There were plenty of music halls and theaters in the Barrel. Could she be so close to home? Or maybe in one of the respectable opera houses of the Lid?
She moved slowly, hands out before her until she reached a wall at what she thought was the back of the theater. She groped along it, seeking a door, a window, even another vent. Finally, her fingers hooked over a door frame and her hands wrapped around the knob. It wouldn’t budge. Locked. She gave it a tentative rattle.
The room flooded with light. Inej shrank back against the door, squinting in the sudden brightness.
“If you wanted a tour, Miss Ghafa, you might simply have asked,” said Jan Van Eck.
He stood on the stage of the decrepit theater, his black mercher’s suit cut in severe lines. The theater’s green velvet seats were moth-eaten. The curtains bracketing the stage hung in shreds. No one had bothered to take down the set from the last play. It looked like a child’s terrified vision of a surgeon’s operating room, oversized saws and mallets hanging from the walls. Inej recognized it as the set for The Madman and the Doctor , one of the short plays from the Komedie Brute.
Guards were stationed around the room, and Bajan stood beside Van Eck, wringing his elegant hands. Had the vent been left open to tempt her? Had Van Eck been toying with her all along?
“Bring her here,” Van Eck told the guards.
Inej didn’t hesitate. She sprang onto the narrow back of the nearest theater seat, then raced toward the stage, leaping from row to row as the guards tried to scramble over the seats. She vaulted onto the stage, past a startled Van Eck, neatly skirting two more guards, and seized one of the stage ropes, shinnying up its length, praying it would hold her weight until she made it to the top. She could hide in the rafters, find a way to the roof.
“Cut her down!” Van Eck called, his voice calm.
Inej climbed higher, faster. But seconds later she saw a face above her. One of Van Eck’s guards, a knife in his hand. He slashed through the rope.
It gave way and Inej fell to the floor, softening her knees to take the impact. Before she could right herself, three guards were on her, holding her in place.
“Really, Miss Ghafa,” Van Eck chided. “We’re well aware of your gifts. Did you think I wouldn’t take precautions?” He did not wait for an answer. “You are not going to find your way out of this without my help or Mister Brekker’s. As he does not seem to be making an appearance, perhaps you should consider a change in alliance.”
Inej said nothing.
Van Eck tucked his hands behind his back. It was strange to look at him and see the ghost of Wylan’s face. “The city is awash in rumors of parem . A delegation of Fjerdan drüskelle has arrived in the embassy sector. Today the Shu sailed two warships into Third Harbor. I gave Brekker seven days to broker a trade for your safety, but they are all looking for Kuwei Yul-Bo, and it is imperative that I get him out of the city before they find him.”
Two Shu warships. That was what had changed. Van Eck was out of time. Had Bajan known it or simply sensed the difference in his master’s mood?
“I had hoped Bajan might prove good for something other than bettering my wife’s talent at the pianoforte,” Van Eck continued. “But it seems you and I must now come to an arrangement. Where is Kaz Brekker keeping the boy?”
“How could I possibly know that?”
“You must know the locations of the Dregs’ safe houses. Brekker does nothing without preparation. He’ll have warrens to hide in all over the city.”
“If you know him so well, then you know he’d never keep Kuwei somewhere that I could lead you to him.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I can’t help what you do or don’t believe. Your Shu scientist is probably long gone already.”
“Word would have reached me. My spies are everywhere.”
“Clearly not everywhere.”
Bajan’s lips quirked.
Van Eck shook his head wearily. “Get her on the table.”
Inej knew it was pointless to struggle, but she did anyway. It was fight or give in to the terror that rushed through her as the guards hefted her onto the table and pinned down her limbs. Now she saw one of the prop tables was set with instruments that looked nothing like the oversized mallets and saws hanging from the walls. They were real surgeon’s tools. Scalpels and saws and clamps that gleamed with sinister intent.
“You are the Wraith , Miss Ghafa, legend of the Barrel. You’ve gathered the secrets of judges, councilmen, thieves, and killers alike. I doubt there is anything in this city you do not know. You will tell me the locations of Mister Brekker’s safe houses now.”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
Van Eck sighed. “Remember that I have tried to treat you with civility.” He turned to one of the guards, a heavyset man with a sharp blade of a nose. “I’d prefer this didn’t go on too long. Do what you think is best.”
The guard let his hand hover over the table of instruments as if deciding which cruelty would be most efficient. Inej felt her courage wobble, her breath coming in panicked gasps. When fear arrives, something is about to happen.
Bajan leaned over her, face pale, eyes full of concern. “Please tell him. Surely Brekker isn’t worth being scarred or maimed? Tell him what you know.”
“All I know is that men like you don’t deserve the air they breathe.”
Bajan looked stung. “I’ve been nothing but kind to you. I’m not some sort of monster.”
“No, you’re the man who sits idly by, congratulating yourself on your decency, while the monster eats his fill. At least a monster has teeth and a spine.”
“That isn’t fair!”
Inej couldn’t believe the softness of this creature, that he would bid for her approval in this moment. “If you still believe in fairness, then you’ve led a very lucky life. Get out of the monster’s way, Bajan. Let’s get this over with.” The blade-nosed guard stepped forward; something gleamed in his hand. Inej reached for a place of stillness inside of herself, the place that had allowed her to endure a year at the Menagerie, a year of nights marked by pain and humiliation, of days counted in beatings and worse. “Go on,” she urged, and her voice was steel.
“Wait,” said Van Eck. He was studying Inej as if he were reading a ledger, trying to make the figures line up. He cocked his head to one side and said, “Break her legs.”
Inej felt her courage fracture. She began to thrash, trying to get free of the guards’ hold.
“Ah,” said Van Eck. “That’s what I thought.”
The blade-nosed guard selected a heavy length of pipe.
“No,” said Van Eck. “I don’t want it to be a clean break. Use the mallet. Shatter the bone.” His face hovered above her, his eyes a bright, clear blue—Wylan’s eyes, but devoid of any of Wylan’s kindness. “No one will be able to put you back together again, Miss Ghafa. Maybe you can earn your way out of your contract by begging for pennies on East Stave and then crawl home to the Slat every night, assuming Brekker still gives you a room there.”
“Don’t.” She didn’t know if she was pleading with Van Eck or herself. She didn’t know who she hated more in this moment.
The guard took up a steel mallet.
Inej writhed on the table, her body coated in sweat. She could smell her own fear. “Don’t,” she repeated. “Don’t.”
The blade-nosed guard tested the mallet’s weight in his hands. Van Eck nodded. The guard lifted it in a smooth arc.
Inej watched the mallet rise and reach its apex, light glinting off its wide head, the flat face of a dead moon. She heard the crackle of the campfire, thought of her mother’s hair twined with persimmon silk.
“He’ll never trade if you break me!” she screamed, the words tearing loose from some deep place inside her, her voice raw and undefended. “I’ll be no use to him anymore!”
Van Eck held up a hand. The mallet fell.