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It takes two days for the high of swimming to fully wear off. His body refuses to obey him any longer, and he collapses in his bed. He gets a few hours of fitful sleep before waking up. He should get up and start his day, but he hesitates.
Does he really want to start this? Does he truly want to succeed in this world, where the sick and injured die in dark alleys anonymously?
Why didn’t he die with Jordie so he doesn’t have to carry his memory? Why didn’t the plague take him instead, why didn’t he drown? He could be innocent and nameless, his body could be rotting away, his bones sinking in the water, The Reaper chewing on them along with his brother's.
He just wants to lie down and wait until he dies of thirst or hunger. The owners will break the door to make him pay for another day before that happens. He could still just lie there and refuse to move until they take his body outside and leave him there to die. Maybe they’d beat him to death. That idea sounds appealing.
He just knows that even years later he will still wake up screaming for his brother. He will still stare into the darkness and ask himself why he’s still there, why he’s still wearing his face and name when nobody remembers Jordie’s.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? He remembers. He remembers and he will not, can not die until the debt is paid. Until Hertzoon is begging for his life, until he says his brother’s name. So he sighs heavily and sits up in the dingy bed he rented for some liquor he stole. He’s going to avenge his brother. Step by step; brick by brick.
...
Kaz and The Reaper are old friends.
He was born with it looming over him, only letting him live in return for his mother's life, and it never quite left him alone. He grew up with it circling him, waiting for the right moment to strike. He will never forget the brutality of his father's death, the way it ruined everything. When he arrived in Ketterdam, it was the first thing he noticed. The financial district looked clean and kind at first glance, but even there, he could hear The Reaper's whispers over the noise of the city. He remembers how callously it took Jordie before he could achieve all the things he wanted to, before he could give them the life he promised. He's felt its long fingers wrapped around his throat, he knows how relentlessly it fought to keep him under the water.
He knows he will also die one day. Escaping The Reaper once or twice or a thousand times won't do any good, because it will come for him sooner or later. He's aware there are thousands of ways it could happen and even he couldn't prepare for all of them, but sometimes, when he is lying in his bed, before a risky job or a big game, unable to sleep, he pictures what it would be like.
He often falls asleep with those thousands of possibilities circling around in his head. Knife to his neck, knife in his stomach, gunshot in his shoulder, gun to his head, sickness, drowning, poison, falling down from a rooftop, beaten to death door with a bat, explosion… It all goes on and on. He can get quite gruesome with it too. Maybe a pool of acid. His body would dissolve in it in minutes. Or something even wilder, like a canon or a lion.
He’s heard of games in the Barrel where the players have to fight wild animals to the death, for money, of course. He imagines dying in one of those. He can see himself standing in an underground arena, torches around on the walls, making a gold dusty light that falls on him and the lions. He defeats the first one with ease, but they keep coming at him. The second one takes a bit longer to kill, the third one scratches his arm, the fourth one he can barely fight off before it tears into his neck. The fifth one finally manages to pounce on him, ripping him apart so that The Reaper has nothing left to collect.
...
He can't stand thinking about the Queen's Lady Plague. The memories are horrible enough, he doesn't need his fantasy to imagine the pain in his throat, the headache that came with the fever, even though he blacked out for most of it. As he learned later, that was a blessing. He heard stories about ill people spending their last days crying out in pain or shooting themselves in the head just to make it stop. Kaz Rietveld hates himself for not being conscious for the last days of his brother's life, even after the thousands of times Brekker repeated it wouldn't have made a difference.
He has hazy memories of hugging his brother tight, hoping for something to save them from the inevitable fate of boys with no one to protect them in the time of a tragedy. The five of them curled up in an alley: Jordie, Kaz, and the illness inside both of them, death surrounding them like flies around a corpse, The Reaper hiding in every crook of the miserable city they were in. It took its time with Jordie, chewing on his limbs slowly, savouring the taste of flesh and misery, as if all the other people it took weren’t enough to satisfy its hunger. Thinking back to those days always draws the black cape he made himself of grief, suffering, and gloom tighter than it was before, so he seals the memories away in a faraway corner of his brain and doesn't disturb them unless he deems it absolutely necessary. Long story short, he avoids thinking of those days like the plague.
No matter how hard he fights not to think about it, if the thoughts can't get to him during the day, they'd find him at night. Truth be told, the dreams where he dies in the plague are the kindest out of the terrors that appear in the darkness.
In these dreams, he is lying on top of Jordie, trying to fall asleep. The sores feel like being stabbed with thousands of needles and he feels like he's freezing even with Jordie's coat laid over him, but he turns towards the wall and tries to sleep regardless. Then, all of a sudden, he feels warm, like when he held his hand above the cattle back when they still had a cattle, back when they still had a stove to put it on, but all over his body. He doesn’t want to leave his brother, not when he is the only one he has left, but the heat is unbearable, so he shuffles a bit to get away from Jordie. His skin doesn't even hurt anymore, it just itches everywhere, but anything’s better than the pain.
He shrugs the coat off, but he is still burning up, so he tries to take his shirt off too, but the itch gets too annoying to ignore, and he scratches his arms and legs until he sees blood flowing out from the scratches, but even that doesn’t help. He keeps clawing at his limbs and even The Reaper stops feasting on Jordie for a bit to lean over him and watch his work. It seems fascinated by his blood, and he finds watching it bubble calming in a strange way. He only stops because moving his arms is way too tiring, and suddenly he's miserable. He just stained his only shirt with his blood and the cold air is caressing his skin where the shirt is sticking to it from the blood and he’s cold and lonely, so he curls up next to Jordie and sobs so loudly he’s sure it wakes all of Kerch. Jordie is still warm and his chest is moving, but he does not wake up to comfort Kaz. He tries to get more comfortable, but his head hurts so much that he wants to tear his hair out, and he's too tired to move any more.
When he closes his eyes, he's sure he's going to die, but he always wakes up before actually meeting The Reaper.
...
~ Kaz is holding tight to his brother and kicking towards the lights of Ketterdam. Together they drift, Jordie’s distended body acting as a raft. Kaz keeps kicking, trying not to think of his brother, of the taut, bloated feel of Jordie’s flesh beneath his hands; he tries not to think of anything but the rhythm of his legs moving through the sea. ~
He tries to hold on, but his hands are slippery, and he is so tired of fighting it. He lets go of Jordie’s body, the only thing keeping him in this world, and allows the waves to crash over him. The water feels like stones crushing his body and it is so cold he can't feel his toes, but letting go must've been the right choice to make because, after a few seconds, when his limbs stop trying so hard to survive, everything calms down.
The scenery changes, the water isn’t angry and dark anymore. He can see the weeds at the bottom and the rays of sunlight streaming in through the waves, flickering. He’s in the lake at Lij, where he and Jordie went swimming every summer while they could. He somehow knows his pockets would be full of rocks if he checked them. He doesn’t remember putting them there, but does that really matter? He knows it was him, who else could it be? He was always destined to die in the water. Kaz Rietveld died in the sea, in cold and callous waters that he never knew; Kaz Brekker dies in a lake, friendly and familiar in a way he almost forgot. Kaz Rietveld was thrown to death by the bodymen who didn’t care to check if he was alive, by Pekka Rollins who stole their money and forced them onto the street, by Jordie who gave it to him so willingly; Kaz Brekker refuses to let anyone do that to him, so he does it all on his own. He dives into the water and makes sure he can’t swim back up. He’s almost there. He can feel his lungs filling with water and his limbs going numb when he wakes up shaking and hoarse from crying out in his sleep. Luckily, no one is there to hear him.
In his dreams, The Reaper's embrace is kind and warm, how he imagines his mother's would’ve been. He can feel Jordie and his father around him helping him to get to the other side. He knows reality is much harsher than that. Death is freezing and lonely and inevitable. It will follow him all his life and when his time arrives, it will dig its nails into his neck so it can drag him down.
It’s quite weird that he has nightmares about drowning. He didn’t even think about the possibility when it was actually happening, too busy keeping his mind off Jordie and the other corpses. He only realised how close he was to dying weeks after it happened. He never quite let go of the thought after that.
Weak, he hears his brother's voice saying. You're out of there now, why can't you let the memories go? Surely that would be easier, but these memories are what keep him functional even on the worst days. Brick by brick needs a reason, and these memories are exactly that, so he can't just forget it, can't just leave everything behind as if nothing happened. He will do it another day, sometime after he's had his revenge and Jordie can rest easy, but not now. (He can't even begin to imagine how to heal or how to stop torturing himself with the dreams and thoughts, but he locks that thought in a box and throws it in an especially dark corner of his mind.)
He thinks back to all the happy memories he has from the summers they spent at the lake. They’d swim as far away as they could and race back to the shore. Jordie made sure to let him win at least half of the competitions. When he got tired, he’d cling to Jordie and make him carry him back. Sometimes the other kids from the village joined their races too, but it was mostly the two brothers against each other. He didn’t even recognize the irony of it all until his dream pointed it out for him.
...
The first person to hold him at gunpoint is a Dime Lion.
He just became the lieutenant of the Dregs after he stole the keys to the biggest safe of Ketterdam City Bank, so they can get in without triggering the alarms. He could pick the locks, but he will be needed for the break-in at Ketterdam University. They will need to get through multiple guards and alarms while everybody is distracted by the money missing from the bank. It will be the first big heist of the Dregs; getting them more than a million kruge and information on a few judges, along with finally carving out a place for them in the Barrel. It's been a while since he's been this excited about anything.
He was quite pleased with himself as he walked in the streets of the Barrel. He wasn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings, that’s how the man managed to grab him by his coat and pull him into an alley.
He wishes he could say his heart isn't beating out of his chest, but that would be a lie. He’s lost count of how many times he’s ducked behind crates or walls to avoid bullets. The Dregs had a tendency to piss off people with guns, and those people rarely hesitated to use them. He isn’t afraid of guns, but having one shoved right into his face is very different from holding one or being distantly aware of one going off.
“Would you look at that? It’s Haskell’s new lieutenant,” the man sneers. “You really should be more careful around here, boy. You’re starting fights you can't finish. We all know it was you who stole our jurda.” Kaz has to fight the urge to flinch as the man tightens his hold on him. “Pekka wasn't happy about it, he will come for you. And if he won't, I will make sure you pay for what you've done. The Barrel is ours, and we will protect it if we need to.”
If Kaz remembers correctly the man is one of Pekka's bruisers and his name is Dan. He is seething, the vein on his forehead is pulsing angrily and he is gripping Kaz so tightly he already left bruises. If Kaz had to guess, he probably had to pay for some of the missing jurda from his own money. As a matter of fact, Kaz did help steal the jurda, but it was Haskell’s plan. Kaz told him someone would connect the dots if they started selling the stolen drugs too quickly, but he didn't want to listen.
Something about the gun makes Kaz freeze. He has fought many people, he can tell when they are about to throw a punch, but this time he doesn't duck it. The bruiser punches him in the stomach and grabs him by the hair to pull him up when he starts falling, and he still doesn't move. He feels the nausea that always comes with touching skin, but even that is distant. He's stuck in a bubble where it's only him and the gun, he can't move. His mind runs through the endless possible outcomes of this conversation.
Dan is obviously looking for a fight, Kaz just happens to be the most convenient outlet for his anger. If he wasn't here, he'd start a fight with somebody at a bar. He may have already tried that, judging by the smell of his breath. He probably just wants to use him as a punching bag, the gun may not even be loaded. And yet Kaz still feels The Reaper around them waiting for something to happen. It probably won't be painful. A bullet to the head sounds like a kind way to go. Kinder than what most people in the Barrel get.
Dan hits him with the gun, and for some reason, that is what snaps him out of it. He grabs it and twists it out of the bruiser's hand, throwing it away. He jabs a knife in the man's stomach. While Dan tries to hold himself upright Kaz kicks him to get away, but he grabs his neck. The nausea comes back and this time nothing blocks it out.
His vision fills with black spots so he can’t even see what he’s doing, he just knows the knife is still in his hand and he needs the hands to get off him, so he stabs. He hears a groan and the hold loosens, so he does it again and again until they leave his body completely.
Kaz turns around and grabs the wall to stop himself from keeling over while he throws up. The dirt drinks it up quickly, and as he watches it he starts to come back to himself. He looks back and sees Dan whimpering on the ground. Kaz still has the knife in his hand, he’s covered in his blood. His throat hurts, and he has to cough a few times before he can swallow normally again. He wants nothing more than to collapse on the ground and stay there until everything stops spinning, but he has to get this over with somehow. Dan will die in a few minutes anyway. Staying here with his body will do no good. He should walk away, turn his back on the dying man. Or he could take the knife and slice his throat the way his Da showed him to kill sheep, end his suffering now.
He doesn’t do either of those. He kneels down, careful not to touch Dan, and grabs the knife with both hands. He brings it down, again and again, until Dan’s chest is covered in blood and his face has three huge cuts on it, and even his hands are littered with scars. The Reaper pounces and drags the spoils away to start feasting on them. It is very happy with Kaz, purring over Dan’s body like a cat.
He finds his handkerchief and cleans his gloves meticulously before he stands up and continues his walk to the Slat. He truly is pathetic. Why was he so careless? Because Haskell told him he did a good job? That shouldn't be enough to pull him completely out of his depth. If he was less hungry for attention, things might be different. Or maybe he was just too full of himself for doing his job well. That’s even worse. He didn’t even do anything special. He knows what overconfident men are like. Easy to read, easy to con. They think they’re the smartest in the room and nobody can possibly one-up them, so they get sloppy. If he would’ve been on guard he could’ve stopped the attack before it happened. And why did he hesitate? The gun was just there to intimidate him, and it worked. He should've just threatened Dan, but now it's done.
He just killed somebody. He has to grab a wall for support when he finally comprehends what happened. He feels the nausea again, but his stomach is already empty, so he can only crouch down on the curb and hope it goes away. A few drunks walk through the street, singing and wobbling from one betting den to another, he focuses on them to take his mind off everything that happened. They are cheerful in a way one can’t achieve with a clear mind and wear colourful outfits that can only be found in the Barrel. One of them must’ve had too much to drink, as he falls on his ass in the middle of the road. The others are either too drunk to realise what happened, or they simply don’t care enough to help him. Kaz realises he must look drunk too. His walk is unsteady and his eyes must look clouded too. He keeps on moving because he does not wish for any more unexpected conversations, not if they might end like the previous one. Where he killed someone. He almost shudders at the thought. It's not that big of a deal. He knows plenty of people who have killed, who kill often, it isn't the end of the world. In the Barrel, it's either kill or be killed, and he was never going to be an exception to that rule.
Jordie wouldn't be happy his little brother is a murderer, but Kaz isn't his little brother, not anymore. Firstly because he is now two months older than Jordie was, but also because Kaz Rietveld is dead. He died in the canal and someone else crawled out instead of him; Kaz Brekker doesn't care what some farm boy from Lij would think of him. It’s actually all his fault for bringing Kaz to Ketterdam.
When they arrived, Jordie promised a fresh start, and The Reaper did leave him alone for a bit, following him on the rooftops rather than panting in his ear, but since he crawled out of the water, it has been clinging to his shoulders, jumping out at him from every corner. He knows it's not because his time has come. The Reaper wants something to eat so it trails after the most miserable creature it can find in hopes of some scraps. Really, it was only a matter of time for Kaz to give in to its demands. And anyway, it’s no use crying about it now.
Two days later the bruiser's body is found in the alley. Some of Pekka's men blame the Liddies and a fight breaks out, killing five people. All six bodies are sent to the Reaper's Bardge for burning, but none of the men were important enough for the leaders to go after their murderers and the standwatch usually know to stay out of the Barrel’s business, so the murder is slowly erased from memory without anybody knowing what happened.
Kaz walks around with a bruise on his cheek for a few days, but nobody asks him about it, they know better. After a while, the bruise fades too, and the only thing that’s left is a new Ketterdam monster, with less inhibition than any other. The Barrell names him Dirtyhands, says there is no sin he will not commit for the right price. He lets them think that. He wears the name with pride, makes sure to do something monstrous in front of an audience every once in a while, enough to keep the rumours about him in circulation. It’s for the best, he always tells Jordie when he questions him.
...
The morning sun colours the sky pink and orange as he runs across the roof. He’s always liked being up when the sun rose. It makes him feel like he's doing something useful. He's only distracted by the smell of hot chocolate coming from below for a few seconds, but it’s enough. It takes one misstep and he's falling, the view of the sunrise quickly turning into the monotone grey brick of Ketterdam buildings.
He's been reckless with his life so many times, and yet he still tries to hold on to the roof desperately, trying to survive out of pure instinct. His hands grasp after something to hold him up, a scream frozen somewhere in the back of his throat.
He should've learned how to fall, it was inevitable it would happen sooner or later with how much time he spends on the rooftops. He hoped he could avoid it by being cautious. Climbing is one of the only things he doesn't have to depend on others for, and he likes the certainty it comes with. Asking someone to teach him to fall would ruin that illusion. The trick to falling is not getting knocked down in the first place anyway. Now that he's falling, there's no nice way to get out of this.
He’s felt like he was falling from the steady ground he knew so many times, he’s imagined falling to his death even more, but none of them were quite like this. A week ago, Jesper was sitting in his office, helping him sift through the papers he’d stolen from the merch’s house. He didn’t have time to find what he wanted, so he took every paper he could find. The merchant was out of town for a month, so he knew he'd have time to take it all back before someone came to check on it, but he was bored out of his mind just by the thought of reading them all, and Jesper was whining about not having anything to do, so he asked him to help.
It was a bad idea, in hindsight, to let Jesper get so attached to him, but he couldn’t help but crave his company. He quickly paid the price for it. They’d been sitting in silence for about an hour when Jesper turned to him and asked him if he wanted to go to the Crow Club with him. He could’ve said yes and snuck away from him as soon as he was distracted by a game, he could’ve made up something he had to do that day, could’ve let him down gently, like any normal person would, but he was tired and frustrated. "Honestly, Kaz, you might act like you don't need friends, but Pim and Anika would both like to hang out with you, and you can't actually enjoy spending all your time alone."
"Did they actually ask you to invite me, or are you just using them to make yourself seem less desperate?"
He couldn't even blame Jesper when he stood up and walked out without a word. When Jesper slammed the door to his office, he felt like the floor gave out under him and he was falling four flights of stairs that he always climbed with stubborn determination, but then the horror of it was distant and muted by the disgust he felt, it came with a certain numbness. Now, he can feel his heart beating out of his chest, every feeling is heightened. He knows it was his fault, and he also knows he shouldn’t feel such horror. It isn’t the end of the world.
He hits the ground and resists the urge to scream out in pain, afraid the standwatch might hear him. His leg hurts. He can't think of anything to compare it to. It hurts like shit. He definitely won't be able to walk for a while. He looks down and he can see a bone poking out of his calf. There is blood seeping into the dirt below. Well. That's not good. His vision is fuzzy and he knows he shouldn't close his eyes right now, something about not being safe there and a concussion, but he doesn't care enough, he just wants to sleep.
Later, he is surprised The Reaper didn't snatch him away while he was passed out, but he supposes he never did deserve a death so kind and calm. Instead, he gets away with only a shattered leg. He keeps walking with it because it will heal because brick by brick doesn't happen on its own. He is only half right about the first one. His leg heals, but it heals wrong, so he gets a cane and makes it a declaration.
~ There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken. ~
If only he could convince Jesper to leave him alone.
...
Inej is angry at him. He doesn't know what he did, she was smiling at him a few seconds ago. When he gave her a knife, she squared her shoulders like she was getting ready for a fight, but the light in her eyes died out. She doesn't like the gift. It hardly matters. Inej won't cause any problems, she wants her freedom back as quickly as possible.
~ Maybe I’ll use it on you. ~
He considered the thought for a second. Would she be merciful and slit his throat in his sleep? She could climb in through the window at night, sneak into his room, and after he fell asleep at his desk. She has done that before. He'd woken up with a note from her right next to his head more than once. He tried to convince her to just wake him up, but she just gave him a look and disappeared into the shadows. If she can get through the locks on his window so easily, what’s stopping her from killing him when he isn't paying attention?
Or would she be vengeful, make cuts on his skin for every time he'd made her watch as he cut someone into pieces, for every stupid joke he made about her precious Saints? She always did things with the utmost precision and she could go on torturing him for days if she made sure he didn't bleed out. He was the one who taught her how to do that. She could leave him rotting in one of the Dregs' safe houses for days and then come back to leave even more marks. Could he hate her for it? After all the sins he committed, could he fault her for wanting to get rid of one of the monsters around her? She’d told him she wanted to be safe.
His mind shows images of her standing over him, watching him. He is bleeding on the ground, his blood quickly soaking his clothes. She has her hair in a tight braid, but one lock of it has escaped from its place and is currently fluttering around her cheek. It annoys him greatly. She should tuck it behind her ear. Or maybe he could do it for her. He watches as the light of the setting sun illuminates her and her knives. The sun has always been Kaz Rietveld’s favourite thing about Ketterdam. The wind may carry the smell of rot, and the buildings may be crammed and grey, but nobody can steal the colours the sun paints in the sky. She has one blade in each hand, both of them coated with his blood. She looks like a Saint. A vengeful Saint, here to clean this miserable city of all its sinners. She just might succeed where the Merchant Council has failed so many times.
She'd lean down one last time and whisper something in his ear about never escaping his fate and unpaid debts before stabbing him in the heart. She'd be the last thing he sees before dying.
“At least I'd have someone to watch me die," he thinks. Why would he think that? Is that something he wants? His death will never be kind, no matter who causes it, not after he came to this twisted city, why would she be different? Instead, he shakes the thought off and replies with a deadpan expression that always makes people back off. They can never tell if he's kidding about what he says.
~ If only you were that bloodthirsty. ~
...
“Please, stop this! I will tell you whatever you want to know.”
The man is lying on his back in a dark alley, somewhere in the warehouse district. He is bleeding from the wound on his shoulder, but other than that, he's perfectly fine. He would be fighting back or running to the nearest standwatch station if his attacker was somebody else. A reputation is a powerful thing indeed.
“Mr. Boer, you work for me, you shouldn't need encouragement to tell me things.”
“Please, Mr. Brekker, let me go home, I don't know why you are doing this.”
As he's talking he's slowly backing away and sitting up. He hasn't fully given up on life. Pity. He's only making this harder for himself. He jumps to his feet and turns away to run. A quick swing of his cane and Boer is collapsing back down. Kaz doesn’t wince as Boer falls back on his knees, but it’s a close thing. He only meant to break one leg, but Boer’s fall was so unlucky that it broke his other leg too.
“Why are you doing this? I have never done anything to you! Whoever told you that must be lying! Please let me go home and we can forget about this! Nobody is stupid enough to cross from Kaz Brekker.” His flattery only gets him a punch. Boer is an office worker who only started working at the Crow Club after he lost his job a few weeks ago, and it's obvious he still hasn't learned how to take a punch. He holds his neck too straight, and when Kaz’s fist connects with his eye, it makes a satisfying crunch.
“Yes, it was a stupid decision to lie to me, wasn't it? Surely you regret it now. You have been stealing information about the workings of the Fifth Harbour and giving it to the Razorgulls. I had to choose between this and hanging your body in your house for your daughter to find. I think you should be thankful I don't have time for that. Do you know how much energy it took me to make up for the money I lost because of you? How many people I had to send out to steer more people into my houses? All of that, and for what, 20, maybe 30 kruge per week?"
He is slowly walking closer to Boer, his cane striking the ground to emphasise his words. Boer scrambles backward and tries to subtly stand up, but he winces when he puts his weight on his broken foot. Kaz grabs his hair and forces his head back so he can look him in the eye.
“Mr. Boer, I am not known for my manners, but even I know the polite thing to do when somebody asks you a question is to answer it.”
“I… please Brekker. It was only one time and I really needed the money. I swear I won't help them ever again, I…” He is almost sobbing now, sniffing and hiccupping like a child, but still not crying. This is when Inej or Jesper would tell him to back down. Unfortunately for Boer, they're not here. Not that he would listen to them anyway, but he might go a bit easier on him. “Please, I'll give you all the money I got from them, I’ll give you all my money, just please let me go. Please.” Kaz laughs dryly.
“You should listen to yourself, you sound like a toddler. It's pathetic. You should learn when to shut up.”
He has to admit he enjoys the screams and shrieks the man lets out as he wrenches his jaw open. When he takes the knife out of his coat, Boer starts struggling with a newfound intensity. He screams loudly, but he expected this to get loud, that's why they are here, where nobody can hear them.
“Shhh, it's alright. Stop fighting it. You are only making this harder for yourself. This way, at least your family will still get to keep the money. If you don’t try to fight me, I might not go after them.” Boer starts crying in earnest, tears running down his cheeks, but he stops squirming and lets Kaz do what he wants, and that was the goal. He didn't need Boer to cooperate, but he is the dealer for Haskell's game in half a bell, and the walk back is bound to be painful anyway, he'd rather not make it even worse by rushing. He opens the man's mouth again and carves his tongue out with one cut.
He makes sure the man won't choke on his own blood, at least for the next few minutes, then stands up. Boer is kneeling in front of him, his legs twisted at an awkward angle, blood pouring from his mouth and shoulder, mixing with tears and snot. The bruise is already forming on his right cheek. His clothes are dishevelled from being pushed to the ground so many times, and his shirt is torn right above his heart. Kaz has no idea when that happened. He twitches every few seconds and lets out a weak whimper.
The Reaper is self-assured and calm tonight. It is leaning against a wall, waiting for Kaz to finish the job. They've become quite the team since his first murder; they've come to an understanding, the same understanding hyenas share with lions. The Reaper follows him the way crows follow armies, waiting for him to kill something, to leave the remains. It's a lot harder to be afraid of something so lowly, something so wretched.
He raises his cane and swings. And again. And again. And a few more times for good measure. Boer's face is unrecognizable. He kneels down and cuts his right hand off. His wedding ring isn't anything special, the kind you can buy at any jewellery shop, the one almost all standwatch guards and shopkeepers buy, but Boer's hand has a birthmark in the middle of his palm. He takes Boer's handkerchief and wraps the hand in it before tucking the bundle into his coat. By tomorrow morning, the hand will be on the doorstep of the Razorgulls' lieutenant.
...
Kaz knows The Reaper very well.
Death isn’t terrifying because of its brutality, or because it's painful. People are afraid of The Reaper simply because of its inevitability. It's a difficult thing to comprehend. Everybody will die someday, everybody will leave this world behind. It's a very old story; there is no other version of this story. He modelled Dirtyhands after it to make people afraid. A monster who will have his revenge, who will control the whole Barrel, who has no morals, who makes no distinction between rich and poor, young and old. Pekka may not know it, but Kaz will follow him all his life, leaving him guessing about his plans, even after he takes his pride and his business and his money. He will haunt him, because brick by brick includes his sanity too.
Against The Reaper, everyone is helpless. Death is a half-remembered smile from a woman long gone. Death is a splatter of blood and exchanging all your past for a piece of paper in hopes of a future. Death is nine-year-old Kaz desperately trying to wake his brother, it’s a red ribbon being crumpled in his hands, the tides working against his half-dead body, trying to push him and Jordie back into the water. He knows it, and that’s precisely why he’d do almost anything to avoid the uncertainty of it, so when there are no other pressing matters, he schemes.
The Reaper isn’t the only thing he knows. He knows how it feels to have everything go according to plan. He knows the thrill of his team pulling off a job, just because he made it possible. He loves the satisfaction of playing the winning card, not only because of the sour face his opponents make, but because it means he can now stop playing whatever ridiculous game he was roped into by Jesper, thinking he should have some fun, or Haskell, who always tried to prove he was smarter than his lieutenant, hoping to best him one day. It didn't matter that Jesper did it with good intentions, the outcome was the same: him forced to take part in a game he had no interest in winning or participating in. He enjoys showing them he controlled the game all this time.
Death is inevitable, but his life is a long and complicated drama, it deserves a good finale. His end should be his triumph alone, not someone’s glory for riding the Barrel of its worst monster. He won't end his life unless the circumstances are truly dire, but with how many times he’s risked his life and come out unscathed, he’ll have to take the actual murder into his own hands if he wants results. He's found he can be much more efficient if he has the illusion that he can stop, he just has to finish this thing he's working on. He tries to convince himself it's just a clever trick and not something he should analyze. It doesn't work.
...
It would be laughably easy to kill himself if he wanted to get out of this life. Sure, he'd have to make sure everything goes well after his death. He doesn't like the idea that any of his Crows could have their lives ruined, just because he was a coward and couldn’t finish what he started.
He does have many plans, and most of them are rather simple. Inej taught him how to fall, she told him which parts of his body to cover to stay alive; he knows which buildings in Ketterdam are tall enough for that plan to succeed. He always has knives with him, and he could steal Jesper’s revolvers too, if he somehow doesn't have his own. He didn’t even consider anything involving water, too slow and risky.
His most complicated plan is the one he made back at fourteen when the pain in his leg got bad for the first time and he wasn't sure he wanted to live like that. The rest are mostly passing fancies, half-remembered plans. He now knows he was being an idiot, that the pain is not unbearable and he can handle much worse, but it always pays to be prepared and he has a good memory. He still remembers the exact colour of Jordie's skin when he left him in the sea, the way his eyes stared at him back as the tide dragged him away because Kaz was too lazy to simply climb back and close them. The plan has changed some since he came up with it, but the concept stayed the same.
He'd leave all of his money for Inej, in the loose floorboard only she knows about. Leave a letter instructing her to pay off her debts, buy a passage back to Ravka, and leave this wretched city behind, because she deserves better than what she can get here. (The letter doesn't include that last part, but it's true nonetheless, and anybody who has spent any time around her knows it.) Tell her to take whatever she needs and divide the rest between the Dregs however she sees fit.
Inej can be trusted with using the money wisely, that's the only reason why he chose her, not because he has a favourite, no matter what Jes thinks. She's stupidly noble and will make sure all of them have a chance at being happy.
He would sit down in his armchair, not the one behind his desk, but the comfortable one in the corner, and load a gun. He'd point it to his head and pull the trigger. Fast and simple. The Reaper would grab him by the arms and take him to whatever dark place he takes people to. Someone would find his body and take it to the Reaper's Barge for burning. No mourners, no funerals. He would be at rest beside Jordie, and his Crows could start a good life if they wanted to, but Pekka would still be the King of the Barrel. It doesn't matter if he's sick of the chase, because he's hungry for blood, and he won't stop until Rollins is brought down. Not with a quick and merciful bullet, but brick by brick.
...
He knew the man was going to die. That’s why he didn’t pay attention to The Reaper's quiet humming coming from the corner of the church before it was too late. The inferni is ready to attack and he only has a few seconds before dying a very painful death. He is ready for the flames, whether they will burn his clothes or the floor around him first. He hopes the Wraith can get out and she doesn’t die here with him.
He rarely thinks of dying by fire. It would probably be similarly slow and torturous to drowning. He doubts many people are unlucky enough to experience even one of them, not to mention both. He knows the Fjerdans burn grisha, but he never cared to find out why they do it. He is studying the inferni’s movements, looking for the opening, looking for his way out of this, but there isn’t one. He thinks the Wraith will probably be able to get out, the man looks like he wants to save his lover, he's not going to burn the church, but Kaz is definitely going to die here. He isn’t afraid, he is Dirtyhands; he will greet The Reaper with his head held high. But the flames don’t come.
The man collapses on the church floor, dead or dying, but definitely harmless. It takes him a second to recognize the blade he gifted the Wraith a few weeks ago sticking out from his nape. It doesn’t take him much time to put the rest together after that. He checks the man’s pulse. His heart is still beating, but life is slowly seeping out of him. As if The Reaper was also shocked by who summoned it. It does finally move, it glides through the room and carefully covers the man.
Inej has started to climb down, but her hands are just a bit too clumsy and her eyes are just a bit too wide for her to be alright. She looks awfully young, she looks like a girl who isn’t even fifteen yet, who was forced to kill for the first time. Except she wasn’t forced, was she? She has been forced to do a lot of things in her short life, but not this. She saved his life. That was her choice. He knows he's the best chance she has at surviving. He makes sure his gang sees him as ruthless and amoral but relatively safe. He will lend them his reputation, he will keep the other gangs away, he will keep the money coming. He knows that’s the only reason she did it.
Inej has successfully reached the ground, but her hands are still trembling. She is looking at the body like she has never seen one before, watching the blood leaking from its skull with her shoulders bunched. She looks like that when she is getting ready for a fight.
“Inej, look at me.” He needs her to calm down. “Look at me.” He steps between her and the body, and her attention snaps to him, her posture still as straight as a knife’s edge, and she still won’t meet his eyes. “You saved my life.” When she finally looks into his eyes, hers are full of unshed tears. She won’t cry. She hasn’t once cried in front of others since he met her. He’s thankful for it, he doesn’t know what he’d do if she did start crying.
He takes her knife out of the man’s neck and cleans it off before handing it back to her. She grasps it in her hand, her knuckles almost white with how strong her grip is. She doesn’t put it away, but he can guess she probably needs time, so he turns around and leaves her to her thoughts. He goes through the clean-up of the murders mechanically, all the while thinking about Inej. She has become his most trusted ally quicker than he’d like to admit and, contrary to his expectations, he has yet to regret it. She has once again proven herself a great investment.
He wonders if Inej feels the same when killing as he does. She is silent, moves through the shadows like a ghost, graceful and effortless; her first murder had the same elegance to it. When she threw the knife, The Reaper bowed to her and followed her command. She didn’t even touch her victim, her knife landing in the inferni’s neck just seconds after she let go. She lent her dignity to The Reaper. When she summoned it, it felt like a whole different entity. It felt more otherworldly, more elegant, like The Reaper is one of her Saints instead of the world's most common and base creature.
Fortunately, by the time he’s done, she has collected herself enough to walk through Ketterdam and not get lost, but she keeps close to him in the shadows and doesn’t climb up to the rooftops. She looks as focused as ever, her back straight, her feet never stumbling, but he had spent enough time stealing glances at her in his window to know she wasn’t quite back to normal from her glossy eyes. It’s alright. Today he will keep watch for both of them.
The Slat is still empty by the time they get back, but Jesper is sitting at one of the tables, drinking something with a suspicious blue colour. He was waiting for them. He sends Kaz a questioning look when Inej bolts to her room, and for once Kaz indulges him and sits down.
“What'd you do now?” Kaz would normally object to the assumption that he is the cause of whatever the Wraith has going on, but he has very little energy left to argue, so he just scoffs and orders a whiskey. He waits for it to arrive and empties it in one go before answering Jesper’s question.
“I didn’t do anything. She just killed a man.”
Jesper probably knows the Wraith better than he does, at this point, because he sucks in a sharp breath and stands up. He is halfway through the room before he remembers to look back at him for permission, pretending like Kaz could do anything to stop him from checking on his friend. Kaz just waves a hand as if to indicate ‘Go on, I won’t stop you’. She needs someone to comfort her. For someone as pious as the Wraith, killing is a sin she can’t turn back from. She needs someone to tell her it’s alright. He would like to go and comfort Inej himself, but he hardly thinks he can tell her what she needs to hear. The best he could offer is ‘there’s no use crying about it now’. He hopes Jes knows what to say. The sooner she accepts that she has to kill sometimes... if she can be trusted to have her team's back and kill when she has to… She would earn her money a lot faster that way. Would he like that? He’d have to look for a new spider, someone who could manage her job, but he’d be rid of a distraction. Yes, he thinks. He would like that.
...
The wound isn't bleeding too badly, and the shot missed the bones, so he just wraps it in a bandage and starts washing the blood out of his clothes. His trousers are mostly clean, but his gloves are covered in blood (his and the guards') and his coat and shirt have a hole in it from the bullet. He cleans his gloves off with some water (thank Ghezen the blood hasn't dried yet) and takes them off. He fills the basin with water and adds some of the Suli soap Inej talked him into buying. She swears it's a lot better than the regular one and Jesper backs her up on it. He resisted at first, but those two are a force to be reckoned with, and he knows it reminds her of home, so he relented. He's still skeptical of Inej's piety, of her devotion to her Saints, but she has proven herself capable despite them; he can buy her the damned Suli soap if she wants it. It only costs one kruge more per month than the other one anyway.
He cleans his coat and changes the water in the basin before putting his shirt in. He leaves it to soak and sits down to fix the hole in the coat. He threads the needle and gets to work. The clock on the wall is ticking slowly, the only sound in the room besides his breathing. After ten passes of the needle, he stretches out his bad leg. After thirty he ties a knot at the end of the thread and puts his coat down.
He opens the ledgers and starts calculating this month's profit. After he's done with that, he starts planning for next month, but there are too many uncertainties, so he can only make a vague outline. He rereads the note Inej left him a few days ago about Councilman Hoede moving his family heirloom to his main residency for his wedding. If he had to guess, it's probably some gaudy necklace or tiara for his bride to wear. While stealing it would be useless, too well-known to sell, he could probably swipe a few jewels off it, but he'd need more information for that. The note also mentions Hoede buying up jurda farms. He should look into that, but right now everybody's asleep.
Tonight's job has gone horribly wrong. If it wasn't for Inej taking out at least ten people and the standwatch being occupied by the Liddies causing trouble at Fourth Harbour, they'd all be dead or in jail. He got three quarters of the money, even after being shot and having to deal with thrice as many guards as there should have been, and he still had to endure almost half a bell of yelling from Haskell. The only thing that man is good at is being a pain in the ass. Kaz tried to focus on his reasons for not killing him, but they seemed less and less important with every hypocritical and ridiculous insult that came out of the man's mouth.
He has dug the bullet out of his shoulder, but it still aches. He should've been more careful with it, but he does deserve some pain for today. Ghezen, he sounds like one of Inej's martyrs, but it was foolish not to take into account the bank robbery a few streets over. Of course the merch would double his protection for the next few days after that. He considered just leaving the bullet in for tonight, but he needed both his arms at least partially functional for tomorrow, so here he is.
He fidgets with the cap of the ink, prods at it, trying to make it fall off the table. He stands up and walks around his room a little, but he ran back to the Slat and his leg doesn't appreciate him moving around more than necessary. He sits down on his bed, taps on his leg impatiently. He always hated waiting around, and tonight he feels especially powerless and antsy. He pulls out his knife, the one he always has with him. It's half of a pair, two blades made of kind steel, the grips decorated with nothing but a simple carved flame.
Inej named the other one Sankt Petyr. It was the first of many knives he'd given her. It was different from the others. Some were apologies or promises, some were simply for practical reasons. That one was a recognition. You're obviously dangerous, he told her that night at the Menagerie, and he meant it. She just needed weapons worthy of her.
He thought about her the moment he saw them, they were perfect blades for the Wraith. Easy to hold and throw but deadly. Easily hidden in clothes or a boot. Dangerous. Inej keeps hers in her sleeve. Right now it's probably under her pillow. He planned to give both of them to her. He doesn’t know why he didn’t.
He now holds it in his hand, spinning it mindlessly around his fingers and examining it. He throws it at the door and it lands with a thud. His aim is pretty good, but it's nowhere near as good as Inej's. He saw her backflip off a balcony and throw a knife at one of the guards tonight at the same time.
He limps to the door and pulls the knife out of the wood before sitting back down. He would be satisfied if he could learn to spin it around in the air and catch it, but he can't concentrate enough to actually attempt that, so he settles for gripping it so hard that his fingers turn white. He can still feel the adrenaline in his veins, the need for violence, left over from the fight.
Dirtyhands has appeared and craves bloodshed, but there's no one around to hurt.
Violence is the only thing he has left, it’s the only time when he’s completely in control. He’s the cause of his audience’s terror, he’s the cause of all the blood that drips from his prey. He always feels like he is the master of Death too, right until the last moment when he realises he’s been duped by it again. He had never liked the dead much, but he wouldn’t despise knowing people are dead because of what he did. Being brash could cost him dearly and dead people are useless to him, but it feels great, to be able to summon the most powerful entity whenever he wants to. But really, it’s the other way around. The Reaper, like any other being, has needs and when it wants a sacrifice, it follows a fool who will give it to him the quickest. It has rotten souls stuck between its teeth and when he throws it a new body, it starts chewing on it like an animal, like the dogs in Ketterdam’s darkest alleys, smirking up at him with an unbearably smug expression.
He looks around his room, looking for something to distract himself with. For a while, it has been the most reliable thing in his life. Maybe it still is. The Slat and this room have been around for much longer than him, but they have served him so well. They gave him a place to start from, They kept him safe in those days after his fall. He could ruin this stability all by himself, he doesn't need Haskell or the crows for that. That would show them what he can do. He imagines all the damage he could do here.
Throwing a chair at the door, breaking the windows with his cane. Tearing his hair out and shredding all of his papers into tiny bits, because despite all he had achieved with them, he still feels like this. He'd scream until his throat was raw, claw at the walls and his skin, make himself bleed. Bang his head against a wall and wait for the dizziness that comes with a concussion. He'd stab his hands and slice his wrists, then make sure the blood gets everywhere. He could do all that. Nobody could stop him. He could take the knife and slit his throat, ruin this great legacy by himself. The Bastard of the Barrel, killed by the only person worthy of that honour. He'd decide when and how he dies.
He would tease The Reaper, draw his suffering out as long as he could, and wait until it gave up waiting for him, only to call it back immediately. He would restart the same thing as many times as he wanted to before finally letting the knife cut deep enough to end it all. Maybe The Reaper would show him some dignity for giving it so many offerings. Maybe he got it all wrong and it would be angry that he dared to change so many people's fate. It would've had them either way, he didn't have to play god for it to get to them. It wouldn't matter what it thought, it would have to take him away anyway, just because he wanted out.
The next morning he wakes with an ache in his neck from leaning on his bed posts while sleeping and a cut on his thumb from the knife he fell asleep holding. The bandage has slipped from his shoulder.
...
~ Inej is lying perfectly still on the table, her luminous brown skin dull in the swaying lamplight.
He is alive because of Inej. They all are. They'd managed to fight their way out of a corner, but only because she'd prevented them from being surrounded. Kaz knows Death. He could feel its presence on the ship, looming over them, ready to take his Wraith. He is covered in her blood. ~
Her blood is now mixing with Oomen's. Why did he do that? He's got a reputation of being a ruthless monster, and he knows it isn't exactly wrong. He likes blood and brutality, but he also isn't one for meaningless violence. Kaz Brekker always has at least two reasons for doing something. And yet, he isn't sure what his reasons were. He needed information, yes, but what he did was unnecessary. Something in him tore open when he saw his Wraith hurt. He got angry because Oomen and his lot ruined what he had planned so perfectly. Yes, that's what happened.
He wasn't particularly concerned about the incarcerator part when planning, he knew she could do it, he was more worried about the uncertainties. They have zero idea about where Bo Yul-Bayur is. Matthias might believe his Drüskelle higher-ups want to destroy all grisha, but jurda parem can make them powerful and easy to manipulate at the same time. At the end of the day, drüskelle are still power-hungry soldiers so he doubts they'd keep Yul-Bayur locked up or execute him. He's most likely being forced to make more parem.
He should start planning what to do without Inej. He should already have a plan for that. Even if she survives this injury and they manage to get in and out of the Ice Court, she will leave to look for her parents. He should start figuring out how to break in and gather information without her help.
She might die. She might die tonight or tomorrow, or maybe she will wake up and be fine. Maybe. It isn't exactly common for Dregs to die on missions, but it isn't unheard of either. They all gamble with their lives, being in a gang isn't safe and they all know it. Inej herself defies death every few weeks, sneaking past guards who'd shoot her without a second thought or running on top of Ketterdam's buildings where one slip could lead to a deadly fall. He has some experience with that. They all knew the stakes of this job before they started. Inej risked her life to save them, and she lost. She's not dead, he reminds himself. Yet. It's bound to happen sooner or later though.
He can feel The Reaper on the ship, hovering where he threw Oomen into the sea. It might just be angry that he didn't leave anything for it to collect. It might just be basking in the stench his violence left behind. Maybe it isn't really here for the Wraith. It's all wishful thinking.
He should be making plans and instead here he is, refusing to accept she might not make it. Like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Like a little boy crying for his brother… No. This isn't like that. Inej is a useful investment and a loyal Crow. Losing her would be a huge setback, but not impossible to overcome. That's why he did that to Oomen.
"If you keep telling yourself that, you might believe it, little brother."
...
If anybody asked him about how he feels about the whole Fjerdan military aiming their weapons at him, he'd reply 'I like to have powerful enemies. Makes me feel important' or some bullshit like that, if only to see Inej roll her eyes at him like she always does when he says something so egotistical. She furrows her brow when she's annoyed and he gets immense satisfaction from causing it.
The truth is his clothes are still dripping water from the Ice Moat and he's had approximately eight bells of sleep in the last week. He never was a big advocate of relaxation, but right now he would give anything for a soft… actually scratch that, he would fall asleep in a barn right now if only he had the opportunity.
He doesn't believe in miracles, he just wishes this wasn't the way it all ended, but his wishes are worth nothing, he's out of tricks and about to die with this strange group of people he forced/bribed/convinced to come along with him on an impossible job. He wishes he considered the Fjerdan's may have troops here, it seems like such a stupid mistake to make now that he thinks about it. He wishes he didn't have to die this way. He wishes the others didn't have to die here with him, weirdly enough. All of them. Even Nina with her annoying comments, and Wylan with his constant questions (although he has to admit, lately his questions have been getting much less common and much smarter). He even feels a little bad about Matthias dying, if only because he surely hates the idea of his own brothers ending his life.
He can't feel The Reaper around him, but it might be hiding somewhere amongst the soldiers, waiting for them to fire their bullets. It did always favour the people who feed it.
He's about to figure out how to come to terms with his life ending, how to come to terms with losing something he doesn't really like when Nina raises a small package to her lips.
~ Kaz is out of tricks. But I am not. ~