Jesper wanted to pace, but he’d staked out this spot on the bench, and he intended to keep it. It felt like little quakes of anxiety and excitement were vibrating under his skin, and Wylan seated next to him drumming frenetically on his kneecaps wasn’t helping him settle. He didn’t think he could handle much more waiting. First the boat, then all that hiking, and now he was stuck in a cell until the guards came by to make their evening head count.
Only his father had understood his restless energy. He’d tried to get Jesper to use it up on the farm, but the work had been too monotonous. University was supposed to be the thing that gave him direction, but instead he’d wandered down a different path. He cringed at what his father would say if he learned his son had died in a Fjerdan prison. Then again, how would he ever know? That was too depressing to dwell on.
How much time had passed? What if they couldn’t even hear the Elderclock in here? The guards
were supposed to make the head count at six bells. Then Jesper and the others would have until midnight to get the job done. They hoped. Matthias had only spent three months at the prison.
Protocols could have changed. He might have got something wrong. Or maybe the Fjerdan just wants us behind bars before he rats us out.
But Matthias was sitting silently on the far side of the cell near Kaz. Jesper hadn’t been able to miss Kaz’s little skirmish with the Kaelish. Kaz was usually unshakeable during a job, but now he was on edge, and Jesper didn’t know why. Part of him wanted to ask, though he knew that was the stupid part, the hopeful farmboy who picked the worst possible person to care about, who searched for signs in things that he knew deep down meant nothing – when Kaz chose him for a job, when Kaz played along with one of his jokes. He could have kicked himself. He’d finally seen the infamous Kaz Brekker without a stitch of clothing, and he’d been too worried about ending up on a pike to pay proper attention.
But if Jesper was anxious, Wylan looked as if he might actually throw up.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Wylan whispered. “What good is a lockpick without his picks?”
“Be quiet.”
“And what good are you? A sharpshooter without his guns. You’re completely extraneous to this
mission.”
“It’s not a mission; it’s a job.”
“Matthias calls it a mission.”
“He’s military, you’re not. And I’m already in jail, so don’t tempt me to commit homicide.”
“You aren’t going to kill me, and I’m not going to pretend everything is okay. We’re stuck in here.”
“You’re definitely better suited to a gilded cage than to a real one.”
“I left my father ’s house.”
“Yeah, you gave up a life of luxury so you could slum it with us sobs in the Barrel. That doesn’t make you interesting, Wylan, just stupid.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“So tell me,” Jesper said, turning to him. “We have time. What makes a good little merch boy leave home to keep company with criminals?”
“You act like you were born in the Barrel like Kaz, but you’re not even Kerch. You chose this life, too.”
“I like cities.”
“They don’t have cities in Novyi Zem?”
“Not like Ketterdam. Have you ever even been anywhere but home, the Barrel, and fancy embassy
dinners?”
Wylan looked away. “Yes.”
“Where? The suburbs for peach season?”
“The races at Caryeva. The Shu oil fields. The jurda farms near Shriftport. Weddle. Elling.”
“Really?”
“My father used to take me everywhere with him.”
“Until?”
“Until what?”
“Until. My father took me everywhere until I contracted terrible seasickness, until I vomited at a royal wedding, until I tried to hump the ambassador ’s leg.”
“The leg was asking for it.”
Jesper released a bark of laughter. “Finally, a little spine.”
“I have plenty of spine,” Wylan grumbled. “And look where it got—”
He was interrupted by a guard’s voice shouting in Fjerdan just as the Elderclock began to chime six bells. At least the Fjerdans were punctual.
The guard spoke again in Shu and then in Kerch. “On your feet.”
“Shimkopper,” the guard demanded. They all looked at him blankly. “The piss bucket,” he tried in Kerch. “Where is … to empty?” He pantomimed.
There were shrugs and confused glances.
The guard’s gloomy sulk made it clear he couldn’t care less. He shoved a bucket of fresh water into the cell and slammed the bars shut.
Jesper pushed to the front and took a big gulp from the cup tied to its handle. Most of it splashed on his shirt. When he handed the cup to Wylan, he made sure it soaked him as well.
“What are you doing?” Wylan protested.
“Patience, Wylan. And do try to follow along.”
Jesper hiked up his pants and felt around the thin skin over his ankle.
“Tell me what’s happen—”
“Be quiet. I need to concentrate.” It was true. He really didn’t want the pellet buried beneath his skin to open up while it was still inside him.
He felt along the thin stitches Nina had placed there. It hurt like hell when he popped them open and slid the pellet out. It was about the size of a raisin and slick with his blood. Nina would be using her powers to split open her own skin right now. Jesper wondered if it hurt any less than the stitches.
“Pull your shirt up over your mouth,” he told Wylan.