“It’s a law of systems,” Wylan murmured. “You build in safeguards for failures, but something in the safeguards ends up causing an unforeseen failure.”
“Van Eck’s move won’t be elegant, but it will be unpredictable, so we need to be prepared.”
“How do we prepare for the unpredictable?” Wylan asked.
“We broaden our options. We keep every possible avenue of escape open. Rooftops, streets and alleys, waterways. There’s no chance Van Eck is going to let us just stroll off that bridge.”
Jesper had seen trouble coming a ways off when he’d spotted the groups of stadwatch headed for the bridge. It could just be a rousting. That happened once or twice a year in the Staves, the Merchant Council’s way of showing the gamblers, procurers, and performers that no matter how much money they poured into the city coffers, the government was still in charge.
He had signaled Matthias and waited. Kaz had been clear: “Van Eck won’t act until he has Alys back and out of harm’s way. That’s when we need to keep sharp.”
And sure enough, once Alys and Inej had traded places, some kind of ruckus had started on the bridge. Jesper’s trigger finger itched, but his second job had been simple too: Watch Kaz for the sign.
Seconds later, Kaz’s cane shot into the air, and he and Inej were hurtling over the bridge railing. Jesper struck a match and one, two, three, four, five of the rockets Wylan had prepared were screaming toward the sky, exploding in crackling bursts of color. The last was a shimmer of pink. Strontium chloride, Wylan had told him, working away on his collection of fireworks and explosives, flash bombs, weevils, and whatever else was needed. In the dark, it burns red.
Things are always more interesting in the dark, Jesper had replied. He hadn’t been able to help it. Really, if the merchling was going to offer those kinds of opportunities, he had a duty to take them.
The first batch of fireworks was a signal to the Mister Crimsons whom Nina and Matthias had recruited last night—or very early this morning—offering free food and wine to anyone who came to Goedmedbridge when the fireworks went off just after noon. All a big promotion for the nonexistent Crimson Cutlass. Knowing only a fraction of the people would actually show up, they’d given away more than two hundred costumes and bags of fake coins. “If we get fifty, it will be enough,” said Kaz.
Never underestimate the public’s desire to get something for nothing. Jesper figured there had to be at least one hundred Mister Crimsons flooding the bridge and the Stave, singing the chant that accompanied his entrance in any of the Komedie Brute plays, tossing coins into the air. Sometimes the coins were real. It was why he was a crowd favorite. People were laughing, whirling each other around, grabbing for coins, chasing after the Mister Crimsons as the stadwatch tried in vain to keep order. It was glorious. Jesper knew the money was fake, but he would have loved to be down there scrambling for silver anyway.
He had to keep still a little while longer. If the bombs Wylan had planted in the canal didn’t go off when they were supposed to, Kaz and Inej were going to need a lot more cover to get off the flower seller’s boat.
A series of glittering booms exploded across the sky. Matthias had released the second batch of fireworks. These weren’t a signal; they were camouflage.
Far below, Jesper saw two huge gouts of water spurt up from the canal as Wylan detonated his water mines. Right on time, merchling.
Now he stowed his rifle beneath his Mister Crimson cloak and descended the stairs, stopping only to join Nina as they raced out of the hotel. They’d marked each of their red-and-white masks with a large black tear to make sure they’d be able to tell one another apart from the other revelers, but in the midst of the melee, Jesper wondered if they should have chosen something more conspicuous.
As they sped across the bridge, Jesper thought he spotted Matthias and Wylan in their red capes, tossing coins as they steadily made their way off the Stave. If they started running, it might draw stadwatch attention. Jesper struggled not to laugh. That was definitely Matthias and Wylan. Matthias was hurling the money with way too much force and Wylan with way too much enthusiasm. The kid’s throwing arm needed serious work. He looked like he was actively trying to dislocate his shoulder.
From here, they’d go separate directions, each through a different alley or canal that led off the Stave, discarding their Mister Crimson costumes for other Komedie Brute characters and disguises. They were to wait for sunset before they returned to Black Veil.
Plenty of time to get into trouble.
Jesper could feel the pull of East Stave. He could wend his way there, find a card game, spend a few hours at Three Man Bramble. Kaz wouldn’t like it. Jesper was too well known. It was one thing to play at the Cumulus in a private parlor as part of a job. This would be something different. Kaz had vanished with promises of a huge haul and several valued members of the Dregs. People were speculating wildly about where he’d gone and Rotty had said Per Haskell was looking for all of them. Stadwatch officers would probably be visiting the Slat tonight to ask a lot of uncomfortable questions, and there was Pekka Rollins to worry about too. Just a couple of hands, Jesper promised himself, enough to scratch the itch. Then I’ll go visit Da.
Jesper’s stomach turned at that. He wasn’t ready to face his father alone just yet, to tell him the truth of all this madness. Suddenly the need to be at the tables was overwhelming. To hell with not running. Since Kaz hadn’t obliged him with something to shoot at, Jesper needed a pair of dice and long odds to clear his mind.
That was when the world went white.
The sound was something between a thunderbolt and a lightning crack. It lifted Jesper off his feet, sent him sprawling as a roaring whoosh filled his ears. He was suddenly lost in a storm of white smoke and dust that clogged his lungs. He coughed, and whatever he’d inhaled grated against the lining of his throat as if the air had turned to finely powdered glass. His eyelids were coated in grit and he fought not to rub at them, blinking rapidly, trying to dislodge bits of debris.
He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, gasping for air, head ringing. Another Mister Crimson lay on the ground beside him, a black tear painted onto his red lacquer cheek. Jesper dislodged the mask. Nina’s eyes were closed and blood ran from her temple. He shook her shoulder.
“Nina!” he shouted above the screams and wailing around him.
Her eyelids fluttered and she drew a sharp breath, then started coughing as she sat up.
“What was that? What happened?”
“I don’t know,” said Jesper. “But someone other than Wylan is setting off bombs. Look.”
A huge black hole gaped in the front of the House of the White Rose. A bed hung precariously from the second floor, ready to collapse into the lobby. The rose vines that climbed the front of the house had caught fire, and a heavy perfume had risen in the air. From somewhere inside, they could hear shouting.
“Oh, Saints, I have to help them,” Nina said, and Jesper’s addled mind remembered that she’d worked at the White Rose for the better part of a year. “Where’s Matthias?” she asked, eyes searching the crowd. “Where’s Wylan? If this is one of Kaz’s surprises—”
“I don’t think—” Jesper began. Then another boom shook the cobblestones. They flattened themselves on the ground, arms thrown over their heads.
“What in the name of every Saint who suffered is going on?” Nina yelled in fear and exasperation. People were shrieking and running all around them, trying to find some kind of shelter. She pulled herself to her feet and peered south down the canal toward the plume of smoke rising from another of the pleasure houses.
“Is it the Willow Switch?”
“No,” said Nina, an expression of horror dawning on her face as she came to some realization Jesper didn’t understand. “It’s the Anvil.”
As she said it, a shape shot skyward from the hole in the side of what had been the Anvil. It soared toward them in a blur. “Grisha,” said Jesper. “They must have parem.”
But as the shape zoomed overhead and they twisted their necks to follow its progress, Jesper saw he was very wrong. Or he’d completely lost his mind. It wasn’t a Squaller flying above them. It was a man with wings—huge, metallic things that moved in a hummingbird whir. He had someone clutched in his arms, a boy screaming in what sounded like Ravkan.
“Did you just see that? Tell me you saw that,” said Jesper.
“It’s Markov,” Nina said, the fear and anger clear on her face. “That’s why they targeted the Anvil.”
“Nina!” Matthias was striding across the bridge, Wylan at his heels. Both of them had their masks shoved atop their heads, but the stadwatch had to have bigger concerns right now. “We have to get out of here,” Matthias said. “If Van Eck—”
But Nina grabbed his arm, “That was Danil Markov. He worked at the Anvil.”
“The guy with wings?” asked Jesper.
“No,” Nina said, shaking her head frantically. “The captive. Markov is an Inferni.” She pointed down the canal. “They hit the Anvil, the House of the White Rose. They’re hunting Grisha. They’re looking for me.”
At that moment, a second winged figure burst from the White Rose. Another boom sounded, and as the lower wall caved in, a huge man and woman strode forward. They had black hair and bronze skin, just like the men with wings.
“Shu,” said Jesper. “What are they doing here? And since when do they fly?”
“Masks down,” said Matthias. “We need to get to safety.”
They slid their masks into place. Jesper felt grateful for the uproar surrounding them. But even as he had the thought, one of the Shu men sniffed the air, a deep inhale. In horror, Jesper watched him turn slowly and lock eyes on them. He barked something to his companions, and then the Shu were headed straight for them.
“Too late,” said Jesper. He tore off his mask and cape and shouldered his rifle. “If they came looking for fun, let’s give them some. I’ll take the flyer!”
Jesper had no intention of getting swept up by some kind of Shu birdboy. He didn’t know where the second flyer had gone and could only hope he was occupied with his Inferni captive. The winged man darted left, right, swooping and zooming like a drunken honeybee. “Stay still, you big bug,” Jesper grunted, then squeezed off three shots that struck the flyer’s chest dead center, flinging him backward.
But the flyer righted himself in a graceful somersault and sped toward Jesper.
Matthias was blasting away at the two huge Shu. Every shot was a direct hit, but though the Shu stumbled, they just kept coming.
“Wylan? Nina?” said Jesper. “Any time you want to jump in, feel free!”
“I’m trying,” Nina growled, hands raised, fists clenched. “They’re not feeling it.”
“Get down!” said Wylan. They dropped to the cobblestones. Jesper heard a thunk and then saw a black blur as something hurtled at the winged man. The flyer dodged left, but the black blur split and two crackling balls of violet flame exploded. One landed with a harmless hiss in the canal water. The other struck the flyer. He screamed, clawing at himself as violet flames spread over his body and wings, then careened off course and slammed into a wall, the flames still burning, their heat palpable even from a distance.
“Run!” Matthias yelled.
They bolted for the nearest alley, Jesper and Wylan in the lead, Nina and Matthias on their heels. Wylan tossed a flash bomb recklessly over his shoulder. It smashed through a window and released a burst of useless brilliance.
“You probably just scared the hell out of some hapless working girl,” Jesper said. “Give me that.” He snatched the other flash bomb and lobbed it directly into the path of their pursuers, turning to protect his eyes from the explosion. “And that’s how it’s done.”
“Next time, I’m not saving your life,” Wylan panted.
“You’d miss me. Everyone does.”
Nina cried out. Jesper turned. Nina’s thrashing body was covered in silver netting, and she was being dragged backward by the Shu woman, who stood with legs planted in the center of the alley. Matthias opened fire, but she didn’t budge.
“Bullets don’t work!” Wylan said. “I think there’s metal beneath their skin.”
Now that he said it, Jesper could see metal glinting from under the bloody bullet wounds. But what did that mean? Were they mechanicals of some sort? How was it possible?
“The net!” Matthias roared.
They all grabbed hold of the metal net, trying to pull Nina to safety. But the Shu woman kept yanking her backward, hand over hand, with impossible strength.
“We need something to cut the cord!” Jesper shouted.
“To hell with the cord,” Nina snarled between gritted teeth. She snatched a revolver from Jesper’s holster. “Let go!” she commanded.
“Nina—” protested Matthias.
“Do it.”
They let go, and Nina zipped down the alley in a sudden burst of momentum. The Shu woman took an awkward step back, then seized the edge of the net, yanking Nina up.
Nina waited until the last possible second, then said, “Let’s see if you’re metal all the way through.”
She shoved the revolver directly into the Shu woman’s eye socket and squeezed the trigger.
The blast didn’t just take her eye but most of the top of her skull. For a moment, she still stood, clutching Nina, a gaping mess of bone, soft pink brain matter, and shards of metal where the rest of her face should have been. Then she crumpled.
Nina gagged and scrabbled at the net. “Get me out of this thing before her friend comes looking for us.”
Matthias tore the net away from Nina and they all ran, hearts hammering, boots pounding over the cobblestones.
Jesper could hear his father’s fearful words, hastening him through the streets, a wind of warning at his back. I’m afraid for you. The world can be cruel to your kind. What had the Shu sent after Nina? After the city’s Grisha? After him?
Jesper’s existence had been a string of close calls and near disasters, but he’d never been so sure he was running for his life.
PART THREE
BRICK BY BRICK
11
INEJ
As Inej and Kaz moved farther from West Stave, the silence between them spread like a stain. They’d abandoned their capes and masks in a rubbish heap behind a run-down little brothel called the Velvet Room, where Kaz had apparently stashed another change of clothes for them. It was as if the whole city had become their wardrobe, and Inej couldn’t help but think of the conjurers who drew miles of scarves from their sleeves and vanished girls from boxes that always reminded her uncomfortably of coffins.
Dressed in the bulky coats and roughspun trousers of dockworkers, they made their way into the warehouse district, hair covered by hats, collars pulled up despite the warm weather. The eastern edge of the district was like a city within a city, populated mostly by immigrants who lived in cheap hotels and rooming houses or in shantytowns of plywood and corrugated tin, segregating themselves into ramshackle neighborhoods by language and nationality. At this time of day, most of the area’s denizens were at work in the city’s factories and docks, but on certain corners, Inej saw men and women gathered, hoping some foreman or boss would come along to offer a lucky few of them a day’s work.
After she’d been freed from the Menagerie, Inej had wandered the streets of Ketterdam, trying to make sense of the city. She’d been overwhelmed by the noise and the crowds, certain that Tante Heleen or one of her henchmen would catch her unawares and drag her back to the House of Exotics. But she’d known that if she was going to be useful to the Dregs and earn her way out of her new contract, she couldn’t let the strangeness of the clamor and cobblestones best her. We greet the unexpected visitor. She would have to learn the city.
She always preferred to travel along the rooftops, out of sight, free from the shuffle of bodies. There, she felt most herself again—the girl she’d once been, someone who hadn’t had the sense to be afraid
, who hadn’t known what cruelty the world could offer. She’d gotten to know the gabled peaks and window boxes of the Zelverstraat, the gardens and wide boulevards of the embassy sector. She’d traveled far south to where the manufacturing district gave way to foul-smelling slaughterhouses and brining pits hidden at the very outskirts of the city, where their offal could be sluiced into the swamp at Ketterdam’s edge, and their stink was less likely to be sent wafting over the residential parts of town. The city had revealed its secrets to her almost shyly, in flashes of grandeur and squalor.
Now she and Kaz left the rooming houses and street carts behind, plunging deeper into the busy warehouse district and the area known as the Weft. Here, the streets and canals were clean and orderly, kept wide for the transportation of goods and cargo. They passed fenced-in acres of raw lumber and quarried stone, closely guarded stockpiles of weapons and ammunition, huge storehouses brimming with cotton, silk, canvas, and furs, and warehouses packed with the carefully weighed bundles of dried jurda leaves from Novyi Zem that would be processed and packaged into tins with bright labels, then shipped out to other markets.
Inej still remembered the jolt she’d felt when she saw the words Rare Spices painted on the side of one of the warehouses. It was an advertisement, the words framed by two Suli girls rendered in paint, brown limbs bare, the embroidery of their scant silks hinted at by golden brushstrokes. Inej had stood there, gaze fastened to the sign, less than two miles from where the rights to her body had been bought and sold and haggled over, her heart jackrabbiting in her chest, panic seizing her muscles, unable to stop staring at those girls, the bangles on their wrists, the bells around their ankles. Eventually she’d willed herself to move, and as if some spell had been broken, she’d run faster than she ever had, back to the Slat, racing over the rooftops, the city passing in gray glimpses below her reckless feet. That night she’d dreamed the painted girls had come to life. They were trapped in the brick wall of the warehouse, screaming to be set free, but Inej was powerless to help them.
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