the rings were exchanged. But Jesper and Wylan were bubbling with excitement, and although it annoyed the shit out of him, Kaz liked seeing them happy, after everything. They were the closest thing he had to friends--he’d admitted that much to himself, by this point--and he was glad to celebrate with them. And, of course, this meant that Inej was coming home. He hadn’t seen her for 5 months and 6 days (he’d counted the days for logistical purposes, obviously, no other reason). He hated to acknowledge how empty his attic had felt for those 5 months, despite the fact that he’d been its only inhabitant for years before Inej’s belongings started filling the drawers.
He’d taken the evening off. He never did that, but he’d been working overtime to prepare for the weeks he’d be away. They were set to leave for Novyi Zem in less than a week, and he still had a few finishing touches to put on his gift, so he set aside a night to run errands in the shopping district. He rarely spent time in this part of the city; it was modern, shiny, catered towards the merchers who lived nearby and the tourists who came to gawk at the wonders of Ketterdam. It had the highest-quality artisanship, though, so Kaz was willing to offer himself as a clientele. His Crows deserved the best. His first stop was a small shop on the corner. Violins decorated the window display, their wood a deep mahogany, their necks twisted into perfect swirls. Bells jingled as he entered. The shop smelled like oil, metal, rust. Glittering instruments covered the walls, glinting in the lamplight that cast the store into half-shadow. A frail man stood at the front of the store. He was gaunt, and seemed to have a permanent tremor coursing through his body. Kaz had noticed before that his fingers were bony, long, but they didn’t tremble. Good. That means that he won’t err.
“Ah. Mister Brekker. Your commission is ready.”
“I should hope so, we wouldn’t want this to be a waste of my time.” The man bowed his head and shuffled to the back room. Kaz leaned on his cane, breathing in the sweet must of the shop. He realized it smelled like his father’s workshop. Kaz would sit on his Da’s knee while his father tinkered with old farm tools.
“Someday,” his father would say to him, “I’ll teach you how to use these tools.”
“When?” Kaz would ask, with shining eyes.
“When you’re older.”
“But you’re teaching Jordie now!”
“Jordie’s older.”
“Mister Brekker?” Kaz snapped out of his thoughts. The frail man had returned from the back room, a small case in his hands. “You’d like to see?” Kaz nodded. Gold and silver glinted as the man unlatched the lid--the flute was delicate, with pearled keys that shone like the moon. Kaz gently pressed his fingers to the keys, feeling the vacuum when he pushed them down, careful to listen for any clicks or creaks. It was smooth as butter.
“Good,” Kaz said, reaching into the breast pocket of his coat for his wallet. He pulled out a wad of purple bills, counting them slowly. “What we agreed on.” He placed the kruge on the table as the clerk began wrapping up the case in brown paper, tying it deftly with a twine bow.
“Thank you, sir. Have a good evening.”
Kaz stepped back into the chill of the night, shivering slightly as a gust of wind hit him. The first parcel was placed safely in his pocket, bulky but not heavy. One errand down. His next stop was the leather shop, where he picked up a set of mahogany-hued holsters that were designed to fit Jesper’s beloved revolvers precisely. They were made for easy access, but also a snug fit. Kaz had more planned for Jesper’s gift, but this was something practical that he knew Jesper would appreciate, even if he rarely worked with the Dregs these days.
His shoulders tensed--there was a noise. It echoed throughout the alleyway, coming from all directions and none. There was always a moment of silence that hung in the air, just before a strike. He gripped his cane, placing his weight on his left leg, prepared to spring into a run if need be. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glint of silver. Then the man was on top of him. Kaz was prepared: he grabbed the man’s wrist, pinning it to the ground while he pushed his knee into the man’s chest. He raised his cane to strike but the man hooked his ankle around Kaz’s bad leg and pulled. Kaz groaned as he stumbled, the man catching him and wrapping his arm around Kaz’s neck. Gasping, Kaz struggled against the man’s grip, reaching for his cane which had fallen just a few feet away. He began to see dark spots in the corners of his vision. Don’t panic, Brekker.
The man released him and grunted as the back of Kaz’s heel lodged itself in a very unfortunate location. Kaz put distance between the man and himself, coughing as he stumbled backward. “What the hell do you want?” he croaked, leaning on his cane.
The man had recovered and was looking Kaz in the eye. “My boss ‘as got a message for you, Brekker.” The man’s accent was rough, clearly born and raised in the slums of the Barrel.
“Oh? And what message is that?”
The man smiled, revealing a yellowed, toothless grin. “Oh now, tha’s a secret. You’ll have to come ‘ere or I won’t tell ya!”
“You know, it’s very rude to ambush a man while he’s going to the shops,” Kaz said with a sigh. He was inching towards the attacker, sure to keep his pose relaxed so the man wouldn’t be able to track his next move. “The least you could do is attack me in the Barrel, where we both belong.”
“Ah, but’cha got your friends over there. It ain’t nearly as fun if ya had backup. Although, the bossman says you don’t really have any friends, do ya Brekker? Just the minions you get to clean up your messes.”
“Hmm, you do have a point.” Just a few feet more, and he’d be in the perfect spot to strike. He and the man were circling each other now. “I’ve never been one for friendship. I certainly don’t think that you and I are going to have a particularly sentimental relationship.”
“S’pose not...it’s pretty hard to drink a beer with a dead man!”
Kaz chuckled. “Well if you’re going to kill me, you might as well tell me who sent you. I’m not seeing a tattoo on that wrist.” Kaz gestured to the man’s arm with the tip of his cane. “So who’s this boss that wants to get a message to me so urgently?”
“Oh, you know ‘im,” the man said, his eyes bright with malice. “He says you made a deal with him, and then you broke it.”
“I’m hurt,” Kaz spoke thinly, “I am a man of my word. Unless my business partner goes back on their own.” He lunged.
The two men fell to the ground, both pairs of hands grasping Kaz’s cane, trying to pull it out of the other’s grip. Kaz’s gloves were slick--he was losing his grasp. “This-would-have-been-easier,” the man struggled, “if-you’d-just-given-him-the-boy.”
Kaz’s breath caught in his throat. “Wha--”
Kaz cried out as the blade sunk into his right thigh, sending flames of pain shooting up and down his leg. Shit, that’s the bad one. He staggered backwards again, his mind buzzing. His attacker had taken the cane, was positioning to swing it. The black and silver crow’s head gleamed in the hazy moonlight. He’d commissioned the cane from Jesper when they were fifteen, told Jesper to ensure that it would be perfectly weighted for breaking bones. Kaz was so proud of that cane; it would be a shame if it was the weapon that killed him. No, he thought. Inej is coming home. I have to make it back, for her. He needed to see her again. How he wished that she was beside him now, knives in hand, ready to make a final stand, together. That is what he’d promised her, so long ago.
What was he doing? His limbs felt sluggish, the world was in slow motion. He snapped himself out of his stupor as much as he could and sidestepped the cane just in time. He fell into a somersault, vaguely aware of the knife sticking out of his thigh as he rolled on the ground. Before the man could reposition himself and swing again, Kaz had him in a chokehold, wrestling him back to the ground. He punched the man in the nose, hard, but not enough to knock him unconscious. “Who-the hell- are you?”
The man smiled, blood pouring from his nose into his mouth. “You can punch me all ya want, Brekker, I’m just the messenger.”
His face hot, his leg on fire, Kaz gave the man another punch to the jaw. “I won’t ask again.” No answer. “Fine, have it your way.” Kaz ripped the blade out of his own thigh and jammed it into the man’s gut. The man’s maliciously gleeful expression turned to shock.
“No, wait--” he sputtered. “I’m just the messenger, I told ya! I didn’t do nothin’ ‘cept what I was asked!”
“I don’t care,” Kaz snarled, trying to ignore the throbbing that was spreading throughout his body. “Now, I suggest you cleanse your conscience before you meet whatever god you pray to--tell me who sent you.”
The man was whimpering now, muttering about a wife and kids. It was too late anyway; Kaz had stabbed him precisely in his liver, so he was going to bleed out if he didn’t get medical help within the next few minutes. “Help me you piece of shit!” the assailant cried, writhing on the ground.
“It’s a pity you mentioned the wife and kids...I never would’ve known. If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to pay them a visit…”
“No!” the man sobbed. “No, p-please have mercy…”
“Not my strong suit.”
“Alrigh’!” the man choked, gurgling his own blood. “My b-boss...his n-n-name...”
“Speak up, I can see the blood draining from your face.”
“Van Eck!” The man’s final breath was spent on those two syllables, and he went still.
Fuck.