No Mourners, No Funerals

Pilot. ✓

Kaz was busy keeping the books in the Slat up to date, and if it wasn't that, he was doing some odd job; patrolling his streets, watching over the Crow Club, seeking out new, promising members. Anything and everything to keep busy and his mind from wandering. 

Currently, his focus was shaking like the lock outside his window. Kaz furrowed his brows, attempting to keep the noise from bothering him. 

"It's a lock, not a bomb," he snapped at the newest spider who had been crouched outside his window, trying to unlock the blasted thing for the last thirty minutes. 

The boy jolted, stammering. Kaz waved him off and he slipped noisily away. Kaz listened to his heavy steps on the roof and the crows cawing in contempt as he disturbed their sunbathing. He rose a gloved hand to his temple, he'd need to tell Anika to find someone else, that just wouldn't do.

***

Standing near the edge of the ship, Inej watched as the sky slowly turned orange-red and the sun began to set. The slaves she saved today were all sleeping in their separate cabins. She should be happy and proud as she saved around 30 Suli slaves but her heart kept wondering about Ketterdam and its dark alleys. She couldn't help but imagine Jesper teaching Wylan how to shoot or Wylan teaching Jes how to play flute. All this while, she was trying her best not to think about Dirtyhands and his new spiders.

***

Kaz glanced out at the fading sunlight, leaning back in his chair. It had been a couple of days since he slept. But at times like this, it was the last thing he could afford. He was becoming painfully aware of the information slipping through his grasp. He had a few decent spiders but their webs were full of holes, and that meant Kaz's empire was too. He ran his hand through his hair, he needed a strong cup of coffee. 

He rested his hands back on the desk, scowling at the sight of his gloves.

Inej's words chased through his mind, I'll have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all. 

Quick to follow were the images of her, the memories. He shifted his gaze back to the ledgers scattered along his desk.

Now was not the time to get lost in delusional dreams, he needed to focus. Carefully, he pulled his gloves off and set them aside on the desk, flexing his bare hands. The air felt raw against them, as if he'd shed a layer of flesh. He shuddered, took a deep breath, and pulled a ledger from the corner of his desk. He left his gloves off.

Trying desperately to have the proper finger placements to cover each hole of the complicated, woodwind instrument, Jesper took a deep breath in, preparing to play a melody as if it was going to sound like the popular music concerts or festivals the pigeons liked to gather around to hear. But what was to be a soft simple melody twisted into a gnarly range of complete and utter incompetence. Or, in other words, a heinous sound.  

He gleefully walked to the Slat, passing others as they hastily covered their ears, he reached a certain Bastard of the Barrel's floor. He played the notes B, A, G, B, A, G, - G, G, G, G, A, A, A, A  B, A, G over and over again. The notes were ruined beyond recognition with the amount of whistles, squeaks and cracks vibrating through the tube of the woodwind instrument.

It was nice being in the Barrel and the environment in which he had learned to survive and live in. With all this adrenaline constantly rushing through his veins, the mansion got boring quicker than he'd like at times... but Jesper tried to make the best of it no matter where he was.

Kaz tensed as truly awful music—if it could even be called that—came to his ears, slowly growing louder. He quickly pulled on his gloves and snatched his cane, rising to his feet, his hand tightening on the crow skull. Tugging the door open, he glared at Jesper who must have thought this all terribly amusing. Kaz contemplated throwing the instrument out of the window.