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Two weeks after the whirlwind of his father’s arrest, Wylan sat in the Van Eck office at the Exchange, staring at a shipping registry and hoping Jesper would return faster.
The plague shutdown of the city provided a perfect opportunity for them to become familiar with the Van Eck empire before Wylan would be expected to properly run it. For the most part, this consisted of Jesper reading files to him at the house, but there were shipping files at the Exchange office that they needed to wade through. Jesper had gone out to help Inej with something that was presumably more violent than they wanted Wylan to be involved in, so he was alone in the office, playing memory games to remind himself which trade logs were located where. The west wall consisted of the shipping manifests for the fleet to Eames Chin; he'd hum along to the overture to The Girl of the Golden West, assigning a measure of the overture to each volume. The third-shelf volumes for Shu Han ships followed Caoyu Kir-Wan’s Thunderstorm, and so on.
He picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. Thirteen days ago, he had been no one, with nothing to his name but a talent for explosive chemistry and a desire to see his father burn. Wylan smoothed the lapels of his black suit jacket and twisted his gold laurel cufflinks. He would go home to the mansion on the Geldstraat, now absent the weight of his father. Instead, it was filled with Jesper’s raucous energy, Inej’s quiet support, and his mother’s presence that still didn’t feel quite real.
A knock sounded at the door.
Wylan shoved the shipping registry beneath a towering pile of papers and reached for his mug. He’d decided on the off chance anyone interrupted while Jesper was out, he would pretend to be on a coffee break. It had sounded smart at the time. Now, half a dozen panicked thoughts clamored in his head—what if someone needed him to read a note? What if his father had escaped and was here to reclaim his office?
Wylan thought of the scent of wisteria, the sight of his father bound, and the warm press of Jesper’s hand. He focused on his breathing—in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Another breath in, then he said, “Come in.”
The knob turned and the door swung open to reveal Kaz, leaning on his cane, a black fedora atop his head. Wylan blinked. He hadn’t seen Kaz since the last night at the Van Eck house—not since their funeral for Matthias on the dark banks of the Geldcanal. From Inej’s continued residence at the Van Eck house, Wylan had assumed that Kaz planned to ignore the adventures of the last two months and resume treating them all like shit on his shoe.
Kaz met his gaze, carefully even, but made no move to speak. After a few beats, Wylan began, “What business?”
“How are your ships holding up under plague quarantines, Van Eck?”
Wylan nearly flinched. He had to stop himself from looking over his shoulder, half-expecting to see his father’s tall frame behind and beside him. The quarantines had prevented the Merchant Council and other business associates of his father’s company from meeting. This was bad in that Wylan was still unsure if he would be allowed to participate or if he’d be declared an impostor and thrown back on the streets. However, it was good in that he had yet to face dozens of people addressing him as “Van Eck” on an frequent basis.
Kaz settled himself in the chair opposite Wylan’s desk and stretched out his bad leg. “I’d like to purchase one of your warships.”
Wylan stared.
“The market value of one of the smaller models is seven hundred and fifty thousand kruge, though depending on its state of repair and the quality of its armaments, I’d request either a discount or a refit before I purchase it.”
Wylan set down his coffee mug and flexed his hand. He glanced to the right, looking through the window as if he could see Jesper across the city. “Is that why you’re ignoring us?” Wylan said, his voice rising with every word. “Why you haven’t said a word to Jesper and Inej in two weeks?” He realized he was standing. “You’re taking off to fucking— piracy?”
Kaz’s mouth twisted into a frown. He leaned forward, one hand still resting on his cane. “Yes, Wylan, I just went through one of the most hellish periods of my life to keep my stake in this city, but I’m going to leave it all behind to take up piracy.”
“Your plans aren’t known for making obvious sense,” Wylan snapped, but he sat back in his chair. “Why else would you want a warship?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kaz said with a dismissive gesture. “I’d also like to purchase a berth in Fifth Harbor for her permanent use.”
“For seven hundred and fifty thousand kruge.”
“That’s right.”
Wylan thought of Nina and Inej arguing for the safety of the Grisha refugees, refusing to participate in Kaz’s plan unless their own terms were met. He thought of all the times he’d tried to stand against Kaz’s callousness and inhumanity, only to be shut up by Kaz’s threats or circumstances that required silence. He thought of everything he’d ever wanted to say to Kaz, every question he’d had to bite back. He took a deep breath.
“Did you come here on this specific day, at this time, because you knew Jesper wouldn’t be here?” he began.
Kaz’s hand tightened on his cane.
“There are three of us still left in Ketterdam a walk or gondel away from the Slat. And yet, you’re only talking to me because you need my money, my ships for Ghezen-knows-what.” Wylan pushed on, sure that if he stopped now he could never speak another word to Kaz Brekker. “Was everything we went through really nothing more than just another job? Less than another job, if you won’t even speak to Jesper and Inej now?”
“The city is under quarantine, Van Eck,” Kaz snapped. “I’ve been busy preventing the Dregs from collapsing, and buying out chunks of the Barrel to develop in my name. Commerce doesn’t stop when the people do, and I can’t afford to either. Not to do meaningless talk.”
Commerce doesn’t stop, even when people do. Wasn’t that the reason Wylan and Jesper were at the Exchange office this afternoon? Kaz had the Dregs; Wylan had his father’s company. They both had work to do.
“I will sell you a small warship and the docking rights to one berth,” Wylan said slowly, “on the condition that you tell me what this is for.” He held up a hand as Kaz straightened. “I have ships out there, and if you’re planning to give it to a pirate, I’d like to make sure it’s not my ships that they’re pirating. It’s either this, or you try to find another shipping empire willing to sell a warship to someone like you, and we both know they’d charge you far more. This is the best deal you’re going to get.”
The corner of Kaz’s mouth twitched up. “If you were a pushover, there’d be little point to having your vote on the Council,” he mused.
Wylan couldn’t decide whether to scowl or roll his eyes. “I don’t have a vote on the Council.”
“I find it incredibly difficult to believe you’re going to let your father get anything but a very long jail sentence.”
Actually, Wylan was hoping for life. He’d considered bribing the judge for that outcome, and hadn’t yet entirely tabled the thought. “I’m not your Council vote anyway, Kaz. My position will only help you as long as our interests align, and the threat of piracy is decidedly out of alignment.”
Kaz didn’t look concerned. If anything, he seemed to be examining Wylan’s face with new eyes. “The ship isn’t for me. It also isn't for a pirate to attack merchant vessels, unless you decide to start trafficking in bodies.”
Wylan drew back. “No chance of that,” he huffed. “So you’re supporting anti-slavery work then, now?” Given the way Kaz had reacted to Smeet’s clerk’s treatment of the Menagerie girl, his interest made sense. “Who’s going to sail this ship?” Wylan continued. He could barely trust Kaz, and didn’t like the idea of selling something to Kaz only to have it turned over to a stranger.
“Specht is set to be the first mate. I’ve trusted other ships in his hands, as you well know.”
Kaz was skirting the answer, tiptoeing around something he didn’t want to say. Wylan thought back to the weeks aboard the Ferolind with Specht—and Inej.
Inej had asked endless questions of the sailors on the way back to Ketterdam. She had learned to tie knots and understand ship commands while Wylan watched silently from the rail. She had stolen Heleen Van Houden’s diamond choker at the Ice Court because she’d wanted to punish the Peacock.
Kaz operated on an entirely different axis from the rest of humanity. Wylan supposed that gifting Inej a warship was about the only way he could see Kaz expressing whatever it was Kaz intended to express.
There were worse things he could do with the afternoon than sell Kaz Brekker a warship. Wylan sighed. “You’ve already read half of my father’s paperwork, so I don’t feel terrible about telling you to help yourself to the files about the ships. Pick the one you think would best suit her.” Wylan stood, ignoring the faint twinge of protest from his ribs. He should probably be more cautious about leaving his office unattended in the presence of a notorious thief, but he figured Kaz could steal something just as easily with Wylan watching as without.
Wylan paused at the door, hand on the knob. “I’ll be back in two hours. And Kaz—make things right with Jesper. He deserves better, especially from you.”
Kaz’s eyes tracked his face as Wylan opened the door and stepped out onto the second-floor walkway of the Exchange. The courtyard below, absent the bustle of callers and trades, felt like the silence before the next movement of a sonata.