“I don’t know exactly,” Jesper admitted.
But he felt different, even with the familiar weight of his pearl-handled revolvers at his hips and a rifle on his back. He kept thinking of the Tidemaker woman, screaming in the drüskelle courtyard, her face speckled black. He looked down at his hands. Did he want to be a Fabrikator? To live as one?
He couldn’t help what he was, but did he want to cultivate his power or keep hiding it?
Kaz left Rotty and Jesper at the dock while he went to find a runner to take a message to Van Eck.
Jesper wanted to go with him, but Kaz told him to stay put. Annoyed, Jesper took the chance to stretch his legs, aware of Rotty observing him. He had the distinct sense that Kaz had told Rotty to keep him under watch. Did Kaz think he was going to bolt straight to the nearest gambling hall?
He looked up at the cloudy sky. Why not admit it? He was tempted. He was itching for a hand of cards. Maybe he really should get out of Ketterdam. Once he had his money and his debts were paid, he could go anywhere in the world. Even Ravka. Hopefully, Nina would recover, and when she was back to herself, Jesper could sit down with her and figure it out. No commitments right away, but he could at least visit, couldn’t he?
A half hour later, Kaz returned with a message confirming that representatives from the Merchant Council would meet them on Vellgeluk at dawn the following day.
“Look at that,” Kaz said, holding the paper out for Jesper to read. Beneath the details of the meet it said, Congratulations. Your country thanks you.
The words left a funny feeling in Jesper ’s chest, but he laughed and said, “As long as my country pays cash. Does the Council know the scientist is dead?”
“I put it all in my note to Van Eck,” Kaz said. “I told him Bo Yul-Bayur is dead, but that his son is alive and was working on jurda parem for the Fjerdans.”
“Did he haggle?”
“Not in the note. He expressed his ‘deep concern’, but didn’t mention anything about price. We did our job. We’ll see if he tries to bargain us down when we get to Vellgeluk.”
As they rowed back to the Ferolind, Jesper asked, “Will Wylan come with us to meet Van Eck?”
“No,” Kaz said, fingers drumming on the crow’s head of his cane. “Matthias will be with us, and someone has to stay with Nina. Besides, if we need to use Wylan to twist his father ’s arm, it’s better that we not show our hand too early.”
It made sense. And whatever discord existed between Wylan and his father, Jesper doubted Wylan wanted to hash it out in front of the Dregs and Matthias.
He spent a restless night tossing in his hammock and woke to a muggy grey dawn. There was no
wind, and the sea looked flat and glassy as a millpond.
“A stubborn sky,” murmured Inej, squinting out towards Vellgeluk. She was right. There were no clouds on the horizon, but the air felt dense with moisture, as if a storm was simply refusing to form.
Jesper scanned the empty deck. He’d assumed Wylan would come up to see them off, but Nina couldn’t be left on her own.
“How is she?” he asked Matthias.
“Weak,” said the Fjerdan. “She’s been unable to sleep. But we got her to take some broth, and she seems to be keeping it down.”
Jesper knew he was being selfish and stupid, but some petty part of him wondered if Wylan had deliberately kept away from him on the journey back. Maybe now that the job was complete and he was on his way to his share of the haul, Wylan was done slumming with criminals.
“Where’s the other longboat?” Jesper asked as he, Kaz, Matthias, Inej, and Kuwei rowed out from the Ferolind with Rotty.
“Repairs,” said Kaz.
Vellgeluk was so flat it was barely visible once they were rowing through the water. The island was less than a mile wide, a barren patch of sand and rock distinguished only by the wrecked foundation of an old tower used by the Council of Tides. Smugglers called it Vellgeluk, ‘good luck’, because of the paintings still visible around the base of what would have been the obelisk tower: golden circles meant to represent coins, symbols of favour from Ghezen, the god of industry and commerce. Jesper and Kaz had come to the island before to meet with smugglers. It was far from Ketterdam’s ports, well outside the patrol of the harbour watch, with no buildings or hidden coves from which to stage an ambush. An ideal meeting place for wary parties.
A brigantine was moored off the island’s opposite shore, its sails hanging limp and useless. Jesper had watched it make slow progress from Ketterdam in the early dawn light, a tiny black dot that grew into a hulking blot on the horizon. He could hear the sailors calling to each other as they worked the oars. Now its crew lowered a longboat packed with men over the side.