Chapter Text
This is the marriage of all states of matter,
its quintessence lifted to our lips.
—“Champagne” by Michael McFee
Part One: Lighting the Fuse
Nine Bells and Quarter Chime
Jesper
Jesper Fahey hated being held hostage.
To be perfectly fair, it wasn’t a common occurrence. He could still count on one hand the number of times he had been kidnapped. But it was, admittedly, a close thing at this point. He slumped against his restraints, his polished shoes tapping against the marble floor. His captors had tied his arms behind his back using sturdy ropes woven from expensive synthetic fibers. He had spent the last several hours tugging at the molecules with his powers, but it had been to little avail. The chemical composition was unfamiliar, the polymers slippery in his mind.
Wylan would have recognized them, but in all likelihood, he was still at home getting dressed for their upcoming nuptials, blissfully unaware that his fiancé had been kidnapped en route to the cathedral. Jesper had been mumbling his wedding vows over and over under his breath—determined to get them perfect—when someone shoved an ether-soaked rag in his face. His only concern, at first, had been not ruining the buttons on his new swallow-tail coat. But then dark spots had danced across his vision, the distant echo of church bells ringing in his ears as the world faded away.
If my body ends up in the canals, Jesper had mused darkly, at least I will be dressed in my finest waistcoat.
But he doubted he would end up floating in the canals. The man who had kidnapped him, after all, was a complete and utter idiot.
Councilman Schenck had been insufferable in the wake of the izmars'ya debacle several months earlier — and that was before the unfortunate security breach at Rentveer. The discovery of several missing pallets of titanium had pushed him over the edge. The councilman had long been in favor of military action against foreign competitors. In fact, he had developed a reputation for ranting and raving about lost revenue during recent council meetings. Wylan Van Eck, on the other hand, had openly opposed calls for trade sanctions. He had even managed to sway several members of the council to his side, resulting in an impasse that had yet to be resolved.
Schenck had been infuriated, of course. Each time the councilman glimpsed Jesper on the floor of the exchange, his face would turn the exact same shade of red as his tufty ginger hair. Zemeni nationals had long been barred from membership in the municipal merchant guilds. However, nothing barred him from the building, especially now that he was engaged to the youngest member of the merchant council.
Schenck, it would seem, strongly objected to the marriage.
Jesper let out an exasperated groan, tilting his chin heavenward. The ceiling above his head had been painted with the image of a human hand, its fingers outstretched. He had recognized the brushstrokes the moment he had opened his eyes, blinking in the dim light. Schenck had locked him in an abandoned chapel in the thumb nave of the cathedral. Each of the chapels furthest from the palm had been undergoing restorations in the years since the auction, including much-needed repairs to the orange stained-glass dome. In the smaller chapels, the narrow wooden pews had been covered with dust-covered drop cloths to protect the velvet cushions from further damage.
In the thick layer of dust that had settled on the marble floor, there were footprints leading towards the passageway to the central nave. However, the chapel doors had been secured with a heavy metal chain. Jesper could feel the iron padlock on the other side, the metal singing in his mind. He had spent enough time around thieves to know that it would be easy enough to pick. It was only a matter of time until the others realized he was missing and then—
The stain-glass windows rattled as an explosion shook the chapel. In the distance, he heard frightened screams, followed by the sound of wood splintering. There were flecks of plaster drifting down from the ceiling, settling in his hair like fallen snow. The bells in the towers had started to ring, their cries reverberating throughout the cathedral. Jesper smirked, the smile slowly spreading across his face.
The explosion could only mean one thing.
His fiancé had found him.
* * *
Jesper had known he was in danger long before the ether-soaked rag. In fact, it had been exactly five months since he walked into his workshop to find the Bastard of the Barrel rummaging through his scrap metal drawer.
“Isn’t it a bit early for a break-in?” Jesper had asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Kaz had continued his rummaging, undaunted. “Schenck has been making inquiries into your—” he cleared his throat “—less than savory history.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Jesper said with a shrug. “Besides, I’m hardly the first university student to flirt with the gambling dens. It’s practically a rite of passage.”
Kaz had arched an eyebrow. “The council suspects you did a fair bit more than flirting.”
“Schenck will find that I am quite reformed,” Jesper said, lifting his hands in mock indignation. “I managed to clean up my act, dedicate my life to the will of the market. Luckily enough, Ghezen smiles upon the truly penitent.”
Kaz opened a second drawer. “Ghezen frowns upon blasphemy,” he countered without looking up. “Take care lest Schenck add it to his growing list of charges.”
“Schenck has a list?” Jesper asked, attempting to peer into the drawer. There had been even more scrap metal inside—old belt buckles and broken quatrefoil locks, brass candle holders and misshapen rings. Several of the twisted metal rings had started out as copper coins, tossed into the audience at the Komedie Brute.
Kaz frowned, inspecting one of the handmade rings. “Even I can admit that the list is impressive: disorderly conduct, public intoxication, disturbing the peace, aggravated assault, robbery, conspiracy to defraud the merchant council….” He dropped the metal band back into the drawer, his expression thoughtful. “Should I go on?”
“That won’t be necessary, not when we both know you’ve already paid the right bribes to the right officials,” said Jesper. “Schenck is the least of my worries at the moment, to be perfectly honest. What I really want to know is why you’re ransacking my workshop at the crack of dawn.”
“I’m gathering intelligence,” Kaz said, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
“Intelligence?” Jesper repeated, crossing his arms.
“I have recently been made aware of an intriguing investment opportunity,” Kaz said. “Zemeni oil futures, funnily enough. The market is incredibly lucrative at the moment, particularly with the advances in mechanized airships. I am prepared to back a rather promising consortium. However, I need to ensure that the merchant council has no plans to obstruct that stream of revenue, ideally before I sign the contracts.”
Jesper frowned. “I fail to see what that has to do with my workshop.”
“As you well know, I have several spiders on the floor of the exchange,” Kaz explained. “There have been numerous merchant families lobbying for tighter trade regulations to safeguard against competition from Novyi Zem. Schenck is merely their mouthpiece. Wylan has managed to thwart their attempts for the time being. It would seem he has a vested interest in keeping trade lines routes open with the Zemeni Frontier.”
Kaz has an interest in keeping those trade routes open as well, Jesper realized. There's a certain pirate queen who regularly drops anchor in Shriftport, after all.
“However, the merchant council believes they understand the nature of that… interest,” Kaz continued. “In fact, there are several who regard it as little more than infatuation. They are making plans to remove that object of infatuation from the picture.” He inclined his chin, his dark eyes glittering dangerously. “I doubt you fancy an unexpected dip in the canals. By the same token, I would feel much more comfortable with making an investment after your alliance with Wylan Van Eck has been formalized in the courts, preferably in the form of an expeditious marriage contract.”
Jesper blinked. “Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You broke into my workshop so you could make veiled threats about my tragic disappearance should I fail to marry my boyfriend in a timely fashion… all under the pretense of making a sound investment?”
“I assure you the investment opportunity is real,” Kaz said, picking up another metal band from the drawer. Jesper had fabrikated it from an old dessert fork, the delicate silver tines twisted into intricate patterns. He had been practicing with interlocking bands, but it had been another failure.
Jesper heaved a sigh, crossing the room to collapse into the chair in the corner. “I am not going to let anyone—including you—bully us into an engagement before we’re ready to take that step.”
Kaz snorted. “But I have it on good authority that you’re already planning to propose.”
“Whose authority?” Jesper asked, dragging one hand slowly down his face.
Kaz held the silver ring up to the light. “Your authority,” he said, twisting the ring between his gloved fingertips. “I told you that I was here to gather intelligence, didn’t I? There are at least a dozen pitiful attempts to fabrikate wedding bands in these drawers.” He palmed the silver ring, opening his fingers once more to reveal his empty hand, before clapping his hands together to reveal the ring once more. “Have you settled on a design for the ring? Or will more teaspoons lose their lives in the name of love?”
It had always been in moments like these that Jesper had to fight the overwhelming urge to strangle his best friend. He strongly suspected that, one day, he would lose that fight.
However, that morning he had reached into his coat pocket instead, pulling out the small velvet box that had taken up residence next to his heart. He held it up, opening the lid of the box to reveal the ring. The metal had glinted in the early morning sun.
“Brass?” Kaz asked, his head tilted to one side.
“It was an old skeleton key,” Jesper said, snapping the box shut once more without any further explanation. He had returned the ring to his coat pocket, reassured by its familiar weight. “Are you satisfied?”
“That depends,” Kaz said. He had pulled on his heavy overcoat before crossing the workshop, his cane thumping against the floorboards. “When can I expect to send my best wishes to the happy couple? Inej will want to send her congratulations as well.”
“Soon,” Jesper had lied, swallowing around the unexpected lump in his throat. “I am just waiting... for the right moment.”
Kaz had hesitated in the doorway, studying him with the flat, black eyes of a shark. “Schenck is waiting for the right moment too,” he said eventually, tightening the grip on his cane. “I hope you make your move before he does. Otherwise, we might find ourselves arranging your funeral instead of your wedding.”
On that ominous note, he had disappeared into the hallway, his overcoat fluttering in his wake like the wings of an overgrown bat.
* * *
The chapel shook as a second explosion rattled the cathedral. The shouting in the distance grew louder as a third bomb exploded, its echo reverberating through the chapel like a summer thunderhead rolling across the prairie. Blinking the plaster dust from his eyes, Jesper suddenly remembered his first fight on the frontier. Colm had been sweating, trembling, barely able to load his rifle. Now, he suspected his father would be crouched beneath the pews, hiding along with the other wedding guests. Wylan, too, might have cowered at one point. In his first gunfight, he had curled up on the dock, his soft hands thrown over his head.
But it had been years since the merchling had cowered from anyone. In fact, as a fourth explosion rattled the building, Jesper knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Wylan had been the one to light the fuse.