Crooked Kingdom (48 page)

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.

Kaz wiped a sleeve across his face, smearing blood over his nose and forehead, and spat. He adjusted his gloves, looked down at Per Haskell from the second-story landing, and smiled. His teeth were red and wet. The crowd was far larger than when the fight had begun. He rolled his shoulders. “Who's next?” he asked, as if he might have an appointment elsewhere. “Who's coming?” Inej didn't know how he could keep his voice so steady. “This is what I do all day long. I fight. When was the last time you saw Per Haskell take a punch? Lead a job? Hell, when was the last time you saw him out of his bed before noon?”

“You think we're going to applaud because you can take a beating?” Per Haskell sneered. “It don't make up for the trouble you've caused. Bringing the law down on the Barrel, kidnapping a mercher's son—”

“I told you I had no part in that,” Kaz said.

“Pekka Rollins says otherwise.”

“Good to know you take a Dime Lion's word over one of your own.”

An uneasy murmur passed through the crowd below like a wind rustling the leaves. Your gang was your family, the bond strong as blood.

“You're crazy enough to cross a merch, Brekker.”

“Crazy enough,” conceded Kaz. “But not stupid enough.”

Now some of the Dregs were muttering to one another, as if they'd never considered Van Eck might have trumped up the charges. Of course they hadn't. Van Eck was quality. Why would an upright mercher make such a charge against some canal rat if it wasn't true? And after all, Kaz had gone to great lengths to prove he was capable of anything.

“You were seen on Goedmedbridge with the mercher's wife,” insisted Per Haskell.

“His wife, not his son. His wife who is home safe, beside her thieving husband, knitting booties and talking to her birds. Think for a minute, Haskell. What possible use could I have for a merch's brat?”

“Bribery, ransom—”

“I crossed Van Eck because he crossed me and now he's using the city's henchmen and Pekka Rollins and all of you to even the score. It's that simple.”

“I didn't ask for this trouble, boy. Didn't ask for it and don't want it.”

“You wanted everything else I've brought to your door, Haskell. You'd still be running the same penny-poor cons and drinking watered-down whiskey if it wasn't for me. These walls would be falling down around your head. You've taken every bit of money and luck I've handed you. You ate up the profits from Fifth Harbor and the Crow Club like it was your due, let me do your fighting and your dirty work.” His gaze tracked slowly over the Dregs below. “You all benefited. You reaped the rewards. But first chance you get, you're ready to cozy up to Pekka Rollins for the pleasure of fitting me for a noose.” Another uneasy rustle from the onlookers. “But I'm not angry.”

There had to be twenty Dregs looking up at Kaz, all of them armed, and yet Inej could have sworn she sensed their relief. Then she understood—the fight was just the opening act. They knew Kaz was tough. They didn't need him to prove it. This was about what Kaz needed. To attempt a coup against Per Haskell, he would have had to seek out the Dregs individually, wasting time and risking capture on the streets of the Barrel. Now he had an audience, and Per Haskell had been happy to welcome one and all—a bit of entertainment, the dramatic end of Kaz Brekker, the Humbling of Dirtyhands. But this was no cheap comedy. It was a bloody rite, and Per Haskell had let the congregation gather, never realizing that the real performance had yet to begin. Kaz stood upon his pulpit, wounded, bruised, and ready to preach.

“I'm not angry,” Kaz said again. “Not about that. But you know what makes me mad? What really gets me riled? Seeing a crow taking orders from a Dime Lion. Watching you parade around after Pekka Rollins like it's something to be proud of. One of the deadliest gangs in the Barrel bending like a bunch of new lilies.”

“Rollins has power, boy,” said Per Haskell. “Resources. Lecture me when you've been around a few more years. It's my job to protect this gang, and that's what I did. I kept them safe from your recklessness.”

“You think you're
safe
because you rolled over for Pekka Rollins? You think he'll be happy to honor this truce? That he won't get hungry for what you've got? Does that sound like Pekka Rollins to you?”

“Hell no,” said Anika.

“Who do you want standing in that doorway when the lion gets hungry? A crow? Or a washed-up rooster who squawks and struts, then sides with a Dime Lion and some dirty merch against one of his own?”

From above, Inej could see the people nearest Per Haskell leaning slightly away from him now. A few were taking long looks at him, at the feather in his hat, at the walking sticks in his hands—Kaz's cane that they'd seen wielded with such bloody precision and the fake crow cane Haskell had contrived to mock him.

“In the Barrel, we don't trade in safety,” Kaz said, the abraded burn of his voice carrying over the crowd. “There's only strength and weakness. You don't ask for respect. You earn it.”
You don't ask for forgiveness. You earn it.
He'd stolen her line. She almost smiled. “I'm not your friend,” he said. “I'm not your father. I'm not going to offer you whiskey or clap you on the back and call you son. But I'll keep money in our coffers. I'll keep our enemies scared enough that they'll scurry when they see that tattoo on your arm. So who do you want in that doorway when Pekka Rollins comes to call?”

The silence swelled, a tick feeding on the prospect of violence.

“Well?” Per Haskell blustered, thrusting his chest out. “Answer him. You want your rightful leader or some jumped-up cripple who can't even walk straight?”

“I may not walk straight,” said Kaz. “But at least I don't run from a fight.”

He started down the steps.

Varian had risen from the floor after his fall. Though he didn't look entirely steady on his feet, he moved toward the stairs, and Inej had to respect his loyalty to Haskell.

Pim pushed off from the wall and blocked Varian's path. “You're through,” he said.

“Get Rollins' men,” Per Haskell commanded Varian. “Raise the alarm!” But Anika drew a long knife and stepped in front of the entry door.

“You a Dime Lion?” she asked. “Or are you Dregs?”

Slowly, his limp pronounced but his back straight, Kaz made his way down the final flight of stairs, leaning heavily on the banister. When he reached the bottom, the remaining crowd parted.

Haskell's grizzled face was red with fear and indignation. “You'll never last, boy. Takes more than what you got to get past Pekka Rollins.”

Kaz snatched his cane from Per Haskell's hand.

“You have two minutes to get out of my house, old man. This city's price is blood,” said Kaz, “and I'm happy to pay with yours.”

 

28

J
ESPER

Jesper had never seen Kaz so bloodied and banged up—broken nose, split lip, one eye swollen shut. He was clutching his side in a way that made Jesper think at least one of his ribs was broken, and when he coughed into a handkerchief, Jesper saw blood on the white fabric before Kaz shoved it back into his pocket. His limp was worse than ever, but he was still standing, and Anika and Pim were with him. Apparently, they'd left a heavily armed skeleton crew at the Slat in case Pekka got word of Kaz's coup and decided to try to make a territory grab.

“All Saints,” Jesper said. “So I guess that went well?”

“About as well as expected.”

Matthias shook his head in something between admiration and disbelief. “How many lives do you have,
demjin
?”

“One more, I hope.”

Kaz had wriggled out of his coat and managed to yank off his shirt, leaning on the sink in the bathroom.

“For Saints' sake, let us help you,” said Nina.

Kaz gripped the end of a bandage in his teeth and tore off a piece. “I don't need your help. Keep working with Colm.”

“What is
wrong
with him?” Nina grumbled as they went back to the sitting room to drill Colm on his cover story.

“Same thing that's always wrong with him,” said Jesper. “He's Kaz Brekker.”

*   *   *

A little more than an hour later, Inej had slipped into the room and handed Kaz a note. It was late afternoon and the windows of the suite were ablaze with buttery gold light.

“Are they coming?” asked Nina.

Inej nodded. “I gave your letter to the guard at the door, and it did the trick. They brought me directly to two members of the Triumvirate.”

“Who did you meet with?” said Kaz.

“Genya Safin and Zoya Nazyalensky.”

Wylan sat forward. “The Tailor? She's at the embassy?”

Kaz raised a brow. “What an interesting fact to forget to mention, Nina.”

“It wasn't relevant at the time.”

“Of course it's relevant!” Wylan said angrily. Jesper was a little surprised. Wylan hadn't seemed to mind wearing Kuwei's features at first. He'd almost seemed to welcome the distance it gave him from his father. But that had been before they'd gone to Saint Hilde. And before Jesper had kissed Kuwei.

Nina winced slightly. “Wylan, I thought you were coming to Ravka. You would have been able to meet Genya as soon as we were on the boat.”

“We all know where Nina's loyalties lie,” said Kaz.

“I didn't tell the Triumvirate about Kuwei.”

A faint smile touched Kaz's lips. “Like I said.” He turned to Inej. “Did you state our terms?”

“Yes, they'll be at the hotel baths in an hour. I told them to make sure no one saw them enter.”

“Let's hope they can handle it,” said Kaz.

“They can run a country,” said Nina. “They can manage a few simple instructions.”