Archive of Our Own

"You go tell him." Roeder demanded in a low voice. Pim barely looked up from his breakfast.

"It's your news, you tell him."

"Exactly. I've already done the work, now somebody else can pass it on!"

"Anika?" 

"No way." Anika said flatly from next to him, boots propped on the table.

"Well, someone has to tell him.” Roeder pointed out. “It’s not even like the news is bad-- ”

“Then why won’t either of you tell him?” Pim challenged them. Anika groaned.

“Because it’s gonna mean a big job and I was gonna take this week easy--”

“No, it’s because you two are jealous of--”

His accusation was drowned out by their protests, and the three were so busy arguing none of them heard the office door open. 

“Is this a new strategy I’m unaware of? Make as much noise as possible, so you can drum up business from the harbour without so much as standing?” Kaz said sourly from the doorway. They all froze and stared at him.

“Er… no?” Pim attempted.

“Then stop fucking yowling at five in the morning.”

Their boss turned to disappear back to his desk and suddenly all three of them were scuffling to their feet, desperate to be the one to redeem themselves--

Roeder leapt from the bench, trampled Pim’s hands and drove an elbow into Anika’s stomach, winding her--

“ The Wraith docked this morning, boss!” He said triumphantly. “She’s back!”

Kaz paused for a beat, back to them. All three of them held their breath--

“Don’t remember asking you to watch that berth.” he said, and slammed the door behind him.

Inej took the scenic route through Ketterdam. 

But she wasn’t wandering aimlessly like the packs of tourists below her, that stopped at random to gawk at street performers and point at the acrobats above the canals and charge into gambling halls. The elaborate showmanship of the Barrel had lost its allure for her a long time ago, and two years wasn’t nearly long enough to make her fall for its con.

Besides, their roofs weren’t nearly as attractive as their facades. And when you were following someone, the general rule was that you kept your eyes on them.  

It was easy enough to track the dark frame of Kaz Brekker through the East Stave, especially from above; he struck a hostile contrast with the gaudy costumes of the Komedie Brute and the obnoxious fashion of the Barrel natives. His gait was unmistakable; the limp, of course, but also the haughty purpose with which he forged a path through the crowds. He didn’t slow his pace; people simply parted before him. 

Inej matched his pace easily. Her feet found their old paths unerringly; Ketterdam had changed very little, really, in its predictable chaos, and Inej welcomed it. It was a far cry from the unforgiving expanses of sea, at least, and it was far more useful for tuning out her thoughts. Well, in all honesty, they were more like doubts... and they clamoured louder as the Crow Club came looming into view. It had expanded dramatically, dwarfing every other building in the street-- the royal court of the criminal kingdom Kaz had built. 

Inej had insisted on taking this job alone, and had ignored her crew’s confusion. She had several reasons, but she had to admit the idea of introducing her crew-- many of whom were righteous and pious and very disdainful of organised crime-- to Kaz Brekker had not been appealing. She needed his help for this job, but the concept of her two worlds colliding so violently had made her feel ill. It wasn’t as if she was ashamed of her time with the Dregs; the opposite, in fact. It was just that merchers and slavers had become easy prey for her crew, with their patterns of bluster and their predictable evasions. Kaz was not prey, and he was not in the least predictable.

She found herself slowing down, considering turning around, getting back onto the ship and ordering her crew as far from Ketterdam as possible--

No. This wasn’t about her, and she would see it through regardless of her own silly misgivings.

She made it into his office before he did. Some mission or other had clearly gone awry, and those few on the ground floor of the Slat (clearly today’s sacrifices on the break-bad-news-to-the-boss rota) were already bracing for impact before Kaz even stepped through the door. Keeg might have been praying. Every eye was fixed on the door, every ear straining for the sound of a cane on cobbles, and it made it laughably easy for Inej to slip into the office and listen. Barely a minute later, that familiar pattern of thuds drew closer, and the door creaked open again. 

“Boss?” Keeg said, his voice about three octaves higher than usual. “Er...the robbery...well, the floorboards were rotted and Pim went through ‘em, see, he’s alive but the stadwatch were after us for a few miles and we only got about half of the paintings--”

“Doesn’t matter. It was a distraction, that stuff won’t go for much.” Kaz said coolly. The low rasp of his voice was the same as ever. “The stadwatch weren’t at their posts, and that was the real aim.” There was a collective groan of annoyance, but Inej could hear the undertone of relief in it. Plenty of them had clearly been hoping Kaz had been running some other game, and today they’d been lucky. “But,” Kaz continued, “I thought you might have been smart enough to figure out that when I send two bruisers with someone considerably lighter on a stealth job, you don’t send the bruisers upstairs in a rotted decrepit mansion. Clearly I overestimated your critical thinking skills.”

“Right.” Keeg squeaked. “But… we’re worried Pim’s concussed, he don’t know his maths--”

“Didn’t know his maths in the first place.” Kaz said, and pulled open his office door. 

Inej, sat in the spare chair opposite his desk, met his gaze instantly, and couldn’t decide if she was pleased or annoyed that she couldn’t detect a single flicker of surprise. Obviously, he hadn’t lost his uncanny ability to sense her presence. Old habits died hard.

“Captain.” Kaz said, shutting the door and tossing his hat onto the desk. Inej fought down a smile, not sure how to approach.

“Kaz.”

He looked almost the same as she remembered; cold features slashed into a pale face, marble carved by a cruel hand. He had a new scar above his lip. Clearly, he hadn’t indulged in any of the comforts his money could offer him; if anything, the lines of his face were even harder, the shadows under his eyes darker. Inej noticed that the hands resting on the crow’s head of his cane were still gloved. But of course they would be. Dirtyhands had a legend to maintain. 

Kaz sat down across the desk from her, corners of his eyes creasing slightly in pain as he did so. The winter was always cruel to his bad leg, no matter how much he pretended otherwise. He flipped through the few files before him; made some notes of numbers, read through a few notes and letters. Inej waited. 

After a few minutes, Kaz looked up at her and paused. He seemed to be seeing her properly for the first time, and Inej suddenly felt a silly rush of self-consciousness. She had no idea what he was thinking. Did she seem as familiar to him as he did to her? She doubted it. 

But all Kaz said was,

“What business, Inej?” 

Inej stomped down disappointment. She had come here on business, after all, and she’d almost not come at all, so more fool her for expecting anything out of the ordinary. 

“I have a very high-profile target that I need your help… dealing with. My usual manner is too recognisable. ”

“The Wraith has to be seen to be recognised.” Kaz said blandly. It was an invitation to continue.

“I need Rens De Vries dead.” Inej said, as calmly as she could.

Now he raised a brow. 

Inej crossed her arms, running her fingers over the knives sheathed on her forearms.

“De Vries is deeply involved with multiple slaver groups. He helps cover up large scale trafficking operations in exchange for girls of his choice. I’ve heard his name and description from reams of people in the last few months, personal details that prove it beyond doubt. But I can’t pin him down like I usually can. I can find absolutely no concrete way of connecting him to it, and even if I did find some evidence, I’m not sure it would be substantial enough to get him arrested. I suspect the only person in Ketterdam richer than him is you, and his sway over the Merchant Council is incredible. He’s already bought most of the judges in the city, and from what I can gather many other Council members have been bought too, or blackmailed. If I succeed, and if word gets out it was me, the Merchant Council has a good excuse to target me directly and openly. It has to look like an accident.”

There was a pause. Kaz tilted his head to the side, considering her. 

“What exactly is it you want from me?” He asked slowly.

“That depends on what you’re willing to offer.” Inej said.

He didn’t reply immediately, staring into space, eyebrows drawn.

Inej waited, annoyed by how hard her heart was beating. She’d told Kaz she’d wanted his help back when she had first begun on this path, but before today she’d never come to ask for it. She wasn’t sure if he’d still give it willingly, and she highly doubted he’d give it for nothing. Apparently, even Ravkan royalty hadn’t escaped Kaz's steep fares.

They’d communicated in small ways. On her occasional, brief returns to Ketterdam, she’d been unable to avoid the pull of her old life as completely as she would have liked. She’d stopped to feed the crows on the roof of the Slat. Passed Anika on the street, making sure that she’d seen her face. Left unsigned notes on Kaz's desk, information she’d obtained from loose-lipped sailors and terrified slavers and vengeful captives; old habits died hard. Left the odd jewel or trinket of value that he would have more use for than she.

She did receive replies, in a fashion. The arrival of an invaluable piece of Ravkan equipment, with an unsigned explanation. A highly-reported incident where an ambitious band of thieves had stripped a pleasure house head to toe overnight. They’d even taken the doorknobs. She’d heard of a handful of occasions where incriminating new evidence came to light midway through the trials of her victims; as if the documents had simply appeared in the prosecutor’s case files overnight. Perhaps they had.

But until today, Inej had never been able to bring herself to face Kaz directly.

They had spent almost two years apart. At first, it had simply been necessary, Inej adjusting to her new life while Kaz built his empire back home. But, after a while, perhaps she’d felt that she no longer needed him. Or maybe it was the uneasy possibility that he no longer needed her . 

After a long moment, Kaz exhaled and leant back in his chair.

"I can have him dead by tonight," He said, “If you don’t mind the Van Eck household getting involved.” 

Inej stared at him.

“That's it? You’ll help?” She asked dubiously.

Kaz frowned.

“Would I have bothered to listen if I wasn’t going to?”

"No 'what's in it for me' ? What happened to never something for nothing ?”

"Well, it’s lucky for you that there's already something in it for me, isn’t it?"

"You knew about this already?" Inej demanded. Kaz blinked slowly.

“Did you see The Menagerie’s new makeover?” He said, instead. Inej frowned, unsettled.

“No.”

She’d avoided it on her way here, truth be told. It didn’t hold half the power over her that it once had, but this mission was already pushing her too close to things she’d like to forget.

But Kaz just seemed amused, hauling himself to his feet.

“My dear Wraith, you’re losing your touch. It was the talk of the town.“

“Saints.” Inej said, staring up at the shell of what had once been her prison. 

The roof of the Menagerie (or what was left of it) had collapsed. The paint had blistered and peeled, and the tiles at the entrance had been cracked and discoloured by what had clearly been the ferocious heat of a gigantic fire. Towering scorch marks scarred the facade, slashing through it like the dark feathers of some monstrous bird. 

They weren’t the only ones staring; plenty of tourists were gawking, too, loudly speculating as to what could possibly have happened. Heleen Van Houden must have had Tidemakers indentured in case of such an incident, surely? And so close to the water! Such a blow to tourism, one man remarked to his companion. 

Inej didn’t think she’d have to wonder for as long as they would.

“It was so very unfortunate,” Kaz said from beside her, “The building’s utterly condemned.”

Inej couldn’t bite down a grin.

“How tragic.”

“Isn’t it just? It happened just days after it was rumoured Ms Van Houden was planning to... recruit and reopen, too."

"Really?" Inej said, startled. “She didn’t seem very keen on the idea last time we crossed paths.”

Or maybe Heleen just hadn’t been keen on the knife at her gut.

Kaz shrugged. “I hear she had a very generous benefactor encouraging her. There are rumours he’s on the Merchant Council. But he remains unidentifiable, as the fire destroyed any chance of a paper trail that might link him to the enterprise. A foolish oversight on the part of… whichever Saint saw fit as to cause the fire.”

Inej eyed him with disdain. Sankt Kaz would have to make a sacrifice big enough to save the world three times over.

“Was she killed?”

Kaz straightened his sleeves. Inej noted his cufflinks were tiny chunks of diamond, roughly cut, as if they’d been smashed out of something bigger by a careless Fabrikator.

“How should I know? I was out of town. But if I were a gambling man, I would rather think fate might have spared her a little longer. In case another Saint would like to do the honours.”

Inej ran a thumb over the handle of Sankta Lizabeta.

“I think the odds are promising.”

Kaz smiled. It was fleeting and slightly too smug, but something in Inej’s chest eased nonetheless.

“As do I. Shall we go and see another gambler?”

The fact of the matter was that Rens de Vries had actually gone about it rather cleverly. How rare. No flying people or explosions, for once, just abuse of the legal system. Unfortunately for him, this was also exactly how Kaz would also have gone about it, if Kaz had made a habit of mass kidnappings and his moral compass was any more destroyed. 

First, a freak storm and shipwreck not far off the coast; the bodies of those on board had not been recovered. 

Then, a few months later, crammed in the bottom back corner of the paper; de Vries had convinced the stadwatch that an assortment of young women, all of different ages and nationalities and orders, were part of an assassination plot against him, concocted by the Zemini government to start a war with the Kerch. When the Zemini embassy had indignantly denied the claims and the bewildered ‘assassins’ had been unsuccessfully questioned, the records had stated they’d been released. However, none of them had returned to their original jobs or homes. 

That had been two weeks ago. Kaz had heard little since then, because Roeder got lazy when it got cold, and Kaz needed a better spider. Roeder had pointed out he was his only spider, and Kaz had asked him if he’d ever seen what happened when you chucked a spider in a large body of water, but that didn’t change the fact that De Vries was frustratingly good at covering his tracks--

And then Inej had been sitting in his office and suddenly everything seemed so much easier.

On their way to Wylan’s house, they’d started to fall back into their old pattern. Kaz the schemer with his cards close to his chest, Inej the thief of secrets.

Unfortunately, all the secrets she was trying to steal were his, and he was struggling not to show his hand.

“Why?” Inej asked as they waited for a cart to pass.

“Why what?” Kaz said, mentally combing back through the last few seconds to see if he’d missed something important. He’d been staring at her profile in the weak winter sun, still struggling to believe she was actually here.   

“Why did you agree to help? There’s plenty of risk, and I don’t see what’s in this for you.”

Kaz frowned, following her up the street. He’d thought he’d made himself perfectly clear with the renovation of the Menagerie. Inej had asked for his help two years ago, and he’d been giving it to her willingly ever since, in robberies of their enemies and convenient uncoverings of damning information and breaking into a fucking military base with the King of Ravka so she wouldn’t get blown up.  

Because it’s for you. 

How much did she know of what he’d done? Was she testing him? What was he supposed to say?

He could admit he’d missed many things about Inej, but he had not missed the feeling of being clumsy and juvenile and vulnerable in her presence. In the many instances in which he had imagined her return, he had sometimes thought-- hoped-- that this feeling would have vanished, that he would be able to face her with the same indifference with which he faced the rest of the world. The same indifference with which he suspected she would now treat him.

“Because Mrs Esme De Vries has a very nice set of rubies I would quite like to obtain.” He said, honestly enough.

He could see in her face she didn’t believe him. She wasn’t stupid. 

“Or maybe I’m having a crisis of conscience.” Kaz said dryly. “Decided to clean up my act so they’ll drag me down to the nicest bit of Hell, when the time comes.”

He could sense her exasperation-- inevitable, familiar-- and he fought down a smile. 

“All in good time, Inej.” He said eventually. “I always have my reasons.”

Inej exhaled quietly.

“I know you do.”

If Kaz had been more confident as to where they stood with one another, he might have admitted that Nikolai's infernal suggestion about the Kerch turning the power of the izmars’ya, those hellish submersibles, upon Inej's ship had lodged very firmly into some paranoid crevice of Kaz's mind. Meanwhile, De Vries had been pushing for increased usage of the izmars’ya for internal as well as foreign affairs, and Kaz had no doubt the merch was aware of the threat Inej posed to him. She would be a very beneficial target, and De Vries was rich; he could easily sway other members of the Council to his whims. Kaz wasn’t sure that the warning system he'd procured from the Ravkans would save a ship from sustained pursuit, and constantly evading attack could well leave her trapped out at sea. Kaz didn’t take chances when he could avoid them, and this was an easy solve. One dead man and one less threat to the Wraith. For Kaz, it was barely a choice. 

But he wasn’t the only one who was withholding information.

“What about you?” Kaz said as he rapped on Wylan’s door with his cane. There was no answer, so he picked the lock and let himself in. They’d be back soon enough, and if they wanted to keep him out, they should have put better locks in. “Why are you here?”

The corners of Inej’s mouth tightened, the same guarded expression she'd worn in his office. There was something she wasn't telling him about this job.

“This is what I do.”

“You never could lie to me, Wraith.” Kaz challenged, shutting the door. "A long time ago, on a ship on the way to Fjerda, you told me my business wasn’t just business, it was personal. You were right. Now I say the same to you. What makes Rens de Vries a special case?"

Inej was silent for a long moment, half hidden in the shadows of the hallway. Then she spoke.

“Tante Heleen once called us all to the parlour out of hours.” She began. “There was a man with her; she said he wanted to buy one of us girls, her favourite torture. I thought it was a bluff-- she loved to make us beg to stay-- but then she made me step out of line.” 

She swallowed, continued. 

“Then another. Minnie. She was from Novyi Zem, and she was always kind to me. Tante Heleen asked him who he preferred and he deliberated for almost an hour. Examined us. The room was silent the whole time. We didn’t all like each other, but every girl in that moment was praying for a heart attack or a fire or a foreign invasion, something to get us all out of there as fast as possible. Eventually, he chose Minnie. She sobbed and sobbed but the deal was done and she left that night.” 

She closed her eyes, steeling herself for whatever atrocity was coming next. Her hand had drifted to her belt, where Sankta Lizabeta was sheathed. Her knuckles were white on its hilt.

“About three months after I joined the Dregs, I was out late on a job. I think it was the one when Jesper got jumped by those two Razorgulls.”

Kaz remembered. She’d arrived back much later than expected, wide eyed and silent, and had disappeared upstairs almost instantly.

“On my way back to the Slat, I took a shortcut through a back alley, and I found… I found Minnie. She was huddled against the wall in the pouring rain, and she’d lost so much weight I barely recognised her. She was bruised and barefoot. She couldn’t speak, could barely lift her head. I don’t know if she recognised me, but I held her hand as she died.”

Kaz let the words hang in the air between them as he digested it. This was the most Inej had ever spoken to him about her time at the Menagerie. Kaz had pulled out eyes and thrown people off buildings, and it had been a long time since he'd felt sick to his stomach, but he felt it then.  

“The man was De Vries.” He said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Inej spat. “He chose between us like a spoilt child in a toyshop, then tossed her aside the second he was bored. She wasn’t the first and she won’t be the last. His luckier victims have survived unspeakable things. He’s a monster .” 

Kaz was silent for a long moment. Reshuffling parts of his plan, recalculating. There were plenty of monsters in Ketterdam, and if she wanted this one to meet his match, then Kaz was more than happy to be the monster she unleashed to face him.

“It’s not only that your methods are too recognisable, is it?” He said. “It’s also that they’re too merciful.” 

Surprise flickered across Inej’s face.

“...Yes.” She said after a moment, and lifted her chin. “I want him to suffer.”

“Don’t worry,” Kaz said, “ He will.” 

“...Walk me through how killing a member of the Merchant Council isn’t illegal.” Wylan said sceptically.

“ You’re not doing any killing. Besides, he’s an amoral bastard, and, more importantly to the Kerch, he’s stingy, so I don’t suppose his funeral’s going to draw record-breaking crowds.” Kaz said from the depths of a winged armchair, stretching his bad leg out.

Inej had escaped the crushing greeting embraces of the homeowners, and Kaz had ignored their subsequent protests about breaking and entering, before reassuring Wylan that no, he wasn’t here to ask him to do anything illegal. Directly.

“It’s not illegal because... nobody likes him?”

“In essence.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better at all.”

“If we don’t kill him, he’ll take far more lives.” Inej said calmly from the windowsill. “De Vries a powerful man who’s deeply involved with slavers.”

Wylan looked in despair at Kaz.

“It’s De Vries? Then why didn’t you just say that? That’s a perfectly good reason!”

Kaz shrugged.

“Who said that was my reason?”

From various comments from other members of the Dregs and the odd inquiry from Kaz, Jesper had already suspected Rens De Vries was in the danger zone, but he'd not expected to be part of the plan himself. But here was Kaz in all his creepy glory, and the much more welcome Inej, who Jesper would love to sit down and catch up with, but from the look of things, Kaz wasn’t going to give them any time for such niceties. 

“How are you killing him, then?” Jesper said. Maybe too eagerly; Wylan looked rather unimpressed.

“As far as everyone is concerned, I'm not killing anyone.” Kaz said cryptically. Would it kill him to give a straight answer?

“How’s he dying, then?” Jesper said blankly. “Struck down by Ghezen? Are you negotiating with higher powers now?”

“I’ve crossed paths with my fair share of Saints, but no. I’m getting to it.” Kaz said. There was a certain spark in his eyes that Jesper hadn’t seen for a good while; this was a plan he was confident in, one he was eager to execute. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

Kaz’s usual spell was taking hold; all of his spectators had leaned forwards slightly to listen to whatever horrible plan his monstrous mind had concocted, bloodthirsty children waiting for the tale to be spun. It was remarkable they were still so taken in, Jesper thought, after all these years. They should know better by now.

But here they were again, the promise of a heist thundering adrenaline through Jesper’s veins, as Kaz rubbed his thumb over the crow head of his cane and began.

“Mr De Vries is fairly new to his wealth. He and his wife are not a typical mercher couple. She is vain and frivolous, and he is stupid enough to think the bare scrapings of power he’s been gained make him invulnerable. Unfortunately, this illusion will soon be shattered, because he’s about to die, but more significantly for us, because Mrs Esme De Vries is embroiled in a long standing affair with Josep Kikkert.”

Jesper whistled. He did love a bit of gossip.

“ The Josep Kikkert? The actor? The darling of the Stadlied Opera House?” 

“They exchange letters by leaving them about the theatre before and after the performances, and meet regularly. Scandalous, no?”

“Wait,” Jesper said, a vague memory resurfacing, “Isn’t Josep Kikkert the one who’s got it out for you?”

“He’s trying to start a fight with Kaz?” Inej said dubiously. 

Kaz smirked as Jesper dug around in a sideboard for the newspaper.

“Apparently my amoral dealings offend his sensibilities.”

Jesper found the paper and handed it to Inej.

KIKKERT CONDEMNS BARREL TOURISM, the title declared, CALLS CROW CLUB OWNER ‘DEPRAVED’

“He makes some decent points, actually.” Inej said, scanning the page.

“Maybe so, but he's just trying to cover for himself, I’ve seen him on the West Stave on at least seven different occasions.” Kaz said.

Inej read out the top of the next column.

“ Brekker is the worst scum our city has to offer,” Kikkert said to reporters. “If he ever shows his face around us decent folk, it’ll be the last thing he does, mark my words.”

“So imagine his surprise when Kaz started showing up to the theatre.” Wylan grinned. “He’s spitting mad.”

“Can you go into a theatre without being arrested?” Inej asked Kaz. 

“Of course I can. I’m a reputable business owner.”

“It’s only because he’s not currently wanted for anything.” Wylan informed Inej. Kaz ignored them and continued. 

“Tonight happens to be both Kikkert’s last show of this season, and Esme’s birthday. Terribly convenient, isn’t it?”

Jesper stared at him, trying to figure out if it really was a coincidence or not. You could never be sure with Kaz.

“And our reputable Mister Van Eck happens to have an invite to the birthday party.” Kaz continued, producing a piece of ivory paper from nowhere. Poor Wylan’s hand flew to his breast pocket. He was still slightly too easy to dupe, and Kaz could never resist.

“When did you...” He said helplessly, as Kaz continued on. 

“They think he’s sweet, you see. And also want to convince him to make a poor investment and steal all his money.” 

“De Vries is a terrible investor.” Wylan muttered. “He just has generational wealth.”

“So I’m going as his plus one, and we’re shooting him in the head?” Jesper said sceptically. Kaz rolled his eyes and reached into his coat.

“No, Josep Kikkert is poisoning him. And we are going to this evening’s performance of A Madman Takes a Bride. ”

“...in an official capacity?”

Kaz silently produced a stack of kruge . Jesper gasped. 

“Inej, we’re going shopping .”

Inej looked rightfully apprehensive at the prospect. Kaz stood slowly.

“Jesper, did you manage to do as I asked?” 

“How could you have doubted me?” Jesper said, mock-affronted. One of Kaz’s stranger assignments; learn to shatter glass without touching it. “But what happened to Jesper, don’t use your Fabrikator powers in public in case some hostile government jump you because then I’d have to revive a shrivelled little part of my heart to come and rescue your sorry ass--”

“I believe the Fjerdian risk in particular has greatly reduced due to new leadership, and I don’t remember saying that.” Kaz said, flinging the door open. Jesper skipped after him.

“It wasn’t said, it was implied . I’ve learnt to read your scary little mind over all our years together!”

"If you had, you would want them to take you as far away from me as possible." 

Inej had long since made her peace with the fact she was never to lead a normal life. She had been an acrobat, a slave, a spy, an assassin, a pirate, and much more besides, but one thing she had never expected to be was on Kaz Brekker's arm, on the steps of the Stadlied Opera House.

And they were going in through the front door. 

“You look uncomfortable.” Kaz said casually as they made their way into the vaulted lobby. He seemed oddly at ease. 

“I am.” Inej admitted as a group of young men, probably students, veritably threw themselves out of Kaz’s way. “This dress is ridiculous. I can’t breathe properly.”

“It wasn’t designed to have leather and multiple knives worn under it.” 

Inej didn’t dignify him with a response. She, Jesper and Wylan had been sent (with no explanation, obviously) to buy the latest fashion of Kerch evening wear, much to Jesper’s enthusiasm and Inej’s despair. Kaz had a point; full skirts and unnecessary accessories on top of her usual climbing fare hindered Inej’s ability to breathe. 

Kaz was drawing significant stares, but he seemed completely unconcerned.

“You’re getting a lot of attention.” Inej murmured as a cluster of women whispered rapidly behind their fans.

“They should be used to me by now.” Kaz scoffed. “I’m a regular visitor.”

“A thief, a Barrel boss, and a patron of the arts?” Inej said skeptically.

“Not so. I can’t stand opera. Ridiculous and melodramatic. And theatre is very hit and miss.” 

Inej fought the urge to roll her eyes. She didn’t know exactly what Kaz was playing at, but they certainly hadn’t come for the acting. Instead, it seemed they had come with the express purpose of sending Josep Kikkert into a murderous rage. During her... visit to the De Vries household that afternoon, she’d listened to Esme De Vries, the vain, vindictive lady of the house, chatting to her friend in the parlour. 

Kaz Brekker keeps turning up to the Stadlied evening performances, don't you know!... I know they should throw him out, Lydia, but the Stadwatch can’t have him for nothing and apparently he’s not wanted for a thing at the moment! I can’t possibly believe that’s true… yes, he does dress well, at least, and lots of people seem to find him attractive-- oh Lyddie, do you really?!... Oh, well, when you put it like that... Josep is furious, he thinks Brekker’s mocking him… Of course I’m still seeing him! Rens is barely here, and it’s not like he’s any fun when he is .

Inej had left parts out, but Kaz had still been far too smug when she’d relayed this to him back at Wylan’s. 

“Good. It’s working.”

“ Are you mocking Kikkert?”

“Of course I am.” Kaz had said, and he’d given no more explanation. He’d nodded at a mention of Esme drinking excessively.

“I’d heard similar gossip. Good. That makes things easier.”

The rest had been almost too easy, and she’d told Kaz as much. Lazy guards, flimsy locks on the windows, a faint outline and a lock hidden in the ornate patterning of Esme’s vanity. The party was being set up in the mansion’s immense ballroom, with six different exits and a high ceiling. Oh, the arrogance that money could buy. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen De Vries himself. She hadn’t been sure if she’d been able to stop herself cutting his throat-- 

Inej closed her eyes and breathed as deeply as she could in her stupid dress, trying to steady herself. Shamefully, he had faded in her mind over the years, buried under the countless atrocities she’d witnessed since, but what he’d done to Minnie had settled somewhere deep inside her, and the accounts from rescued prisoners had torn it loose again. 

Kaz glanced sideways at her from under the brim of his hat as they reached the stairs.

“Alright?”

Inej nodded tersely. Usually, she prayed for forgiveness after a job as brutal as this. This time, she didn’t think her Saints would find much that needed forgiving.

They took the stairs in silence, but Kaz’s gait was stiff, and he was driving his cane too hard into the carpet.

“If your leg’s so bad, why aren’t we in the stalls?” Inej asked as they reached the second floor.

“It’s fine. And Kikkert can’t see us as well in the stalls.” Kaz dismissed, ushering her into the private box directly in front of the stage. She should have known. 

“What exactly are you hoping to get from Kikkert?” She asked. This was the part of the plan she didn’t yet understand; how Kaz was going to ensure Kikkert did what they needed him to.

Kaz rolled his shoulders, dark eyes glittering in the low light. Before, she never would have pressed him for the mechanics of a plan, but this wasn’t his cause. It was hers, and she felt she had the right to know.

“Why does it matter? Your conscience catching up, Captain?”

Inej was silent as the lights dimmed further, and blonde, gorgeous Josep Kikkert strolled onto the stage to rapturous applause. He hadn’t even done anything yet, but his reputation preceded him. 

Inej had also paid him a visit this afternoon. She’d followed Kikkert (collar up, hat down low) from the West Stave to the East, straight to the Crow Club.

A man, maybe forty but made to seem older by his hunched posture, was waiting outside, fiddling with the buttons of his faded coat, and when he saw Kikkert approaching, he shuffled forwards, visibly scraping together the courage to clear his throat.

“Mr Kikkert--”

“Keep your voice down! What do you want?” Kikkert snapped, glancing about. Clearly, he didn’t want to be recognised.

“I-- well, you required my services a few weeks ago, and you are yet to pay me...” 

Inej suspected he was a Healer, offering his skills cheap in the Barrel to those that wished to hide street fight wounds, treat the worst of conditions they couldn’t afford to cure, or be rid of diseases; usually venereal ones.

“I did no such thing.” Kikkert hissed, reddening.  

“I have a wife and a daughter--”

“Why should I care about a Grisha Barrel scum, some woman stupid enough to marry him, and his brat?”

The man squared his shoulders.

“It was only forty kruge . Surely you make a hundred times that a week--” 

Kikkert shoved him into the canal and stalked inside.

The doormen fished the poor man out, grumbling to each other about the selfishness of rich men, and Inej slipped a hundred kruge into his sodden coat pocket as she followed Kikkert inside.

He’d gone straight to a card table, sitting with the suspicious hunch that every dealer in the club would recognise. For a stage actor, he wasn’t doing a very good job of pretending not to cheat; Kaz must have told the dealers to let it slide. For now.

Inej watched him play his hand from above, as the crestfallen teenager opposite him lost half his money, considering. So this was why Kaz was sparing him any sort of attention; Kikkert had been arrogant enough to condemn the Barrel, then stroll in, sample all it had to offer, and act as if it owed him something. 

And he had been colossally stupid enough to try and steal from the master of thieves. 

But said master of thieves could at least have done her the courtesy of telling her that himself, Inej reflected sourly as Kikkert sent the audience into roars of laughter.

When the laughter died down and she still didn’t answer him, Kaz glanced sideways at her.

“There are no good men in Ketterdam, Inej, and if there were, he would not be one of them.” He said tightly. “Any self-righteous sob can threaten to put a knife through my chest. Doesn’t make them a good man.”

“I didn’t say that it did,” Inej snapped, “ And it’s not him I have misgivings about. Does Esme deserve to have her husband and lover killed?”

Kaz shrugged.

“Probably not. But nobody ever gets what they deserve. If it bothers you, think of it as us liberating her from two dishonest men. Jealous lovers do nobody any favours.”

“He’s not a jealous lover.” Inej snorted. “He only truly loves himself.”

“But we’re framing him as one, and that’s what matters. An accident could always be foul play, but the crazed actions of a jealous lover are rarely anything more.”

Inej bristled at his tone, at the information tossed out to placate her. 

“What would you know of jealous lovers?”

“Close scientific observation.”

“ Kaz --”

Kaz blew out an annoyed breath and nodded to the stage. 

“Like I said, Inej,” he said, slightly exasperatedly, “All in good time. Besides, he’ll be dead soon, so what does it matter?” 

Inej bit back an angry retort and glared down at the stage, counting down the seconds until she could get away and play her own part.

She was glad to put some distance between herself and Kaz as she slipped down the empty hall, down the stairs that led to the dressing rooms. Time and distance were kind to him; it made Inej soften his edges, forget his cruelty and his arrogance and his jealous hoarding of his schemes. When she was reminded just how insufferable he could be, it wasn’t a shock, but it was never welcome. Then again, he was here, helping her. And he hadn’t asked her for anything in return-- 

No . Inej told herself sharply. Stop making excuses for him. It was the bare minimum, really. Of anyone else it would be a given.

It probably would have been sensible for the theatre to up their security once a reputed criminal mastermind had started showing up to their establishment, but maybe the dozing guard by the backstage door was an improvement. Slipping past him, even in her stupid restrictive dress, was child’s play. Once upon a time, Inej had snuck up on Kaz with bells on her ankles. 

It was the third dressing room; the table crammed with flowers and gifts would have given it away if the photo of Kikkert tucked in the mirror hadn’t. Did he really need to look at himself twice to satisfy his vanity?

Kikkert’s coat was on the back of the door, the letter where they had expected it to be, envelope unsealed and only half addressed. Inej produced an envelope of her own from her skirts and opened it, taking care not to breathe too deeply. She extracted the letter and replaced it with one of their own.

She returned a few minutes later. Kaz turned instantly as she slipped back into the box.

“All in order?” He murmured, taking the proffered envelope back and folding it carefully into his coat. Inej noticed, with considerable surprise, that he’d taken his gloves off. 

“...fine. Easy.”

A few minutes slipped by. Inej considered taking this opportunity to have a nap; she'd hadn't slept since they'd docked, and she had a long night ahead of her. And the play was awfully slow. 

But then Kikkert, mid-monologue, glanced up at them. His gaze passed over Inej, locked on Kaz, and the look of fury on his face was so sudden and so intense that Inej was taken aback.

Kaz just looked amused, watching Kikkert try to recover himself, drumming his fingers on the armrest. 

The actor stumbled over a word almost imperceptibly; recovered quickly, sliding his gaze to the next box to deliver his confession of love, and the moment passed.

“He really does hate you.” Inej muttered, curious. “Why?”

“He hates what I represent more than me personally.” Kaz said softly. He was looking at her, face unreadable in the half light. “But I think I am rather infuriating.”

It was an acknowledgement. To a more lenient heart than Inej’s, it might have passed for an apology.

She wouldn’t have accepted it if not for his bare hand, still resting awkwardly between them; he hadn’t moved it away. Not just an apology, but a tentative peace offering. A few steps into the no man's land that had sprung up between them over the last two years. 

Slowly, Inej took it. There was a new scar on the back of his hand, an ugly line that had healed poorly, and she ran her thumb over it, wondering what had caused it. 

Kaz shuddered, and for a moment Inej thought he was going to yank his hand back. But then she heard him exhale slowly, a little of his tension draining away, and he folded his fingers over hers.

They sat there, hand in hand. No further than they had been that day two years ago on the quay. One step forward, two steps back. One step forward. Their awkward, perpetual dance. But, right now, Inej didn’t care. When the play ended, and the house lights came up, she found she didn’t want to move.

But they had to, of course. A brief pause, as the chatter of the audience rose around them, then Kaz released her hand without ceremony and pulled his gloves back on. They had a job to do and they would see it done. 

They crossed the landing in silence, and were at the top of the stairs when Inej happened to glance down into the lobby.

Kaz looked sharply at her, and she realised she had dug her fingers painfully hard into his elbow, but her whole body felt cold and brittle, and when she opened her mouth to explain, the words froze in her throat.

But she didn’t need to explain; Kaz followed her gaze and swore softly.

Rens De Vries looked almost the same as he had that night in the parlour, all those years ago. Watery pale eyes set in a gaunt pale face with no particular expression; uncomfortably unreadable. Inej remembered those wet eyes roving over her, his cold manicured hands on her skin. He was muted and indistinct in his dark mercher suit, completely unremarkable in every way. His wife, glamorous in rubies and rich velvet, eclipsed him completely. But the worst monsters never looked like monsters, did they? 

Inej swallowed, trying not to panic. She wasn’t half as helpless as she’d been then. But why hadn’t she seen him earlier? He had probably been in another of the boxes. Had he seen her? Would he recognise her? People often told Inej she might as well be invisible, and now she desperately wished she was.

Kaz shifted slightly. Inej thought for a moment it was an attempt to take weight off his leg, which was obviously paining him far more than he was admitting to, but he had simply angled himself so she was blocked from De Vries’ view.

“I thought it would just be Esme,” Kaz murmured, “Stupid of me. Or stupid of them.”

Hopefully, Jesper had already left for the Crow Club, so Wylan was waiting at the bottom of the stairs alone; Inej was surprised to see Kaz subtly gesture him towards De Vries. He obliged instantly, approaching the mercher and his wife.

Inej tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Does he know about Kikkert?"

"No. Kikkert must think he’s very clever, inviting him to this play, laughing at his expense. Foolish, as he's no more loyal than her, anyway.”

They passed the group too slowly, but Inej couldn’t make herself move faster. She was ashamed by how hard she was digging her fingers into Kaz’s elbow-- and she could feel how tense he was-- but for that moment, it was necessary. Kaz was still blocking her from De Vries, but Esme had drifted from her husband and Wylan, bored, and it was she that arched an eyebrow at them. She sneered at Kaz, and then her gaze wandered to Inej. Her movements were so languid she seemed more sluggish than relaxed.

“They let those Barrel whores in anywhere these days.” She complained, meandering back to her husband. “They dirty the place right up.”

They moved on in silence as her husband laughed and Wylan struggled to hide his shock.

“I can add one more fatality to the list, if you’d like.” Kaz said as they stepped out into the winter air. His voice was taut.

“No,” Inej said, “She’ll lose enough tonight.”

They headed down the steps, turning left down the street, towards the Barrel--

They rounded the corner and slammed into Josep Kikkert.

"Kaz Brekker." Kikkert spat, chest heaving, coat slung over his shoulder haphazardly. He must have run from the stage door.

"Ah, Josep Kikkert." Kaz said, "The man himself. This new run has been excellently received, congratulations." 

Inej saw Kikkert stall; recalibrating to fake niceties. What had he been expecting them to do, bash his head in unprovoked? Things were never so simple with Kaz. 

"I-- thank you... Er-- good evening, madam, I don't believe we are acquainted--"

Inej didn’t like the way he was eyeing her, but she thought fast and sank into a curtsy.

"No, Mr Kikkert, I am new to the city, you see."

"I see. You keep... interesting company."

"Oh yes," Inej said earnestly, "Mr Brekker is very famous in Ravka.” 

As she’d hoped, Kikkert looked instantly irritated.

“Is that so?”

“It is so. Many of us have heard of good entrepreneurial opportunities in his businesses."

Entrepreneurial. Inej almost laughed at the respectability of it all, and even Kaz’s mouth twitched. Kikkert frowned, moving closer.

“Please do be careful what you get yourself involved in, Miss. This city is not always as inviting as it first seems.”

“Quite right.” Kaz said gravely. “But don’t worry, Mr Kikkert, she’ll be safe with me.”

Kikkert halted.

“With you?” He said incredulously.  

“Yes.” Kaz smiled.

Kikkert was slowly going a nice indignant shade of purple.

“But you’re a-- a--”

Kaz waited politely.

“Criminal!” Kikkert burst out triumphantly. In one of his usual plays, this would be the moment when the villain, finally unmasked, would leap into battle. But unfortunately, Kaz was writing this script, and he simply blinked in a vaguely disapproving manner.

“How rude. I am nothing of the sort.” 

Inej bit her cheek, hard, to compose herself. Kikkert swelled in fury.

“Don’t play with me, Brekker, you’re a thief and a liar and everyone knows it!” He grabbed Inej’s arm. “He’s got you in on some con! If you would come with me--”

Inej snatched her arm back, feigning indignance. 

“I am not some damsel in need of rescuing, sir!” That, at least, was true.

“You don’t know this city!”

“Josep, on the other hand, has studied it long and hard with his private tutor, from the window of his father’s mansion on the Geldcanal.” Kaz told Inej solemnly. ”He knows all about the Barrel.”

Kikkert, unable to challenge Kaz without admitting he frequented the place he condemned, curled his hands into fists. Kaz adjusted his grip on his cane with far too much enthusiasm--

“Josep-- er, Mr Kikkert!” Esme de Vries was standing a few feet away, arm in arm with her husband, Wylan loitering awkwardly behind them.“Come straight to the party with us! Rens wants to ask you about the play!”

Kikkert gave her an embarrassing, simpering smile. 

“Of course, Mrs… De Vries.”  

Inej resisted rolling her eyes. It couldn’t be more obvious. Clearly, being rich meant you never learnt to lie well. She supposed it was easier to just pay people to shut up. 

Kikkert shot Kaz one last poisonous look.

“Enjoy the party, Mr Kikkert.” Kaz said pleasantly. 

He stormed off, but his anger was cooling quickly into his usual smugness.

“Who’s this?” Inej heard him ask as they departed.

“Oh, he’s Jan Van Eck’s son, the simple one.” Esme said dismissively. Inej definitely didn’t feel so sorry for her imminent losses anymore.

She and Kaz made it into the lower Financial District, always shuttered by this time in the evening, before he spoke.

"Have you been studying at the Nina Zenik school of acting?" he asked in amusement. 

"Well, it worked, didn't it?” Inej grumbled. “ Why is he trying so hard to start a fight?" 

It was starting to snow. Kaz tilted his head up to the sky, watching it fall. 

“Why do you think he frequents the West Stave? Why does he try to cheat at cards? Like every man in this city, he wants power. Popularity is his power, so he’ll lash at anyone who seems a threat. I am deliberately making myself seem a very big threat. I am not popular, but I am notorious, and to Kikkert that's the same thing. What’s more, like many men in Ketterdam, he will go to great lengths to prove he is better than me, because he makes his money honestly. Even if he spends it dirtily.” Kaz said with finality. "Kaz Brekker is a man he can be hostile towards at no cost. Or so he thinks."

Inej sighed.

"Men are fools."

"That we are." Kaz agreed. Then his mouth quirked again.

" Am I famous in Ravka?"

"Don’t get ahead of yourself, you're mildly infamous at best." Inej dismissed. 

Kaz laughed outright at that. The sound was oddly boyish, and it made Inej smile.

“Why did you have to be polite to him?” she said exasperatedly. “That was all your fault, I thought you were going to threaten him--”

To her surprise, Kaz laughed harder.

“His face when you called me an entrepreneur--”

Inej started to laugh, too. She felt slightly hysterical.

“He thought he’d finally confronted you, and then you called him rude, like someone’s elderly governess--”

They laughed harder, barely able to breathe, let alone speak, but they continued onward, trying to stifle their laughter amongst the silence of the snow and failing miserably. Two stupid teenagers ruining the serene scenery of wealth and commerce, and the great buildings loomed disapprovingly down at them with dark windows, the twist of the streets herding them back to the raucousness of the Barrel where they belonged.  

“What the hell’s taking so long?” Kaz demanded as he slammed the door to the card room shut behind him, shoved his cane behind a cabinet, and extracted the waiter’s uniform they’d stashed there earlier in the day. He’d gone straight through the club, in plain sight of all the patrons, then doubled back through the staff hallways. Now, there were at least sixty people who would swear blind they had seen Kaz Brekker enter the Crow Club, and hadn’t seen him leave again. Jesper looked over in relief from where he and Inej were wrestling unsuccessfully with her dress laces.

“Come on, lockpick, come solve this one--”

“Just cut me out of it!” Inej demanded.

“I would if you could reach any of your knives!”

“The bodice is too tight--”

“It can’t be that difficult.” Kaz growled, stumping over to examine the knots Jesper had managed to imprison Inej in. He’d swapped his usual leather gloves for the flimsy white ones of the waiter’s uniform. “Wylan can’t slow them much longer. Get the envelope out of my coat and open the door.”

“Kikkert was pretty good tonight.” Jesper mused, as he carefully extracted the envelope out of Kaz’s old coat and handed it to him.

“No he wasn’t, he's a shit actor.” Kaz said distractedly, tucking it inside his waiter’s jacket and producing a knife from his sleeve to cut through some of Jesper’s worst knots. He had no appreciation for the arts. “To be better, he’d have to be clever, and he’s crossing me, so he must be dumb as a rock. What the hell did you do to this, Jes?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve disrobed a lady.” Jesper said primly as he started on the elaborately locked door at the back of the room, calculating the distance. Above ground, he'd have never made it back to the house before Wylan, but this tunnel Kaz had commissioned ran straight under the main canals and saved at least half an hour. "But, as for Kikkert’s intelligence, I am sure the only reason he chose you as the Barrel boss to cross is because you’re the only good-looking one. Winning a feud with a Barrel boss is one thing, but winning a feud with the hot Barrel boss--”

“Has Wylan heard this theory?”

“It’s a joint hypothesis. Purely objective, of course. Your bone structure is to die for.”

Kaz snorted.

“It’s not much of a competition. He could get me beaten to death and chucked in a canal and I’d still be better looking than--”

He paused, and Jesper looked up to make sure he wasn’t actually being beaten to death-- 

No, just that Inej had turned to look over her shoulder at him, eyebrow arched. 

Kaz’s hands had stilled.

“...What?” He demanded after a second. His neck was blotching red around his collar. Jesper, hauling the tunnel door open, rather thought he should start down it and leave them be.

Inej grinned and shrugged out of her dress gracefully.

“Just trying to decide if you’re better looking than Josep Kikkert.”

She disappeared soundlessly down the tunnel, and was probably out the other end before either of them moved.

“Oooh.” Jesper said. “The suspense.”

“Shut up.” Kaz snapped.

Two hours later, Inej, perched amongst the heavy velvet of the ballroom drapes, was rather bored. 

The party was less the Barrel’s style of everyone gets drunk as fast as possible and someone gets seriously injured at some point, (Inej still remembered how she and Kaz had once peeled Jesper out of a flower bed) and more everyone gets drunk very slowly while talking about stocks. The latter, whilst lower effort, was far duller to attend, and to observe.

The meal was over, but few of the guests had vacated the table; Mr and Mrs De Vries were holding court at opposite ends of the table. 

Jesper and Wylan were sitting below Inej, surprisingly near to De Vries; maybe Kaz had been onto something when he’d said De Vries was planning to coerce Wylan. Both appeared to be listen to whatever De Vries was spouting, but Inej could see the ‘notes’ Jesper was taking were just doodles of the other guests, and Wylan seemed more preoccupied by Kikkert, on his other side, who seemed to be staging a police interrogation. 

“Mr Van Eck,” Kikkert said, snapping his fingers at the waiter, “I seem to remember reading something about how you had dealings with Kaz Brekker.”

Kaz, who was standing about half a foot behind him refilling his glass, raised an eyebrow and retreated, leaving Wylan to lie his way out of it.

“I think you may be misremembering, Mr Kikkert.” Wylan said mildly. “My father had a… run-in with him, but I was away at music school in Belendt for the majority of the incident.”

Kaz looked rather approving at the smoothness of Wylan’s escape. Inej supposed business was just another form of trickery, so Wylan was probably getting a lot of practice. 

“What about you, Mr Fahey?” Kikkert said sharply. “I’m sure you had a connection to his gang.”

“Oh, yes, I was very stupid in my youth.” Jesper said, as if said ‘youth’ was ten years in the past, not twenty minutes. “I was a reckless gambler, you see, and I got myself into a lot of debt with his gambling hall. Tried to cheat at the tables to pay it back, and he caught me. He does this thing where he cuts the thumbs off of cheaters and sticks them to his office wall, but I talked my way into working at the club to pay it back, instead. Kept my thumbs, but he took my little toe on my left foot and tore out one of my wisdom teeth with his bare hands, I think he makes jewelry from them...”

Clearly, Jesper was enjoying himself. Helping to build the legend, was he? Kaz was giving him the what are you doing stare, but Kikkert had gone slightly grey. It was clear he was thinking back to his own cheating, trying to decide whether anyone had noticed (and if he was going to keep his thumbs and teeth). Inej wondered if his aggression towards Kaz was partially motivated by fear; he was probably trying to get Kaz thrown in a cell before Kaz got him thrown in a gutter to bleed out. It was nice that he had enough faith in the law (and in locksmiths) to think that would mean he would be safe.

“How savage of him.” De Vries said suddenly. He had been listening silently.

“He can be rather unhinged,” Jesper agreed (Kaz frowned), “But he keeps his word. I will never cross him again.” he shuddered convincingly. “Do you think he’ll rule over the Barrel forever?”

“No, no.” De Vries said. His voice was quiet and papery, like a snake slipping through dry grass. “Men like him don’t last. They die horribly and violently at best, or if Ghezen is merciful, they slip quietly away to hoard their money and nurse their wounds.”

“He appears to be lasting.” Kikkert said. “He drove out Pekka Rollins, after all.”

“A shame,” De Vries said, “Rollins was a clever fellow. Didn’t always use his skills for the best means, but his businesses… they had their uses.”

There was a murmur of agreement from Kikkert and a few other guests. Inej would bet everything she owned that De Vries had frequented the Sweet Shop as well as the Menagerie, and the thought made her blood surge hot with fury.

Patience.

“Do you have any stakes in the Barrel, Mr Van Eck?” De Vries asked Wylan, slowly, the way one would speak to a child. Jesper’s hands flexed, and Inej prayed he wouldn’t lose his temper and act too soon. Wylan reddened a little, but maintained his composure.

“Of course not.” he said, honestly, then added, “It would be sacrilegious for me to claim to follow Ghezen and his honest principles of commerce, then turn around and support such corrupt enterprises as Barrel businesses. I am no hypocrite.”

There was a pause. Inej bit down a snort. They’d probably all expected him to admit or at least allude to it, just like them. It was infuriating, that these men could possibly sit here and pick and choose what they condemned depending on the day. Principles could so easily be bought and sold. 

“....Quite.” De Vries said. “Ghezen’s light guide us.”

He moved to put down his champagne glass-- and the entire thing exploded in his hand.

Inej winced. Jesper was supposed to have cracked or split it, not blown it up, but lack of training meant his emotion usually influenced his control. 

De Vries swore, shaking his hand out as a waiter rushed to clean up the shattered glass. 

“What on earth happened there?” Kikkert spluttered. Inej held her breath--

“Probably caught it on the edge of the tureen.” Jesper said. “The heat from the kitchens today might have weakened the glasses before they were brought up.”

There was a palpable release of tension. Nervous laughter, and the chatter rose, as De Vries gestured irritably for another glass. Kaz put one in his hand, and he downed it in one. Inej hadn’t seen Kaz add anything to it, but that was good. If she hadn’t seen, then nobody would have.

“Are you bleeding at all, Mr De Vries?” Wylan asked loudly. 

“No, no--”

“Yes, you are, quite a lot--”

Esme lurched up suddenly. Until this point, she’d seemed almost unaware of what had been occurring, and Inej noticed she drained her glass before moving from her place.

“Is everything alright, Rens?”

“Fine.” De Vries snapped, but Esme, playing the dutiful wife, staggered up the table, grabbing his hand and peering at it-- De Vries shoved her away, unwisely, as her balance was almost nonexistent---and she fell instantly, grabbing at the tablecloth, pulling a tray of full wine glasses to the tiles and and knocking a candelabra over, which set fire to the tablecloth-- shouts rose as people leapt back from the flames and other rushed forwards to quell them--

Kaz stooped to pick up Esme De Vries.

“Come on, madam, you should retire for the night--”

Esme made no protest. Inej wasn’t even sure if she was still conscious.

Kaz had spoken far too loudly-- or just loudly enough to ensure Kikkert, a few paces away, trapped in a swirling clump of retreating guests, would hear his voice.

“Brekker!” Kikkert shrieked as Kaz supported Esme out of the main doors, not bothering to hide his limp. “That was Brekker! He’s here, he’s planning something!” But his voice was lost in the general hubbub, and as he began to elbow his way out of the huddle, Jesper ‘stumbled’ and sent the whole group crumpling to the floor-- Kikkert fought to get out, scrambling to his feet after three attempts--

Then Rens De Vries gasped, clutching at his chest. He doubled over, heaving, and vomited blood all over the marble floor.

Esme De Vries was impressively drunk, but Kaz was definitely in considerably more danger of throwing up. 

It was their fault, anyway; Inej had slipped a mild sedative into her drink that afternoon, to make sure she wouldn’t be in any fit state to intercept Kikkert before they could frame him. Now the stupid woman was barely conscious; she couldn’t stand alone, and Kaz was basically having to carry her up what felt like thousands of fucking stairs. His leg was sending screaming waves of pain up his side, threatening to buckle, but more importantly, her bare arm was flung around his neck. He’d been prepared for it to some extent, but her skin and hair and breath was saturated with the sour stink of alcohol, not an inch of space between them, and every last bit of Kaz’s concentration was focusing on not hurling her down the staircase away from him. Thank god this uniform had included gloves; pathetic as they were, they were a fragile thread for his sanity to cling onto.

The few people they passed, the odd servant, would glance at Esme in curiosity or amusement or contempt, but would barely register the waiter hauling her along; he was just the poor sod upon whom the task had fallen tonight, and Kaz was glad for it. But he was already drenched in cold sweat by the time he reached the master bedroom, and fine cracks of panic were snaking through his concentration, his clarity. He wasn’t sure how much time he had; it felt like hours since he’d left the ballroom, and Esme’s skin felt waterlogged and bloated and--

No. No. Focus. The grandfather clock in the hall told him it had been three minutes at best.

Kaz reached for the door handle and froze. The thin material of his gloves was saturated with something deep red--red wine, from the tray of glasses Esme had knocked as she’d fallen. It was splattered across her skirts, and his jacket. For a moment, he’d thought it was blood, and he almost smiled. Dirtyhands, indeed. 

Any amusement shattered as he considered his palms. To continue with them would mean leaving red handprints and undeniable evidence. To continue without them would mean Kaz might well leave his own sanity behind in the master suite. 

The clock chimed a half hour. Kaz took a deep breath. 

I can beat this.

He remembered Inej squaring her shoulders in the hallway, the fury in her dark eyes. Her laughter in the street, snow settling in her dark hair. How she’d held his hand in the theatre. Her skin had been warm; he’d felt her pulse beating in her wrist.  

Before he could hesitate, Kaz stripped off his gloves and shoved them into his jacket, yanked the door open, and dragged Esme inside, dumping her gracelessly on the bed. She mumbled something and made a bleary grab for his wrist-- Kaz yanked his hand away too quickly, too aggressively, and her nails gouged scratches in his arm. Kaz wanted to tear the rest of his skin off, too, tear himself from his body. The room was spinning. He doubled over, fighting with himself for control, seeing staring dead eyes in Esme’s bleary half-shut gaze--

Inej had smiled at him over her shoulder, teasing. What had she been saying? He couldn’t remember. He’d been distracted by the slope of her shoulder, the graceful rolling motion as she shed her dress like a second skin and disappeared. 

But she hadn’t disappeared. She was here, in the house, in the city, in the country. Not far. A staircase and a doorway away, perched up high, watching and waiting. 

She’d think it sacrilege, but Kaz hadn’t been joking when he’d elevated her to a Saint. 

Because it’s for you.

Kaz lurched forwards to the vanity and picked the lock embarrassingly slowly, hands shaking, breath shuddering. Finally, the drawer yielded to him, and he fumbled for the expected papers. He had just enough sense to check the dates, then paused.

Kaz had been intercepting the letters between Esme and Josep for a few weeks, as long as he’d been going to the theatre. Kikkert had written a letter to Esme that afternoon, and would usually have left it in the box after the show. Inej had stolen the original, replaced it with a much more incriminating forgery and traces of the poison, and Kaz had relied on Kikkert’s pride and fury to drive him straight out of the theatre without remembering to leave it. Abiding by their usual schedule, Esme should have left a letter for Kikkert at the theatre. They needed to destroy it; there was a chance it could contradict their plant for Kikkert, as it was the only one they hadn’t had the chance to read. But Kaz had sent Roeder to check after the show, then met him on his way to the De Vries house; there had been nothing. Kikkert hadn’t reentered the theatre, and no cleaner would be examining the stitching of the seat cushions. Inej had seen Esme writing and sealing it that afternoon, so it existed. It wasn’t here, with the others. So where was it?

Esme’s dress had no sleeves, and the skirts had no pockets or folds to effectively hide anything. So where the hell could she possibly have hidden the damn thing? He didn’t have time to search the whole house--

No. It had to be close. She couldn’t risk a nosey guest or De Vries himself stumbling across it--

Slowly, Kaz turned and steeled himself for one last torment.

Esme had worn an expensive set of rubies at the start of the evening. Naturally, Kaz had stolen her earrings and bracelets the second he’d moved to haul her off the ballroom floor, but the magnificent choker remained, a rival to even Tante Heleen’s diamonds. It was rumoured that the latter had hidden things she didn’t want discovering beneath the jewels, flush to her skin. Contracts. Tablets of poison. Letters from her lovers. Even Dirtyhands hadn’t known if there was truth in it, but the rich women of Ketterdam had followed the trend nonetheless. And Esme De Vries was not one to ignore the latest fashions.

The waters of the Reaper’s Barge surged up to meet him as his hand made contact with Esme’s neck. Her skin was grey and distended. Kaz was breathing bitter salt air and grief.

If there was any Saint up there who hadn’t long disdained him, Kaz hoped they’d take pity on him and keep his miserable soul in his body just long enough to do this. He needed to succeed. Then they could kill him stone dead on the street, for all he cared. 

But Sankta Inej had offered him salvation before. 

Every cell of his body was howling protest, Kaz swallowed bile and slowly, slowly, lifted the edge of her necklace. Enough to slide the waiting letter from under the jewels.

Somewhere, far away, people were screaming. 

Kikkert was moving much faster than Inej had anticipated. Jesper and Wylan had stalled him for as long as they could, but the second De Vries had dropped, Kikkert had been sprinting for the doors, and Inej followed him as fast as she could, dropping to the floor and slipping through the doorway in his wake. Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears. De Vries’ pale face, stretched in agony, was replaying in her mind. She felt a mingling mix of disgust and satisfaction; one more evil man gone. She hoped Minnie, wherever she was, could know peace. Kaz had made good on his promise; he had suffered--

Kaz.

Kaz wouldn’t have had time to get out yet, unless he’d been very lucky, but Kikkert was sprinting up the stairs and Inej, with sudden horrible clarity, realised that they had driven him too far. Kikkert wouldn't be put off by idle chatter anymore, because Jesper had confirmed what he had feared the whole time; that Dirtyhands was coming for him. So Kikkert, with the desperation of all cornered men, wanted to strike first, himself.

He wouldn’t win in a fight. But Inej had also remembered Kaz’s words in the sitting room that morning.

Not a typical mercher couple.

Esme had not been dressed with the normal demurity of merchant families, and her arms had been bare. Would Kaz have been able to cope with her arm slung around his neck? 

Even if he had, Inej doubted he’d be ready for Josep.

So, in desperation, she broke her cardinal rule. She vaulted the banister, slipped onto the landing ahead of Kikkert, and then just... waited to be seen. 

And see her he did, skidding to a halt, expensive shirtsleeves rolled up, eager for a fight. His brow creased in confusion.

“It’s you,” he said, “You were at the theatre.”

Inej forced a smile. She didn’t have a plan, but she knew if the existing one was ruined, Kaz would almost definitely end up on the gallows. 

“Mister Kikkert. You were very good--”

“Wait.” Kikkert said eagerly. He was peering at her face. “I know you.”

Inej froze. If he really did recognise her, then she needed to get out of Kerch as fast as possible. 

“Surely not.”

“I didn’t recognise you dressed up. But you're the Dreg's spy. The pirate.” he said. His voice had taken on a manic tone. “The one who kills slavers.”

Inej swallowed.

“Then you must know it’s in your best interests to turn around and leave.” she said, and it came out stronger than she’d hoped. But Kikkert shook his head. His grin was cartoonish, grotesque.

“You were with Brekker. He is here, I knew it! I always knew he was out to get me!"

Inej was almost irritated. So Kaz had been right, as usual. Kikkert would assume it was all about him. He wouldn't spare a thought to De Vries or any suspicion that would fall on him, because Esme was one of many. 

“Does that not frighten you?” She challenged him. Kikkert smiled wider, but she saw the nervous dart of his eyes. 

“Of course not. He’s just a man.”

“And so are you.”

A moment’s hesitation-- and then, with surprising speed, Kikkert snatched her wrist and dragged her towards him.

“You’re Brekker’s girl, yes?” He said. “I’ve always wanted to steal from that thief.”

He tilted her face to him, and for a moment Inej was back in the gilded parlour of the Menagerie and De Vries was examining her with dead eyes, blood staining his mouth and running in rivulets down his chest--

“I don’t belong to anyone.” Inej hissed, twisting out of his grip and backing down the hall. Her heart was racing too fast, too fast. She needed to stay calm. How could she get rid of him? She couldn’t use her knives. The aim was not to leave her mark on this job; puncturing him would be as good at leaving a signed confession. Kikkert followed her, laughing. 

“Oh, come now. What keeps you loyal to that thug? They say that you’re pious, that you say a prayer over the bodies of the slavers who fall at your hands. You serve a good cause.  What can he possibly give you that a good man cannot?”

Inej stopped, back to the window at the end of the hall, and quietly reached out to undo the latch. Three feet up to the roof. Fifteen down to the paved terrace. Kikkert’s posture was tense, eager. The fool.

“Are you one of those good men?”

“I am a better man than many in the city. I do not slave or kill or con.”

Inej's anger flared. She thought of Minnie, crying in the parlour, curled against the alley wall. She thought of the hundreds of boys and girls she'd seen huddled in the hold of slaver ships, the faces of the men who'd paid to take advantage of her, Tante Heleen's catlike grin, and the scorched walls of the Menagerie.

“You lie to yourself. You benefit from them all, take what the brothels and the gambling halls can offer you, scorn those who survive there, then stroll home to wealth and dine with monsters, all while patting yourself on the back for not being the one to provide it. There are no good men in Ketterdam,” Inej said quietly, “And if there were, you would not be one of them.”

When he lunged for her, he was off balance, and he never had any time to recover it.

Inej slipped behind him, planted a foot into his back, and let gravity do the rest.

She did not need anything from any man. She could take it for herself.

“Ghezen.” Jesper said, opening the door to their kitchen. “What happened to you?”

“Get out.” Kaz hissed. He was hunched over one of the sinks, face white and drawn and hostile. The room smelt sour, of sweat and vomit and pure animal panic, and Inej had a feeling she knew exactly what had happened.

“You look terrible,” Jesper pressed, “Are you injured? You didn’t poison yourself or something--”

Kaz slammed his hands on the counter and turned, eyes wild. There was blood running down one of his wrists, onto his bare hands. What had happened to the gloves he had been wearing?

“I’m fucking fine! De Vries is dead, his wife and her lover are implicated, the job is done, so now you can all fuck off back to your lives and leave me alone!” he snarled. “You hear me? GET OUT!”

They did. Both of them knew full well that if they didn't leave, Kaz would, and the prospect of him staggering into the Barrel in his state was dangerous for their cover, as well as for whoever might be stupid enough to cross his path.  

They went quietly up to the sitting room. Wylan was perched on the piano stool, playing a simple scale gently, over and over.

“All went well?” Inej asked, after a moment. Jesper nodded, dropping onto the sofa and running a hand over his face. 

“Stadwatch and some mediks turned up, questioned us. Made sure to drop in there that we’d seen Kikkert leave. We saw them take his coat. All fine.”

“He and Esme might talk, though.” Wylan said worriedly. “Kikkert will try to pin in on Kaz."

“Kaz made sure there’s no evidence.” Jesper said--

“Kikkert won’t talk,” Inej said, “He’s dead.”

They both looked at her sharply, and must have read something in her face. There was a moment’s silence, and Inej braced herself for the how, or the why--

“Good thing it was the closing night of Madman, then.” Wylan said softly, and Inej’s heart eased in gratitude. She sank down into the armchair in front of the hearth, resting her chin on her knees. Jesper was chewing on his lip worriedly.

“Was the glass too suspicious? I didn’t mean to--”

“You played it off well,” Wylan said gently, “And I think it’ll get lost in what came after.”

“I lost my temper.” He said glumly. “They’re always so rude to you, Wy.”

“You know I’m used to it by now,” Wylan sighed, “Don’t get angry on my account. Besides,” he smiled at Inej, “They’ll reconsider when they see the profits for this quarter. Strangely, my ships never seem to encounter as many... difficulties from pirates as some.” 

Inej grinned back.

“But you shouldn’t have to be used to it!” Jesper said indignantly. “It’s not fair, Wylan! They treat you like you’re stupid!”

Wylan closed the piano lid and wandered over to them. When Inej had first seen him that morning, she’d been surprised by how little he’d changed, but now she saw that he had. Through all the ribs and insults and challenges that had been thrown at him that day, his back had stayed straight, his chin up and his voice steady. He dressed like a mercher now-- rather like Kaz, in fact. Wylan was a genuine picture of the honesty Kaz loved to mock. 

“Kaz would say being underestimated was an advantage.” Wylan was saying.

“But why don’t we just get him to burn down their mansions in another unfortunate fire?” Jesper demanded. But Wylan shook his head determindley.

“This is our battle to win, Jes.”

But nobody had any fight left in them tonight, and the three dozed in the warmth of the fire, too exhausted to speak any more. 

Inej woke a few hours later to the sound of footsteps below them, the gait dragging and laborious. Wylan and Jesper, lying in a very uncomfortable looking tangle on the sofa, didn’t stir, but Inej waited, watching the dying light of the fire.

Kaz was heading up the hall, and for a sinking moment Inej thought he was going for the back door, but then he turned up the stairs. It took him five minutes; he stopped three times, and Inej wondered in despair if he’d ever learn to accept help, or admit weakness, or just rest . 

What was he hurtling towards, directing all his terrible energy, his relentless mind? Inej wasn’t sure even he knew.

Eventually, the door opened quietly.

Kaz looked far more composed, but his hair and face were wet and the shoulders of his shirt were soaked. Inej thought he might have stuck his head in the sink. He’d done a clumsy job winding a bandage around his injured wrist, and in his other hand was a piece of paper.

He glanced over Wylan and Jesper impassively, but he paused when he saw Inej.

“I thought you might have left already.” He said quietly. Inej shook her head.

“I sent word that we sail in the morning.”

Kaz didn't say anything, only nodded, but Inej didn’t think she imagined the slight sag of his shoulders. He approached the fireplace, essentially dragging his bad leg-- probably the only reason he hadn’t left-- and tossed the paper onto the embers.

“Esme’s letter?”

Kaz nodded.

“Nothing contradictory in it. Wouldn’t have mattered, in the end.” He said dully. “But I didn’t want to risk it.”

Inej considered him.

“Sit down,” She said, “You look… tired.”

It was an understatement. Kaz was swaying where he stood, but he shook his head and took a deep breath, steeling himself.

“I’m fine. I should go, I have things to see to--”

“For Saint’s sake, stop it!” Inej snapped, patience frayed by the nagging fear of the evening, every resentment and doubt and fear she’d tried to stamp down for the last few years bubbling to the surface. Jesper stirred, and she hastened to lower her voice. “What are you trying to prove? You can barely walk and yet you’re still acting like we’re going to slit your throat in your sleep! Do you trust me so little?”

Kaz was staring at her, frozen, expression almost comically surprised. Then, he took two lopsided steps and sank into the chair on her left.

“I trust you.” Kaz said quietly.

Inej winced.

“I know. I’m sorry.” she muttered. “That wasn’t fair, I know the job was tough for you--”

“It was fair.” Kaz said with finality. “You’re satisfied with the night’s work?”

“Yes,” Inej said, “Two less monsters. A few more girls that will sleep a little easier tonight. A few more souls that will find peace. I’m satisfied.”

“Two?”

Inej swallowed.

“I killed Kikkert. I… had to. It will look like an accident. Maybe suicide.”

Kaz turned, held her gaze for a long moment. His eyes were catching flashes of gold from the fire.

“Do you regret it?” He said eventually.

“No.” Inej said. 

“Good.” Kaz leant his head back and shut his eyes. “Neither he nor De Vries deserve your prayers.”

“What happened to your wrist?” Inej risked after a while. Kaz shrugged.

“Esme gets her manicure done sharp.” 

“She grabbed you? Without gloves?”

Kaz’s eyes opened, and his face struggled for a moment.

“Only briefly. It’s fine.”

“I don’t think it is.” Inej said quietly.

Kaz inhaled deeply, let it go. 

“It was hell.” He said. “But it’s over. I haven’t drowned--”

He cut himself off, choking on the word, but the damage was done. Drowned? Inej opened her mouth, but stopped. Something hunted, some animal instinct of fear, flickered in Kaz’s gaze, and she knew this was not something he could voice.

Wordlessly, Kaz reached for her hand. Inej let him take it.

“I should tell you why.” He said suddenly. “I should tell you what happened to him. To me.”

Inej didn’t have to ask what he meant. 

She considered their clasped hands, Kaz's pale scarred fingers.

What can he possibly give you that a good man cannot?

Inej did not need anything from Kaz, but she still wanted what little he could offer. True, there were many things Kaz still couldn’t give her. Maybe he never would be able to. But he had already given her freedom and understanding and silent, constant, loyalty. She could give him time.

"All in good time, Kaz." She echoed him. "It's been a long night."

By the time weak winter light was filtering through the curtains, Kaz was long gone, and Jesper was reading the front page of the paper aloud as they walked Inej down to the docks. Kikkert, found dead on the terrace, had been in possession of an envelope containing an incriminating letter (details not disclosed by the stadwatch), and a powder identified as a slow acting but potent poison, of Shu origin. It caused all the symptoms which had been witnessed during Mr De Vries’s death. Partygoers reported seeing Kikkert leave the ballroom in a hurry and not return. Mr W. Van Eck had overheard the late actor proclaim something about ‘revenge’ just minutes before he’d disappeared. Esme De Vries was in police custody. It was predicted that the case would soon be closed.

Jesper had expected the mood to be more jovial, but it was approaching sullen. Kaz’s absence was rather ominous, given his state last night, and although Inej had assured him briefly that she’d seen him and he was fine, Jesper had his doubts. He also hadn’t expected Inej to leave again so quickly, and the prospect of another two years without her was bleak. Inej’s own brows were drawn, and he was tempted to try and convince her to stay a while. This early, the wind blowing in from the docks was freezing, not helped by the remaining slush of yesterday’s snow. 

“Ghezen, the weather’s awful.” Wylan said, stamping his feet. “Will you be alright?”

“Fine,” Inej said, “We’ve sailed in much worse.”

“Well, I suppose things will be easier without the izmars’ya to worry about.”

Jesper frowned at him, confused.

“What do you mean?” Inej asked.

Wylan stared at them like it was obvious, whatever it was.

“I thought Kaz had told you!” He said. “It was half the point of the job, wasn’t it?”

“ What was?” Inej demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“De Vries helped buy up loads of the izmars’ya from the Ravkans! His connections to slavers meant he was trying to talk the Merchant Council into concentrating them on you, Inej, claiming you were a danger to free trade. Did you not wonder why Kaz was so fast to come up with a plan? He’s been planning a hit on De Vries for months, because he was worried he was going to get you killed! I suspect that plan was already half formed before he even knew you were in the city. It’s either pure coincidence you showed up, or Kaz has gone past genius into psychic.”

Jesper and Inej gaped at him. Then Inej burst into laughter. Jesper didn’t quite know what was so funny, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

“How did you know-- I didn’t know that! How did you know that?!” Jesper boomed. Wylan threw his hands up helplessly.

“How do you think Kaz was getting his information from the Council? He’s been grilling me for everything on De Vries!”

“What happened to don’t let Kaz in, he’ll make us do illegal things ?”

“It was for Inej, and he lets himself in!”

“We need to change the locks.” Jesper sighed.

“Won’t work.” Kaz said from a foot away, leaning on his cane, back to his usual impassive self. He ignored Jesper’s shriek, watching Inej laugh herself to tears. “What’s so funny, Captain?”

Inej shook her head, bracing herself on a lamppost.

“It’s just… you don’t believe in Saints, or fate, or anything like that, yet they seem to insist on interfering in your life.”

Kaz tilted his head.

“Who said I don’t believe in Saints?”

“You did,” Jesper pointed out, “Many, many times.”

“I’m an accomplished liar.” Kaz said dryly.

“Well, if you are a believer, you are definitely their least favourite.” Jesper said.

“I can live with that.” 

Inej glanced at the clock and sighed.

“I need to go.”

“Inej, please don’t leave us with this misery for two years again.” Jesper wailed, “Nina’s living it up in Fjerda with her new hubby, so we haven’t even got her to tone down the Kaz Gloom--”

“I’m right here.” Kaz said sourly. Inej smiled.

“Can you survive three weeks?”

“I love you so much.” Jesper proclaimed.

“Wylan’s right here, too.” Inej said as he flung his arms around her.

“But I love you too, so it’s fine.” Wylan grinned, joining the hug.

Kaz stood apart, watching impassively. Jesper noted, with some shock, that he wasn't wearing his gloves. The one day where he might actually have needed them, too. 

"A word, Captain?" He said when Jesper finally relinquished Inej. Inej nodded, and followed him a little distance away.

"Now, profess your undying love for her and put us all out of our misery." Jesper said under his breath, watching them talk.

"As if." Wylan said from behind him, resting his chin on Jesper's shoulder. Jesper leant back into him.

"We have to be optimistic about these things, Wy."

Kaz handed her a weighty envelope, which she took with a smile and tucked into her coat. Then he said something else, and Inej's head snapped up and her brows rose.

"Ah, he's fucked it up again, hasn't he?" Jesper sighed. 

For once, Kaz had not fucked it up, actually.

Fate had decided it was time to pay Tante Heleen a final visit, and Inej tucked the address into her coat, then hesitated. She was surprised Kaz was even here; he never said goodbye, and while that had always stung a little, she found she didn’t know what to say to him now that he was here. 

“I have something else for you.” Kaz said after a moment, pulling something from the inside of his coat and holding it out to her.

Inej accepted the timepiece with interest.

It clearly wasn’t new; the metal was dull and there was a slight pit in the glass, but it was a pretty thing with swirling patterns like waves carved into its back. The face was more complex than any she’d ever seen, with extra symbols she didn’t recognise.

“It’s a Fabrikator job,” Kaz said, “Doesn’t wind down. Adjusts depending on the sunrise where you are. Measures air pressure and weather. Thought it might be useful.”

“That’s incredible. Where did you get it?” She glanced up. “Or do I not want to know?”

Kaz smiled slightly, but then it faded, and he hesitated for a long moment.

“...it was my father’s.” He said eventually. 

Inej stared at him, at complete loss for words. He might as well have smacked her over the head with his cane. Not once, not in the thousands of hours they had spent in each other's company, had Kaz ever mentioned his parents. And now he had just handed her this like it was nothing? She would never understand him.

“I can’t take--”

“Yes, you can. You’ll have much more use for it than I.” Kaz said firmly.

Slowly, Inej turned it over in her fingers, looking more closely. Carved into the edge were two initials; T.R.

“Tomas Rietveld.” Kaz said quietly. 

“Rietveld?” Inej repeated. Why did that sound so familiar?--

The R on Kaz’s bicep. Johannus Rietveld, the ‘invented’ jurda farmer. 

Is Kaz Brekker your real name?

Real enough.

"...Is Kaz Rietveld your real name?" Inej asked instead. Kaz was staring at his bare hands, resting on his cane.

"It was, once." He said at last. Inej hesitated. He'd told her next to nothing, really, and she wondered what had happened to Tomas Rietveld. But it felt like an invasion, to learn anything about who he had been before he was Kaz Brekker. 

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked instead. Kaz exhaled slowly.

“There are some things I can’t tell you yet. But there are others I can. I have to start somewhere.”

Slowly, tentatively, he reached out and pushed her hair out of her face. His knuckles brushed her cheek. Then his eyes darted over her shoulder and he let his hand drop.

"Go," He said, "Your crew are waiting." 

Inej carefully slipped the watch into her waistcoat.

"Thank you, Kaz."

He nodded, gaze on the cobbles. He offered her his hand.

"Safe voyage, Captain."

Inej took it, and then he seemed to be teetering on the edge of saying something else-- but before Inej could stop herself, she stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. 

"Stay safe." she said quietly. 

Kaz had frozen, but he hadn't moved away from her, hadn't dropped her hand. She could see him fighting with himself, and was just about to apologise when he blinked hard, twice, and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Don't ask the impossible of me." He said wryly.

Inej laughed in relief and regret as she turned down the steps--

She turned, struck by a sudden thought. She’d almost forgotten to settle a score.

“Just for the record, Kaz? You are better looking than Josep Kikkert.”

As she hurried towards the berth, she allowed herself one backwards glance. Kaz was still standing where she'd left him, a dark silhouette amongst the white patches of the snow. She thought he might have been smiling. 

"What did you say to her?" Jesper said in disbelief as Kaz stumped back towards them. 

"Told her where we stashed Heleen." Kaz said, straightening his tie.

"Don't bullshit me, after that."

"None of your business." Kaz said gruffly, turning abruptly and striding back towards the city.

"Are you smiling?" Jesper demanded, bounding after him.

"No."

"You are! Wy, look! He's smiling! He's--"

Jesper was not smiling when Wylan was hauling him out a pile of slush and ice approximately two seconds later and Kaz was disappearing up the street.