Six of Crows

  “You’re holding back,” Brekker said, his dark eyes trained on Matthias.

  Matthias ignored the shiver that passed through him. Sometimes it was like the demon could read minds. “I’m telling you what I know.”

  “Your conscience is interfering with your memory. Remember the terms of our deal, Helvar.”

  “All right,” Matthias said, his anger rising. “You want my expertise? Your plan won’t work.”

  “You don’t even know my plan.”

  “In through the prison, out through the embassy?”

  “As a start.”

  “It can’t be done. The prison sector is completely isolated from the rest of the Ice Court. It isn’t connected to the embassy. There’s no way to reach it from there.”

  “It has a roof, doesn’t it?”

  “You can’t get to the roof,” Matthias said with satisfaction. “The drüskelle spend three months working with Grisha prisoners and guards as part of our training. I’ve been in the prison, and there’s no access to the roof for exactly that reason—if someone manages to get out of his cell, we don’t want him running around the Ice Court. The prison is totally sealed off from the other two sectors in the outer circle. Once you’re in, you’re in.”

  “There’s always a way out.” Kaz pulled the prison plan from the stack. “Five floors, right? Processing area, and four levels of cells. So what’s here? In the basement?”

  “Nothing. A laundry and the incinerator.”

  “The incinerator.”

  “Yes, where they burn the convicts’ clothes when they arrive. It’s a plague precaution but—” As soon as the words left Matthias’ mouth he understood what Brekker had in mind. “Sweet Djel, you want us to climb six stories up an incinerator shaft?”

  “When does the incinerator run?”

  “If I remember right, early morning, but even without the heat, we—”

  “He doesn’t mean for us to climb it,” said Nina, emerging from belowdecks.

  Kaz sat up straighter. “Who’s watching Inej?”

  “Rotty,” she said. “I’ll go back in a minute. I just needed some air. And don’t feign concern for Inej when you’re planning to send her climbing up six stories of chimney with only a rope and a prayer.”

  “The Wraith can manage it.”

  “The Wraith is a sixteen-year-old girl currently lying unconscious on a table. She may not even survive the night.”

  “She will,” said Kaz, and something savage flashed in his eyes. Matthias suspected that Brekker would drag the girl back from hell himself if he had to.

  Jesper picked up his rifle, running a soft cloth over it. “Why are we talking about scaling chimneys when we’ve got a bigger problem?”

  “And what’s that?” Kaz asked, though Matthias had the distinct impression he knew.

  “We have no business going after Bo Yul-Bayur if Pekka Rollins is involved.”

  “Who is Pekka Rollins?” Matthias asked, turning the ridiculous syllables over in his mouth. Kerch names had no dignity to them. He knew that the man was a gang leader and that he lined his pockets with proceeds from the Hellshow. That was bad enough, but Matthias sensed there was more.

  Wylan shuddered, pulling at the gummy substance on his lips. “Only the biggest, baddest operator in all of Ketterdam. He has money we don’t have, connections we don’t have, and probably a head start.”

  Jesper nodded. “For once, Wylan is making sense. If by some miracle we do manage to spring Bo Yul-Bayur before Rollins does, once he finds out we’re the ones who beat him to it, we’re all dead men.”

  “Pekka Rollins is a Barrel boss,” Kaz said. “No more, no less. Stop making him out to be some kind of immortal.”

  There’s something else going on here, thought Matthias. Brekker had lost the thrum of violence that seemed to drive him earlier, when he’d murdered Oomen. But there was still a lingering intensity in his words. Matthias felt sure that Kaz Brekker hated Pekka Rollins, and it wasn’t just because he’d blown up their ship and hired thugs to shoot at them. This had the feel of old wounds and bad blood.

  Jesper leaned back and said, “You think Per Haskell is going to back you when he finds out you crossed Pekka Rollins? You think the old man wants that war?”

  Kaz shook his head, and Matthias saw real frustration there. “Pekka Rollins didn’t come into this world dressed in velvet and rolling in kruge. You’re still thinking small. The way Per Haskell does, the way men like Rollins want you to. We pull off this job and divvy up that haul, we’ll be the legends of the Barrel. We’ll be the crew that beat Pekka Rollins.”

  “Maybe we should forget approaching from the north,” said Wylan. “If Pekka’s crew has a head start, we should sail straight to Djerholm.”

  “The harbor will be crawling with security,” Kaz said. “Not to mention all the usual customs agents and lawmen.”

  “The south? Through Ravka?”

  “That border is locked down tight,” Nina said.

  “It’s a big border,” said Matthias.

  “But there’s no way to know where it’s most vulnerable,” she replied. “Unless you have some magical knowledge about which watchtowers and outposts are active. Besides, if we enter from Ravka, we have to contend with Ravkans and Fjerdans.”

  What she said made sense, but it unnerved him. In Fjerda women didn’t talk this way, didn’t speak of military or strategic matters. But Nina had always been like that.

  “We enter from the north as planned,” Kaz said.

  Jesper knocked his head against the hull and cast his eyes heavenward. “Fine. But if Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.”

  Brekker’s lips quirked. “I’ll just hire Matthias’ ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.”

  “My ghost won’t associate with your ghost,” Matthias said primly, and then wondered if the sea air was rotting his brain.

  PART THREE

  HEARTSICK

  16

  INEJ

  Everything hurt. And why was the room moving?

  Inej came awake slowly, her thoughts jumbled. She remembered the thrust of Oomen’s knife, climbing the crates, people shouting as she dangled from the tips of her fingers. Come on down, Wraith. But Kaz had returned for her, to rescue his investment. They must have made it onto the Ferolind.

  She tried to roll over, but the pain was too intense, so she settled for turning her head. Nina was drowsing on a stool tucked into the corner by the table, Inej’s hand grasped loosely in her own.

  “Nina,” she croaked. Her throat felt like it was coated in wool.

  Nina jolted awake. “I’m up!” she blurted, then peered blearily at Inej. “You’re awake.” She sat up straighter. “Oh, Saints, you’re awake!”

  And then Nina burst out crying.

  Inej tried to sit up, but could barely lift her head.

  “No, no,” Nina said. “Don’t try to move, just rest.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Nina started to laugh through her tears. “I’m fine. You’re the one who got stabbed. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s just so much easier to kill people than take care of them.” Inej blinked, and then they both started laughing. “Owwww,” groaned Inej. “Don’t make me laugh. That feels awful.”

  Nina winced. “How do you feel?”

  “Sore, but not terrible. Thirsty.”

  Nina offered her a tin cup full of cold water. “It’s fresh. We had rain yesterday.”

  Inej sipped carefully, letting Nina hold her head up. “How long was I out?”

  “Three days, almost four. Jesper is driving us all crazy. I don’t think I’ve seen him sit still for more than two minutes together.” She stood up abruptly. “I need to tell Kaz you’re awake! We thought—”

  “Wait,” Inej said, grabbing for Nina’s hand. “Just … can we not tell him right away?”

  Nina sat back down, her f
ace puzzled. “Sure, but—”

  “Just for tonight.” She paused. “Is it night?”

  “Yes. Just past midnight, actually.”

  “Do we know who came after us at the harbor?”

  “Pekka Rollins. He hired the Black Tips and the Razorgulls to keep us from getting out of Fifth Harbor.”

  “How did he know where we were leaving from?”

  “We’re not sure yet.”

  “I saw Oomen—”

  “Oomen’s dead. Kaz killed him.”

  “He did?”

  “Kaz killed a lot of people. Rotty saw him go after the Black Tips who had you up on the crates. I believe his exact words were, ‘There was enough blood to paint a barn red.’”

  Inej closed her eyes. “So much death.” They were surrounded by it in the Barrel. But this was the closest it had ever come to her.

  “He was afraid for you.”

  “Kaz isn’t afraid of anything.”

  “You should have seen his face when he brought you to me.”

  “I’m a very valuable investment.”

  Nina’s jaw dropped. “Tell me he didn’t say that.”

  “Of course he did. Well, not the valuable part.”

  “Idiot.”

  “How’s Matthias?”

  “Also an idiot. Do you think you can eat?”

  Inej shook her head. She didn’t feel hungry at all.

  “Try,” urged Nina. “There wasn’t much of you to begin with.”

  “I just want to rest for now.”

  “Of course,” Nina said. “I’ll turn down the lantern.”

  Inej reached for her again. “Don’t. I don’t want to go back to sleep yet.”

  “I could read to you if I had anything to read. There’s a Heartrender at the Little Palace who can recite epic poetry for hours. Then you’d wish you had died.”

  Inej laughed then winced. “Just stay.”

  “All right,” said Nina. “Since you want to talk. Tell me why you don’t have the cup and crow on your arm.”

  “Starting with the easy questions?”

  Nina crossed her legs and planted her chin in her hands. “Waiting.”

  Inej was quiet for a while. “You saw my scars.” Nina nodded. “When Kaz got Per Haskell to pay off my indenture with the Menagerie, the first thing I did was have the peacock feather tattoo removed.”

  “Whoever took care of it did a pretty rough job.”

  “He wasn’t a Corporalnik or even a medik.” Just one of the half-knowledgeable butchers who plied their trade among the desperate of the Barrel. He’d offered her a slug of whiskey, then simply hacked away at the skin, leaving a puckered spill of wounds down her forearm. She hadn’t cared. The pain was liberation. They had loved to talk about her skin at the House of Exotics. It was like coffee with sweet milk. It was like burnished caramel. It was like satin. She welcomed every cut of the knife and the scars it left behind. “Kaz told me I didn’t have to do anything but make myself useful.”

  Kaz had taught her to crack a safe, pick a pocket, wield a knife. He’d gifted her with her first blade, the one she called Sankt Petyr—not as pretty as wild geraniums, but more practical, she supposed.

  Maybe I’ll use it on you, she’d said.

  He’d sighed. If only you were that bloodthirsty. She hadn’t been able to tell if he was kidding.

  Now she shifted slightly on the table. There was pain, but it wasn’t too bad. Given how deep the knife had gone, her Saints must have been guiding Nina’s hand.

  “Kaz said if I proved myself I could join the Dregs when I was ready. And I did. But I didn’t take the tattoo.”

  Nina’s brows rose. “I didn’t think it was optional.”

  “Technically it isn’t. I know some people don’t understand, but Kaz told me … he said it was my choice, that he wouldn’t be the one to mark me again.”

  But he had, in his own way—despite her best intentions. Feeling anything for Kaz Brekker was the worst kind of foolishness. She knew that. But he’d been the one to rescue her, to see her potential. He’d bet on her, and that meant something—even if he’d done it for his own selfish reasons. He’d even dubbed her the Wraith.

  I don’t like it, she’d said. It makes me sound like a corpse.

  A phantom, he corrected.

  Didn’t you say I was to be your spider? Why not stick with that?

  Because there are plenty of spiders in the Barrel. Besides, you want your enemies to be afraid. Not think they can squash you with the toe of one boot.

  My enemies?

  Our enemies.

  He’d helped her build a legend to wear as armor, something bigger and more frightening than the girl she’d been. Inej sighed. She didn’t want to think about Kaz anymore.

  “Talk,” she said to Nina.

  “Your eyelids are drooping. You should sleep.”

  “Don’t like boats. Bad memories.”

  “Me too.”

  “Sing something, then.”

  Nina laughed. “Remember what I said about wishing you were dead? You do not want me to sing.”

  “Please?”

  “I only know Ravkan folk tunes and Kerch drinking songs.”

  “Drinking song. Something rowdy, please.”

  Nina snorted. “Only for you, Wraith.” She cleared her throat and began. “Mighty young captain, bold on the sea. Soldier and sailor and free of disease—”

  Inej started to giggle and clutched her side. “You’re right. You couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

  “I told you that.”

  “Go on.”

  Nina’s voice really was terrible. But it helped to keep Inej on this boat, in this moment. She didn’t want to think about the last time she’d been at sea, but the memories were hard to fight.

  She wasn’t even supposed to be in the wagon the morning the slavers took her. She’d been fourteen, and her family had been summering on the coast of West Ravka, enjoying the seaside and performing in a carnival on the outskirts of Os Kervo. She should have been helping her father mend the nets. But she’d been feeling lazy, and she’d allowed herself another few minutes to sleep in, drowsing beneath the thin cotton covers and listening to the rush and sigh of the waves.

  When a man had appeared silhouetted in the door to the caravan, she hadn’t even known to run. She’d simply said, “Five more minutes, Papa.”

  Then they had her by the legs and were dragging her out of the wagon. She banged her head hard on the ground. There were four of them, big men, seafarers. When she tried to scream, they gagged her. They bound her hands and wrists, and one of them threw her over his shoulder as they plunged into a longboat they’d moored in the cove.

  Later, Inej learned that the coast was a popular location for slavers. They’d spotted the Suli caravan from their ship and rowed in after dawn when the camp was all but deserted.

  The rest of the journey was a blur. She was thrown into a cargo hold with a group of other children—some older, some younger, mostly girls but a few boys, too. She was the only Suli, but a few spoke Ravkan, and they told their own stories of being taken. One had been snatched from his father’s shipyard; another had been playing in the tide pools and had strayed too far from her friends. One had been sold by her older brother to pay off his gambling debts. The sailors spoke a language she didn’t know, but one of the other children claimed they were being taken to the largest of Kerch’s outer islands, where they would be auctioned to private owners or pleasure houses in Ketterdam and Novyi Zem. People came from all over the world to bid. Inej had thought slaving was illegal in Kerch, but apparently it still happened.

  She never saw the auction block. When they’d finally dropped anchor, Inej was led on deck and handed over to one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen, a tall blonde with hazel eyes and piles of golden hair.

  The woman had held her lantern up and examined every inch of Inej—her teeth, her breasts, even her feet. She’d tugged on the matted hair on Inej’s head.
“This will have to be shaved.” Then she’d stepped back. “Pretty,” she said. “Scrawny and flat as a pan, but her skin is flawless.”

  She’d turned away to barter with the sailors as Inej stood there, clutching her bound hands over her chest, her blouse still open, her skirt still hiked around her waist. Inej could see the glint of moonlight off the waves of the cove. Jump, she’d thought. Whatever waits at the bottom of the sea is better than where this woman is taking you. But she hadn’t had the courage.

  The girl she’d become would have jumped without a second thought, and maybe taken one of the slavers down with her. Or maybe she was kidding herself. She’d frozen when Tante Heleen had accosted her in West Stave. She’d been no stronger, no braver, just the same frightened Suli girl who’d been paralyzed and humiliated on the deck of that ship.

  Nina was still singing, something about a sailor who’d abandoned his sweetheart.

  “Teach me the chorus,” Inej said.

  “You should rest.”

  “Chorus.”

  So Nina taught her the words, and they sang together, fumbling through the verses, hopelessly out of key, until the lanterns burned low.

  17

  JESPER

  Jesper felt about ready to hurl himself overboard just for a change in routine. Six more days. Six more days on this boat—if they were lucky and the wind was good—and then they should make land. Fjerda’s western coast was all perilous rock and steep cliffs. It could only be safely approached at Djerholm and Elling, and since security at both harbors was tight, they’d been forced to travel all the way to the northern whaling ports. He was secretly hoping they’d be attacked by pirates, but the little ship was too small to be carrying valuable cargo. They were an unworthy target and they passed unmolested through the busiest trade routes of the True Sea, flying neutral Kerch colors. Soon, they were in the cold waters of the north, moving into the Isenvee.