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No one ever knows when they're going to fall in love. It comes, sudden and quick as a racing horse, as a shift in the winds, as a bullet to the heart.
When Jesper left Novyi Zem, his Da’s nervous face was a stark contrast to the excitement bubbling up in him like the bubbles in the champagne his Da had let him have a small sip of when his acceptance letter to University arrived. Jesper was on a ship bound for Ketterdam, the biggest city in the world, where he could study. And do things other than study, of course.
Da’s stern voice manifests in Jesper’s mind of its own accord, lecturing, Jesper Llewelyn Fahey! You better not get in trouble…
Jesper did a mental salute. Yes, sir. Then he waved to his actual Da who was melding into the harbor, who put on a small smile and waved back.
After that, it was all Jesper.
And Ketterdam.
The problem, in the end, was not one thing. It was a lot of things, piling up on top of each other, every bad decision and innate part of Jesper spilling into each other until it flooded.
It was the mix of awe and excitement alongside homesickness for his father when Jesper stepped on the Ketterdam harbor. It was the way Jesper always bubbled and spoke too loud and needed something, something, to keep him on his toes and away from boredom. It was the need Jesper had to prove to his new friends, a joyous Ravkan boy named Artemi and a mischievous Kerch girl named Lotte, that he was cool and could absolutely handle the East Stave.
Most importantly, it was the rush at Makker’s Wheel that night when Jesper won. And won again. And again. By the end of the night, his wallet was significantly heavier, but he was light, floating as he walked back to his dorm.
The Barrel decorations he had thought was too flashy matched the flashing thrill of winning and his nervousness around his companions disappeared when he threw his arms around them, saying, “Apologies if I’m a bit too good at this,” and Jesper didn’t notice them wince.
But for then, Jesper simply fell in love — in love with the adrenaline that accompanied his victory.
In love despite how Lotte stopped hanging out with him after Jesper made a careless remark about being better at Makker’s Wheel than the daughter of a card dealer. In love despite how Artemi scratched his neck and mumbled that he was leaving when Jesper was too involved with a game at yet another gambling club. In love despite the promise he’d made to his Da to not get in trouble.
But, of course, honeymoon phases always pass. And trouble hit him hard and fast while Jesper was too in love to notice.
It came on suddenly when he’s playing cards at the Treasure Chest one night.
Jesper had skipped Artemi's invitation to study for the business test he had the next day. Artemi had protested. “You barely attend classes because you always wake up late. If you don’t study, you’ll fail!”
Jesper had winked back. “Don’t worry, my friend. With luck and a handsome face like mine, I don’t need to study.”
So there he was, looking at his hand and grinning, because Jesper was about to win again.
“All in,” the man in a pinstriped suit said from across the table. He must have been some merchant by the way he’d dressed — in sensible Kerch black compared to the garish clothes of the Barrel people playing at nearby tables. Then again, Jesper only liked playing with the upper classmen. Bigger stakes meant bigger money.
And bigger money meant a bigger rush.
“All in.” Jesper repeated the man’s words as he shoved his stack of coins to the middle.
“Alright,” the dealer said, looking impassively at them. “Mr. Fahey, please show your cards.”
Jesper flipped over his hand, anticipation building in him. His cards were excellent — some of the best in the game. The dealer looked over them before nodding at the other player. “Mr. Van Dijk, you.”
Van Dijk revealed his cards to show the best hand in the game.
The anticipation within Jesper deflated into a sorry, cold lump of disappointment at the pit of his stomach.
“Mr. Van Dijk wins,” the dealer stated, taking the cards back as he began to shuffle them.
Jesper gritted his teeth. He’d lost the last six games in a row.
But then again, a voice inside him said, all that means is that we’re due for a win.
You’re right, me, Jesper thought.
Jesper, Da’s voice manifested itself. Don’t do thi–
“Can I buy in with credit?” Jesper asked the dealer and he received a small stash of coins which he flipped over with one hand.
He got his cards and picked them up. Then he promptly threw them back on the table.
They were worthless.
“What’s the matter, Fahey?” Van Dijk asked smoothly. “Bad cards? Again?”
Where thrill once was, fury rose up in place. As did Jesper. He stood up and snarled, words spewing out of his mouth without checking in with his brain. “Shut up. This game is rigged! You probably paid off the dealer, you cheat! How else could I lose seven times in a row?”
“Perhaps very bad luck?” he suggested. A smug smile makes its way to his face. “Or perhaps I did rig this game. Either way, Fahey, you lose.”
Jesper barked out a bitter laugh. “I’m sure Ghezen will look upon you favourably. Did you get all your wealth by cheating?”
“I don’t discuss business with low-lifes like you,” Van Dijk said smoothly. “Especially not when they have filthy Zemeni blood in them.”
Jesper is still for a moment. Then he lunged at the merchant.
In a matter of seconds, Jesper messed up the entire gambling table, sending small coins flying everywhere and clinking against the floor, eliciting attention and gasps from the other players. He grabbed Van Dijk, who sputtered and attempted to escape, but Jesper held his grip tight until he was pulled back suddenly.
Jesper looked up, ready to attack whoever stopped him from clawing out the merchant’s eyes, but was stopped short by the sight of two enormous bouncers — a little shorter than him, but at least three times as muscular.
The one on the right with an ugly mustache leered at Jesper with an even uglier smirk. “Now, now. Let’s not cause trouble in the Treasure Chest.”
The one on the left added on, saying in a deep voice, “The Boss will see you. Come with us.”
They dragged Jesper out of the gambling hall and into a private room with a desk and plush seat behind it. Jesper protested, “What? I didn’t do anything! He cheated!”
“You got proof?” Ugly Mustache asked. “That’s what I thought. And you aren’t allowed to fight in the gambling hall. Unless it’s good for business, o’course.” He grinned, showing off mismatched teeth.
Just then, a man entered the room in an orange and pink plaid waistcoat, fingers decorated with a variety of cheap jewels. He was around his late thirties, complete with greying hair and sagging jowls. He settled into the chair, asking, “Now, what was your name again?”
Jesper set his jaw. “Jesper. Jesper Fahey.”
“Well,” the man drawled. “Nice to see you, Fahey. At least, nice for me. Bad for you.” He leaned back, waiting for Jesper to say something.
He did. “Why bad for me?”
The man smirked, glad to hear the question. “Because, Fahey, my name is Geels, the lieutenant of the Black Tips. You know who the Black Tips are?”
“Some kind of gang?” Jesper guessed, not liking his situation. There were at least ten different gangs who competed against each other in the Barrel and Staves for land and money. It was one of the first things Lotte’d warned him against when they had first met — stay away from the gangs.
“That’s right, Fahey. The Black Tips are a gang. The best gang in Ketterdam. We own the Treasure Chest. The same place you just messed up with your behavior, Fahey.”
“He was cheating!” Jesper exclaimed hotly. “Van Dijk cheated!”
Geels raised an eyebrow. “Have proof?”
Jesper clicked his mouth shut. He didn’t.
“What you do have, Fahey, is trouble,” Geels said. “And debt.”
Fear ran through Jesper, racing through him and leaving him cold in its wake. He’d heard stories — every gambler did. Cut off toes and fingers, getting beaten up in hidden rooms, crippling gunshots. “I–I don’t have any money right now,” Jesper said carefully. “But I can get some–”
“How?” Geels scoffed. “More gambling? No, I’m not gonna leave my money up to the pure luck of some addict. We have… other services in mind for you, Fahey.”
Jesper froze. “I…I,” he croaked out. “In… in West Stave?”
Geels barked out a laugh. “No offense, Fahey, but you aren’t exactly what our customers are looking for. And I certainly ain’t gonna give ya to the Mengaerie, though I’m sure Heleen would pay a pretty price for a Zemeni specimen. No, the Black Tips would like to invest in a certain talent you have.”
“What? What talent?” Jesper asked.
“I heard you have a pretty pair of guns with you, don’t you, Fahey?” Geels took out some jurda, popping it in his mouth.
Jesper’s hands instinctively moved to his belt, where his guns could generally be found resting at his side. He’d forgotten them that night, and his hands twitched for their comforting weight of the top-class Zemeni workmanship. “I’m not selling my guns,” Jesper said firmly.
“I’m not interested in your guns,” Geels said. “I’m interested in what you can do with them.”
“What?”
“One of my men,” he gestured to Deep Voice with his head, “saw you put on a pretty show with them the other day. We want to… cultivate these talents. Invest in them.”
“How?” Jesper asked.
Geels shrugged, sitting up straight and leaning into Jesper, providing him with the smell of jurda and whiskey. “Simple. Join the Black Tips.”
“Join the Black Tips,” Jesper repeated in a breathy voice. Join a gang where they maimed and killed people for fun. Saints, Jesper should have listened to Da. Should have stopped when he smelled trouble. But no, his stupid brain had to go off and run straight towards trouble instead. He had to fall in love with gambling, had to become so obsessed that he couldn’t do anything else. And now he had to join a gang.
“Yes,” Geels said, chewing on his jurda absent-mindedly. “It’s good work, Fahey. And good pay. It ain’t that hard of a job either, not for a guy with the talent like you.”
Jesper swallowed. “And if I don’t accept?”
“If you don’t accept, I’ll have my people beat you to a pulp, Fahey,” Geels said.
Jesper shook where he stood. If this was a fight, he might be able to do something. Punch, kick, get a gun and fire it. But no — he was falling, falling into a giant black pit that was the dregs of Ketterdam, a pit desperate tò swallow him up and never let him be the same. And Jesper could do nothing but flail around in hopes of reaching a safety that was slowly fading away.
“Don’t worry,” Geels said casually. “You’ll have a week to consider the offer. Find a way to pay up, join the Black Tips, or die. Your choice. ‘Til then, scram.”
Ugly Mustache and Deep Voice picked up Jesper and threw him out into the alley behind the Treasure Chest. Jesper barely noticed. He was too busy realizing just how far he’d fallen into an addiction he thought was love.
A week later, a boy saved Jesper from two Black Tips attacking Jesper in an alleyway. By then, he’d been kicked out of University. Jesper was desperate. So the boy offered him a deal, better than any deal made by any other gang, and Jesper became a member of the Dregs.
A year later, Kaz sent Jesper to a tannery to find a boy a year younger than him named Wylan Hendriks and Jesper realizes what love actually is.
A few months later, Jesper’s entire life changed in the aftermath of the Ice Court. He lost friends, but he got some new ones too. And someone a bit more than a friend.
Many years later, Jesper gets over his addiction for good. Wylan helped. So did Fabrikating. Inej supported him whenever she could. Nina sent her heartiest congratulation from Fjerda. And, though he would loathe to admit it, Kaz had been a part of it too.
Jesper realized what love was. Not thrill or adrenaline. Love had to be a bit quieter for him. Gentle, soft. Calm.
You should have listened to me all those years ago, Da’s voice grumbled in his mind.
Yeah, Jesper considered. But then I wouldn’t have met all my friends. Plus, with my above-average looks, I definitely deserve to be as rich as I am right now.
Da’s voice sighs. Fine.
Jesper grinned.
His addiction had been a twisted, cruel form of love. But life had, somehow, managed to grow out of the wounds it made.