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The bright light of the full moon bathed the alleys and canals of Ketterdam, painting the roofs of the crooked homes pale silver. The well-kept streets of the Zelver District were dotted with lanterns and a few dimly lit windows. One slim figure limped along the alleyway, his hat low over his eyes. His black emo cane clicked loudly, echoing off of the buildings. The hands emerging from his black coat sleeves were pale and slender, gripping the crow’s head of his cane. They were the hands that dealt cards and won, marked by small silver scars and well-kept nails. At last, the peculiar man stopped at a berth in the harbor. The sign, barely visible in the darkness, bore the number twenty-two. The dark waves lapped at the dock, reflecting the moonlight in their rippling movements.
He had been waiting here for quite some time when a light shone in the distance. A sleek, wooden ship came into view. The words etched into the side reflected the moon: The Wraith. The ship eased alongside the berth with a groan. Ropes were tossed onto weathered posts, followed by the muffled shouting of sailors securing the ship. A gangplank thumped onto the ground. A few sailors descended it, their sturdy boots shuffling noisily as they trudged down the street towards the sleeping city, leaving only some crew members aboard.
The pale boy remained.
For a moment, the dock was empty.
The boy shook his head and righted his posture because he is a sassy little bitch and needs to look professional in front of his crush. He ran a hand through his hair.
Then a small silhouette emerged on the deck. It was a young woman, with rich bronze skin and black hair pulled tight into a coil. She stepped down the gangplank silently, as if she had spent years balancing on rooftops and tightropes. The young man turned.
There was silence for a few moments.
The girl stepped closer. They were now standing side-by-side, looking out over the harbor.
“Good to see you, Captain,” the young man said in a gravelly voice. She smiled up at him, and his seemingly permanent scowl softened for a fraction of a second.
“You waited,” the girl remarked, shoving her hands into her pockets. She glanced up, a lock of hair billowing into her face.
Her companion cast her a look. “Of course I did,” he said curtly, “I told you I would come for you.”
The bronze girl glanced at her ship rocking slightly in the water. The sleeves of her tunic stirred in the wind.
“Besides,” the pale boy continued, “I don’t abandon valuable assets.” At this, the young woman frowned.
“Assets?” she echoed.
“Well, very valuable, irreplaceable assets.”
She snorted. He looked away, the twitching corner of his mouth threatening to betray him.
The sailor girl’s gaze fell to his bare hands. She brushed her hand with his. The boy stiffened almost imperceptibly, but didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand turned beneath hers, letting them slowly intertwine. The boy’s brows furrowed in concentration. They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the wind sweep across the harbor.
“I never got to properly thank you,” the girl said.
“Thank me for what?” asked the boy, throwing her a questioning look. The girl gestured towards the ship in the berth.
“It’s everything I dreamt it would be,” she answered, “it's perfect.”
The young man hummed in response, scuffing the toe of his polished shoe on the concrete.
A few moments passed in silence. Then a cough came from The Wraith. The boy’s head snapped to the innocent sailor, who froze. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, before the sailor scrambled below deck.
Then he turned on his heel, his hand still clasped in the girl’s. “Come. We should get back to the Slat.” She shrugged, and together they began skipping merrily back towards the city.
“So, how’s Jesper?” the girl asked the boy.
He made a face. “As usual.” At this, the young woman breathed a laugh. He glanced over, his expression unreadable. His bitter coffee eyes lingered on her before snapping to a drunk man lazily stumbling along the street. He moved closer to the girl, picking up his pace.
“He’s been pretty good. Wylan’s been keeping him from gambling too much.” He paused, as if remembering something. “How was your voyage?”
The girl looked down at their joined hands. “It was alright. I stopped at Os Kervo and destroyed a slaver ship there. They didn’t have anyone captured.”
The young man nodded.
“Then I went to Fjerda,” she continued, “Nina took me in for a few weeks. I sent you a letter, remember? About the Fjerdan winter festival.” She kicked a stone and it went skidding down the street. “The one about Djel swallowing the sun?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” He looked around at the crooked buildings and glowing lanterns. “Was it fun?”
The girl scrunched up her nose. “Don’t tell Nina, but Fjerdan food is absolutely horrible.”
“Understandable. I hate it too.”
They had stopped. The girl gently let go of the boy’s hand to fix her braid. The young man watched her while he knew she wasn't looking. They stood like that for a moment, with only crickets and the distant slosh of waves breaking the silence.
An owl sitting on a roof above them said “hoot.”
The boy flipped it off.
Finally, she was done and strode ahead. The boy walked to keep up, his long strides making it easy to reach her.
They were nearing East Stave with the sounds of drunken laughter and yells growing louder. More people appeared on the street. The pair neared a glittering silver-and-black building surrounded by a throng of people and jazz music spilling from within. At the top, bold black letters spelled The Silver Six.
The girl raised her eyebrows. “It’s done?”
The boy nodded, adjusting his tie, “It is.”
“Well… it’s quite…” She searched for the word. “Extravagant.”
Before, the building had been named the Emerald Palace, owned by a mighty gangster. After Rollins had fled Kerch, his gang had fallen apart and in its place a certain boy built a larger, more impressive gambling hall. A few ugly little oily black crows perched on the roof of the building.
A cool night breeze followed the pair as they walked through East Stave.
“You remember the way?” the young man asked, eyebrows raised.
The girl rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Kaz? I know Ketterdam better than you ever will.”
“Just messing with you.”
They lapsed back into comfortable silence, the muted click of the boy’s cane and the soft thump of his shoes echoing in the alley. The girl barely made a sound beside him. The young man scowled at nothing. The city would wake soon, with its noise and its secrets and its endless schemes. But for now, the streets belonged only to the boy with the cane and the girl from the sea.
Now you are probably wondering who I am and why I am narrating these two’s awful little love story. I am the owl’s—or shall I say, Mr. Hoot’s—loving wife. I take deep offense to that teenage delinquent sending a rude gesture at my husband and I will be taking legal action immediately. I am calling my attorney. This is unacceptable.