Chapter Text
The thump of Kaz’s cane echoed through the factory. Usually, at this hour, the place would be full. There would be an unfortunate hardworking child at every workspace tending every machine. But the owner of the factory, Dirk Van Aalst, had vacated all his employees and everyone else from the premises after the stadwatch ordered him to do so. There were concerns that someone was using the location to hide smuggled goods—and worse, there were rumours that those smuggled goods were from a ship connected to a plague outbreak in the Southern Colonies. Just rumours, but serious ones. Van Aalst assured the officer that he was innocent of the crime, but fooled by Pim's false stadwatch costume, he complied.
It would’ve been easier to simply sneak in after dark. The place would be locked up securely, but Kaz could pick any lock. But lately, he had other matters to tend to at night. He spotted, in the far corner, a desk that seemed like the type of place Van Aalst would hang around. It was lavish. Nothing else in the room was. Kaz tried to open the drawer. Locked. That wasn’t a problem. Within a few seconds, he had it opened and was sifting through the papers inside. Within a few minutes, he found the papers he needed.
He put them in his pocket and slipped an envelope sealed in black wax and stamped with a crow into the drawer . He wished this job weren’t so easy. He wished it were more dangerous.
A few years ago, Jesper told him that he missed the feeling of people shooting at him almost as much as he missed gambling. “Sometimes I’m tempted to walk through the roughest parts of the barrel just for the thrill of dodging bullets.” These days, Kaz didn’t want to dodge them. He wanted to feel the pain of the hit. He needed it.
But he made a promise, and he didn’t back out of a deal. He couldn’t die. Especially now. But someone else would. As he left, he nodded at Aref, who was keeping watch outside. “I have other business to attend to. Go to The Silver Six.”
“Boss—”
“What?” He turned towards Aref and stared at him.
The boy sighed. “You said that I shouldn’t let you leave my sight until you got to the Crow Club.”
“A silly idea on my part.” Kaz started walking southward, Aref trailing behind. “Leave. Don’t try to follow me.”
“You made me promise, Mister Brekker,” Aref continued.
Kaz stopped, turned, and faced Aref. The boy stared back with a twinge of sadness in his eyes. “Go before I do something I regret.”
“I would regret it if I broke a promise.”
Kaz wanted to punch him. He wanted to push him into the canal. But the voice in his head wouldn’t shut up. You mustn’t fail me like this, Shevrati.
It didn’t help that Aref was so clearly Suli. “I’m almost jealous,” Inej said after she first met the boy, “I’m used to being the only one who scolds you with Suli proverbs.”
“Then perhaps you can think of a good Suli proverb about jealousy.”
She laughed, and he soaked in the sound of it. He would have died drowning in the sound of her laughter if he could have. He was angry that he didn’t. Was there a Suli proverb for that? Perhaps he could ask Aref. He glared at the boy and shook his head, turned around, and started heading back to the Slat, Aref trailing behind.
The entire afternoon afterwards, he sat in his office working on business dealings and planning his next steps while drinking enough brandy to not get drunk, but not be sober either. Aref sat on the roof outside his open window, a pile of letters on his lap and a pen in his hand. If Kaz got a letter that he didn’t care enough to respond to himself, or if it was addressed to the Dregs or anything associated with them, Aref would take up the task.
He usually didn’t do it there, of course. The roof next to the office didn’t look like a very comfortable spot, and Kaz wouldn’t let him sit awkwardly inside. But Aref’s presence meant Kaz could more easily keep his promise. So, like a chaperone, the boy worked diligently while keeping an eye out for his boss.
Usually, Aref was able to keep silent and not bother anyone. But after a few hours of solitude, he said, “There’s a medik that is in Kerch right now. He’s Suli.”
Kaz raised his eyebrows. “And why are you telling me this?”
“He’s not a regular medik.”
“What, does he have some sort of Suli wisdom that he uses in the process?”
Aref laughed. “Maybe. I don’t know. He doesn’t work on regular wounds. He works with people who have pain from within.”
Kaz nodded. “Like the heartrenders that the merchants employ. His job is to ‘soothe the soul.’” Or like the heartrender who worked for The House of the White Rose. He wondered about Zenik. Did she get the news yet?
Aref shrugged. “I mean, I think this man considers himself very different from that. He’s very serious about his work. He used to work for a wealthy Ravkan man who didn’t want his countrymen to lose hope after the civil war. He would go to villages where everyone died except a few survivors. He’d talk to children who saw their entire families killed.”
“And he’d tell those children that he’s a medik, and he’s there to heal their pain?”
Aref shook his head. “You can’t heal pain like that.”
“Exactly.” Kaz paused. “Is that why you’re bringing this up? To tell me there’s a new con artist in town?”
“He’s not a con artist, Mister Brekker.” Aref put his letters, his pen, and paper in his pocket, and put his hands next to him as if he were cautiously readying himself for a fight. “He doesn’t claim to heal wounds; he claims to simply treat them. You can treat a wound and leave a scar, but if it wasn’t treated, you’d end up bleeding to death.”
Does this boy have a death wish? “You think I need a medik. For my soul.”
“Yes, but we all do in some ways. I found out about this man because he was hired to treat Anke Brouwer. Her father told a lot of people that he’s the reason she started talking again.”
Anke Brouwer was the daughter of a high-class lawyer. Five years prior, she had gone on a trip to Fjerda with her three sisters. On the way back, her ship had gotten caught in a violent storm. She’d clung onto a piece of debris until a Kerch merchant vessel spotted her a couple of days later. But no one else on that ship—not her sisters, not any of the crew or fellow passengers—survived. The crew on the merchant ship tried to ask her who she was or where she was from, but she wouldn’t speak a word. They dumped her in Ketterdam and hoped for the best. She eventually returned home to her father, but she still wouldn’t speak at all. Perhaps she hit her head on something during the shipwreck, and it made her mute.
However, a month ago, Miss Brouwer was seen in public chatting away. She’d started going to nice dinners with her father and his clients, where she would speak as if it were nothing. A lot of people found it astounding, as if a miracle occurred. So that was her cure. A medik.
Kaz shook his head and stood up. “I don’t need a medik.”
Aref frowned. “His name is Dokter Hajan Parsa. In case you ever feel that you do. And I could find him for you.”
Kaz ignored him. He left the Slat and made his way to the Crow Club. Aref trailed behind but stopped once Kaz was inside. The sun was about to set, the barrel would be alive, and he needed to get out of there.
Lately, Anika was practically running the gambling den. She was yelling at a new recruit when she looked up, locked eyes with Kaz, and gave him a sad smile. He glared back. Don’t you dare pity me.
He nodded at her and signalled for her to follow him. They entered the adjacent room. She listed a number of things he needed to know. New information. An update on a few jobs that he’d given some members. Business at his establishments—The Crow Club, The Silver Six, others. He updated her about Van Aalst and gave her an order.
Anika left, returning a few minutes later with a mug in her hand that she handed back to him. “Kaz, can I ask—“
“If you feel you need permission to ask something, perhaps you shouldn’t.”
“I just want to ask, how is…uh…The Little Crow?”
Kaz rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he mumbled, making his way to the door, “but she has a name.” He didn’t bother to say goodbye before he exited the room, slipping into the tunnels under the canals.
When he emerged, he was in the Golden District, and night had fallen. Lately, he stopped bothering to knock at the house on Geldstraat. Wylan and Jesper already knew Kaz was coming. He didn’t need them to come greet him. He approached their door, turned the handle, and walked in.
“Da!” A little girl ran up to him and hugged his good leg. That was a greeting he was fine with.
He smiled. “I got you something.”
Jordan’s brown eyes looked up at him, expectantly. He crouched down, mug in hand, and whispered in her ear. “This is hot. You have to be careful. Blow on it first.”
He demonstrated for her, like Jordie had seventeen years ago. It wasn’t actually too hot. Kaz had Anika boil the hot chocolate for the perfect amount of time so that once he arrived, it would only be warm. He would never let her burn her tongue. Jordan blew on it, and he held the mug for her as she took her first sip. “Like it?”
She nodded, her eyes wide and her smiling face covered in chocolate. Wylan appeared, coming forth from whatever room he’d been in prior. “You want me to put that in a cup that she can hold herself?” He pointed at the mug.
Kaz nodded and gave him the hot chocolate. As he disappeared into the kitchen with Jordan following eagerly behind him, Jesper emerged, holding a stuffed crow toy. He gave a look of concern that made Kaz want to indulge Jesper’s longing to be shot at.
“What?” Kaz rasped. Jesper just shrugged. “How was Jordan today?”
“She’s…I mean, she was alright,” Jesper said. Kaz raised a skeptical eyebrow. “She keeps asking where her mother is.”
“And did you remind her?”
“Sure. But she just doesn’t understand.”
Jordan returned holding a smaller cup, a smile on her face. She looked so much like her mother. The girl had Kaz’s eyes, but the unmistakable look of a future Suli acrobat. She reached up, and Kaz took her, holding her in one arm and his cane in the other. He nodded at Jesper and Wylan and turned to go when his daughter touched his neck. A wave ran over him. No, he couldn’t do this. Not with Jordan. He wouldn’t do this.
But before he could stop himself, he was nine years old again, and he wasn’t holding his daughter but was holding onto Jordie’s corpse in the Ketterdam harbour. He tried to breathe. The waters rose around him.
“Da?” Her little voice brought him back. He put her back down.
He turned back. “Can Jordan sleep over tonight?”
Jesper started to nod before Wylan jabbed him in the stomach. “Kaz, can I talk to you? In private?”
“Why?”
The merch rolled his eyes. “Please. I didn’t say I’d let her sleep over, and I won’t unless you talk to me in private.”
“She likes sleeping here. You like her. And it’s better for her. Do it for Inej.”
“Inej…” Wylan shook his head. “Just talk to me in private.”
Kaz glared at him before finally throwing up his hands and agreeing to a private conversation. Most people were too afraid to cross him at all, to keep insisting. But Wylan had an annoying way of seeing through each and every threat and knowing that, despite all the madness, Kaz wouldn’t actually hurt the man.
They entered the dining room together and Wylan shut the door. “You promised Inej you’d be there for Jordan.”
“I’m just asking for her to sleep over.”
“You also promised her you’d keep yourself safe.”
Kaz almost laughed. “I did not. I would never promise something I know is impossible to ensure. I told her I would do my part to make my role less dangerous so that my chances of surviving Jordan’s entire childhood might be a little bit higher.”
Wylan sat on a dining room chair and stared at a painting on the wall. "Jordan cried today. Do you know why?”
Kaz shrugged. “I imagine it’s because her mother is dead.” He hated saying the words. But better terrible truths than kind lies. Inej Ghafa, the wraith, who could not be defeated, was dead. He paid to have her buried four weeks prior. My darling Inej, call me sentimental, but I don’t want to think about you on the Reaper’s Barge.
“She was sad about Inej. She asked about her again; she’s too young to understand death yet. But no. She cried because she wanted her Da.”
Kaz sat down as well and sighed. “Utterly foolish of her to look towards a person like me for comfort.”
“That’s some way to talk about a four-year-old girl.”
“You’ve known me for a decade. You should’ve realised by now that I’m not good with kids.”
Wylan scrunched his eyebrows. “I’m sure that used to be true. No offence, but I was deeply concerned when I first learned Inej was pregnant.”
“As you should have been.” Kaz traced the edge of the table with his gloved hand.
“I thought that it was insanity. The child would’ve had the most dangerous thing on the seas as a mother and the most dangerous thing in Ketterdam as a father. I didn’t think you’d even stick around for the kid. I wondered if you were going to try to kill her. I doubted you. Severely.”
“Your doubts were reasonable.”
“Sure. I’m not saying you became a perfect father, but you surprised me.” Wylan shifted his eyes, focusing on Kaz. “You’re a good father. I didn’t think you had that in you, but you did. There’s something you were able to find inside of you.”
“And what if that thing died with Inej?” He was staring at Wylan now, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. “Inej was always too optimistic. You don’t seem to fully grasp this, but I’m not built right. If you love Jordan, you should want me to stay far away from her.”
“You promised Inej. It doesn’t mean you can’t rely on us. You could sleep over here with her.”
“Wylan—”
“You can rely on us. We’ll look after her when you can’t. But you can. She needs you. You need to be there for her.”
Kaz pictured his Wraith, almost a month prior, lying in bed staring back at him. She had plenty of enemies who wanted her dead. She’d already conquered half the city and left behind a legacy that he ensured would never die. But it wasn’t an enemy that got her in the end. It was a lung infection, and it was absolutely nobody’s fault. He tried everything. No medik or medicine or healer could keep death’s hands from taking her away.
She felt the grip of it before she died. Those last couple of days were slow. Inej had told Jordan, her voice raspy from the illness, that she loved her. The little girl responded, “Mama, your voice sounds like Da’s!” And as if she was still so alive, Inej laughed, before coughing and coughing and coughing. It was the last time he heard that beautiful laugh.
They lay next to each other, the silence only broken by occasional coughs until finally Kaz whispered, “She’s right about my voice. You know why my voice is like this, Wraith. I was sick. I was dying. But I survived. So will you. You can’t let this take you.”
She turned her head and faced him. “I’m trying my best to make other arrangements.”
“We never stop fighting.” It was a promise they’d made to each other a thousand times since he’d first said it at the Black Veil. It’s what kept him going despite everything in him saying it was a terrible idea to love someone so deeply as he loved her. He would fight for her.
“I won’t stop fighting, Kaz, but that doesn’t mean I’ll win the battle.” She was weak, and he knew she was trying. She was fighting. But he remembered being with Jordie, both of them still alive but covered in pox and filled with fever, and seeing the same look of weakness in his face. “If I lose this battle, Kaz—”
“You won’t.”
She smiled, sadly. “I’m glad to see I’ve made you into an optimist. I’m fighting, but I feel myself fading, and I’m trying to hold on. If I can’t hold on anymore, I need you to promise me something.”
He didn’t argue. He knew death, and it was circling her like a shark ready to attack. Don’t do this to me, he wanted to say. You can’t do this to me. Not after everything. But it wasn’t her choice. He stared into her eyes.
She made him promise the things that Wylan mentioned. That he’d be there for Jordan, he’d take care of her, he’d love her. He wouldn’t purposely put himself in situations where he’d be gambling with his life. He’d choose to live for her. Inej wanted to die confident that her husband would care for their daughter, that she would be safe and loved by a father who would do anything to keep himself alive for her entire childhood. She died the next day, peacefully, trusting the promises he gave to her.
He could hear her voice in his head, sweet as hot chocolate, telling him You can do this. We never stop fighting. He slumped back in the chair and sighed. In those years after the auction of Kuwei Yul-Bo, Kaz had taken Inej up on her offer to teach him how to fall. She learned how to bring him out of the waters that rose around him.
He remembered a moment in those early days when he’d taken an ungloved finger and touched Inej’s neck, finding her pulse. He needed to feel it to keep himself sane. She smiled and raised her own finger, moving slowly and carefully. She touched his own neck, finding his pulse. Then she whispered, “We’re alive, Kaz.” It felt like a promise. He learned to feel the life in her.
But that life in her was gone.
Usually, Jordan’s skin was fine. When she was a baby, her skin felt squishy and soft like velvet. It was so very different from a corpse. The girl was growing older, and her skin was changing. He needed Inej to remind him how to fall.
We never stop fighting.
“I’m going crazy,” he admitted. Wylan simply nodded; the merch could practically smell the grief on him, and Kaz despised that. He needed Inej to stop him from drowning. He was trying to fight, trying to keep his head above the water, trying to grasp onto something in his broken life like Anke Brouwer clinging onto a piece of debris.
“You should take some time off to grieve, Kaz. You could stay at my lake house if you’d like. Bring Jordan. It would be good for the two of you. We could come—”
Kaz waved his hand. Normal methods of comfort would not work on an abnormal man. If Hajan Parsa could get Anke Brouwer to talk again, maybe he could do something for Kaz. He hated to say it, but maybe it was the only option.
“What I need, Wylan, is a medik.”