In a cold and rainy city, comes the story of two unlikely individuals. A criminal prodigy and a Grisha. The boy, known more commonly by the alias he shared with his brother, together they were the "bastards of the barrel." His brother was Dirtyhand...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Kaz and Kasper Brekker didn't need a reason. Those were the words whispered on the streets of Ketterdam, in the taverns and coffeehouses, in the dark and bleeding alleys of the pleasure district known as the Barrel. The boys they called Dirtyhands and Strategist didn't need a reason any more than they needed permission—to break a leg, sever an alliance, or change a man's fortunes with the turn of a card.
Of course they were wrong, Lanying considered as she stood in front of the Exchange. Every act of violence was deliberate, and every favor came with enough strings attached to stage a puppet show. Kaz and Kasper always had their reasons. She could just never be sure they were good ones. Especially tonight.
"You know what you must do? Do you remember what I told you about the events that are to transpire?" Kasper's voice asked
Kasper, much like his brother, Kaz, was dark haired with a collection of hard lines and tailored edges—sharp jaw, lean build; yet there was a certain softness to his features that his brother did not possess. He was dressed impeccably as always his suit pristinely pressed and perfectly fitted across his shoulders and a woolen coat over it all. The only difference was that while Kaz preferred darker colours like black, Kasper wore lighter colours such as browns, and dark greys. Lanying couldn't tell if it was a deliberate effort by Kasper so he could been told apart from his brother or a personal preference. The only similarity in dress between the two boys was that they both wore the ever present black leather gloves.
Lanying turned to face Kasper. "Of course. I remember both well."
Kasper gave her a short nod. "Good."
─── ∘°❉°∘ ───
Kaz, Kasper and the others gathered near the great stone arch that marked the eastern entrance to the Exchange. Three words had been carved into the rock above them: Enjent, Voorhent, Almhent. Industry, Integrity, Prosperity. Fitting really for a place where the mercher's fortunes were decided by a sale of a share or a buy of one. A gamble on the seabound voyages where one could be made or broke.
Lanying spotted Inej as she approached. The wraith was keeping close to the shuttered storefronts that lined the square, avoiding the pockets of flickering gaslight cast by the street lamps. As Inej moved, she inventoried the crew Kaz and Kasper had brought with them: Dirix, Rotty, Muzzen and Keeg, Anika and Pim, and their chosen seconds for tonight's parley, Jesper and Big Bolliger.
They jostled and bumped each other, laughing, stamping their feet against the cold snap that had surprised the city this week, the last gasp of winter before spring began in earnest. They were all bruisers and brawlers, culled from the younger members of the Dregs, the people Kaz and Kasper trusted most. There was a glint of knives tucked into their belts, lead pipes, weighted chains, axe handles studded with rusty nails, and here and there, the oily gleam of a gun barrel. Inej slipped silently into their ranks, scanning the shadows near the Exchange for signs of Black Tip spies.
