“You was always acting like you’re better than us, Brekker,” shouted Seeger, still holding the tin whistle, and a few of the other Dregs nodded. Per Haskell clapped his hands in encouragement.
And it was true. Kaz had always kept himself at a remove from everyone. They’d wanted camaraderie, friendship, but he had never agreed to play their game, only his own. Maybe this reckoning was inevitable. Inej knew Kaz hadn’t intended to remain Per Haskell’s lieutenant forever. Their triumph at the Ice Court should have made him king of the Barrel, but Van Eck had robbed him of that. The Dregs didn’t know the extraordinary things he’d achieved in the last few weeks, the prize he’d wrested from the Fjerdans, or the haul that might still be within his grasp. He faced them alone, a boy with few allies, a stranger to most of them, despite his brutal reputation.
“You got no friends here!” shouted Bastian.
Along the wall, Anika and the others bristled. Pim shook his shaggy head and crossed his arms.
Kaz lifted one shoulder in the barest shrug. “I didn’t come looking for friends. And I’m not here for the washed-up cadgers and cowards, or the losers who think the Barrel owes them something for managing to stay alive. I came for the killers. The hard ones. The hungry ones. The people like me. This is my gang,” Kaz said, starting down the stairs, cane thumping against the boards, “and I’m done taking orders.”
“Go get your reward, lads!” Haskell shouted. There was a brief pause, and for a moment, Inej hoped that no one would listen, that they’d simply mutiny against Haskell. Then the floodgates opened. Bastian and Seeger were the first to rush the stairs, eager to get their shot at Dirtyhands.
But Seeger was slow from the whiskey, and by the time they’d reached Kaz on the third flight of stairs, they were out of breath. Kaz’s cane whipped out in two slashing arcs, shattering the bones in Seeger’s arms. Instead of engaging Bastian, he slipped past him, uncannily fast despite his bad leg. Before Bastian could turn, Kaz jabbed his cane into the soft space between Bastian’s thigh and his knee. He crumpled with a strangled cry.
Another of Haskell’s lackeys was already rushing to meet him—a bruiser called Teapot for the way he whistled through his nose when he breathed. A blow from Teapot’s bat glanced off Kaz’s shoulder as he bobbed left. He swung his cane and struck the bruiser directly in the jaw with the full weight of the crow’s head. Inej saw what had to be teeth fly from Teapot’s mouth.
Kaz still had the high ground, but he was outnumbered, and now they came in waves. Varian and Swann rushed the third-floor landing, Red Felix on their heels, Milo and Gorka hovering close behind.
Inej clamped her lips together as Kaz took a hit to his bad leg, faltered, barely righted himself in time to dodge a blow from Varian’s chain. It smashed into the banister inches from Kaz’s head, sending splinters of wood flying. Kaz grabbed the chain and used Varian’s momentum to send him hurtling over the broken banister. The crowd surged backward as he struck the entry floor.
Swann and Red Felix came at Kaz from both sides. Red Felix grabbed Kaz’s coat, yanking him backward. Kaz slipped free like a magician escaping a straitjacket in a show on East Stave.
Swann swung his spiked axe handle wildly, and Kaz slammed the head of his cane into the side of Swann’s face. Even from a distance, Inej saw his cheekbone collapse in a bloody crater.
Red Felix pulled a sap from his pocket and batted hard at Kaz’s right hand. The blow was sloppy, but Kaz’s cane clattered to the floor, rolling down the stairs. Beatle, lean as a ferret and with the face of one too, scampered up the steps and seized it, tossing it to Per Haskell as his cronies gave a cheer. Kaz planted his hands on either side of the banister and jammed his boots into Red Felix’s chest, sending him tumbling backward down the stairs.
Kaz’s cane was gone. He spread his gloved hands wide. Again Inej thought of a magician. Nothing up my sleeves.
Three more Dregs leapt past Red Felix and converged on him—Milo, Gorka, reedy Beatle with his odd little face and oily hair. Inej dared to blink and Milo had Kaz against the wall, raining blows against his ribs and face. Kaz wrenched back his head and butted his forehead into Milo’s with a sickening crunch. Milo took a woozy step, and Kaz pressed the advantage.
But there were too many of them, and Kaz was fighting with his fists alone now, blood pouring down one side of his face, lip split, left eye swelling shut. His movements were slowing.
Gorka hooked an arm around Kaz’s throat. Kaz drove an elbow into Gorka’s stomach and broke free. He lurched forward, and Beatle grabbed his shoulder, slamming his cudgel into Kaz’s gut. Kaz doubled over, spitting blood. Gorka struck the side of Kaz’s head with a thick loop of chain. Inej saw Kaz’s eyes roll up in his head. He swayed. And then he was on the ground. The crowd in the entry roared.
Inej was moving before she thought of it. She couldn’t just watch him die, she wouldn’t. They had him down now, heavy boots kicking and stomping at his body. Her knives were in her hands. She’d kill them all. She’d pile the bodies to the rafters for the stadwatch to find.
But in that moment, through the wide slats in the banister landing, she saw his eyes were open. His gaze found hers. He’d known she was there all along. Of course he had. He always knew how to find her. He gave the barest shake of his bloodied head.
She wanted to scream. To hell with your pride, with the Dregs, with this whole wretched city.
Kaz tried to rise. Beatle kicked him back down. They were laughing now. Gorka raised his leg, balancing his big boot above Kaz’s skull, playing to the crowd. Inej saw Pim turn away; Anika and Keeg were bellowing for someone to stop them. Gorka brought his foot down—and screamed, a high-pitched, bobbling squeal.
Kaz was holding Gorka’s boot, and Gorka’s foot was wrenched to the side at an ugly angle. He hopped on one leg, trying to keep his balance, that strange, shrill wail bleating from his mouth in time with his hops. Milo and Beatle kicked Kaz hard in the ribs, but Kaz didn’t flinch. With a strength Inej couldn’t fathom, Kaz jammed Gorka’s leg upward. The big man shrieked as his knee popped free of its socket. He toppled sideways, blubbering, “My leg! My leg!”
“I recommend a cane,” Kaz said.
But all Inej could see was the knife in Milo’s hands, long and gleaming. It looked like the cleanest thing about him.
“Don’t kill him, you podge!” Haskell bellowed, no doubt still thinking of the reward.
But Milo was apparently beyond listening. He raised the knife and plunged it directly at Kaz’s chest. At the last second, Kaz rolled. The knife sank into the floorboards with a loud thunk . Milo grabbed the knife to pry it free but Kaz was already moving, and Inej saw he had two rusty nails tucked between his fingers like claws—he’d somehow plucked them from one of the axe handles. He shot upward and jabbed the nails into Milo’s throat, embedding them in his windpipe. Milo made a faint, choked whistle before he fell.
Kaz used the banister to haul himself to his feet. Beatle held his hands up, as if forgetting he was still in possession of a cudgel and Kaz was unarmed. Kaz grabbed a fistful of Beatle’s hair, yanked back his head, and cracked it against the banister, the sound like a gunshot, the recoil sharp enough that Beatle’s head bounced off the wood like a rubber ball. He slumped in a ferrety little pile.