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 harbours 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 colours. Soon, they were in the cold waters of the north, moving into the Isenvee.
Jesper prowled the deck, climbed the rigging, tried to get the crew to play cards with him, cleaned his guns. He missed land and good food and better lager. He missed the city. If he’d wanted wide open spaces and silence, he would have stayed on the frontier and become the farmer his father had hoped for. There was little to do on the ship but study the layout of the Ice Court, listen to Matthias grumbling, and annoy Wylan, who could always be found labouring over his attempts to reconstruct the possible mechanisms of the ringwall gates.
Kaz had been impressed with the sketches.
“You think like a lockpick,” he’d told Wylan.
“I do not.”
“I mean you can see space along three axes.”
“I’m not a criminal,” Wylan protested.
Kaz had cast him an almost pitying look. “No, you’re a flautist who fell in with bad company.”
Jesper sat down next to Wylan. “Just learn to take a compliment. Kaz doesn’t hand them out often.”
“It’s not a compliment. I’m nothing like him. I don’t belong here.”
“No arguments from me.”
“And you don’t belong here, either.”
“I beg your pardon, merchling?”
“We don’t need a sharpshooter for Kaz’s plan, so what’s your job – other than stalking around making everyone antsy?”
He shrugged. “Kaz trusts me.”
Wylan snorted and picked up his pen. “Sure about that?”
Jesper shifted uncomfortably. Of course he wasn’t sure about it. He spent far too much of his time guessing at Kaz Brekker ’s thoughts. And if he had earned some small part of Kaz’s trust, did he
deserve it?
He tapped his thumbs against his revolvers and said, “When the bullets start flying, you may find I’m nice to have around. Those pretty pictures aren’t going to keep you alive.”
“We need these plans. And in case you’ve forgotten, one of my flash bombs helped get us out of the Ketterdam harbour.”
Jesper blew out a breath. “Brilliant strategy.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“You blinded our guys right along with the Black Tips.”
“It was a calculated risk.”
“It was cross-your-fingers-and-hope-for-the-best. Believe me, I know the difference.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning everyone knows you can’t keep away from a fight or a wager, no matter the odds.”
Jesper squinted up at the sails. “If you aren’t born with every advantage, you learn to take your chances.”
“I wasn’t—” Wylan left off and set down his pen. “Why do you think you know everything about
me?”
“I know plenty, merchling.”
“How nice for you. I feel like I’ll never know enough.”
“About what?”
“About anything,” Wylan muttered.
Against his better judgement, Jesper was intrigued. “Like what?” he pressed.
“Well, like those guns,” he said gesturing to Jesper ’s revolvers. “They have an unusual firing mechanism, don’t they? If I could take them apart—”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Wylan shrugged. “Or what about the ice moat?” he said, tapping the plan of the Ice Court. Matthias had said the moat wasn’t solid, only a slick, wafer-thin layer of ice over frigid water, thoroughly exposed and impossible to cross.
“What about it?”
“Where does all the water come from? The Court is on a hill, so where’s the aquifer or aqueduct to bring the water up?”
“Does it matter? There’s a bridge. We don’t need to cross the ice moat.”
“But aren’t you curious?”
“Saints, no. Get me a system for winning at Three Man Bramble or Makker ’s Wheel. That I’m curious about.”
Wylan had turned back to his work, his disappointment obvious.
For some reason, Jesper felt a little disappointed, too.
Jesper checked on Inej every morning and every night. The idea that the ambush on the docks might simply be the end of her had shaken him. Despite Nina’s efforts, he’d been fairly sure the Wraith wasn’t long for this world.
But one morning, Jesper arrived to find Inej sitting up, clothed in breeches, quilted vest, and hooded tunic.
Nina was bent over, struggling to get the Suli girl’s feet into her strange rubber-soled slippers.
“Inej!” Jesper crowed. “You’re not dead!”
She smiled faintly. “No more than anyone.”
“If you’re spouting depressing Suli wisdom, then you must be feeling better.”
“Don’t just stand there,” Nina groused. “Help me get these things on her feet.”
“If you would just let me—” Inej began.
“Do not bend,” Nina snapped. “Do not leap. Do not move abruptly. If you don’t promise to take it easy, I’ll slow your heart and keep you in a coma until I can be sure you’ve recovered fully.”
“Nina Zenik, as soon as I figure out where you’ve put my knives, we’re going to have words.”