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 followed East Stave towards the harbour, through the beginnings of the Barrels gambling district.
The Barrel was bracketed by two major canals. East Stave and West Stave, each catering to a particular clientele, and separated by a tangle of narrow streets and minor waterways. The buildings of the Barrel were different from anywhere else in Ketterdam, bigger, wider, painted in every garish colour, clamouring for attention from passersby - the Treasure Chest, the Golden Bend, Weddell's Riverboat. The best of the betting halls were located further north, in the prime real estate of the Lid, the section of the canal closest to the harbours, favourably situated to attract tourists and sailors coming into port.
But not the Crow Club, Kaz and Kasper mused as they looked up at the black-and-crimson façade. It had taken a lot to lure tourist and risk-hungry merchers this far south for entertainment. Now the hour was coming up on four bells, and the crowds were still thick outside the club. Kaz and Kasper watched the tide of people flowing past the portico's black columns, beneath the watchful eye of the oxidized silver crow that spread its wings above the entrance. Bless the pigeons, the brothers thought. Bless all you kind and generous folk ready to empty your wallets into the Dregs' coffers and call it a good time.
Kaz and Kasper could see barkers out front shouting to potential customers, offering free drinks, hot pots of coffee, and the fairest deal in all of Ketterdam. The brothers acknowledged them with a nod and pressed further north.
Only one other gambling den on the Stave mattered to them: the Emerald Palace, Pekka Rollins' pride and joy. The building was an ugly green, decked out in artificial trees laden with fake gold and silver coins. The whole place had been done up as some kind of tribute to Rollins Kaelish heritage and his gang, the Dime Lions. Even the girls working the chip counters and tables wore glittering green sheaths of silk and had their hair tinted a dark unnatural red to mimic the look of girls from the Wandering Isle. As Kaz and Kasper passed the Emerald, they looked up at the false gold coins letting the anger come at them. They needed it tonight as a reminder of what they'd lost, of what they stood to gain. They needed it to prepare them for this reckless endeavour.
"Brick by brick," each muttered to himself. They were the only words that kept their rage in check, that prevented them from striding through the Emerald's garish gold-and-green doors, demanding a private audience with Rollins, and slitting his throat. Brick by brick. It was the promise that let them sleep at night, that drove them everyday, that kept Jordie's ghost at bay. Because a quick death was too good for Pekka Rollins.
Kaz and Kasper watched the flow of customers in and out of the Emerald's doors and caught a glimpse of their own steerers, men and women he hired to seduce Pekka's customers with the prospect of better deals, bigger wins, prettier girls.
"Where are you coming from, looking so flush?" one said to the other, talking far loudly than necessary.
"Just got back from the Crow Club. look one hundred kruge off the house in just two hours."
