𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

01

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P O O R , S L O W  B O L L I G E R
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FETA SMILED AT THEIR LAUGHTER. The shoddy trio representing the Black Tips at the Exchange tonight had taken one look at the golden curls and quick, bubbly smile standing dutifully at Kaz Brekker's side and promptly doubled over, wiping at their eyes. Who was she to deny them their fun?

Elzinger, Feta recalled as she watched one of the Black Tips' seconds recompose his mashed-in face, set on a neck thicker than a coil of rigging rope. He towered over all of them, including Kaz's other burlier second, Big Bolliger, and had arms that appeared more like boulders sewn into his skin. According to Inej, Elzinger and Geels had risen through the ranks of the Black Tips together; according to patrons at the Crow Club, Elzinger wasn't bad in a fight but he had the balance of a drunkard, even during a leisurely stroll.

But it was the seemingly-flimsy, scarecrow-like second across from Big Bolliger that piped up about Feta's presence. "Didn't realize we were bringing our pets along." His joints and limbs sat at odd angles, as if someone had thrown away the instructions when piecing him together, jutting out from beneath the patterned vest he donned. Oomen. According to Inej, Oomen was worth keeping an eye out for; according to the patrons at the Crow Club, Oomen had once crushed a man's skull with his bare hands and kept right on drinking. "Give us a heads up next time, maybe I'll bring a goat along."

The lieutenant for the Black Tips, Geels — a rather unremarkable man who was just beginning to shrivel with age, decked out in a violently lime-green, Barrel-appropriate waistcoat — merely glanced over Feta's unimposing frame before civilly greeting Kaz, who had watched the Black Tips' mockery with an indifferent stare.

After Inej had given her predictions (which Feta wisely took as fact) as to who Geels would bring with him to the parley, Feta couldn't say she'd expected Kaz to volunteer her for second.

Jesper had pouted (all in good fun), sure that Kaz had been approaching them at the bar to sign him on. "Feta against Elzinger?" Jesper had pointed out. "No offense but he would crush you, Feta. Literally stomp you into the pavement. Squash the wee life out of you with just his big toe—"

Feta had laughed at that. Elzinger, admittedly, wasn't a laughing matter, but Jesper had a way of making anything seem hilarious, even probable doom. "What are you good for, Jesper, if not your pep talks."

But Kaz had insisted.

"They won't be expecting her," he'd said in response to Jesper, though his eyes drilled into Feta. His voice scratched like a worn record. "She'll do what she always does."

"Put them at ease?" Feta had suggested. "Soothe their sorrows, calm their nerves?"

"Let them underestimate you."

"Right, that one. Works every time."

Feta stepped forward now, at the bare stretches of the lantern light each trio had brought with them, letting herself be engulfed by Elzinger's shadow. She had to stand on her tip-toes to pat along the man's shoulders as she sought out any concealed weapons. When Feta made a grab around his sleeves, she clicked her tongue and gave one of his waistcoat sleeves a harsh tug. A tiny knife clattered against the cobblestones of the square. The same smile from before unfurled onto her lips. "How clever," she said with mock appraisal, in a tone that said I've seen better.

Perhaps put in his place by having his meek back-up plan thwarted, Elzinger didn't linger during his pat down of Feta. Although that didn't stop Oomen from speaking out of turn again, his hungry, beady eyes on Feta even as Big Bolliger was searching him. "Sure you don't need a second opinion, El? We wouldn't want anything to be overlooked, would we?" If I cut along his seams, all his stuffing would spill out.