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...
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Twenty million kruge. What kind of job would this be? Kaz nor Kasper knew anything about espionage or government squabbles, that was Lanying's area of expertise, but why should stealing Bo Yul-Bayur from the Ice Court be any different from liberating valuables from a mercher's safe? The most well-protected safe in the world , each reminded himself. they'd need a very specialised team, a desperate team that wouldn't balk at the real possibility that they'd never come back from this job. And they wouldn't be able to just pull from the Dregs. They didn't have the talent they'd need in their ranks. That meant they'd have to watch their backs more than usual.
But if they managed it, even after Per Haskell got his cut, Kaz and Kasper's share of the scrub would be enough to change everything to finally put into motion the dream they'd had since they'd first crawled out of a cold harbour with revenge burning a hole in their hearts. Their debt to Jordie would be paid at last.
There would be other benefits, too. The Kerch Council would owe him and his brother, to say nothing of what this particular heist would do for thier reputation. To infiltrate the impenetrable Ice Court and snatch a prize from the bastion of Fjerdan nobility and military might? With a job like this under their belts and that kind of scrub at their fingertips, they wouldn't need Per Haskell any more. They could start their own operation.
But something was off. "Why me? Why my brother? Why the Dregs? There are more experienced crews out there." Kasper voiced
Mikka started to cough, and Kaz saw blood on his sleeve. "Sit," Van Eck instructed gently, helping Mikka into a chair and offering the Grisha his handkerchief. He signalled to a guard. "Some water."
"Well?" prodded Kaz.
"How old are you, Mister Brekkers?"
"Seventeen." Kasper answered quickly
"You haven't been arrested since you were fourteen, and since I know you are not an honest man any more than you were an honest boy, I can only assume you have the quality I most need in a criminal: You don't get caught." Van Eck smiled slightly then. "There's also the matter of my DeKappel."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Kasper said as he fiend ignorance. He did know and it was he that wanted it for the office wall.
"Six months ago, a DeKappel oil worth nearly one hundred thousand kruge disappeared from my home."
"Quite a loss." Kasper sympathized
"It was, especially since I had been assured that my gallery was impenetrable and that the lock on its doors were foolproof." Van Eck said
"I do seem to remember reading about that." Kasper quipped
"Yes," admitted Van Eck with a small a sigh. "Pride is a perilous thing. I was eager to show off my aquisition and the lengths I'd gone to in order to protect it. And yet, despite all my safeguards, despite dogs and alarms and the most loyal staff in all of Ketterdam, my painting gone."
