“Auctions are held at the Church of Barter, right in front of the altar. What could be more holy? It’s perfect—an enclosed space with multiple points of entry and easy access to a canal.”
Nina shook her head. “Kaz, as soon as Matthias steps on that stage, half the Fjerdan delegation will recognize him, and you’re the most wanted man in Ketterdam. If you show up at that auction, you’ll both be arrested.”
“They can’t touch us until after the auction.”
“And then what?” said Inej.
“There’s going to be one hell of a distraction.”
“There has to be another way,” said Jesper. “What if we tried making a deal with Rollins?”
Wylan pleated the edge of his napkin. “We don’t have anything to offer.”
“No more deals,” said Kaz. “I never should have gone to Rollins in the first place.”
Jesper’s brows rose. “Are you actually admitting you made a mistake?”
“We needed capital,” Kaz said. His eyes slid briefly to Inej. “And I’m not sorry for it, but it wasn’t the right move. The trick to beating Rollins is never sit down at the table with him. He’s the house. He has the resources to play until your luck runs out.”
“All the same,” said Jesper. “If we’re going up against the Kerch government, the gangs of the Barrel, and the Shu—”
“And the Fjerdans,” added Matthias. “And the Zemeni, and the Kaelish, and whoever else shows up when the auction is announced. The embassies are full and we don’t know how far the rumors of parem have reached.”
“We’re going to need help,” said Nina.
“I know,” said Kaz, straightening his sleeves. “That’s why I’m going to the Slat.”
Jesper stopped moving. Inej shook her head. They all stared.
“What are you talking about?” said Nina. “There’s a price on your head. Everyone in the Barrel knows it.”
“You saw Per Haskell and the Dregs down there,” said Jesper. “You think you can talk the old man into propping you up when the whole city is about to come down on you like a sack of bricks? You know he doesn’t have the stones for that.”
“I know,” said Kaz. “But we need a bigger crew for this job.”
“Demjin , this is not a risk worth taking,” said Matthias, surprised to find he actually meant it.
“When this is all over, when Van Eck has been put in his place, when Rollins goes running, and the money is paid, these will still be my streets. I can’t live in a city where I can’t hold up my head.”
“If you have a head to hold up,” said Jesper.
“I’ve taken knives, bullets, and too many punches to count, all for a little piece of this town,” said Kaz. “This is the city I bled for. And if Ketterdam has taught me anything, it’s that you can always bleed a little more.”
Nina reached for Matthias’ hand. “The Grisha are still stuck at the embassy, Kaz. I know you don’t give a damn, but we have to get them out of the city. And Jesper’s father. All of us. No matter who wins the auction, Van Eck and Pekka Rollins aren’t going to just pack up and go home. Neither will the Shu.”
Kaz rose, leaning on his crow’s head cane. “But I know the one thing this city is more frightened of than the Shu, the Fjerdans, and all the gangs of the Barrel put together. And Nina, you’re going to give it to them.”
K az sat in that chair for what felt like hours, answering their questions, letting the pieces of the plan shift into place. He saw the scheme’s final shape in his mind, the steps it would take to get them there, the infinite ways they might falter or be found out. It was a mad, spiky monster of a plan, and that was what it had to be for them to succeed.
Johannus Rietveld. He’d told a kind of truth. Johannus Rietveld had never existed. Kaz had used Jordie’s middle name and their shared family name to create the farmer’s identity years ago.
He wasn’t certain why he’d purchased the farm where he’d grown up or why he’d continued to make trades and acquire property under the Rietveld name. Was Johannus Rietveld meant to be his Jakob Hertzoon? A respectable identity like the one Pekka Rollins had crafted to better dupe gullible pigeons? Or had it been some way of resurrecting the family he’d lost? Did it even matter? Johannus Rietveld existed on paper and in bank rec ords, and Colm Fahey was perfect to play the role.
When the meeting finally broke apart, the coffee had gone cold and it was nearly noon. Despite the bright light streaming through the windows, they would all try to get a few hours’ rest. He could not. We don’t stop. Kaz’s whole body ached with exhaustion. His leg had ceased throbbing and now it just radiated pain.
He knew how damnably stupid he was being, how unlikely it was that he’d return from the Slat. Kaz had spent his life in a series of dodges and feints. Why come at a problem straight on when you could find some other way to approach? There was always an angle, and he was an expert at finding it. Now he was about to go stomping ahead like an ox yoked to a plow. Odds were good he’d end up beaten, bloodied, and dragged through the Barrel straight to Pekka Rollins’ front stoop. But they’d landed in a trap, and if he had to chew his paw off to get them out of it, then that was what he would do.
First he had to find Inej. She was in the suite’s lavish white-and-gold bathroom, seated at a vanity table, cutting fresh bandages from the towels.
He strode past her and removed his coat, tossing it onto the sink, beside the basin. “I need your help plotting a route to the Slat.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“You know I have to face them alone,” he said. “They’ll be looking for any sign of weakness, Wraith.” He turned the spigots, and after a few creaking groans, steaming water poured from the tap. Maybe when he was rolling in kruge he’d have running hot water installed in the Slat. “But I can’t approach at street level.”
“You shouldn’t approach at all.”
He stripped off his gloves and dunked his hands in the water, then splashed it over his face, running his fingers through his hair. “Talk me through the best route or I’ll find my own way there.”
He would have preferred to walk instead of climb. Hell, he’d have preferred to be driven there in a carriage-and-four. But if he tried to make it through the Barrel on the streets, he’d be captured before he got anywhere near the Slat. Besides, if he had any chance of making this work, he needed the high ground.
He dug in his coat pockets and held up the tourist map of Ketterdam he’d found in the suite’s parlor. It didn’t have as much detail as he would have liked, but their real maps of the city had been left on Black Veil.
They laid the map beside the basin and bent to the task as Inej drew a line through the rooftops, describing the best places to cross the canals.
At one point she tapped the map. “This way is faster, but it’s steeper.”
“I’ll take the long way,” said Kaz. He wanted his mind on the fight ahead and avoiding notice, not on the chance he was going to tumble to his death.
When he was satisfied he could follow the route from memory, he tucked the map away and took another paper from his pocket. It bore the pale green seal of the Gemensbank. He handed it to her.
“What is this?” she asked, her eyes scanning the page. “It’s not …” She ran her fingertips over the words as if expecting them to vanish. “My contract,” she whispered.
“I don’t want you beholden to Per Haskell. Or me.” Another half-truth. His mind had concocted a hundred schemes to bind her to him, to keep her in this city. But she’d spent enough of her life caged by debts and obligations, and it would be better for them both when she was gone.
“How?” she said. “The money—”
“It’s done.” He’d liquidated every asset he had, used the last of the savings he’d accrued, every ill-gotten cent.
She pressed the envelope to her chest, above her heart. “I have no words to thank you for this.”
“Surely the Suli have a thousand proverbs for such an occasion?”
“Words have not been invented for such an occasion.”
“If I end up on the gallows, you can say something nice over the corpse,” he said. “Wait until six bells. If I’m not back, try to get everyone out of the city.”