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It was clever. It was devious. It was the best idea he’d paid someone to have in a very long time, second only to that whole scheme to get his feeble wife out of the picture.
The Ferolind was one of the most feared ships in the solar system, second only to the famed Volkvolny. And yet here he was, Jan Van Eck, richest man on Kerch, sneaking aboard it.
He almost wanted to pause and shake his own hand.
He’d sent Miggson and Prior to take care of the sharpshooter and the Fjerdan. They’d been marched to the brig at gunpoint. The newest laser-rifles always seemed to send the little ones running, and it seemed even the Crows were no different.
The Wraith would have proven difficult, were it not for those wings of hers – so very easy to catch hold of, if you’ve got a good ornithologist with you. And thanks to his position as the richest merchant in Ketterdam, he had the best ornithologist.
He’d hired Aaberg to take care of the Heartrender. He’d been one of the infamous druskelle, trained to hunt Grisha, but had transgressed in some way that offended the higher-ups. Van Eck didn’t really care about it. What was important was that he was being paid to subdue the Grisha on the Crows crew. And he did his job well.
Brekker put up a good fight, swinging that cane of his that simply must have been Fabrikator made, and managing to get a few claws down his boys’ faces, but in the end, he succumbed to peer pressure.
And as for Van Eck’s son, the weakling?
He’d been found in a laboratory. Like a scientist. He’d gone to get Wylan himself, found him behind a metal table frantically mixing together chemicals in order to make something, clearly, but he didn’t have anyone whispering in his ear to tell him what to do, so when it blew up in his face, Van Eck couldn’t help but laugh. “Come along, Wylan,” he said, taking his son’s wrist and all but dragging him to the brig, where the rest of the crew waited, tied up.
The plan was to take control of the Ferolind and find out exactly how the Crows managed to escape every trap ever laid for them. Most of what was known about them was legend – where they came from, who was responsible for the mechanization process that left them nigh immortal, how they managed to keep their name in everyone’s mouths but stay out of prison.
He was going to uncover all of their secrets.
Although they were still bloody, none of them seemed to have any visible wounds. Some gossip said they could heal from any wound, even the ones meant to be fatal – that one must have been true, then. None of them seemed to be afraid, either. Even his bastard son had calmed down once they’d put him in the brig.
He clasped his hands together and walked the length of the brig, making sure to pause briefly in front of each of the Crows. Once he made it to one end of the room, he made his way back to the center, facing Brekker, whose eyes spelled murder.
“Are we sitting comfortably?” He asked.
“No,” came the low response of the infamous Dirtyhands. Van Eck smiled. Of course they weren’t. “Good. Then I’ll begin.”
He’d been planning this monologue for days. It was going to be good.
“Finally, I’ve got you all trapped in here with me. Your ship has been seized, you’ve been laid low, you were defeated within the hour, and soon enough I’ll find your laboratory. Life – eternity – will be mine. Soon, they’ll all be whispering the name Van Eck, and the Crows will be but a moment in time.” He felt pride ripple through him. He’d delivered that perfectly.
He clapped his hands together. “And now, you will share with me all your secrets. You’ll tell me the truth of your mechanization, the truth of the Ice Court job, and, importantly, you’ll return my son to me.”
The Crows didn’t seem particularly ruffled. In fact, they almost looked bored.
Dirtyhands rolled his eyes. “I’ll admit, this is the furthest anyone has gotten at an attempt on our lives. The last one was, ah…”
The Wraith leaned forward. “The White Blade.” As she said the name, Van Eck realized he knew it. A young woman named Dunyasha Lazareva, who believed herself to have a claim to the Ravkan throne. He’d told her he could get her into the Great Palace throne room in exchange for hunting down the Crows. Clearly, they’d not enjoyed being prey. Van Eck felt a slight tremor of fear run through him.
Dirtyhands smirked. “Ah, the White Blade. Now, there was a worthy foe. You, on the other hand,” he said, turning his shark’s eyes on Van Eck, “are not.”
Van Eck found himself very slightly paralyzed, and fought to regain his footing. He would not lose his place to a Barrel rat – and a young one, at that. He cleared his throat and continued his speech.
“After I extract the secret to your immortality, there will be nothing money can’t buy. The whole system will trade their wealth for eternal life – the kind even the old Darkling couldn’t keep a hold on. They say otkazat’sya will forever remain mortal in comparison to the Grisha, and soon, I’ll be selling a solution to that problem to the highest bidder.”
Even then, the Crows didn’t seem all that frightened. Well, Wylan did. He always looked weak. It was his nature.
“Why is it always the immortality they want? Why not something we could get them easily, like jurda or weapons?” Asked Dirtyhands, sarcastically. The sharpshooter cackled. “Or gold. I’ve got all this gold lying around.”
Wylan cocked his head to the side. His voice grated at Van Eck, and he fought the instinct to scream at his son to be silent. “Yeah, why do you have all that gold?”
The sharpshooter flushed, his head ducking. So childish. “It’s… uh. For tax purposes.”
Van Eck doubted the Crows paid their taxes. None of them seemed the holy kind, and Dirtyhands in particular seemed like he would take a particular delight in blasphemy.
The Fjerdan shifted. “Van Eck,” he said, his accent thick. “I am an honest man. I can tell you how we came to be. Deep within the recesses of our ship lies a laboratory, and I can take you there if you so desire.”
Van Eck snorted. “As if I would trust any one of you. I’ll find it myself.”
He left them tied in the brig as he ventured deeper into the ship.
~~~
“Keep him away from me!” Van Eck howled, tearing toward the airlock. He had been searching for the hidden laboratory one minute, reveling in his triumph and pondering over how best to punish Wylan for his insolence, and the next, he’d made eye contact with a man with a knife in his hand and horrible curiosity in his eyes.
The next thing he knew, he was running as fast as he could.
Wylan stood next to the airlock door. Surely, his son would save him. He must still have had some loyalty to his father. He must have understood that Van Eck had only been doing what was necessary, that a weak-minded young man simply couldn’t run a business. He must have understood it, thought Van Eck as he barreled toward the door.
Wylan smiled. “I hope you enjoy the void, father.”
He stepped aside and pressed the button which must have opened the airlock.
Van Eck’s final thought was of regret – he could have just stolen their ship. Surely that would have sold well. And it would have been so easy.
~~~
When asked about it later, the Crows shrugged. “We never saw him again,” said Wylan.
They all seemed to share the same sentiment –
good riddance.