Six of Crows

by Leigh Bardugo

  The others watched him with some concern.

  “Just how crazy is he?” asked Jesper, fingers drumming on the pearl handles of his revolvers.

  Brekker shrugged. “He’s not what I’d call reliable, but he’s all we’ve got.”

  Two months. Probably in some cozy prison where she’d charm every guard into bringing her fresh bread and fluffing her pillows. Or maybe she’d just talk them into letting her pay a fine that her rich Grisha keepers back in Ravka could cover for her.

  “She can’t be trusted, you know,” he said to Brekker. “Whatever secrets you hope to gain from Bo Yul-Bayur, she’ll turn them over to Ravka.”

  “Let me worry about that, Helvar. You do your part, and the secrets of Yul-Bayur and jurda parem will be in the hands of the people best equipped to make sure they stay rumors.”

  Two months. Nina would serve her time and return to Ravka four million kruge richer, never giving him another thought. But if this pardon was real, then he could go home, too.

  Home. He’d imagined breaking out of Hellgate plenty of times, but he’d never really put his mind to the idea of escape. What life was there for him on the outside, with the charge of slaver hanging around his neck? He could never return to Fjerda. Even if he could have borne the disgrace, he’d have lived each day as a fugitive from the Kerch government, a marked man. He knew he could eke out a life for himself in Novyi Zem, but what would have been the point?

  This was something different. If the demon Brekker spoke the truth, Matthias would get to go home. The longing for it twisted in his chest—to hear his language spoken, to see his friends again, taste semla filled with sweet almond paste, feel the bite of the northern wind as it came roaring over the ice. To return home and be welcomed there without the burden of dishonor. With his name cleared, he could return to his life as a drüskelle. And the price would be treason.

  “What if Bo Yul-Bayur is dead?” he asked Brekker.

  “Van Eck insists he isn’t.”

  But how could the merchant Kaz spoke of truly understand Fjerdan ways? If there hadn’t been a trial yet, there would be, and Matthias could easily predict the outcome. His people would never free a man with such terrible knowledge.

  “But what if he is, Brekker?”

  “You still get your pardon.”

  Even if their quarry was already on his way to the afterlife, Matthias would have his freedom. At what cost, though? He’d made mistakes before. He’d been foolish enough to trust Nina. He’d been weak, and he would carry that shame for the rest of his life. But he’d paid for his stupidity in blood and misery and the stink of Hellgate. And his crimes had been meager things, the actions of a naive boy. This was so much worse. To reveal the secrets of the Ice Court, to see his homeland once more only to know that every step he took there was an act of treason—could he do such a thing?

  Brum would have laughed in their faces, torn that pardon to pieces. But Kaz Brekker was smart. He clearly had resources. What if Matthias said no and against all odds Brekker and his crew still found their way into the Ice Court and stole the Shu scientist? Or what if Brekker was right and another country got there first? It sounded like parem was too addictive to be useful to Grisha, but what if the formula fell into Ravkan hands, and they somehow managed to adapt it? To make Ravka’s Grisha, its Second Army, even stronger? If he was part of this mission, Matthias could make sure Bo Yul-Bayur never took another breath outside the Ice Court’s walls, or he could arrange for some kind of accident on the trip back to Kerch.

  Before Nina, before Hellgate, he never would have considered it. Now he found he could make this bargain with himself. He would join the demon’s crew, earn his pardon, and when he was a drüskelle once more, Nina Zenik would be his first target. He’d hunt her in Kerch, in Ravka, whatever hole or corner of the world she thought would keep her safe. He would run Nina Zenik to ground and make her pay in every way imaginable. Death would be too good. He’d have her thrown into the most miserable cell in the Ice Court, where she’d never be warm again. He’d toy with her as she’d toyed with him. He’d offer her salvation and then deny it. He’d gift her with affection and small kindnesses then snatch them away. He would savor every tear she shed and replace that sweet green flower scent with the salt of her sorrow on his tongue.

  Even so, the words were bitter in Matthias’ mouth when he said, “I’ll do it.”

  Brekker winked at Nina, and Matthias wanted to knock his teeth in. When I’ve dealt Nina her life’s share of misery, I’ll come for you. He’d caught witches; how different could it be to slay a demon?

  The bronze girl folded up the document and handed it to Brekker, who slipped it into his breast pocket. Matthias felt like he was watching an old friend, one he’d never hoped to see again, vanish into a crowd, and he was powerless to call out.

  “We’re going to untie you,” said Brekker. “I hope prison hasn’t robbed you of all your manners or good sense.”

  Matthias nodded, and the bronze girl took a knife to the ropes binding him. “I believe you know Nina,” Brekker continued. “The lovely girl freeing you is Inej, our thief of secrets and the best in the trade. Jesper Fahey is our sharpshooter, Zemeni-born but try not to hold it against him, and this is Wylan, best demolitions expert in the Barrel.”

  “Raske is better,” Inej said.

  The boy looked up, ruddy gold hair flopping in his eyes, and spoke for the first time. “He’s not better. He’s reckless.”

  “He knows his trade.”

  “So do I.”

  “Barely,” Jesper said.

  “Wylan is new to the scene,” admitted Brekker.

  “Of course he’s new, he looks like he’s about twelve,” retorted Matthias.

  “I’m sixteen,” said Wylan sullenly.

  Matthias doubted that. Fifteen at the most. The boy didn’t even look like he’d started shaving. In fact, at eighteen, Matthias suspected that he was the oldest of the bunch. Brekker’s eyes were ancient, but he couldn’t be any older than Matthias.

  For the first time, Matthias really looked at the people around him. What kind of team is this for a mission so perilous? Treason wouldn’t be an issue if they were all dead. And only he knew exactly how treacherous this endeavor might prove.

  “We should be using Raske,” Jesper said. “He’s good under pressure.”

  “I don’t like it,” agreed Inej.

  “I didn’t ask,” said Kaz. “Besides, Wylan isn’t just good with the flint and fuss. He’s our insurance.”

  “Against what?” asked Nina.

  “Meet Wylan Van Eck,” said Kaz Brekker as the boy’s cheeks flooded crimson. “Jan Van Eck’s son and our guarantee on thirty million kruge.”

  8

  JESPER

  Jesper stared at Wylan. “Of course you’re a Councilman’s kid.” He burst out laughing. “That explains everything.”

  He knew he should be angry at Kaz for holding back yet another vital piece of information, but right now, he was just enjoying watching the little revelation of Wylan Van Eck’s identity go careening around the room like an ornery colt kicking up dust.

  Wylan was red-faced and mortified. Nina looked stunned and irritated. The Fjerdan just seemed confused. Kaz appeared utterly pleased with himself. And, of course, Inej didn’t look remotely surprised. She gathered Kaz’s secrets and kept them as well. Jesper tried to ignore the pang of jealousy he felt at that.

  Wylan’s mouth opened and closed, his throat working. “You knew?” he asked Kaz miserably.

  Kaz leaned back in his chair, one knee bent, his bad leg stretched out before him. “Why do you think I’ve been keeping you around?”

  “I’m good at demo.”

  “You’re passable at demo. You’re excellent at hostage.”

  That was cruel, but that was Kaz. And the Barrel was a far rougher teacher than Kaz could ever be. At least this explained why Kaz had been coddling Wylan and sending jobs his way.

  “It doesn’t matter,” sai
d Jesper. “We should still take Raske and leave this baby merch on lockdown in Ketterdam.”

  “I don’t trust Raske.”

  “And you trust Wylan Van Eck?” Jesper said incredulously.

  “Wylan doesn’t know enough people to cause us real trouble.”

  “Don’t I have some say in this?” complained Wylan. “I’m sitting right here.”

  Kaz raised a brow. “Ever had your pocket picked, Wylan?”

  “I … not that I know of.”

  “Been mugged in an alley?”

  “No.”

  “Hung over the side of a bridge with your head in the canal?”

  Wylan blinked. “No, but—”

  “Ever been beaten until you can’t walk?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “I—”

  “It’s been three months since you left your daddy’s mansion on the Geldstraat. Why do you suppose your sojourn in the Barrel has been so blessed?”

  “Lucky, I guess?” Wylan suggested weakly.

  Jesper snorted. “Kaz is your luck, merchling. He’s had you under Dregs protection—though you’re so useless, up until this minute none of us could figure out why.”

  “It was perplexing,” Nina admitted.

  “Kaz always has his reasons,” murmured Inej.

  “Why did you move out of your father’s house?” Jesper asked.

  “It was time,” Wylan said tightly.

  “Idealist? Romantic? Revolutionary?”

  “Idiot?” suggested Nina. “No one chooses to live in the Barrel if he has another option.”

  “I’m not useless,” Wylan said.

  “Raske is the better demo man—” Inej began.

  “I’ve been to the Ice Court. With my father. We went to an embassy dinner. I can help with the plans.”

  “See that? Hidden depths.” Kaz tapped his gloved fingers over the crow’s head of his cane. “And I don’t want our only leverage against Van Eck cooling his heels in Ketterdam while we head north. Wylan goes with us. He’s good enough at demo, and he’s got a fine hand for sketching, thanks to all those pricey tutors.”

  Wylan blushed deeper, and Jesper shook his head. “Play piano, too?”

  “Flute,” said Wylan defensively.

  “Perfect.”

  “And since Wylan has seen the Ice Court with his very own eyes,” Kaz continued, “he can help keep you honest, Helvar.”

  The Fjerdan scowled furiously, and Wylan looked a little ill.

  “Don’t worry,” Nina said. “The glower isn’t lethal.”

  Jesper noted the way Matthias’ shoulders bunched every time Nina talked. He didn’t know what history they were chewing on, but they’d probably kill each other before they ever got to Fjerda.

  Jesper rubbed his eyes. He was low on sleep and exhausted after the excitement of the prison break, and now his thoughts were buzzing and jumping at the possibility of thirty million kruge. Even after Per Haskell got his twenty percent, that would leave four million for each of them. What could he do with a pile of scratch that big? Jesper could just imagine his father saying, Land yourself in a pile of shit twice as big. Saints, he missed him.

  Kaz tapped his cane on the polished wood floor.

  “Take out your pen and proper paper, Wylan. Let’s put Helvar to work.”

  Wylan reached into the satchel at his feet and pulled out a slender roll of butcher’s paper followed by a metal case that held an expensive-looking pen and ink set.

  “How nice,” Jesper noted. “A nib for every occasion.”

  “Start talking,” Kaz said to the Fjerdan. “It’s time to pay the rent.”

  Matthias directed his furious gaze at Kaz. Definitely a mighty glower. It was almost fun to watch him pit it against Kaz’s sharklike stare.

  Finally, the Fjerdan shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “The Ice Court is on a bluff overlooking the harbor at Djerholm. It’s built in concentric circles, like the rings of a tree.” The words came slowly, as if speaking each one was causing him pain. “First, the ringwall, then the outer circle. It’s divided into three sectors. Beyond that is the ice moat, then at the center of everything, the White Island.”

  Wylan began to sketch. Jesper peered over Wylan’s shoulder. “That doesn’t look like a tree, it looks like a cake.”

  “Well, it is sort of like a cake,” Wylan said defensively. “The whole thing is built on a rise.”

  Kaz gestured for Matthias to continue.

  “The cliffs are unscalable, and the northern road is the only way in or out. You’ll have to get through a guarded checkpoint before you even reach the ringwall.”

  “Two checkpoints,” said Wylan. “When I was there, there were two.”

  “There you have it,” Kaz said to Jesper. “Marketable skills. Wylan is watching you, Helvar.”

  “Why two checkpoints?” Inej asked.

  Matthias stared at the black walnut slats of the floor and said, “It’s harder to bribe two sets of guards. The security at the Court is always built with multiple fail-safes. If you make it that far—”

  “We, Helvar. If we make it that far,” corrected Kaz.

  The Fjerdan gave the barest shrug. “If we make it that far, the outer circle is split into three sectors: the prison, the drüskelle facilities, and the embassy, each with its own gate in the ringwall. The prison gate is always functioning, but it’s kept under constant armed surveillance. Of the two others, only one is ever operational at any given time.”

  “What determines which gate is used?” asked Jesper.

  “The schedule changes each week, and guards are only given their postings the night before.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” said Jesper. “If we can figure out which gate isn’t running, it won’t be manned or guarded—”

  “There are always at least four guards on duty even when the gate isn’t in use.”

  “Pretty sure we can handle four guards.”

  Matthias shook his head. “The gates weigh thousands of pounds and can only be operated from within the guardhouses. And even if you could raise one of them, opening a gate that isn’t scheduled for use would trigger Black Protocol. The entire Court would go on lockdown, and you’d give away your location.”

  A ripple of unease passed through the room. Jesper shifted uncomfortably. If the expressions on the others’ faces were any indication, they were all having the same thought: Just what are we getting into? Only Kaz seemed unfazed.

  “Put it all down,” Kaz said, tapping the paper. “Helvar, I expect you to describe the mechanics of the alarm system to Wylan later.”

  Matthias frowned. “I don’t really know how it works. It’s some kind of series of cables and bells.”

  “Tell him all you know. Where will they be keeping Bo Yul-Bayur?”

  Slowly, Matthias rose and approached the plans taking shape beneath Wylan’s pen. His movements were reluctant, as wary as if Kaz had told him to pet a rattler.

  “Probably here,” the Fjerdan said, resting his finger on the paper. “The prison sector. The high-security cells are on the topmost floor. It’s where they keep the most dangerous criminals. Assassins, terrorists—”

  “Grisha?” Nina asked.

  “Exactly,” he replied grimly.

  “You guys are going to make this really fun, aren’t you?” asked Jesper. “Usually people don’t start hating each other until a week into the job, but you two have a head start.”

  They cast him twin glares, and Jesper beamed back at them, but Kaz’s attention was focused on the plans.

  “Bo Yul-Bayur isn’t dangerous,” he said thoughtfully. “At least not in that way. I don’t think they’ll keep him locked up with the rabble.”

  “I think they’ll keep him in a grave,” said Matthias.

  “Operate on the assumption that he isn’t dead. He’s a valued prisoner, one they don’t want falling into the wrong hands before he stands trial. Where would he be?”
r />   Matthias looked at the plan. “The buildings of the outer circle surround the ice moat, and at the moat’s center is the White Island, where the treasury and the Royal Palace are. It’s the most secure place in the Ice Court.”

  “Then that’s where Bo Yul-Bayur will be,” said Kaz.

  Matthias smiled. Actually, it was less a smile than a baring of teeth. He learned that grin at Hellgate, thought Jesper.

  “Then your quest is pointless,” Matthias said. “There is no way a group of foreigners is going to make it to the White Island.”

  “Don’t look so pleased, Helvar. We don’t get inside, you don’t get your pardon.”

  Matthias shrugged. “I can’t change what is true. The ice moat is watched from multiple guard towers on the White Island and a lookout atop the Elderclock. It’s completely uncrossable except by way of the glass bridge, and there’s no way onto the glass bridge without clearance.”

  “Hringkälla is coming,” Nina said.

  “Be silent,” Matthias snapped at her.

  “Pray, don’t,” said Kaz.

  “Hringkälla. It’s the Day of Listening, when the new drüskelle are initiated on the White Island.”

  Matthias’ knuckles flexed white. “You have no right to speak of those things. They’re holy.”

  “They’re facts. The Fjerdan royals throw a huge party with guests from all over the world, and plenty of the entertainment comes straight from Ketterdam.”

  “Entertainment?” Kaz asked.

  “Actors, dancers, a Komedie Brute troupe, and the best talent from the pleasure houses of West Stave.”

  “I thought Fjerdans didn’t go in for that sort of thing,” said Jesper.

  Inej’s lips quirked. “You’ve never seen Fjerdan soldiers on the Staves?”

  “I meant when they’re at home,” Jesper said.

  “It’s the one day a year they all stop acting so miserable and actually let themselves have a good time,” Nina replied. “Besides, only the drüskelle live like monks.”

  “A good time needn’t involve wine and … and flesh,” Matthias sputtered.

  Nina batted her glossy lashes at him. “You wouldn’t know a good time if it sidled up to you and stuck a lollipop in your mouth.” She looked back at the plans. “The embassy gate will have to be open. Maybe we shouldn’t worry about breaking into the Ice Court. Maybe we should just walk in with the performers.”