Chapter Text
The clatter of hooves, too loud for the serene—practically dead—late-night silence of the University District, echoed thunderously in Hare Burke’s ears. Of course, he wasn’t doing anything illegal at this moment. He was merely a humble university professor, riding to discuss financial support for his research with a prominent merchant. The late hour, too, could be easily explained: his mornings, like those of any academic, were consumed by lectures, while evenings were devoted to his “business”—a venture Professor Burke found utterly distasteful and unworthy compared to the nobility of science. There was nothing strange about scheduling the meeting at this hour, he reasoned, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his cloak. Should some sleepless gentleman inquire about his presence outdoors, Burke could effortlessly explain himself without arousing suspicion.
These thoughts carried him to the mansion’s gates. At the driveway, Burke handed the driver coins damp with sweat from his palms and waited for the carriage to depart before trudging toward the entrance, glancing over his shoulder incessantly. A butler—middle-aged, clad in a black shirt and violet vest—awaited him, bowing respectfully as he ushered Burke into an opulent foyer. With trembling hands, Hare surrendered his coat, which vanished as if by magic. Clutching his briefcase, he followed the silent man deeper into the house, eyes fixed on the floor, resisting the urge to flee and pretend he’d never sent that letter requesting this meeting. But retreat was no longer an option. The butler vanished behind a closed door, only to reappear moments later and announce, “You are expected,” swinging the door open before Burke could steady his nerves.
The study, unlike the cluttered academic offices Hare knew, felt stark. Instead of overstuffed bookshelves, its walls bore paintings—some, like one depicting a snow-dusted city foreign to Ketterdam, jarringly out of place. Across from the window sat the master of the house: a young man with curls glowing like fire in the hearth’s warmth.
“Professor Burke, welcome,” the man rose, extending a hand. Hare discreetly wiped his sweaty palm on his trousers before shaking it, surprised by the merchant’s firm grip.
“Mr. Van Eck, thank you for your hospitality—and for accommodating my request so promptly.” He bowed awkwardly before sinking into the chair opposite.
“No need for gratitude, though I must admit your choice of hour is… unconventional.” Wylan Van Eck folded his hands, his gaze granting permission to proceed.
“My apologies if I’ve inconvenienced you,” Burke squirmed. Students his age usually groveled for his approval, but here, the young merchant held all power—over both this conversation and Burke’s future reputation. “The matter I wish to discuss is… delicate. I’d prefer discretion.”
“Naturally.” Wylan raised an eyebrow, urging him onward.
“As a man of science, I trust you understand the fervor of pursuing research that could reshape humanity’s understanding of the world.”
“I sympathize, Professor, but I fail to see how *I* factor into this… or what requires such secrecy.” Wylan’s eyes drifted lazily across the paintings.
“In medicine, we who dedicate our lives to study are treated as *lesser* compared to Grisha healers with their… *inherited* gifts.” Burke’s voice hardened, years of condescension simmering beneath.
“Again, what does this have to do with *me*?” Wylan’s tone remained calm, but Burke sensed a brewing storm.
“You’ve heard of the council’s decision to reduce executions?” It was no secret Wylan had spearheaded the reform to protect the wrongly accused.
“Indeed. I authored the bill.”
“Human life is sacrosanct, of course! But anatomy departments—mine included—rely on corpses from Hellgate for dissections. With executions curtailed, we’re *starving* for instructional material.”
“You want me to repeal the law? Ignore the innocents rotting in cells?” A flicker of irritation sharpened Wylan’s voice, though his face betrayed nothing.
“No! But surely… alternatives exist. Rumor suggests you’re acquainted with Kaz Brekker.” Burke downplayed the common knowledge that Wylan and the Bastard of the Barrel were *close*. “If you could intercede—ask him to supply cadavers for our research…”
“You want Dirtyhands to deliver corpses? Through *me*?” Amusement laced Wylan’s words.
“Crudely put, but yes.”
“And your earlier rhetoric about valuing life?” Wylan’s condescension rankled.
“I stand by it! But imagine the discoveries—*lives saved*—with adequate… specimens.”
“Specimens litter the streets of the Barrel. Why not collect them yourself?”
Burke’s stomach turned. “Those wretches’ bodies are *ruined* by vice. I need *fresh*, undamaged organs. For science.”
“Ah, so you’re a grocer demanding ripe produce for a dinner party.”
“Must you be so vulgar?!”
“Even if I *were* close to Brekker, what’s in it for me?” Wylan’s voice turned icy.
“I thought you, a fellow scholar, would—”
“Scholar? I’m a Councilman. Why not approach Kaz directly? His morals are… flexible… for a price.”
“How *dare* you! A man of my standing, bartering with Barrel scum?!”
“Yet you see no issue asking *me*?” Wylan’s tone hardened. Burke blanched, shrinking into his chair.
“Forgive me—the rumors… I thought…”
“Thinking seems challenging for a man of your accolades.”
“I beg your pardon—”
“Consider how you’ll pay Brekker. His services are costly… and I’ll take my cut. Goodnight, Professor.” Wylan stood, dismissal final.
“Goodnight, Mr. Van Eck. Thank you—goodnight!” Burke stammered, scrambling out.
The butler escorted him to the gates. Only once beyond the estate did Hare breathe freely, hurrying to find a carriage. Despite the humiliation, Wylan had agreed to speak with Brekker. The research could still proceed.
---
**Later**
Wylan strode into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed with a groan.
“How’d it go with the ‘Master of Conspiracy’?” Jesper flipped him onto his back, grinning.
“What?” Wylan blinked, finally free to shed his stoicism.
“The man skulked here in a black coat, glancing over his shoulder like the entire Barrel was tailing him. Who’d even *care*?” Jesper waved his arms theatrically.
“I acted the same my first days in the Barrel…”
“Key word: *Barrel*. So? What’d he want? Funding for human experiments?”
“Close. Cadavers for anatomy lectures.”
“*What*?!” Jesper bolted upright.
“He wants Kaz to supply corpses. Through me.”
“And you’re… okay with this?!”
“For science, if they’re already dead… and… villains.” Wylan shrugged.
“Saints, you *are* intrigued!”
“*Hypothetically*.”
“Sure, Sunshine. But why involve *you*? Why not go straight to Kaz?”
“He thinks himself above Barrel dealings.”
“Ugh. Typical merch snob.” Jesper’s jaw tightened.
“We’ll charge him triple. Kaz’ll agree—if the price is right.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Brekker.”
“Is that bad? Think he’ll bite?”
“Depends on the kruge. When’s Inej back?”
“Three weeks. Why?”
“Then you’ve got three weeks to seal the deal before Kaz grows a conscience.”
“Think she’d disapprove?”
“Who knows? But better settle it before she docks.”
“Come with me to the Silver Six tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss this show. Watching Kaz destroy that prick? Priceless.”
“This’ll end badly.”
“Oh, definitely. But it’ll be *fun*.”