i knew you were trouble

by Anonymous

Summary:

Echo Caddel was too clever for her own good. Her mind was the only weapon she needed in a world ravaged by grisha and gangs and strange impenetrable voids of darkness.

The small sciences were nothing in comparison to logic and rationale (or rather, that's what she told herself to sleep at night). But when she flees Ravka, washing up on the bloodied shores of Ketterdam, Echo is met with a chaos that rivalled her own.

And the only way to make her mark? Why, stealing from Kaz Brekker of course.

Chapter 1: do i have your attention?

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

 

KAZ BREKKER DIDN'T need a reason—but someone had just given him one.

He had barely noticed it at first. A few kruge here and there, a lucky hand at the poker table, a well placed bet, nothing more than the usual underhand business that took place within the depraved walls of the Crow Club. It was to be expected, the people of Ketterdam had to believe they stood a chance against the odds.

But no one truly won unless he compelled it. He'd line the pockets of greedy men with a smile, ready to watch it trickle back into his own moments later. Men were predictable, so was their greed.

So when someone started leaving the Crow Club with their pockets heavier than they'd been when they entered, Brekker noticed.

He'd put his hand through a window when Jesper gave him the news, he could still picture Per Haskell's taunting laughter when they'd heard why his protegeè had darkened his doorstep, cradling the injury of childish rage in desperate need of mending.

" Someone has finally outsmarted you, Dirtyhands. I never thought I'd see the day ."

Strangely, the old man was no longer the most annoying thing in his life. No, that position was reserved for the dead man who had the nerve, the gall, the audacity to assume that they could steal from him and get away with it.

The usual Ketterdam punishment for thieves was the swift removal of their hands, but Kaz had something different in mind for his thief. Perhaps he'd take something more valuable, like the head.

He'd mount it on the wall as a reminder to the other idiots who wished to make a fool out of the Dregs.

Since finding out the news, he'd been in a foul mood. Not even the Wraith had dared to linger on his balcony, nor in the shadows as he stalked the docks of Fifth Harbour, imagining drowning his thief in the murky depths of the water.

It was Pekka Rollins. It had to be. Perhaps this was the old man's revenge for his many successful attempts at slowly chipping away at everything his adversary held dear. It was disappointing to say the least because ten thousand kruge was nothing compared to the damage Kaz and the Dregs had inflicted on Rollins' so called empire. It was laughable but it made no difference to him. He'd kill the thief all the same, no matter who it happened to be.

Finding the thief would be the challenge. His network of information was new, feeble at best and Inej was only able to cover so much ground in a night. Even the Wraith was bound by something as trivial as time. So he'd have to hope for a miracle, pray that the poor unfortunate soul would buy a boat, a timepiece or some other luxury that would alert the Dregs and seal their fate as a deadman.

Maybe they'd buy a sword. It would save Kaz the trouble of bloodying his own.

First thing in the morning, he decided, he'd pay off the merchants. No transaction would take place in Ketterdam without his knowing.

Under the shadow of his brimmed hat, Kaz smiled. It was not a kind smile, it was the one the devil gives when he greets you at the gates of Hell. It was a smile for the sinners. This particular smile was reserved for imagining the many ways he would make this thief scream and in the past hour alone, he'd concocted seventeen various scenarios of pain, each more dastardly, more stomach-churning than the last. It was undeniable that Dirtyhands thrived in the downfall of his enemies.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, which meant only one thing. Kaz turned around to find Inej, draped in her signature hood, emerging from the shadows. He had no way of knowing exactly how long she'd been observing him, leaving him to only hope she hadn't heard the furious muttering of moments before.

Kaz gripped his cane. "Care to tell me why you're here, Wraith? Or should I guess?"

"You have a visitor."

Now this was intriguing. Kaz Brekker didn't get visitors. Suddenly any thoughts of the thief vanished from his mind.

"Now now, don't tease. Who is it?"

"I don't know. Jesper told me they came by the Club asking for you."

"Are they still there?"

"I don't know."

"Some spy you are." Kaz sighed. "What's the point of having you if I have to find out everything myself?"

She must have been even less in the mood for conversation than Kaz himself because by the time he turned back to face her, the Wraith had already vanished into the night once more. So, he began the slow walk back to the Club alone, the crowds gathered in the streets parting for him, meaning that it was a much quicker journey than expected. Being feared did have its perks.

When he entered the rowdy building he found Jesper was waiting, his sharpshooter's usual energetic demeanour on hyperdrive the second he saw his boss darken the doorstep. The dark-skinned boy was on him in an instant.

"They're in the back."

Kaz cocked an eyebrow. "The back?"

"I don't know, she wanted to talk to you in private. She's clean, I checked."

She . Something even more interesting than Kaz Brekker having a visitor was Kaz Brekker having a female visitor. Besides Inej there were few other women with the courage to visit the club, let alone summon him. Jesper was obviously intrigued by this revelation, no doubt imagining a number of scenarios in which a mysterious woman had private audience with Dirtyhands himself. Kaz didn't want to know.

He left Jesper at the bar and made his way through the crowds gathered, greeting the regulars with an acknowledging glance or two and the Dregs with a brisk nod until stopped at the back door, inches away from where his mystery visitor resided. The door gave way under his touch, swinging open to reveal the guest inside.

It was a peculiar sight, that was certain. If first impressions were anything to go on, this girl obviously had no care for decorum. She was perched on one of his chairs, her feet resting on the dark oak of his table with the dirt soles of her  boots leaving flakes of dirt on the polished surface. Her clothes were worn, but judging by the fabrics and the level of craftsmanship, they had once been something to be admired. Now, they were like the rest of her: dirty.

Kaz moved to the head of the table, resting his palms on the wood but remaining standing. "How can I help you?"

"I think the question is, how can I help you? " Her voice was smooth, sweet, completely contrasted to the harshness that composed her entire appearance, from her bluntly chopped hair to the litter of scars and fresh bruises that bloomed on her neck and hands.

At Kaz's intrigued silence, the girl moved once more. She pulled a burlap sack from underneath her chair, the faint tinkering of tiny metal coins clattering against each other was like music to Kaz's ears. She threw it onto the table with a heavy thud.

"I heard you lost this."

If Kaz was good at what he did (which he knew he was) he'd be able to trust his senses when the burlap sack started to look and sound more and more like ten thousand kruge. His missing ten thousand kruge. His thief had handed herself to him on a silver platter.

It took every ounce of patience he possessed to not throttle the girl where she sat, after all, he had promised her death. But his intrigue triumphed over his rage, something that didn't happen often, and so, he decided to play along.

"How disappointing."

The girl cocked her head, undoubtedly confused by his lacklustre reaction. "Disappointing?"

"I hoped you'd be clever at least. But you're just a fool."

"What makes you think I'm a fool?" She smiled.

"Because no thief with any common sense would steal from a man and return to brag about it."

"Well, I'm not a thief."

"Tell that to my kruge."

"This?" She gestured to bag on the table, waving her hand dismissively. "I don't want this."

It wasn't every day someone surprised Kaz Brekker, but this girl, with her fiery red hair and her complete disinterest for a wealth that many would kill for, shocked him. After all, meeting someone in Ketterdam who wasn't motivated by the value of the precious metals was too rare an opportunity to simply murder.

"What do you want?'

"Your attention." She intertwined her fingers and leant forward, smiling a smile that Kaz recognised all too well. "Do I have your attention, Kaz Brekker?"

Chapter 2: we’re criminals, not animals

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

 

 

ECHO CADDEL WAS penance for wicked men.

She blossomed in the light of crowded taverns, she bloomed in the sharp taunts that came before a bar side brawl. Her domain was the space between drunken sailors as they divulged their secrets to a bottle of whiskey. Knowledge was her sword and oh did she know how to wield it.

She craved the undiluted taste of erudition. Even before she'd washed up on the corrupted shores of Ketterdam, the stench of secrets enticed her, begging to be unmasked. Echo was happy to comply.

But, as she soon learnt, the rules of this foreign island were nothing like the ones of Ravka. It was a land desolated—not by magic—but by men. The Black Tips. The Dregs. The Dime Lions. Different names did nothing to hide the obvious—they were all just drunk on power, pretending they were gods.

And those who thought they were gods did not take kindly to the deviances of a small foreign girl with a silver tongue and honey words. Gods like the elusive Kaz Brekker, who proved hard to steal from and even harder to get alone.

He sat in perfect serenity, studying her like she was a piece of fine art. And with the blossoming hues of purple, blue and yellow that tainted the canvas of her pale skin, she might have been.

But art was beautiful, and Echo was not. Perhaps in another lifetime, one where the Saints fashioned her for love rather than hatred.

In this lifetime, she had this man's attention, undivided, pure and she knew it. Kaz Brekker might be a god amongst mortals but not even he could deny the allure of a worthy opponent. She'd marked herself from the moment she first  outsmarted his odds and now—well now, the real game had begun. He finally spoke, his words carefully crafted, a trademark of the world wary.

"You have my kruge, thief, my attention is all but guaranteed."

Echo smiled and dug her hand deep into the mountain of coins lying forgotten on the table. She plucked on from the depths and turned it over and over in her palm, teasing him. She flipped it once, twice, thrice, still veiled by silence until the boy spoke again, his tone laced with a harsher edge.

"I assume you didn't hand yourself over because you were bored."

"I've done much more for less." Echo smiled, before discarding the coin carelessly. It fell with a dull thud before she spoke again. "You're a business man, aren't you, Mr Brekker?"

Echo tried not to revel in the irritation that morphed his features the moment his name passed her lips once more. She couldn't help but admire his mastery of his emotions, they were almost unnoticeable. Almost.

"How do you know my name?"

"I have an interest in knowing things."

"And I have an interest in business. What a fine coincidence.”

Echo smiled. "I'll tell you how I took your money and how to make sure nobody ever does it again."

"And in return?" Kaz leant forward and shifted his weight onto the thick black cane that had gone unused in the moments prior. Echo had almost let it go unobserved if it wasn't for the intricately crafted head that seemed the ideal size and weight to crush her skull like sugar-paper. "You don't seem like the giving type."

"I want protection."

The boy laughed. It was menacing, a laugh that seemed too empty, too emotionless, too hollow to be mistaken for anything genuine. "You steal from me and demand my help? To protect you? My dear, if you weren't so amusing, you'd be dead."

"You can always turn down my offer. But I warn you, my skills are in high demand. I could make ten thousand kruge seem like pennies in the hands of a man like Pekka Rollins."

For the second time, Echo delighted in the flicker of shock that permeated the boy's collected features, even if it was a well played bluff, an empty threat, just like the empty boy staring her down.

"Am I supposed to take your word for your skills? You could be nothing more than a desolate, desperate little girl, eager to move up in the world."

"Don't be mistaken, I'm eager, nothing to anyone and looking for the chance to expand my horizons," Echo reclined in her chair, “but don't ever assume I'm desperate. Desperate means helpless, and I am anything but."

The silence that filled the room was almost tangible. She could feel it's phantom pressure crushing her skull, emptying her lungs. In this absence of sound, the vestige of another lifetimeb took it's place and Echo could hear the taunting voice of her mother and father— desperate had been a favourite word of their's too. They had loved to remind their daughter off her place in the world, how low it really was.

When Echo looked back at this moment (both out of rage and perpetual contentment) she could never quite pinpoint the cause of the drastic change in Kaz Brekker. In time, she'd simply equated it to his realisation of her true value, that her tenacity alone would be worth the whatever trouble her mouth would create. Whether she was right was another story entirely.

But he stood, gesturing for her to follow him with a gloved hand. "Welcome to The Dregs."

Echo followed. As much as she hated taking orders, especially from the smugly upturned lips of a boy her own age, she hated dying even more. Experience had taught her as much.

She passed the stoic silhouette and couldn't help but notice the lack of a handshake—so typical in interactions of the business kind. He seemed to embody an incessant detachment from the world around him, almost fearing the intimacy that came with touching another. Echo couldn't help but empathise, after all, she saw things better from a distance.

Since the girl had stumbled into the world, kissed by fire, blind and screaming to parents who didn't care whether she lived or died, Death had been an all too familiar presence. To her, Death was an old friend, ever-present, silently waiting, watching for the right moment to reclaim his prize. But when she followed the shrouded silhouette of Kaz Brekker into the lively front of the Crow Club, Echo noticed that familiar presence fade into nothingness—Death, in his infinite wisdom, had decided that Dirtyhands was one enemy he did not want to fight. At least not today.

They emerged, unnoticed in the chaos as Brekker lowered his voice, barely a hum above the torrent of chatter.

"What should I call you, if not a thief?"

She paused for a moment, for some reason her name felt too intimate, too personal to share with this utter stranger. This criminal. But what choice did she have? "Echo."

"Well then, Echo," A gloved hand reached into the bag of metal coins, drew a handful and placed them into her palm. She accepted them tentatively, sensing that Brekker was not one to hand out his wealth to any redhead with a passion for cards. "Go and make yourself useful."

Of course. How else would he ensure that she was a worthwhile investment.

So, with the devilish gaze of Kaz Brekker resting on the exposed flesh at the juncture between the base of her neck and her locks of violent red hair, Echo stalked to the nearest table. It was overflowing with men, addicted to their cards in their hands like it was opium. Pathetic.

She sat down, placing the scattering of coins on the sticky wooden surface, buying her way into the game. Echo enjoyed this, the thrill of the chase, just like she enjoyed turning their god delusions into ash between their fingers.

Weeks of spending her nights in gambling houses and taverns taught her the first and most important lesson that Ketterdam had to offer: the rowdy gangsters liked to play dirty—so she had to play dirtier. And so it was almost second nature to begin her mental arithmetic, counting the cards as they were shuffled, dealt, determining her luck. It was a reflex to study the faces of the men as they prayed for a favourable hand, seeking out their tells, their subtle ticks that would be their undoing.

It seemed Echo could never truly turn her back on trouble.

From his distant observations, Brekker was pleasantly surprised. He watched her win, win and win again to the exasperation of his customers and his dealer. The piling spoils of the game began to grow and in any other moment, the night would have ended very differently for the elusive Echo. But, when she finally joined him, hands spilling over with her winnings, Kaz greeted her with a drink.

"That was quite a performance."

"Thank you. I've been told I have a flair for the dramatic."

Of course, the very same person who uttered those kind words to her also had a few choice others: " If I ever see you again—I'll pull your beating heart from your chest ."

Family was never Echo's strong suite.

Echo was pulled from the murky, amber depths of her glass by the arrival of a dark-skinned Zemeni boy sporting an almost insulting assortment of colours on his plaid jacket, she recognised him, albeit faintly, from the table she had just departed moments ago. Kaz acknowledged him with a note of familiarity and turned, instantly more relaxed than he had been moments ago in the privacy of the back room.

"Meet Jesper Fahey, sharpshooter. If this man ever asks you to gamble with him, say no. He doesn't need another reason to spend my money."

The boy—Jesper—looked nothing but bemused, obviously thinking of Brekker as more of a friend than an intrepid leader.

Echo smiled.  "Noted."

"Jesper Fahey, meet Echo."

"Oh, I know you." Jesper sighed and pretended to be annoyed by the small red-head. But, much like his poker face, it did little to hide his true emotion. "You just cost me one hundred and fifty kruge."

"No, your body language just cost you one hundred and fifty kruge."

To her right, Kaz stifled a chuckle at her brashness. "She's not wrong, Jes."

Jesper grumbled, his hands caressing the ornate pistols tucking into holders at his side, before sneaking back to the gambling tables.

Kaz sighed disapprovingly. "You'll need some new clothes."

Echo looked down at her dirtied jackets and stained slacks. Sure, in comparison to the tailored suit and tie of the man beside her she was a little shabby, but it's not as if maintaining high levels of personal hygiene was the number one priority as she slowly starved in the streets of Ketterdam.

"Why, am I not dressed appropriately for a life of gang violence?"

"You look like you live in the sewage systems." Kaz scowled. "We're criminals, not animals."

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"Careful. Around here, words like that will put you in a shallow grave."

Echo raised her glass to his own, a dull clink resonating over the humming of the bar. "And that's why I have you, Brekker, to keep that grave empty for as long as you can."

He downed his own glass with a pointed glare in her direction with one final order before he made his way into the depths of the building, away from the prying eyes of the ambitious and eager. "Clothes, Echo."

And then he was gone.

With his absence, there was little to keep the memories at bay and for the second time that day (which was a second time too many), Echo heard the voice of a person long lost ringing in her ears.

" If I ever see you again—I'll pull your beating heart from your chest ."

" Don’t worry. You’ll never see it coming .”

She slammed her now empty glass on the table forcibly and made her way into the dark Ketterdam nights. Perhaps she'd buy herself a dress.

Chapter 3: the thing we’re all running from

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

 

ECHO DID BUY a dress.

In fact, Echo brought dozens of dresses, each more outrageous than the last, with tulle and ruffles and velvet and enough fabric to clothe the entire First Army with reels to spare. She paraded around the Crow Club with her soft skirts skimming the soiled floor, the filth of the Crow Club turning her pretty pink slippers to tatters.

It was worth it. The look of thinly veiled horror on Kaz Brekker's face when he saw her dressed in a purple ball gown was enough to make her place an order for half a dozen more within the hour.

He hated the blue one the most—so Echo liked the blue one best. He called their colours vulgar, more suited to the Ravkan courts than the grime of Kerch but that didn't stop the slightest of smiles threatening his perpetual scowl when she revealed the real reason behind her bravado.

Aconitum. Her father called it The Devil's Helmet . Like Echo, this particular plant was a Ravkan native, with petals stained the kind of royal purple only the Earth could paint. It was beautiful, bright, unrelenting in it's splendor—but touch it and you'd die within hours. It's colors served as a warning: leave me be . It didn't take Echo long to understand that in Ketterdam, you needed a warning like that.

So, the dresses stayed. And Kaz Brekker didn't say another word about it.

"Darling! Drinks here! Drinks all around!"

The Crow Club was bursting at the seams, which meant more wandering hands than it was possible to count. But Echo could only scowl at the throngs of people from behind the bar, tapping her scarred fingers along the dirtied glasses in a rhythmic pulse. Kaz had stationed her there—out of spite of course—after she'd gotten a little too involved in a bar side brawl and taken a sharp blow to the jaw for her efforts.

"Can you hear me? I want a drink!"

She didn't know what happened to the man who threw the punch, rumours put him anywhere from a cell in Hellgate to the bottom of the harbour. Although, knowing Kaz, the truth was worse. Still, she'd paid for her tendency to follow Trouble at its' heels by being placed so far from the gambling tables that the smell of desperation was a mere dream.

"You! Are you deaf? Drinks! Now!"

If she hadn't been so desperate for something to do, Echo would have let that greasy haired man shriek until his throat was raw, until his eyes bulged with the effort of calling to a girl who would revel in his pain. Her own head was a far more interesting place than the likes of any man who walked into the Crow Club, let alone one who was losing at a simple game of Ratcatcher. But business was business. She filled tankard after tankard with whatever watered down shit Brekker could get away with serving these days, plus a little something extra for Jesper, and made her way down to the table. At her approach, the group of men cheered. Pathetic .

"Took your time didn't you darling?"

Echo smiled. She hoped it looked as insincere as it felt. "Sorry."

Kaz was going to regret making her an errand girl. Perhaps she'd start spreading the rumour that he had seven fingers again (hence the gloves). It took to the streets like wildfire last time. The siren call of revenge was enough to keep her occupied, at least to keep up the charade of barmaid long enough to not upend a tankard on someone's head. When the imbeciles were served to their satisfaction, Echo slipped a smaller glass to the  Sharpshooter. One look at his cards proved that he was going to need it.

"On the house," she whispered.

Jesper grinned and pressed the clear liquid to his lips. "You should be a barmaid more often."

"Don't push it."

Flushed from his empty tankard, a gambler in a poorly kept waistcoat reached into his pocket and retrieved a small pouch that sung the sweet sound of profit. It dangled from his fingers, teasing them, taunting.

"You take Zemini coin, yes?"

It flew through the air to the dealer, but Echo couldn't ignore the curious voice in the back of her mind. Something was wrong. Zemini coin was heavy, industrial. That bag was too light.

Her hesitation didn't go amiss by Jesper who, with one call, had the purse clutched in his fists. He looked unamused as he emptied the coin into Echo's awaiting palms, the unfamiliar weight all but confirming her suspicions. She moved the metal back and forth between her hands, feeling the coins shift and twist as she turned back to the table with a smile. A real one this time.

"The Lucky Nine Casino up the block has had trouble with counterfeit coin lately. Heavy but brittle."

"Come on now," the man scoffed, indignant at being questioned by the woman who just served him drinks. "I've been in here for hours. My money is good."

Echo fought back the urge to laugh and instead settled a coin on the ridge between her thumb and pointer finger. Jesper's hand moved to his guns and she smiled. Great minds think alike. "Zemini coin can take a bullet. But the knockoff..."

A single coin flew into the air and almost instantly a shot rang through the tables. The coin fell with a thud, or rather, what was left of it. Now, it resembled one of those delicacies they sold in the markets, filled with jam and custard and far too delicious to live. As Jesper holstered his smoking gun, the gambler struggled for words, spouting incoherent fragments of Kerch in a manner not even Echo could translate—and nor did she bother. She just watched the bouncers drag him from the club, screaming and blaspheming all the way. A pitiful end to a pitiful fraudster.

Jesper was beaming like a child at a fete as he reached across the table to the newly vacant set of cards—and the kruge they left behind. His slender fingers had merely brushed the prize before it was snatched away by the slap of a cane and its' scowling owner. Kaz Brekker turned to Echo with a raised brow and all the arrogance of his age.

"You should be behind the bar, Caddel."

"I was making you money, Brekker."

"You were scaring off customers."

"I'd disagree."

Of course, it went unsaid that Echo would disagree with every word that came out of Kaz's mouth, whether that be the colour of the sky or the sound of the bell tower at noon. What could she say? Nothing made her heart sing like infuriating Dirtyhands.

She was one of the sole people in the world who could get away with it, because he needed her. At least, he needed her mind. Not that his own wasn't extraordinary in it's own right, but Echo filled in the crevices he couldn't reach. Kaz knew business, the underhand, the overhand, the legal and the not whilst Echo knew people. She knew what made them tick, she knew what made a man a liar before he knew it himself. On their own they could build a life. Together they could build an empire.

And that's exactly what they were going to do. It's why Echo found herself back behind the bar, cleaning glasses and pouring drinks for men who hadn't yet taken heed of the warning painted on her body. One day she'd live in a palace, what's a few drunken gamblers in the name of sweet revenge?

 

━━━━

 

AS IT TURNS out, sweet revenge could only get you so far. Vengeance was a powerful motivator but it paled in the face of drunken men finally feeling the downsides to poor quality alcohol—and emptying it onto the Crow Club floor. Echo vanished as soon as the messiness began.

She should have gone to her room. The call of her own bed had never sounded sweeter in that moment but the door at the corridor's end had an allure she never could resist. He locked it, obviously. But it was thanks to the inhabitant of these rooms that locks were no longer considered an obstacle anymore and it took a moment, but the mechanism clicked and the door gave way under her touch.

Echo was no Inej, not with her violently colored gowns and bright red hair. But, there were times (admittedly, very few) when she could be quiet. This was one of those times.

The redhead gave the DeKappel a loving caress as she passed. It had taken weeks of begging to get Kaz get consider rehousing the masterpiece because although she'd fled Ravka, Echo couldn't shake a love for the luxury she'd left behind. Besides, nothing said opulence like an art heist. The DeKappel was everything she'd ever imagined and she'd come to appreciate the irony of having it hung on the wall of a Kerch criminal.

Speaking of the devil...

Kaz Brekker was leant over a wash basin with his gloves lain delicately by his side. Echo turned her head, almost ashamed to have seen him so exposed. Her own rumours aside, she had no idea why he wore them, just like she had no idea why he'd flinch when she came close. When she first met him, Echo thought she'd found another kindred spirit, someone who liked to watch from a distance but over time, it was clear that Kaz Brekker didn't want to shield himself from the world with a leather cage. He had to. Perhaps that was why he interested her so much.

Echo liked to watch him when there was no one else around, observing him when he wasn't the Bastard of the Barrel but just Kaz. The boy who broke his leg and never healed properly or the boy who harboured a secret sweet tooth. It had taken six months to figure that one out. To celebrate her anniversary of joining the Crows, Echo had brought Kaz a hamper. It was a monstrosity, a wicker basket full of chocolates and truffles and sherbet and everything that would have made the crime boss turn up his nose. It was supposed to bother him. It was going to bother him. That's what Echo thought. She'd found the empty basket in her room not two days later, empty but for a note that read: Next time, more pink ones .

It marked the first time Kaz Brekker surprised her.

As she reclined on a plush armchair, Echo had the slightest suspicion Kaz knew she was there. The shoddy job with the lock was one thing but her cerulean blue dress wasn't the most conspicuous thing in Ketterdam. But it didn't matter, she had her answer moments later.

"Would it kill you to knock?" Kaz muttered, still not looking up from his wash basin.

"Probably. I'd hate to find out."

He shrugged on his gloves before turning around to face her. "Good job on the door. Took you half as long as last time."

A smile toyed on the edges of her lips. "Soon I'll never have to knock for anyone."

"I dread the thought." Kaz crossed the breadth of his room and sat on the bed, taking up that perfect stillness he'd mastered so well. It took a few moments for him to fill the silence. "I had Inej ask about your family name."

"I take it you were disappointed."

"It doesn't exist. Caddel is Kaelish for battle. It has no roots in Ravka. It's a fake."

Echo shrugged. "It's almost as if I picked it for that exact reason."

"What are you running from Echo?" Kaz leant forward and Echo mirrored his motions.

"The same thing you're running from, Kaz. The same thing we're all running from. When we're born we make a deal with Death and maybe she's coming to collect from me too early."

"She?" He quirked a brow at her slip up.

Echo ran a hand through her bluntly chopped locks. "I'm no one Kaz. Leave it alone."

She knew it was hopeless. Asking Dirtyhands to turn his back on something that piqued his interest was a waste of breath. Echo didn't have the liberty of wasting hers. She just wished he could see that it didn't matter. She was Echo Caddel. What came before was dead and buried.

Without looking up from his own recline, Kaz greeted a silent newcomer. "Hello Inej. What information have you got for us tonight?"

Echo turned and barely masked an outraged cry as she found Inej sitting a hair's width away from her, as if they had been side by side the entire time.

The Wraith lowered her hood. "A lead on a job. A big one."

Chapter 4: a trap would sound easy

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

 

KAZ KNEW THERE were a few things in the world that Echo Caddel didn't understand. It's why he invested in her company.

He'd find her pouring over papers taken from the desks of dignitaries on anything from the effects of jurda on the adolescent mind to the Fjerdan agricultural practices. When they first met, Echo told him she had an interest in knowing things, he didn't realise how true that was.

So when she paled at the mere mention of crossing The Fold, Kaz knew this was one of those few things. A phantom that not even her mind could conquer. But Inej had given him a price and a name and that was enough. One million kruge to do the undoable and Pekka Rollins would be nothing but a head mounted on his wall. He could almost hear the mechanics of Echo's mind turning. Good. She better think faster.

Once Inej had vanished into the night with the name of the merchant and a time, he turned to the redhead. "You've crossed the Fold before, haven't you?"

"Once," Echo muttered and Kaz waited but nothing else followed. It seemed a vague answer was the best he was going to get.

"How'd you do it?"

"A skiff." Even in the dimly lit room the tight clench of her jaw was impossible to miss. "I got lucky."

"Well you're going to have to think of something else. Luck has no business in the Fold."

Echo sighed, before rising to her feet. The pensive demeanour of the last few moments melted away as she extended her hand to him. Kaz didn't take it, but he sensed the gesture was more performative than practical. "Come with me."

They strolled into the darkened streets of Ketterdam, dragging Jesper along and away from the Blackjack tables as they left the Crow Club. He insisted he was winning. Echo insisted he wasn't.

It was hard to know when Inej joined their  midnight stroll. One moment she wasn't there and the next, she was tailing Echo like a panther, her movements indiscernible from the chaos of the streets. The crowds parted for them, easing the way as Echo led but as they turned into a blackened alley, Kaz slowed to a halt.

"Put this on," he said as he shrugged off his heavy overcoat and handed it to her.

Her brow wrinkled at the offer. "Not a chance."

"We're trying to be inconspicuous. That's not one of your talents."

"You didn't hire me to be inconspicuous."

The coat was pushed into her awaiting arms. "I didn't hire you to be bright blue either. Put it on."

She struggled with the heavy fabric until it finally slipped over her shoulders, masking the better half of her outfit. Kaz let out a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was for Pekka Rollins to get news of his whereabouts just because Echo liked to play princess. But, within the confines of the Crow Club, he couldn't deny that it amused him. There was something so peculiar about a girl with a choppy haircut and a litter of scars decorating her skin sporting elegantly tailored dresses and worn military issued boots.

Once, he'd asked her who she was before she was a criminal. Did she wear those intricate designs because she missed their warm embrace? But he got his answer. Does it matter? We're all equal in the grave . She wore them because she could. Nothing more.

Echo's masterplan turned out to be a burly Squaller with too many scars on his face to count and the sallow tinge of a man far too dependent on the drink in his hands. Apparently they'd crossed the Fold on the same skiff and that was enough to pique his interest. Certain death did have a way of bonding runaways.

She wasted no time with idle chitchat and turned to the grisha with a hardened stare. "I need to know if there is another way to cross the Fold."

"You want to go back?" The Squaller turned a violent shade of green.

"Just answer the question, Igor."

"No. If there was one the General would have found it by now." He raised his tankard to his lips and took a long drink. It settled his nerves long enough for him to continue. "Take the skiff or walk."

They left the tavern empty handed, much to the amusement of the Sharpshooter, who slung his arm around Echo's tiny frame.

"Brilliant plan."

Kaz watched her pull the dark material of his coat tighter around her with a frown. "Shut up, Jesper."

But their travels didn't stop there. Once Echo had sown the seeds, it seemed each of the Crows had their own contact or two who might be able to shed some light on the darkness. Jesper took them to a Zemini guide, who claimed to know a path through that could leave them unharmed. But, like most things in the Barrel, it was a con for naive tourists, a desperate grab for whatever coin they could get their hands on.

"Brilliant plan," Echo mocked as they walked away. Jesper wasn't amused.

Kaz had his own connections in the more illegal circles, fighting rings and businessmen with an appetite for the Black Market. But they all gave the same answer, this job was a fool's errand: walk away or become volcra bait.

Kaz didn't like those odds. So he decided to make his own.

 

━━━━

 

"HERE'S WHAT I don’t get."

The four of them had settled into the Crow Club in silence. Jesper was staring at the bottom of a glass as if he could see the future in its' shine. Kaz noticed he never drank the kvas anymore, not after Echo had suggested tainting it with salt to spike the thirst of those desperate enough to drink it. Now, he stuck to the clear stuff. Inej was twirling one of her knives between her fingers and Echo was engrossed in a book. Where she kept it, Kaz had no idea, but the little Ravkan he did know allowed him to translate the scrawling on the cover: The History of the Unsea . He had to admire her dedication.

Jesper was the first to speak and Inej followed suit.

"We're going to be here all night."

Echo sniggered at her tone, much to the annoyance of the Sharpshooter, who decided the best course of action was to kick her shin with his ridiculous pointed boots. The redhead let out a sharp cry but, on account of Jesper's unnaturally long legs, she couldn't return the favour. He smiled at her across the table.

"As I was saying, why haven't they tried going under it? Just...dig a tunnel."

Kaz took it as his cue, seeming as Echo was still brooding and rubbing her injured leg through the thick swathes of her dress. She'd get over it—he did.

"Tried that, more than a century ago."

Jesper didn't like that answer. "And?"

"Something...heard them digging." Echo flicked through the pages of her leather bound book until she found the illustrations. And sure enough, there on the page, was the unseemly fate of those foolish enough to try and outsmart the Fold.

"Gross," Jesper shuddered. "So, it was made hundreds of years ago by that crazy grisha—"

Echo interjected without looking up from the text. "The Black Heretic."

"Well they've got one in their army now. General Kirigan? If one of his kind made it, can't they just unmake it?"

Inej wasn't amused. "Have you ever put out a fire by adding more fire?"

"Well, what's the opposite of fire then?"

Echo, Kaz and Inej answered in perfect synchronisation.

"No fire."

"Water."

"A Sun Summoner."

"Alright then." Jesper pointed at Inej (even though Kaz knew he had the most practical answer by far). "One of those."

Brekker's scowl deepened. "Doesn't exist."

"Doesn't exist yet ," Inej clarified, daggers in her eyes rather than her hands.

Kaz rested his hands on the figurehead of his cane, drawing his elbows up to rest on the table. His tone was rapid. "Dressen comes into town, doesn't waste a minute. Sends out for a crew to steal something but doesn't specify what. Is it heavy, is it large, is it worth more than a million on the Black Market?"

"Maybe he doesn't know," Echo muttered, her eyes shining with the possibilities.

But Inej was less enthusiastic. "We can let this one go, Kaz," she offered, something Jesper seemed to support.

"Sounds like a trap anyway."

"A trap would sound easy."

They were interrupted by approaching footsteps.

The four of them turned, to find a nervous looking man in a bowler hat staring down at them. "We intercepted a note from Dressen."

Echo drummed her hands on her thighs in excitement. "Don't keep us waiting, Bollinger."

"It was for the owner of the Orchid. Says he requires a Heartrender, tonight."

Interesting. Kaz began to imagine a million different scenarios that could call for these variables. "A Heartrender? Why?"

"Doesn't say. Just that they need it before midnight."

He turned back to the table with a smug satisfaction twisting his scowl into a grin. "You don't bring a Heartrender in unless you need an answer out of someone who isn't willing to talk."

"Or someone who can't," Echo added.

"That's how we get this job before anyone else," Kaz continued, rising from the table in one swift movement. He'd already begun his slow march out of the club when Bollinger spoke once more, driving his steps to a halt.

"Boss. Just one problem. Pekka Rollins knows."

Any facet of joy drowned in the harbour at Bollinger's words and the shadows crept back in it's place. He didn't try to mask the clench of his fists or the tightening of his shoulders. What did it matter? Echo would notice it all anyway—she noticed everything. But, if she was so inclined to keep her secrets, Kaz would indulge in a few of his own. He carried on out of the Club without another word.

 

━━━━

 

KAZ WASN'T THRILLED with the latest evolution of their plan. Especially not when it involved Echo recruiting the Heartrender alone. When she ventured into the territory of other gangs, things tended to get...messy.

Still, she was his only option. He couldn't just stroll up to the gates of the Orchid and demand audience with their Heartrender. His reputation preceded him, he'd be lucky if he was shot on sight. Inej worked better in the shadows and Jesper would find himself attached to whatever pretty barmaid or errand boy caught his eye and forget the job before it even began. So Echo it was.

"You're sure she'll recognise you?" he muttered to her as she fixed her hair in the murky reflection of Jesper's pistols.

"It's good business to know all the grisha in town. Comes in handy in times like these."

"All you need to do is—" Kaz began to recite the plan for the umpteenth time before Echo interrupted. If he had been anyone else, her methods of silencing him would have been more...upfront. But for him, she gave a loud shush, cutting off his words before he could begin.

"Pay her for an hour, in and out, no trouble. Got it."

It was a severe understatement. You'd have better luck finding a Sun Summoner than expecting Echo Caddel to abide by instructions. No trouble . He hoped she meant it.

If Echo thought the Crow Club was the den of iniquities and sin, she always counted her blessings the second she stepped foot in the Orchid. It was, for lack of a better word, disgusting and so she wasted no time in heading towards the back rooms. She had a Heartrender to catch.

"Hello Milana," Echo said as she walked into the blonde's room. Her welcome was cold and bitter, although, she wasn't suprised.

"What do you want?"

"You could look happier to see me."

"I thought you didn't like liars," Milana spat.

"You're still angry?"

"You let me take the fall for that Merchant  you assaulted."

Who knew the corporalki could hold such grudges? That had been weeks ago, when Kaz had asked her to get shipping manifests from some fool on the Merchant's Council. She'd plied him with drinks, listened to his tales of woe (his job was hard and his wife was ugly, if you were wondering) and got all the information she needed in record time. But then the bastard just had to put his hands on her. She'd smashed a tankard over his head for good measure.

But she failed to see how that was relevant. "And?"

"My boss added a thousand kruge to my indenture to cover the damages!"

"Am I supposed to feel bad for looking out for myself?"

"I wouldn't ask for the impossible." Milana folded her arms over her chest and glared. "What do you want?"

Echo reached into the depths of her skirts and pulled out a purse that tinkled as the coins bounced off each other. "An hour of your time."

"Mr Brekker sent you?" Milana might have hated her, but like everyone in Ketterdam, she loved money more.

"He did."

"Fine."

And that's how Echo emerged from the Orchid merely ten minutes after she'd entered, arm in arm with a Heartrender who looked like she'd rather choke the life out of her than walk step in step.

The walk to Dressen's manor was quiet. A sort of triumphant glee lingered in the air and Echo could have sworn she saw Kaz Brekker smile at their success. It made a nice change from the brooding.

Milana wasn't too thrilled to be there. "I  appreciate the new business, but you've only paid for an hour of my time. I have to be back at the Orchid."

"The Orchid isn't safe tonight," Kaz muttered as they neared the heavy metal gates. His gait had shortened, slowing their pace. "Your life is in danger with this job. Make yourself scarce for a few days afterwards."

Milana's voice cut through the still night air like a knife. "Mr Brekker, are you threatening me? Really?"

"He's not." Echo hummed. "But I am. Now do what he says."

“My boss will call the Stadwatch on you," the Heartrender retorted.

Kaz watched as Echo give a poor imitation of her words under her breathe. It was only a matter of time before she choked on her own words—literally—so he decided it was a good time to intervene.

"It's not her you're in danger with. It's Pekka Rollins."

Milana straightened her spine indignantly. "My boss would call the Stadwatch on him as well."

"Which is why your boss is already dead."

They began moving once more and Kaz lengthened his strides until he was walking alongside the petite redhead. Even in the dark, her dress was like a beacon and he thanked the Saints that this particular part of the job didn't require any degree of subtlety.

"You didn't tell me she didn't like you,” he muttered.

Echo slanted him a coy smile. "You didn't ask."

But then they were face to face with the looming magnificence of Dressen's manor and every lighthearted retort died on their lips.

Pekka Rollins' head on a plate. Kaz repeated it over and over in his head like a mantra for the non-believers. This is what a million kruge could do for him.

He stepped forward.

Chapter 5: a businessman worth his salt

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

 

 

"WE'RE HERE TO see Dressen." Kaz's voice cut through the still night faster than one of Inej's blades.

They reached the gates in perfect harmony, their formation a well practiced routine. Kaz was the figure head, in all his silent broodiness and with both Jesper and Echo at his sides, they couldn't have looked more like a group of rag-tag criminals from the Barrel. That was all part of the charade. They were children, fresh faced, blue eyed and mere specks of dirt to these world-weary businessmen. It's what they relied on, that people always underestimated what they couldn't understand.

So it came as little surprise when they were halted in their track by an unimpressed doorman.

"You're not with Pekka's crew," he muttered darkly.

Kaz reached into his coat and pulled out a very familiar purse. "And you're not in Pekka's pocket anymore if you don't owe him." He threw it with surprising accuracy through the barred gate, right into the hands of the doorman, who gaped at the coins within.

They were let through without another word.

"Where'd you get that coin?" the sharpshooter hissed. With his long strides it was easy for him to catch up to Kaz, who had put himself several paces ahead of the rest. But the boy didn't answer, just pushed on forward until a short cry brought them to a halt.

"Hey! One of these has got a hole in it!"

Kaz's infallible seriousness faltered and he ushered them into the safety of Dressen's stone walls, keeping his distance even with the urgency in his tone. Bastard of the Barrel indeed. Trust him make use of forged coin he had seized from the club not even twelve hours ago. He was  efficient, that was for sure.

Also, impossibly arrogant. Kaz walked on Dressen's polished floors as if he owned them, his cane echoing through the marble walls and announcing his presence long before their group made it to the door.

They had barely crossed the threshold before the Merchant spoke. His tone was dismissive, brisk, not exactly etiquette for these situations. Then again, when was anything in Ketterdam considered polite? "One look and I can tell. Criminals." A murderer, a sharpshooter, a wraith and a traitor. Dressen had no idea how right he was. "I'm not meeting anyone until midnight."

Kaz set his cane onto the floor with a dull thud. "We heard you needed a Heartrender."

Milana raised her hand and waved to their audience and Echo fought the urge to groan. This was not the Orchid, where a pretty smile could open doors you didn't even know existed. Flirtations were an extravagance that was lost on the Merchants, especially ones like Dressen, the ones that were motivated less by the pleasures of the flesh than the pleasures of profit.

The redhead turned and hissed. "Put it down."

Reclining in his chair, Dressen's gaze lay heavy on the Crows, his beady eyes holding a surety that his withering body couldn't. "Alright. She stays, the rest of you, out."

Footsteps resounded through the drawing room as the Heartrender stepped forward, only to be stopped by the impeccable reflexes and heavy wooden cane of Kaz. He turned back to the Merchant. "She stays. And we have an exclusive on this job."

"Mr. Brekker." Echo could almost hear the mockery in his voice. But it was nothing new. Many fools had made the mistake of  underestimating Kaz Brekker. Not many lived to regret it. "No businessman worth his salt hires his first applicant."

"No, no. I understand." Kaz feigned sympathy with a furrowed brow, but Echo had known him long enough to know that empathy wasn't one of his multitude of skills. He slanted her a look, so slight she almost missed it and cocked his head. Echo hummed and stepped closer to Dressen, shifting his attention to her.

"Mr. Dressen, do you know what the average sentence is for kidnapping and imprisonment without chain of title?" At his silence, she smiled. "No? Well, I do. Fifteen years in Hellgate, I can house-sit if you'd like.”

Ghezen's Laws of Trade . It was the first book Echo read when she came to Ketterdam and although the pages were defiled by the blood of the man she stole it from, the words were clear in her mind. Ghezen (the closest thing Kerch had to a God) protected the sanctity of trade and free commerce above all else. In his indiscretions, Dressen had violated these commandments and it didn't look like he'd last long in a place notorious for it's high number of suspicious deaths.

But in that moment, under the gaze of armed men twice her age, Echo had a troubling thought. She was vulnerable. She was threatening one of the wealthiest merchants in Ketterdam, in his own home, stood between a deadly sharpshoot and a man with more blood on his hands than any of them and all she had was her books. Sure, she could tell which guards were armed based on their gait and she could read the recall with pinpoint accuracy the manifests on Dressen's desk but how could that help if guns were drawn? She hadn't just brought a knife to a gunfight, she'd brought a fork to a battlefield.

It scared her. And there was nothing she hated more.

Dressen glared at her. "You wouldn't."

Echo kept her face blank, a task she had mastered before she could read, but Kaz stepped forward and drew the Merchant's gaze to him. They stared each other down, eye to eye. "No businessman worth his salt bargains for what he can take."

The atmosphere turned sour. Across the room, a guard pulled back the folds of his coat to revealed his pistol, holstered and ready to be fired at a moment's notice. Jesper echoed his movements but any member of the Dregs would tell you, if it came to it, their sharpshooter would end the life of every man in that room before being slow to the draw. It was one of the few comforts Echo could always rely on.

The silence was visceral as it sept into their mouths and choked them. The stalemate would have gone on forever, if not for the Heartrender at their side.

"I have to be back in an hour," Milana whispered.

Saints .

Dressen's stares were unending—until they werent. He dropped Kaz's gaze without another word and gestured for them to follow him. "All right. Come on."

Like all beautiful things in Ketterdam, the Merchant's manor was harbouring an illustrious duality. He led the Crows through a labryinth of tapestries and marble statues and beautiful art, no doubt to remind himself that being in the presence of degenerates like themselves didn't make him any less wealthy. Or perhaps he was trying to intimidate them—with little luck. If anything, the heavy sculptures served as a welcomed reminder of just how easy it would be to cave Dressen's head in like porcelain.

With that, Echo walked with a newfound spring in her step.

Their final destination was a cellar—dark and desolate, tainted with the smell of rotten flesh and decay. In the town she grew up in, there was a festival every solstice. The merchants would line the streets and laud their wares: fruit so sweet it spoiled the taste and colors so bright they made little Echo's eyes burn. But if you travelled further, towards the outskirts of the stalls where the eyes of the people's a little more careless, you find the butchers and their knives. They'd sell anything from venison to pigeon, horse to rat. Sometimes, they'd even fry leather, selling it to whoever was desperate enough to betray their senses. On the busy days, when her mother neither noticed nor cared, she'd spend hours wandering the stalls and watching the men gut their animals and hang their stomachs on display. She still remembered the way the blood felt on her skin.

But as she got older, Echo found the smell that haunted those outskirts, death and blood all in the name of profit, was not confined to a single solstice. In Ketterdam, it was the stench of the city. In Dressen's manor, it was the foundation of his success.

A lone man was bound to a chair. His head was shrouded in a burlap sack and what little visible skin he had was littered with freshly blooming bruises and a scattering of gashes. His breath came in stutters.

Kaz was unimpressed. "Who's this?"

"So you don't know everything after all." Dressen took up his usual mocking tone, as if Kaz hadn't just wagered the man for everything he held dear and won. "This, is Alexei Stepanov."

The hood was ripped off and a boy stared back at them, blank. The name didn't spark any memory in Echo's mind. Stepanov was a Ravkan name. There was nothing memorable about it, no edge she could find over the preening merchant.

Dressen took his time drip-feeding them information before he spoke again. "Two weeks ago, Alexei here crossed through the Fold on foot. Alone."

Now that was memorable. Almost subconsciously, Echo moved forward. Thanks to Alexei, she was no longer the smartest person in the room. He knew something she didn't. He knew how to do the impossible.

"How?" she muttered, trying to keep some  semblance of propriety to her words at threat of adding a few more bruises to the boy until he told her how he'd done it.

Dressen smoothed the thinning hair on his head. "Well they're keeping it quiet, but, allegedly, he was one of a few witnesses to an...event."

The prisoner's chest heaved as he scrambled for breath in the lifeless air. At her side, Echo felt Kaz still, perhaps wondering if the boy would simply die before they could begin, ending the job before he could lay his claim. He didn't like unpredictable variables, Echo knew that for sure.

Finally, Alexei spoke. "Water."

She didn't notice Inej had moved from her spot by the entrance until the Suli girl was approaching the prisoner, glass in hand. She was always too kind, too led by the Saints of her parents. Sometimes, Echo wished she could be like gentle Inej, until she remembered the price she paid to be herself.

For a time, the room was full of a silence only broken by the desperate gulps of the prisoner as he tried to inhale the water in the Wraith's hands. Echo could hardly contain herself, so she spoke. "What kind of event?"

It seems Dressen didn't like that. At her voice his face fell, something Echo could only account to her threatening to incarcerate him for the remainder of his decadent life. Or perhaps it was just the effect she had on people. He took his sweet time before replying. Echo really did hate the rich. "I know an expedition was swarmed by volcra. It should have been a total loss but some device detonated. Obliterated the volcra and lit up the dark like a forest fire. I know it wasn't a fire or else no one would have survived. This was some invention that no one had seen before."

He turned his back to the Crows and pointed an ageing finger at his bound prisoner. "He knows. But he doesnt seem to be able to articulate his account of events. Some form of traumatic lapse." He shrugged.

Echo raised a brow. "Or maybe it's because he doesn't take kindly to being kidnapped." Who could blame him? If she ever got kidnapped, Echo would take her knowledge to the grave out of pure spite alone.

"So..." Dressen swept his hands forward and Milana followed, coming to kneel at Alexei's trembling form. She took his hand in her perfectly manicured fingers, tracing his pulse point until Echo could see the panic dissipating before her very eyes.

"You're safe now," the Heartrender muttered.

And there was the hallmark of every good merchant: the affinity to tell you exactly what you wanted to hear. Echo had done enough dealings with men like Dressen to know there was no such thing as safety in their care. Alexei Stepanov was dead the second he stepped on that skiff.

Now reeling from the calm that Milana forced upon him in waves, Alexei spoke, his words unlike the gasping mess of moments ago. "You won't believe me but...it was a Sun Summoner."

Inej gasped, so uncharacteristic for the Wraith. Echo turned to find her golden skin shining with the one thing that had always evaded her: faith . Of course, the Sun Summoner was another one of her Saints. Another myth come to save them all from the torrent of the Shadow Fold. Another story.

But Dressen seemed intrigued. He rounded on the boy with eagerness. "Who was it?"

"If I tell you, you'll set me free?" Alexei pleaded, that youthful naivety shining in his eyes. Echo would have felt pity for him—if she remembered how.

"You have my word. You're in Ketterdam now, you can go anywhere in the world from here."

He wasn't wrong. Ketterdam, with its' ships and ports was the hub for people looking to sail away to a new life. But poor Alexei, he seemed to miss the merchant's taunting words. The only place he'd find himself come morning was the bottom of the harbour.

But still, he spoke. "Her name is...Alina Starkov." And his fate was sealed.

Dressen extended a hand to one of his  accomplices. "Show me the manifest." He studied it for a few moments, long enough for Echo to feel a sharp jab in her side. She fought back a string of expletives that would probably shock the prisoner into an early grave and looked to find Kaz staring at her. He cocked a brow in the direction of the merchant and as always, she understood without so much as a word between them. One glance over her shoulder at the papers and Echo had got all the names she needed. Every person who had been on the skiff was now as familiar to her as a novel. No names she recognised. Although, Echo couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a very bad one. "Perfect."

Hope glistened in the prisoner's eyes. "You'll set me free now?"

"Of course." Dressen smiled, a loaded pistol settled into his palm. The shot rang through the cellar, clear and true. Inej gasped, Milana screamed and Echo could only stare at the way his blood pooled into the cobbled floor. It moved slowly, like the sludge she'd survived on in her first weeks in Ketterdam. She thought it would be darker.

It was only Dressen's booming voice that pulled Echo's attention back to the room. To her left, Kaz was staring at her curiously. "We are now the only people West of the Fold with this information. My ship sails for West Ravka at dawn. If you can prove that you have a way through the Fold and back, I'll put you on that ship with an advance."

"Give me a day," Kaz replied. "I'll have a plan."

That was cutting it short. Only a day to do the impossible? When people say impossible, they usually mean improbable , an old voice echoed him her mind. Saints, she hoped he was right.

But, determined to push the limits of both Echo and Kaz's good graces, Dressen laughed. "You have until sunrise."

Well, shit. Six hours. Not even her old friend could charm his way out of this one.

"The price is one million kruge," the merchant announced. "Now bring me Alina Starkov."

Echo smiled. She'd run from Ravka at the ripe age of sixteen, fleeing from a world she didn't belong in to a world she didn't understand. But that was before. The child that had left had grown teeth and claws. Now she had wings and rage. She'd learnt how to kill.

As they left the Merchant's manor, Echo let out a dull laugh.

Mother, I’m coming home .

Chapter 6: i am so much worse

 

 

       CHAPTER SIX

 

 

 

 

ECHO HAD NEVER seen Kaz so…frantic.

His usual stoicism was traded for a nervous energy that could put Jesper to shame, and despite the immaculately pressed suits, he finally looked as he was—a boy. Kaz languished in the whispers that followed him on the streets, the ones that called him Dirtyhands and the Bastard of the Barrel because in Ketterdam, fear was a far more valuable currency than kruge. But in this moment, the facade fell away, and they were both just lost children. Children the world had left behind.

Echo was pacing, book in hand. Papers were thrown at her feet as Kaz shifted through stacks of leather-bound parchment that towered over his dark wooden desk. The second they'd returned from Dressen's manor, there had been no time for argument, no time for discussion, only for him to drag Echo into his dimly lit rooms by the silk of her dress and begin to pour over her “borrowed” texts in the hope that they had all the answers.

It had been an hour. One sixth of their precious time and not a single word had been exchanged between the two, let alone an idea. At this rate, the Sun Summoner would return to the realm of myth before they reached the Little Palace.

Echo sighed. "What are we doing?”

“Be more specific.” Kaz turned the page of the book he was reading nonchalantly.

“You know what I'm talking about. It was one thing when we had a week to find a way across the Fold, but six hours?” She crossed the room until they were face to face, separated only by the desk and the distance Kaz seemed determined to put between himself and the world. “I love a challenge, but this is cutting it close.”

"What are you saying? That we say no?" Kaz looked less than pleased at the idea, either from his money-hungry mind or something else entirely.

“I didn’t say that.”

"Good." He reached across his many piles of paper and grabbed a navy leather-bound book emblazoned in gold. He palmed in through his leather gloves before flinging it across the room to where Echo sat, she frowned at him.  Now do you think you can keep reading? Or shall I get Jesper to take your place?”

“Pack up the dramatics, Brekker," Echo dismissed him as she reached down and picked up the book, dusting its dirtied covers with a brazen frown. It was typical Kaz, so little regard for anything that didn't serve him a purpose. "I'm not just another Barrel Rat for you to order around.  

“Maybe I’ll ask Per Haskell to do it for me.”

Sometimes Echo wished she could see inside Kaz Brekker's head and work out exactly what the hell he was thinking. Per Haskell was the Leader of The Dregs in name only. Whilst it was true that Kaz was the one to drag the gang out of the gutter and push it into notoriety with a reputation strong enough to establish them as one of the most feared gangs in Ketterdam, it was Per Haskell who took the credit—and the profit—for his efforts. That also meant that when Kaz hired Echo, she didn't really work for him. Instead, she worked for an old man with yellowing teeth and a tendency to stare a little too long at the young women he employed. She hated him, almost as much as Kaz did, which is why mentioning the old man's name was a very low blow indeed.

Echo slammed the book onto the chaise longue under her feet. All it took was one word from Brekker and her blood felt like it was boiling under her skin, but her words were calm, poised. “He's as much your boss as he is mine.”

“But unlike you, I don't have to ask for his permission to go somewhere,” Kaz quipped.

It was then Echo decided that killing him would be a mercy. She'd been so concerned with returning to her homeland that she'd forgotten the obstacles a little closer to home. Going to Ravka would mean asking Per Haskell for permission — permission he was not likely to give. In his eyes, Echo was his prime money maker, second only to Kaz. Letting them both cross the Fold and face the wrath of the volcra would damage his precious income more than burning the Crow Club to the ground himself.

"What about Inej?" Echo changed the subject. She didn't like to dwell on the fact that she was bound to a man's will once again. It upset her stomach.

“What about her?”  

“You're a smart man, Brekker.” Echo rolled her eyes. “You can work it out.”

She knew he remembered. The fact that Inej was bound to the Menagerie as much as Echo was bound to Haskell.

But Kaz simply shrugged, dismissing her concerns as if they were talking about a poor weather forecast. "You're going to sort that out for me."

“Am I?”

“Yes. You are.”

They stared at each other intently. Echo didn't like the idea of walking into the Den of Exotics, and she especially didn't like talking to Tante Heleen. The woman had a tendency to snatch up girls she saw as profitable and Echo, with her red hair and fair skin, could just as well be another Kaelish girl to fill her ranks. But then she remembered her mother's empty eyes, she remembered the reason she had left Ravka in the first place. "Fine. I'll get Inej. She'll cross the Fold.”

"You both will. I have a plan," Kaz muttered, as he swapped the battered text in his hands for another.

"No you don't. You can't lie to me. Or have you forgotten?”

"How could I? You remind me often enough." The boy looked mildly irritated at her incessant arguments. Echo couldn't care less, Kaz needed a good opposition every once in a while. Being feared wasn't good for his ego.

"So I know you don't know how to pull this off."

"Our deal was that you make me money, Caddel. Do you want to start doing your job or should I cut my losses?”

Echo fought the urge to laugh. "Don't make empty threats. You need me."

Kaz's jaw clenched. She was right and they both knew it. She'd read more books on the Fold than anyone on this damn island, not to mention the way their minds seemed to work in tandem, connecting dots they wouldn't have been able to see if apart. But of course, he was too stubborn to admit it. "I need a quick mind and a quiet mouth. At the moment you are neither. If I'm going to crack this, I can't have you wasting my time."

"Wasting your time? If I'm such a liability to you maybe I'll be more useful elsewhere."

"I think you might be right."

That hit a nerve. She stood up fast, so fast that the force sent the stack of books to her right tumbling to the floor but Echo was too angry to care. She raced out of Kaz's room—since being alone was what he so desperately wanted—without so much as a backwards glance and his voice followed her down the stairs, out into the bitter night.

 

━━━━

 

No matter how many times she walked them, the streets of Ketterdam never felt like home.

The island was alive. It twisted and convulsed under her feet, its cobbled walkways becoming a labyrinth that threatened to eat her alive. One false step and Echo felt she might lose herself entire and be devoured by the rock that was so desperately trying to fling her from its back. In Ravka, she felt like a parasite, in Kerch, she felt like a disease.

It's seems that Echo Caddel could never truly belong anywhere. Her argument with Kaz had seen to that. She always though she was the only one with a natural affinity for reading people, for seeking out their darkest hopes and fears and yet—it seemed Kaz had known just what to say to send her resolve crumbling to the ground. She cursed him under her breath.

Like everything in Ketterdam, the streets were dangerous. If you were lucky enough to escape the clutches of gang violence, there was the petty crime, the pickpockets, the murderers, those that got a rush off of slitting open the throat of pretty girls and leaving them to die. Her fair skin was littered with the attempts of those who had been foolish enough to mistake her youth for vulnerability. In the months before she had fallen in the Dregs, Echo had survived—barely. The scars that blemished her arms, neck and torso were a gentle reminder that, however strong she was on her own, a lone wolf always succumbed to the forest. The Dregs were her protection and as much as Echo could hate Kaz Brekker, she couldn't deny that it was his strength that kept her alive.

But she'd walked these paths enough to know when she was being followed.

Whoever they were, they paled in comparison to the Wraith. Inej was shadow incarnate, she passed through this world unnoticed until she chose. Echo always had a silent adoration for the girl who was everything she could never be. It was thanks to Inej that she was able to spot her stalker so easily. They were indiscreet, they made the wooden docks groan under their tread. For a moment, Echo wondered if she should act surprised when they inevitably attacked her—to raise their moral just the slightest. But before she could decide, the harbour exploded.

Saltwater filled her lungs, and engulfed her her senses until the world was nothing but a torrent of murky sea. This didn't make sense. There were no Tidemakers in Ketterdam, at least, not one she knew of. That could only mean that whoever they were, they were a law unto themselves. That made them dangerous. Far too dangerous. Echo clawed at the air around her as her brain heaved from the lack of oxygen.

The water receded in waves and Echo fell to the ground, water spilling from her mouth in gasps whilst broken expletives slipped between mouthfuls. Before she could recover in the slightest and get a glimpse of her attacker, there was a mighty strike to her stomach. It sent her heaving to the ground and the jagged stones dug into the skin of her back whilst the grisha pinned her arms above her head.

It was a woman. Not that Echo was surprised. The First and Second Armies weren't like Fjerda, they saw the sense in the recruitment and training of its women and so, it was stronger for it. But rather unfortunately, this silent attacker was stronger for it too.

"I never thought I'd see that day you washed up on a Ketterdam harbour," the woman spat. Her blonde hair was dull in the moonlight and her eyes blazed with a fury so bright that if looks could kill, Echo would be a smothering mass on the floor.

At her silence, the grisha spoke again. "No words for an old friend?"

"I have no idea who you are." Echo halted her struggling to wheeze out the words. It was hard to channel the rage she felt whilst still reeling from the suffocating clutch of the water, even without the weight of a grown woman pressing on her torso.

The Tidemaker gave an emotionless laugh. "Of course you don’t.”

Echo never thought she'd see the day she would sing thanks to Ketterdam, but here it was. The city had taught her to fight dirty, to bite, scratch and claw her way out of a fight until her hands were raw from the struggle. It also taught her that there was no sweeter sound than a nose breaking from the upwards force of her skull.

The Tidemaker howled as blood gushed from her face, staining the silken fabric of her kefta with crimson. Instinctively, she raised her hands to cup her very broken nose and Echo took the chance to roll from her pinned position and stumble to her feet. It was a macabre sight, to see a powerful grisha bent over at the waist with fresh blood spilling from beneath their fingertips and tears streaming down her face, but although Ketterdam had taught Echo many things—it didn't teach her how to care.

Her first kick was too the back of the Tidemaker's knees. They contorted at unnatural angles and another cry filled the air. If this was anywhere else, Echo might have spared a thought for the Stadwatch or any other curious samaritan who wanted their brief moment of glory—but not here. Ketterdam ate goodwill up and spat it out. There was no one coming to save them tonight.

There was a rapid flurry of movements as the grisha tried to summon the water to her aid with her bloodstained hands, but Echo was familiar enough with their kind to know a few things about their power. The Tidemaker couldn't have chosen a worse place to launch her attack. The Harbour was the dumping ground for the throwaways of both residents and tourists alike and so Echo was spoiled for choice as she searched for a weapon.

Not an arms distance away lay a roll of wooden planks, blunt, but just the right length to fit into her calloused palms. Just as the water rose in the Harbor, Echo brought her makeshift bludgeon down—hard. Another crack. Another scream as Echo thanked her lucky stars she had given Kaz his coat back. The Bastard of the Barrel was many things, but he was not one to take kindly to her returning his jacket covered in bloodstains.

To the Tidemaker's credit, she didn't give up without a fight. She lurched to her feet and began to swing at Echo with her one good hand. But she was slow. Her legs crumpled under her weight and in one last move of desperation, she reached into her kefta and pulled out a silver pistol engraved with the Lantsov insignia.

Saints. Echo cursed herself under her breath. Why didn't she check for a gun? It was moments like these that made her long for Jesper.

She raised her hands slowly. "I told you, I'm not who you think I am."

"You're a liar," the Tidemaker muttered, her hand was shaking with the effort of keeping the gun aloft. She was going to shoot, no matter what silver words Echo could conjure into her head. It was just a matter of where the bullet landed.

Arms, hands, feet. Not the shoulders. Not the stomach. Echo's mind rattled through the medical journals she had stolen from the library when she was younger. Sure, she didn't want to get shot, but if she really had no choice, she might as well have a preference for where the bullet found a home.

But then something in her mind drew her gaze to her left. A barrel, or rather a collection of barrels, each of them leaking the same thin black powder. Echo thanked whatever Saint watched over the devious and dastardly for her luck.

The redhead kept her hands in the air as she slowly began to move to her left. The Tidemaker mirrored her movements, always keeping the barrel of the gun trained on her heart.

When Echo was in place, she almost cried tears of relief. The edge of the docks was a step away, the barrels to her back and she could almost hear Jesper laughing at her plan.

"Are you really going to shoot me?" she asked the grisha.

"Yes."

Echo clenched her jaw, steely determination in her eyes. She made a promise to whatever higher powers were out there. If this worked, she'd find a way across the Fold, she'd get the Sun Summoner and then, she'd buy herself the brightest dress that Ketterdam had ever seen. "Good."

She broke into a run, leaping for the silvery water of the docks just as a gunshot rang through the air and pierced the place she had been just seconds ago. Fortunately for Echo, it was a barrel. Unfortunately for the grisha, it was filled with gunpowder.

The redhead had just broken the surface of the water before the Harbor exploded.

After many heartbeats submerged in the murky depths of the harbour, Echo pulled herself back onto the flaming mess of a dock and there, laying a far cry away from where she had stood moments ago, was the Tidemaker. Her skin was charred, blackened and flaking. Blisters sprung from her dead skin and oozed a clear liquid that did little to staunch the burn of the flames. Her eyes still held some small flicker of life, but even that was soon going to be swallowed by the inferno that surrounded them. Echo knelt at her side.

"I know who you think I am. I am not her." She lowered her head to the grisha's ear, her bright red hair brushing against a blackened cheek. "I am so much worse."

With one last shuddering breath, the Tidemaker's eyes closed. Dead.

Echo picked up her sodden skirts and made her way back to the Crow Club. She had a promise to fulfill.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of the devil and i get along just fine