Chapter Text
There was a persistent, cold wind blowing from the north, carrying with it a heavy scent of salt and sea. It was pleasant the first day Jesper had been on the ship, but now it had made his face feel dry, his lips cracked, and he could feel the salt caking in his eyes. He’d been on Sturmhond’s ship for less than a week, but he was already sick of it.
The trip from Novi Zem to Ketterdam had been longer, but he’d been different then. Just a young boy eager to set out on the world. Maybe he’d noticed the brine in the air, the way everything stank of fish. Maybe he hadn’t cared. But now, a few years older, with a whole lifetime of events happening in between, Jesper just felt uncomfortable and grumpy.
It didn’t help that he was bored.
Sturmhond required that they--being him, Mal, and Mikahel, while Dubrov was still recovering--pull their own weight and help where they could. That, in and of itself, was of no issue for Jesper. He wasn’t exactly a sailor by any means, but he knew how to put in a decent day’s work. No, the real issue was that he could barely speak to anyone.
It wasn’t that no one else spoke Kerch. Really, it was that Jesper didn’t speak anything else. He knew Zemeni, of course, and he had a brief conversation with another Zemeni man on board. But most of the crew here were a scattered, eclectic sort, coming from all over the known world. They spoke their primary languages first, and then Ravkan second. If they did know Kerch, it was usually broken and heavily accented; enough to communicate, but not enough to hold a solid conversation.
Sturmhond spoke Kerch fluently, as did those twins. Tolya and Tamar. They seemed to be something like his lieutenants. But Jesper wasn’t important enough for the captain to be constantly around, translating for him or just offering a friendly talk.
“Verevka,” Mal said, showing him the rope he was holding. He had to bat away Milo, who tried to chew at the end of it.
“Veer-ov-ka,” Jesper repeated dutifully, though he wished to gouge out his eyes and throw himself into the sea for good measure. Instead, he grabbed Milo and held him away from the rigging.
Mal winced at his pronunciation, but nodded. Then he looked around, a frown on his face, and then pointed at a metal cup that someone had left out on a barrel. “Chaska.”
Jesper looked at Mal, then at the cup. Then he looked at Mal again. "Chaska.”
Mal smiled and nodded. “Good!”
“Yes, because now I can list off everything on this boat in Ravkan,” Jesper sighed. He appreciated what Mal was trying to do, but he wasn’t the best of teachers. His only real method was pointing at things and saying what they meant, and then prodding Jesper until he said it correctly.
Mal gave him something of an exasperated glare. He didn’t need to know Kerch to understand Jesper’s tone.
“Right, sorry. Izvini,” he said. Milo bleated at him, and Jesper pet his head absentmindedly. It wasn’t Mal’s fault. He was only trying to help. And actually, Jesper owed quite a bit to Mal. He’d saved his life, after all. And he also hadn’t told Sturmhond about him being a Grisha. Mikhael and Dubrov hadn’t said anything either, but they seemed to take their cues from Mal, so if he said to keep quiet, then they would.
“I wonder,” said a new voice behind them, “why you ever came to Ravka, when you don’t speak Ravkan.” It was Tamar, who was his least favorite of the twins. She just reminded Jesper of himself a few too many times, and not in a good way.
“Well, I figured it’d be easier to learn while I was there,” Jesper shot back, only partially sarcastic. “I wasn’t expecting to run into Fjerdians.”
“Yeah. Curious how that happened.”
“I guess,” Jesper muttered, but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t exactly sure what kind of story Mal gave, but he knew he did say they were attacked by Fjerdians. He had to explain Dubrov somehow. Unfortunately, Jesper couldn’t really figure that out unless he asked someone like Tamar, who spoke Kerch and had heard what Mal had to say. But if he did that, he’d be giving away…well, he’d be giving away something. It was very frustrating to not speak the same language as your allies.
And they were allies. Running into Mal and his friends had been the single luckiest thing to happen to Jesper ever since he first stumbled out of the Fold. He had no idea what they wanted, or why a few Ravkan soldiers were running off into the forest being chased by Fjerdians. And they didn’t really know what he wanted either. Mal probably assumed he wanted to go to the Little Palace because he was Grisha, which was a perfectly fine assumption that Jesper had no issues with. But, regardless, they were allies. Especially in a place like this, where they were mostly sure they were safe, but could never be certain.
“Well, anyway,” Tamar said, stretching her arms over her head. “I just came to get you. Sturmhond wants to speak with you.”
“Oh.” Jesper flashed Mal a quick look that he hoped didn’t seem too panicked.
Mal frowned, then turned to Tamar and said something in Ravkan that Jesper only caught a few words of. Tamar replied, quickly explaining what she was here for.
“Da skorava,” Jesper said, giving Mal a grim smile. That one wasn’t just a goodbye, it also meant something like “see you soon.” So maybe, if he said it, it’d be true. That was the thought, anyway, as he set Milo down.
Mal gave him a nod, then went back to the rope he’d been working on, using one foot to keep Milo from getting too close.
“Relax,” Tamar said as she led him towards the captain’s quarters. “He doesn’t bite, you know.”
“It’d be weird if he did,” Jesper replied.
“Well, there’s nothing to fear from Sturmhond. If he wanted you dead, then we would have killed you already.”
“Very comforting. What’s this about, then?” Jesper demanded.
Tamar shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.” She eyed him a moment, then said, “You want to get that goat of yours?”
Jesper would have liked to have Milo with him, but he wasn’t just going to say that. “I don’t need the goat,” he grumbled.
Tamar, of course, laughed. But then they’d reached the captain’s quarters, so there was nothing left for her to do but to clap him on the shoulder and say, “Good luck!” And then he was shoved inside.
Sturmhond was seated at his desk, reading over reports and maps. He looked up when Jesper came in, a friendly smile on his face. He always seemed to be friendly. Jesper didn’t trust it.
“Hello, Jesper!” he greeted. “Thank you for coming! Please, sit.” He waved towards the chair set on the other side of his desk. “Would you like some tea?”
“Do Ravkans not believe in coffee?” Jesper muttered to himself as he sat. “No thank you,” he said, louder.
“Hm,” Sturmhond said, then paused to pour himself a cup from the teapot that was sat on his desk. It smelled of jasmine and citrus, and its scent filled the small room. Sturmhond mixed in sugar, and Jesper waited in silence while he stirred his tea with a little metal spoon, tapping it carefully on the cup’s edge when he was done. He then took a long sip, and he held up one pinky as he did so. Jesper honestly wasn’t sure if it was for show or if Sturmhond was just like that.
“Now then,” Sturmhond said, smacking his lips in appreciation. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you here.”
“It had crossed my mind.”
“It’s very simple, you see.” He set down his teacup and then leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him. “I want to know what happened in Ravka.”
Jesper stifferned. “Mal told you already.”
Sturmhond shook his head. “No, no, I mean before you ran into those Ravkan soldiers. You only met Mal and the others while in the forest between Ravka and Fjerda, yes?”
“Yes.” Jesper tried to calculate what, exactly, Mal had said and Sturmhond might know. He wondered if it was worth it to just ask.
“So, what happened before then?”
Jesper tapped his finger anxiously against his thigh. “Why do you want to know?”
“Humor me.”
He bit his lip. Then, “Look, I was just in Ravka for business purposes. I got mixed up with the wrong people, though, and lost track of my companions. I ended up in trouble with those Fjerdians, and that’s when I met Mal. It’s really not that interesting of a story.”
“I see.” Sturmhond stood and meandered towards the window, staring out to the sea. His hair, normally a coppery red, looked almost blonde in the light. There was a contemplative look in his eyes, and Jesper almost thought he seemed like Kaz in the way he brooded.
“Is that all?” Jesper asked, feeling a bit awkward.
“No.” Sturmhond whirled around and came towards the desk, circling around it so he could lean on its edge with his arms folded. “What kind of business?”
“Hm?”
“You said you came to Ravka for business. What kind of business was it?”
“I don’t really know the specifics,” Jesper said. “I was just the hired gun, you know? I wasn’t supposed to get separated from my companions.”
“But you did.”
“Clearly,” he gritted out.
Sturmhond stared at him a moment, and then his grin was back. “Right, well. Thank you for coming in!” And he held out his hand.
Carefully, Jesper took it. He felt almost positive this was a trap, but what could-
Sturmhond clutched his hand and wrenched his arm upright, pulling up the sleeve as he did so. Exposing the tattoo on his forearm, marking him as part of the Dregs.
“Well,” Sturmhond said, releasing Jesper as soon as he tried to pull away. “Would you look at that.”
“What do you want?” Jesper demanded, jumping out of the seat so that he could put even more distance between them.
“What I want, Jesper Fahey, is to know what happened in Ravka.” At his look, he nodded and said, “Yes, I know who you are. And I know about that little gang back in Ketterdam.”
“So, what, is this just some kind of game to you?” Jesper asked, his hands itching towards his guns. They hadn’t taken them when he’d been brought on board, but he still didn’t have any ammo. Maybe that’s why they let him keep them.
“This is no game, Jesper.” And suddenly, Sturmhond looked more serious than Jesper had ever seen him, his arms no longer crossed, his shoulders straight. “In fact, this might be one of the most important things I’ve ever come across. I need to know what happened to you and the people you were with. I need to know what happened in the Fold.”
Jesper glared down at the floor, lips shut tight. He might not be the best at keeping secrets, but he wasn’t just about to go around blabbing about Kaz and Inej. He would never do that.
Sturmhond sighed. “You’re a member of the Dregs. You’re their prized sharpshooter. And you owe many debts.”
Jesper refused to look up.
“You work for Kaz Brekker. He’s not officially the leader of the Dregs, but everyone knows that’s just a formality. He took a job in Ravka and brought you and Inej Ghafa along for it. The job was to steal the Sun Summoner.”
Finally, Jesper looked at him, his eyes wide with shock. “How do you-”
“Because I was the one who hired you,” Sturmhond said.
Jesper stared at him a moment, his mouth open. And then, “What? Seriously? No, that can’t be right.”
“And why not?”
“What would a pirate want with the Sun Summoner?”
“Privateer,” Sturmhond corrected. “And I have my reasons. But now, you must see why I need to know what happened in Ravka.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Jesper snapped back. “I don’t work for you.”
“You work for Kaz Brekker,” he acknowledged. “And Kaz Brekker took a job from me. Which means he’s working for me…and means you also work for me.” He flashed him an almost apologetic smile. “Unless you’re backing out of our deal.”
Jesper glared at him. His fingers fluttered over his guns, even though he knew they were useless at the moment. Eventually, though, he sighed and burst out, “Look, I don’t know, okay? I didn’t even make it across the Fold! We went in, everything went wrong, and somehow I woke up on the west side. Kaz and Inej were gone. I don’t know what happened to them, or if-”
Don’t say it. You can’t say it.
“If they’re even alive?” Sturmhond filled in for him, which only made Jesper glare at him. “If it’s any help, I can assure you that they are alive. Or, at the very least, they survived the Fold.”
Jesper felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “How do you know?” he breathed, barely more than a whisper.
“Because all of East Ravka is after them.” Sturmhond raised one brow, as if Jesper would have an explanation. When he didn’t say anything, he continued, “My spies have reported that the Darkling has issued special orders to find Kaz Brekker and bring him in.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” and Jesper actually believed him. He seemed just as bewildered. “And there are orders for Inej Ghafa, and even for yourself, though they are of less priority.” Sturmhond took a long breath, then went and sat back down at his desk. He reached for his tea, but he didn’t daintily sip at it this time. Instead, he downed the whole thing in one gulp, then reached up to rub at his eyes. When he finished, he turned to Jesper and gestured once more for the empty chair. “So please. Tell me what happened.”
Jesper did sit. He wasn’t sure he could keep standing. He sat, and his legs felt like jello, and he was sick inside. The Darkling, after Kaz? Why?
“I told you the truth,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know what happened. We got attacked by volcra while in the Fold. I…I got carried away by one of them. I don’t really remember…but then it was dead, and I was running. And I made it out on the west side, but I never saw any trace of Kaz or Inej.
“I see.” Sturmhond steepled his fingers together and stared at the map spread out on his desk, deep in thought. “What do you know of Kaz Brekker?” he said after a moment.
Immediately, he was on guard again. “What’s it to you?” Jesper growled.
“Jesper,” Sturmhond sighed, looking with almost pleading eyes. “The Darkling, the general of the Second Army, is after Kaz Brekker specifically. And I’m trying to find out why. Anything you can tell me will help.”
“And why should I help you? I don’t even know who you are.” Jesper crossed his arms and glared at him.
“That’s fair,” Sturmhond admitted. “I can’t tell you everything, but I can say that I have a vested interest in the wellbeing of Ravka. Civil war is on the brink, and we’re already at war with Fjerda and Shu Han. There will be fighting on all sides if nothing gets resolved. And through all of this, the Darkling has taken an interest in some gang kid from Ketterdam. That concerns me. That makes me think there’s more here than I realize. And I think you would agree. At the very least, you don’t want the Darkling to get his hands on your friend either.”
Jesper eyed him. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t want that. But I still can’t really help you. I have no idea why the Darkling would want Kaz, except for the fact that he has a remarkable ability to piss people off. He’s not really all that open about himself. I know more than maybe the average person in Ketterdam, but I still don’t know much.”
Sturmhond frowned, but didn’t seem surprised. “I thought it might be that way,” he said. “But still, I had to see. Don’t worry, I do believe you Jesper Fahey. And I can also respect that you won’t simply betray your friend to me. So I hope you’ll forgive this next step.”
Jesper tensed. “And what’s that?”
He gave something of a wry grin. “Well, I suppose I should tell you, since we’re heading towards your home. If you can’t tell me anything about Kaz Brekker then I’ll just have to find out for myself. We’re going to Ketterdam.”
It wasn’t as bad as Jesper had feared. Still not great, but what was he to do about it? No amount of pleading or demanding on his part would change Sturmhond’s mind. Besides, he severely doubted that he’d be able to find anything, anyway. Nobody knew anything about Kaz. Many have tried to find something, like where he came from, who his family was. But no one has succeeded. The only person who might have been able to give any hint at all was, apparently, on the run from East Ravka. So Jesper let Sturmhond talk, let him explain that he had no ill-will towards them, but also to please not get in his way. He didn’t say anything, and simply nodded when Sturmhond finally gave him leave to go.
“Ah, you’re not terribly upset with me, are you?” Sturmhond asked just before Jesper could walk out the door.
“Do you really care?” Jesper asked, a little sarcastically.
“Well, I don’t want to have to worry about a knife in my back,” he replied, his eyes twinkling a bit. Not for the first time, Jesper thought that the green of his eyes looked just a bit unnatural.
Jesper paused to consider it. Then he sighed and said, “How do I know you’re any better? How do I know you’re any better than the Darkling, or the rest of Ravka?”
“Well, for starters, I’m not of Ravka,” Sturmhond said, but Jesper cut him off.
“Yes you are. You said so, before. You said that ‘ we are at war.’ You included yourself in there, and don’t try and tell me it was a mistake. I don’t know who you are, but you’re not some nonpartisan pirate-
“Privateer.”
“-you are of Ravka. Or, at least, you consider yourself to be.” Jesper narrowed his eyes, daring him to argue. But Sturmhond only shook his head and gave a bit of a rueful chuckle.
“Okay. I suppose you might have got me. I am Ravkan, and I care about Ravka. But I do only work for myself. There is no other higher power I answer to. So I hope you can see that I’m at least the slightly better alternative to the Black General.”
Jesper stared at him, desperately wishing he had Kaz’s knack for reading people, or Inej’s ability to sniff out secrets. And then, “Fine. I still don’t trust, just to be clear. But I won’t murder you.”
“What a relief,” Sturmhond said, and then finally Jesper left.
Stepping out into the daylight, back into the salty air with the sounds of the crew working around him felt weird. He didn’t expect things to still be normal, or as normal as they can be, after walking out of that conversation. The world never stopped spinning, he supposed.
Jesper headed off to find Mal. He didn’t want to be around all these people that he didn’t know, all these people who worked for Sturmhond. He spotted Tamar on the other end of the ship, chatting with her brother. She caught his eye and winked, and he glared at her in turn.
Did she know? Did she know who Jesper was? What Sturmhond was up to? Did she know that he was trying to steal the Sun Summoner?
Did the rest of the crew?
Jesper avoided looking at anyone else, and instead went below deck to the little nook that had been cleared out for them. That’s where he found Mal, checking up on Dubrov. Mikhael was also there, holding Milo, and he gave Jesper a friendly hello as he came over.
“How is he?” Jesper asked, sitting down beside Mal. His question was universal enough to be understood despite the language barrier.
“Popravly,” Mal replied, which meant something like ‘better.’
Dubrov was lying on a cot, which had been quickly made for him when he’d first been brought on board. Everyone else had to use hammocks. The Grisha healer had done wonders for him, having managed to get rid of the infection and mend most of the damage done by the bullet. He mostly only needed to rest now, to recover the strength he lost during the ordeal. He seemed to be asleep when Jesper came over, but he cracked open an eye when he heard him speak.
“Oi,” he muttered, looking between them wearily. And then he said something that Jesper didn’t quite catch, and Mal moved closer to check on his bandaged arm.
“Okay?” Jesper asked, leaning close.
Mal fussed over Dubrov for another moment, and then leaned back. “Okay,” he confirmed.
“Good.” He wanted to say more. He wanted to ask them for details. He wanted to know what Mal has told Sturmhond. But he could do none of that. And he couldn’t stop Sturmhond from digging for information about Kaz, and he couldn’t stop the Darkling from hunting for his friends. There was so much that Jesper couldn’t do, and it was making him feel helpless.
Jesper watched as Mikhael said something that caused Mal and Dubrov to laugh. He smiled when they glanced at him, but there was nothing else for him to contribute.
Well. There was one thing that Jesper could fix. But it was going to take a lot more than just Mal pointing out objects and saying their name.
Jesper leaned forward so that he had their attention, even Dubrov’s. And when they all looked at him, he said, “Teach me Ravkan.” He turned to Mal, doing his best to convey how serious about this he was. “Really teach me Ravkan.”
Fortunately, when Mal looked at him, there seemed to only be understanding in his eyes. And he nodded, and he said, “Okay. I teach Ravkan.”
And after that…well, after that, they were off to Ketterdam. Jesper had never dreaded going home so much.