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It was Kaz's least favorite day of the year.
Kerch winters were unkind, bitter affairs. Snow was expected and ice was a given, but Ketterdam kept enough foot traffic at all hours to somehow keep it from collecting on it's thoroughfares. The canals were the exception, but the council of Tides saw to their clearing.
All in the name of profit.
But Kaz was not in the city this winter morning. Nowhere near, in fact. He had left under cover of early dawn to ride the ferryboat south. Anyone who asked for him at his clubs, The Silver Six and most notably The Crow Club, was swiftly redirected to Anika. Even his second and his demolitions expert. Technically, Anika didn't even know Kaz was leaving the city. Just that he was on "important business".
He stayed away from the edges of the ferryboat, not wanting to see the waters that stirred something uncomfortably inside him. Memories. Water had never been kind to him. It had nearly killed him enough times to warrant this reaction, and so Kaz honed his focus on the book he had brought for the trip. The Lives of The Saints.
It was all a bunch of sorry stories, but Kaz had promised himself he would educate himself in the months leading up to Inej's next stoppage. When that would be, he didn't know, but Kaz would not be caught unprepared when the moment came. All of these saints were martyrs, doing something good or 'profitable' that bit them in the arse and killed them. The pattern was unsurprising. Knowing what Kaz did of Ravka, he could only imagine half of these were propaganda for their incessant war efforts. Vain attempts at stirring up inspiration in the hearts of the masses by telling the unfortunate tale of someone who was doing one good thing and ended up dying for the cause.
Kaz didn't hide his eyeroll. Inej wasn't here to scold him over it, and anyone else on the ferry were well versed in the art of minding their business. Kaz continued on, penning little comments and taking little notes on the pages of the red book. Things to remember them by. Things Inej might mention. Things Nina might mention, if she ever showed her face, her real face, in Ketterdam again. Things he could discreetly ask Jesper about if he ever went back to the Van Eck mansion. He had built the tunnel for a reason, after all.
Kaz imagined in his mercher black suit and hat, pacing as he read with his cane thumping rhythmically, he had the appearance and character of the harbinger of death incarnate. He smirked at the thought, entertained at the bitter, beloved irony.
It was his birthday, after all.