“Damn it,” Jesper said. “Run!”
They pounded down the dock. There, at berth twenty-two, was a trim-looking schooner with Ferolind written on its side. It was almost eerie how much it looked like the other boat. No lanterns had been lit aboard it, but as he and Wylan bolted up the ramp, two sailors emerged.
“You’re the first ones here,” said Rotty.
“Let’s hope we’re not the last. Are you armed?”
He nodded. “Brekker told us to stay hidden until—”
“This is until,” Jesper said pointing to the men storming towards them on the dock and snatching his rifle back from Wylan. “I need to get to high ground. Keep them back and distracted as long as you can.”
“Jesper—” began Wylan.
“No one gets past you. If they take down this schooner, we’re done for.” The men gunning for them didn’t just care about keeping the Dregs from leaving the harbour. They wanted them dead.
Jesper fired at the two men leading the charge down the dock. One fell and the other rolled left and took cover behind the bowsprit of a fishing boat. Jesper squeezed off three more shots, then sprinted up the mast.
Below he could hear more gunfire erupt. Ten feet up, twenty, boots catching in the rigging. He should have stopped to take them off. He was two feet from the crow’s nest when he felt a hot blade of pain sear through the flesh of his thigh. His foot slipped and for a moment he dangled above the distant deck with nothing but his slippery palms clinging to the ropes. He forced his legs to work and sought purchase with the toes of his boots. His right leg was nearly worthless from the gunshot, and he had to pull himself up the last few feet with his arms trembling and his heart pounding in his ears.
Every one of his senses felt as if it was on fire. Definitely better than a winning streak at the tables.
He didn’t stop to rest. He hooked his bad leg in the rigging, ignoring the pain, checked the sight on his rifle, and began picking off anyone in range.
Four million kruge, he told himself as he reloaded and found another enemy in his sights. The mist made visibility poor, but this was the skill that had kept him in the Dregs even after his debts had mounted and it had become clear that Jesper loved the cards more than luck loved him. Four million kruge would erase his debt and land him in clover for a good long while.
He spotted Nina and Matthias trying to make their way onto the pier, but at least ten men were in their way. Kaz seemed to be running in the opposite direction, and Inej was nowhere to be found, though that didn’t mean much when it came to the Wraith. She could be hanging from the sails two feet away from him, and he probably wouldn’t know it.
“Jesper!”
The shout came from far below, and it took a moment for Jesper to realise it was Wylan calling to him. He tried to ignore him, taking aim again.
“Jesper!”
I’m going to kill that little idiot. “What do you want?” he shouted down.
“Close your eyes!”
“You can’t kiss me from down there, Wylan.”
“Just do it!”
“This better be good!” He shut his eyes.
“Are they closed?”
“Damn it, Wylan, yes, they’re—”
There was a shrill, shrieking howl, and then bright light bloomed behind Jesper ’s lids. When it faded, he opened his eyes.
Below, he saw men blundering around, rendered blind by the flash bomb Wylan had set off. But Jesper could see perfectly. Not bad for a mercher’s kid, he thought to himself, and opened fire.
Before Inej had ever set foot on the high wire or even a practice rope, her father had taught her to fall – to protect her head and minimise the impact by not fighting her own momentum. Even as the blast from the harbour lifted her off her feet, she was tucking into a roll. She hit hard, but she was up in seconds, pressed against the side of a crate, her ears ringing, her nose singed by the sharp scent of gunpowder.
Inej spared Kaz and the others a single glance, then did what she did best – she vanished. She launched herself up the cargo crates, scaling them like a nimble insect, her rubber-soled feet finding grips and footholds.
The view from above was disturbing. The Dregs were outnumbered, and there were men working
their way around their left and right flanks. Kaz had been right to keep their real point of departure a secret from the others. Someone had talked. Inej had tried to keep tabs on the team, but someone else in the gang could have been snooping. Kaz had said it himself: Everything in Ketterdam leaked, including the Slat and the Crow Club.
Someone was firing down from the masts of the new Ferolind. Hopefully, that meant Jesper had made it to the schooner, and she just had to buy the others enough time to make it there as well.