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Chapter Text

His father had been a skilled asset for an independent contractor supplying solution services to formal and informal entities. He retired early to become something simpler with a longer life expectancy; and so reclaimed his grandparent’s old farm out a ways from Lij, the nearest small town with postal service.

The older folks in town, the ones that moved slowly to and from their old battered trucks, in old battered clothes, and glanced unsmilingly from weathered faces, remembered the Rietvelds. Remembered the farm in its heyday before the Second World War; remembered the family; remembered their losses in service to the country. What they didn’t remember was what happened to the wife of the only son, and his son. He only shook his head, shrugged, and returned to matters at hand, like could they recommend a soil amendment for the tulips?

In time he met a young woman at the farm co-op, bringing in beautiful flowers and bulbs for sale. She was tall and lithe and had a long black braid snaking down her back as she lifted and hauled burlap-bound plants from truck to sales tables. Paying no attention at all to how he would appear to her in his work clothes and dirty hat cinched down over his brow, he approached and asked her if he could be of any help. She lifted her face to look him in the eye and he lost his breath. Dark eyes crinkled with amusement, high cheek bones, a long thin nose, and a wide wicked grin. She looked at his strong face, his broad shoulders, his rough farmer’s hands, strong legs, and heavy boots and said, “Follow me.” And so he did ever after.

Jordan came within their first year together and they took their time learning to be parents and being a family. Nearly four years passed before they decided to become pregnant again, and this time she wanted to have the baby at home.

It was an absolutely gorgeous evening – soft splashes of pink and orange among the wisps of clouds near the horizon gifted a beautiful sunset. They were sitting pressed side by side on the top step of their traditional farmhouse, their son napping just inside the open door, where he had been playing moments before. The gentle evening breeze made the leaves rustle and a long strand of her glossy black hair lifted and floated in front of them. They had been comfortably silent for most of the afternoon as they finished their work but now she spoke as though in mid conversation,

“This feeling, right here on this step, the peace, the future before us, is why I want to have our second child here at home. We worried so much last time, and you absolutely hated the whole bureaucratic part of the hospital and insurance. People used to have babies without hospitals; we can do this together. Jordan’s birth was easy for me but, if you are truly worried, Inge Muller has training as a doula and has said she would be happy to assist.”

He offered his hand to her and she slid hers to his. He folded their fingers together and simply said, “Ok.”

In the days following Kaz’s birth she struggled to stop bleeding while the snow kept piling up beyond the windows, snow that had also kept Inge Muller from assisting. Fear deepened the cold winter shadows within the house. When she died two weeks after, and he began waking each day as an abandoned man, he withdrew from the kindness of the people in Lij, until he and his boys were an island unto themselves, alone with their grief.

Jordan and Kaz were not only brothers, but each other’s only friend. They encouraged and competed with each other in everything. Their father never used the words home school or military training; he just set them tasks and expected follow through. While of differing builds and ages, they both grew up strong, their bones and muscles challenged with being free range farm boys and with an unusual variety of activities. Being older, Jordie started the day with leading their three horses out of the stables and into the Big Pasture, and releasing the goats from the live-wire protected overnight enclosure to the Meadow Pasture. Then he replenished water containers as needed, and swapped out filthy with clean hay. Kaz released the hens from the coop, swapped out hay, and searched for eggs. And without fail, every morning of every day, he made a trip to the tree line with pocketed grain for the band of crows that screamed at the sun mid-morning.

Cool morning air and the blue shadow depths of early daylight welcomed Kaz as he walked happily barefoot through the thick soft dirt. The seed laden heads of the tall grasses brushed his shoulders and grabbed at his hair. His well worn clothes began collecting shards of stocks and leaves. He looked up at the group of crows sitting and flicking their wings on the branches of the first line of tall trees that covered nearly 80 acres of the south plat of their lands. Draped with shadow from the branches was a stone slab, etched with the name Cora Rietveld, and a flowering old world rose bush. As he got closer, Kaz was greeted with the warm scent of roses at full bloom, and the cawing of the birds began to take on a pattern, as though each was taking a turn to say hello.

Kaz mimicked back, “Caaaw, caaaaaw, caw!” This caused the big one to make a loud gurgling chuckle and swoop down to land on the ground at the edge of the bare circle of dirt where Kaz would scatter the grains he took from the chicken feed. It was always the same, the big one landed first, Kaz scattered the grain, and the others came down after. They were an illustrious group, each one large with smooth shiny feathers, and bright gold eyes. Once the grain was all pecked away, they went silent and remained with Kaz for awhile, grooming and tilting their heads at him, before leaving silently, in reverse order of their arrival. They fascinated Kaz.
Da and Jordie swore at the birds. They called them loud and irritating, scavengers and thieves. But once, with a second refill of his nightly whiskey glass, his Da said that their mother used to feed them and the bastards never forgot it. Kaz had begun his ritual the very next morning. He loved them. They were his. And maybe they knew, and would never forget, that he was hers.

His fingers absently twirled the blade of a feather on his way back to the house.

Living as they did, isolated from other children, they had no idea that not all fathers built 3-story climbing walls on their barns, or set rappelling winches and ropes on their grain silos.

Jordie most enjoyed the cleared space for Krav Maga exercises located in the back room of the barn complex. Jordie was growing into a handsome young replica of their father, and thus a replica of the strong, capable, warrior men of the Rietveld family line. He volunteered to help Da with the toughest work and took to all of the physical training very well. He talked throughout and when unexpected things happened, responded first with a laugh or smile. And while he was competitive, he could also be persuaded to be kind to his smaller brother.

Sparring together late one morning, Kaz landed hard on the ground. He allowed himself to stay down for a moment. Jordie stood near with a big grin on his face. He stuck out his hand to Kaz,

“Go ahead, take it. You can trust me.” His grin grew a smidge wider, telegraphing his intent for further tricks.

Their Da huffed a laugh, “Nah, you go on and get some water and bring some back for Kaz.”

As Jordie walked away their Da watched Kaz and allowed silence to settle. Then he said,

“At least you don’t bellyache about unfairness.” Kaz raised his much darker eyes to his father’s. His Da continued,

“Because it IS unfair, him being 4 years ahead of you and bigger. But it’s to your benefit, not his. He plans and fights for the easy win, he learns only a little. You plan and fight to beat the odds, you learn to survive.”

Kaz rose and patted off a layer of dirt from his clothes where he had landed, his Da’s words not relieving any of the bruises from today’s Krav Maga session. Reviewing in his mind the tells Jordie gave when he grabbed and tossed Kaz, he saw a way to go with Jordie’s quick pulls and how to overcome him with unexpected weight, while putting his foot to the back of his left knee. That should just about undo Jordie’s weight advantage on the throw; and while this meant Kaz would also fall, he could move to be cushioned by Jordie’s body. The imagined bruises to his brother from Kaz landing on him made Kaz smirk as he thanked Jordie for the glass of water.

Da said, “Set up and run the same maneuver again.” And a few seconds later, Da told Kaz to get off his brother and help him up, and this time it was Kaz doing the grinning.

Kaz was growing into himself. His Da said that Kaz looked just like his mother’s family, but he couldn’t remember any of them being as smart as Kaz. He was good with the outdoor training, but it was his way of thinking that was unique. He was gifted with an eidetic memory and a huge interest in all things curious and mysterious. He loved puzzles, detective stories, and thought mathematics was fun. It was because of Kaz that Da tried to approach work projects and school subjects as puzzles that needed solving.

And in the matter of basic outdoor hide-an-seek, Kaz spent his free time studying the natural camouflage of the landscape and creating hiding spots, so that when they all decided to play, he could never be found. His Da would have to give three sharp rings of the porch bell when he and Jordie eventually gave up the search.

The essential differences between the boys were acknowledged and accepted. Their Da raised them to appreciate each other’s strengths, and to offer assistance when needed, without heckling. They competed of course, in many things, but the competition was inspiring and frustration with losses was shrugged off with good humor and the distraction of lots of chores yet to do.

But the four year gap with Jordie was especially apparent when it came to discovering girls. At scheduled times within each season they packed their truck with tubs of flowers and bulbs and took them to the tri-region Farmer’s market just at the edge of Lij. They rented a place with a table and awning and set things out for sale. This was always an interesting time for Kaz to sit back, watch, and listen. In addition to people who drove out to Lij for farm produce, there were the people from Lij who would tip their hats or come to say hello to Da. Many of whom would look avidly at Jordie and Kaz since they didn’t see the boys otherwise and were curious, and who would typically comment on their growth. But Da mostly kept the conversation on weather, crops, soil amendments, prices, and bulbs.

One summer day, just after Jordie turned 13, Kaz noticed girls coming to their stand without parents. They looked to be Jordie’s age and hovered together in small groups. They would look at the flowers, but also spend a lot of time looking at Jordie, giggling, and asking questions. When this happened, Kaz saw that his Da would smile and leave Jordie to do the talking. Kaz frowned while puzzling what was happening. Neither his brother nor the girls talked about purchasing any flowers. The girls asked about one of variegated purple white tulip bunches, and then asked Jordie what he did with all his time on the farm. Did he take online classes? How often did he come to town? Did he ever think to come into town for one of the church dances?

One girl named Amber kept looking Jordie in the eye and smiling and her cheeks went pink. She spoke in a soft lilting voice and told him where her own family’s stand was and invited him to visit. She hung back while the other girls moved on, and Kaz watched in surprise as Jordie grabbed one of the bunches of cut flowers, singled out a stem of a beautiful pale pink tulip still to bloom, and gave it freely to Amber. She took it and smiled again right at Jordie before giving a gentle nod and walking away, saying she hoped to see him again soon.

Kaz frowned and said, “Da, we don’t give things away for free!”

“Let it be Kaz, it’s all right this time. Your brother and Amber were flirting just a bit.”

Kaz frowned harder. Flirting? What was flirting exactly? His Da saw his face and ordered him to take one of their regular deliveries over to Mrs. Parker’s. Kaz was glad to get away and look around. He returned quietly a short time later and overheard his brother asking if Da would bring him into town for church dances. His Da reluctantly gave maybe, but warned that soon after Jordie would be invited constantly to join the church and that his Da wanted nothing to do with it, that churches were just social groups who used politeness to take one’s money. His Da had no desire to socialize and less desire to give away his money! He assured Jordie that within a couple years Jordie would have a truck of his own and could decide his own social schedule.

As certain as his 9-year-old self could be, Kaz knew he would not be giving flowers to girls, going to dances, or joining churches and giving his money away!

Chapter Text

It was Kaz’s habit of stealing time alone at night that made him witness to the visitor.

At night Kaz liked to lie in bed, eyes tracing the pattern of light that cut across the bedroom ceiling from the downstairs main room. He was comforted by the sounds of whiskey being poured into a glass and the thunk of the bottle to the tabletop. Kaz was very familiar with his Da’s quiet evening rituals. The soft taps of the keyboard, soft tread to and from, sometimes muttered words. Jordie’s even breathing from across the room. The warm blankets. Kaz loved this alone time where his body was safe and his mind could focus or scatter at will. Sometimes sleep didn’t steal over him until long after all the lights were out and his Da in bed.

One night as he was drifting in his thoughts, imagining the types of secrets held by the ancient magicians of Egypt, imagining being able to use magic…he heard his father swear loudly.

“How the FUCK did you get in here!” his father said in a muted yell. Kaz jerked and then froze at the sound of another man’s voice answering,

“It’s been nearly 15 years and this is my welcome, old friend?” The voice was accented in a way Kaz was unfamiliar with. “Don’t pull your gun. If I intended harm, it would already be done.”

“Why are you here?” his Da asked in a quieter tone.

“I am guessing by the ease with which I gained entry to your property and to your home, that you believe yourself to be safe? That you are ignorant of what your previous enemies are doing?”

“I am multiple aliases deep with this life!” Kaz heard the sound of a fist hitting the desktop. And nothing has happened in 15 years!” his father defended.

“My felicitations,” the visitor said dryly. “However, events have transpired and if I can find you, so can others.”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out! If I am found, it will have been YOU who led them here!”

“Consider my visit a warning. My recommendation, when you are calmer, is to secure your perimeter and begin active monitoring. And practice drills with your boys in the case others find you.” The voice became harder to hear as though the person were moving farther away.

Then the sound of a glass breaking as it struck a surface. His father was swearing and pacing. Kaz didn’t move. Jordie never woke. Kaz debated calling out and asking what was going on but his father’s anger was on display and Kaz hesitated. He pondered what the visitor had said…An old friend from 15 years ago, who had to come looking to find his Da. He said that his Da had enemies! Aliases were fake names, and if his Da had multiple as he said, were they really the Rietvelds? But his Da was furious about the visitor and the warning. Maybe it would be best to not ask questions right now. If Kaz was to know anything, it was probably best to watch and listen. If he asked his questions now, his Da might just hide the truth even more.

Kaz didn’t have to wait long before new things began happening. The following week, while they were finishing up repair of the moveable irrigation pipes, a seasonal chore of resealing various connectors and joints, they heard a truck engine growling up the long drive to their house. A dust tail in the air above marked its journey as they watched from the side yard. Soon a large delivery truck with paneled sides and a high cab was visible. Their Da stood and braced his feet. He suddenly barked at them in a commanding tone:

“Get into the house, grab the rifle, and hide away from any outside wall. MOVE! NOW!”

They ran.

A while later, after the truck door slammed and the engine revved, they heard their Da call from the front door that it was safe to come out. They left the bathroom linen closet and Jordie returned the rifle to the corner next to the front door. They went out onto the porch and saw the truck had left a couple large boxes that their father was looking over. Da had Jordie run to the barn and get the crowbar to loosen the boards. He told Kaz to keep his distance and not leave the porch.

Passing off the crowbar to Da, Jordie came to stand with Kaz and they watched with great interest and a little fear as their Da began opening the boxes. Nothing scary happened and soon their Da was reaching into the shipping boxes and pulling out smaller boxes. They came over to see what it was all about. Kaz grabbed at one of the boards with a shipping slip and saw it was a list of items Sent To: Mr. Rietveld, and where an address would normally be it said “Per instructions” and the Shipped From: portion said The Broker, Ketterdam.

He handed it to his Da who looked it over and shook his head. When they had unpacked both boxes, they had many high tech items stacked in groups. Jordie asked,

“Da, what is all of this and what is it for?”

Da turned away from the boys and stood looking out over the dirt track the truck had long since driven down. They saw his shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. They waited. Finally, he looked back at them and said,

“Boys, these are gifts from a friend. We are going to learn all about securing our perimeter. Do you know the first thing we do?”

“Open the boxes?” asked Jordie.

“Look at the property map?” asked Kaz.

“Well yes, but first we think like intruders. How would you try to sneak on the property without anyone noticing?”

Jordie, “I’d hike up that old logging trail on the backside and sneak through the woods.”

Kaz, “Or, walk down the small creek that flows from there and along the field side, so my steps just sound like water.”

Their Da raised a brow and a smile began curling up the edges of his mouth. “Looks like this is going to be fun.”

“But Da, who is your friend and why are we thinking bad people will come onto our property?” Kaz asked, keeping his eyes lowered to the stacks of boxes.

His Da shook his head as he began picking up the boxes and moving them into the house, indicating for the boys to do the same, “We don’t need to get into all that right now, son. It’s always better to be prepared and never need it, than need it and have nothing!”

And Kaz realized that while their Da wasn’t lying, he sure wasn’t giving real answers. It was a secret and a puzzle and Kaz couldn’t resist thinking about it. Obviously his Da was not going to answer questions or volunteer to explain, and Kaz had no indirect way of getting more information unless the visitor returned or more trucks showed up on the farm. Kaz began a mental list of questions to ask if given the opportunity.

They did get out the old property map that had been part of the original purchase and they studied the terrain and made notes of changes and of things to consider. The fun part of being homeschooled by Da was that the subjects were usually very practical with immediate hands-on application. He had Kaz and Jordie read the manuals for each item and had them work together to draw a system that provided as much surveillance as possible. This was done very well due to Kaz’s grasp of math and geometry. He calculated the area of each IR sensor and camera field of view and once they sketched out their schematic of the hardware and multiple overlapping areas of effect, they were ready to begin installing the equipment. Jordie was excited because their Da had given him a fully equipped tool belt to wear for the job. Kaz was too little to be wearing that much extra weight, but their Da played it off as Kaz needing to be unencumbered for climbing the trees. It was something he was much better at than Jordie!

The next surprising thing was their father waiting on the front porch for them one day after their morning chores dressed in clean clothes and a hat, looking like he did for a trip into Lij. He told the boys to dress in the clothes laid out on their beds and to return to the porch when done. The boys looked to each other and moved quickly, with excitement for the unexpected. They dressed to match in dark pants, blue plaid shirts with pearl buttons, thin leather belts, dark dress socks and their dress boots. Their Da told them to get into the farm truck and they ran and jumped up on the running board to heft open the back seat door. Jordie got in and seated himself behind the driver’s seat, and Kaz sat behind the empty front passenger seat. He enjoyed his seat as he would sit staring forward and imagine the outline of a woman’s head with long dark hair protected by the headrest. She in the front, he tucked behind, following safely where she led.

Their Da opened his door, got situated in his seat and then turned and handed each of them a bag of snacks and a jar of water. They never had snacks and water on the way to Lij! Kaz knew, he just knew, this day was going to add something to the puzzle of the visitor and the need for protection from bad guys.
Jordie burst out “Da! What are we doing today? Where are we going?”

“We’ll be on the road for about 4 hours. We are going to the big city of Ketterdam,” he said, in a preoccupied manner. “We are going to need some things for this winter’s indoor lessons and for monitoring all of our new equipment.”

While both boys wanted to ask a million more questions, and they both tried, interrupting each other and letting their voices raise, until their Da braked hard, jostling them in their seats and into silence. He told them he wouldn’t go any further if they couldn’t keep their mouths shut! They promptly closed their mouths and silently watched out of the windows as their Da drove them down the long dirt access road from their property and turned onto the paved road in a direction they had never gone before.

They watched their own woods on the south side of the road and neighbor farms on the north, the beautiful countryside within which their world was centered. They watched as what they knew became vistas of the unknown and being silent was by choice.

Kaz noted and absorbed every detail of the experience. He had that kind of memory, where everything seen by his eye was recorded as a picture and could be perfectly recalled later. On the road, the cars they saw changed from other farm trucks and delivery trucks and four wheel drives, to smaller, curved sleek cars, driving fast and crossing lanes often. The people behind the wheels and in the passenger seats changed from workmen and delivery uniforms to pretty people. The houses changed from farm houses set back off the road to sprawling rectangles and gleaming glass floating on green sculpted lawns. Small towns made up of a group of buildings and a stop light became larger huddles of high rises surrounded by swathes of roads meeting and curving away, shuttling cars and people in and out of hubs of buildings. Billboard signs, with pictures as large as a barn wall, and some all made of bright lights with changing displays, showed garishly smiling people or very sad people and the words: insurance, family fun vacations, casinos, drug addiction, Best Food in Town, abuse shelters, and Tommi Mansfield for Mayor and for ‘The Future of Business!’

At a sign showing crime statistics and warning of consequences, Da flung an arm out, jabbing his finger in the direction of the sign and said, “That’s what I am talking about! It is far safer on our farm!”

Soon after the road became four lanes across in one direction, and four in the other. It was just after midday, the late fall sun was shining down upon hundreds of cars, trucks and 18-wheelers, all moving as fast as possible over water causeways, distant hilltops dotted with stand-alone houses. Then the traffic streamed into two lanes to cross a bridge over a deep canal. Traffic slowed and the spaces between cars got smaller and smaller until the boys could look into the faces of the people in the cars nearest them. Their Da told them to look quickly, to be able to say how many were in each car and what kind of person, but to not get caught doing it as it was considered rude. They made a game of looking with their faces forward, and glancing out the edges of their eyes.

But as they began to cross the bridge, the game gave way to the shock of entering the modern port city of Ketterdam. To farm boys, having the horizon blocked from sight by a mass of high rise buildings was disorienting as their eyes scrambled to decode perspective and direction while they also tried to take in the hard-scape that formed the canals, bridges, sidewalks, streets, street lights, parking meters, huge planters. The greens, blues, golds, and browns of countryside drained away into light gray, dark gray, beige gray, and brown gray. Against this muted canvas popped brilliant colors of the lights of store fronts, theater marquees, and huge digital screens; and on the sidewalks and streets, umbrellas and rain coats, cars and trucks, and advertisement signs at every level. As they flowed into the city, moving through a grid from what Kaz could see, of narrow channels between gargantuan buildings that soared overhead, the city noise moved into the cab with them. Sirens and car horns, rumbling tires, loud car motors, human voices, all combining into a wave of sound that boomed against the wall of a building on one side of the street, only to ricochet against a wall on the opposite side. Their truck along with every other grouping of sentient life absorbed the sound as it bowled over them. Kaz could feel vibrations pummeling the truck door, rattling anything unsecured, rattling him. His Da was focusing on the unfamiliarity of the heavy traffic, and Jordie gawked out his window, same as Kaz.

At one point they crossed over a bridge that spanned a deep canal. Kaz quickly looked to the right and the left of the waterway, noting how there were small water craft tied to posts at random intervals. When Kaz asked if there was more than one canal, his father explained that Ketterdam was famous for its canal ways, and how they were used by locals for quicker travel within the city. Kaz’s gaze darted around all of the people walking fast along the cement walkways, piled on corners waiting to take a step into the road, sometimes ignoring the careless cars nearly brushing against them. Everything moved!

In his quiet, keenly observant way, Kaz noted a few slower-paced, shuffling people threading their way through the busy rush of the cars and the pretty people. Like the menacing danger of the fast moving cars, the pretty people ignored the shuffling ugly people who appeared smudged around the edges with the grimy gray of the crevices. The pretty people walked by, faces forward, ignoring those struggling on crutches, those in wheeled chairs and missing limbs, those who shouted unintelligible things into the crowds, and even those who sat in the walkways crumpled into the bags of their clothes like harvested roots, causing people to walk around them. Kaz sank down into his seat, feeling the buildings bending over him like the walls of a trap. If he knew anything, he knew this was not his place. He would be happy to go home after this.

Jordie broke the silence with a storm of questions. “What do they do in these tall buildings? Where is everyone rushing to? Where do they live? How do they make money here Da? Maybe we should bring our flowers here Da – we could make so much money and see so many people!”

Kaz thought of their Monopoly game board. Yes, the men here were dressed in suits a lot like the man with the cane on the board. He thought to the last time he and Jordie had played the game, when he had practiced the misdirection he read about in that book of his Da’s about how to create illusions, about how to make things (coincidentally, such as paper money and property cards) disappear from the bank. He said to his brother, “Maybe they are all playing Monopoly Jordie. And some here end up rich like me, and others just lose like – ouch! – Da!”

Jordie, “You deserve it and” – punch – “another” – “ouch!” – “for cheating!”

Kaz kicked Jordie in the shin, “It’s called winning, you loser!”

Da, having driven through the clustered downtown portion of the Merchant Council, along the illustrious Lid, and into the West Stave, a much less well-to-do part of the city, pulled into a small parking lot, threw the truck into park, and shut off the engine.

“Jordie, be the bigger man. Kaz, I’ve got my eye on you!” Then he paused and they all looked around at the older, crumbling pavement and curbs, and small, dark store fronts. The buildings seemed to tilt and sit heavily on their footings and the occasional window had plywood boards in place of glass, There were no flashy digital screens, and the skyline was jagged and dark with industrial rooftops and machinery. They were in a very different part of the city now. Da reached down below the driver seat and palmed a pistol into the shoulder holster under his jacket. The boys were alert as he turned and looked each of them directly in the eye.

“Boys, I do the talking. Kaz, keep your questions until we are back in the truck. Understand?”

Both of them, “Yes sir.”

They followed their Da onto the sidewalk. Unlike the crowds of well-dressed business people from before, these sidewalks only had a handful of people. The windows of the businesses were dirty and the air smelled of oil and garbage and urine, and the breeze brought the salt tang and fish smells of the harbor. Kaz compared it to the smell of the chicken coop on a hot summer day and thought at least on the farm it’s a short walk away from the things that stink.

A short walk and they arrived at a store with the words “Haskell’s Pawn” spelled out in faded brown and yellow block letters. The display window and the entry door had thick bars bolted across them. There wasn’t much to see through the gray grime of the windows anyway. Both boys had frowns on their faces, but their Da seemed confident that this was where he wanted to be.

They entered into a long, narrow shoebox of a store, with an astonishing number of things piled in heaps on tables lined against the walls, with a disconcerting number of items were hanging from the walls and ceiling. Dividing the walking space into a maze were more folding tables shoved against each other down the center of the room. Beneath the tables were boxes and bins storing even more curious objects. The entire airspace of the room, from the floor, through the narrow walkways, above the tables, and swirling in eddies along the ceiling, were clouds and wisps of smoke. It was hypnotic, but its effect was to make both boys blink rapidly and grimace. Their Da didn’t smoke, and the farmers in Lij who did, only did so outside. Kaz could certainly understand why they were banned from smoking indoors, as the sticky sweet smell of the smoke seemed steeped into every nearby object and surface. The whole place emanated a vague despondent reek. At a squint now that his eyes and nose had adjusted, Kaz could just make out at the far end of the room a black curtain hanging from a wire strung from two eye hooks. From the sag of the wire and gray dust shimmer of the cloth, it had been there a very long time. From behind the curtain came the sound of baseball game announcers and the low murmur of other voices.

No one moved for a moment and Kaz began to see and trace the sight lines of strategically placed mirrors through which a person could see every inch of the maze and through which Kaz now caught the eye of a squat, pot-bellied man sitting on a stool midway down the room and leaning against a wall covered in dusty glass bottles hung to float horizontally, to showcase small ships in their centers. The old man had tightly waved brown hair lightening with gray. He had thick black glasses frames pushing down on his nose. His body was wide and slack from disuse and he wore dark clothing of no particular style. Compared to a farmer, or to the rushing business folk of the other side of the city, he looked unclean. He had been staring at them in silence this whole time, taking their measure.

Seeing their notice the man called out, “What can I do ya for?”

Da began to talk as he slowly made his way through the smoke toward the man. His voice was pitched higher, and the words fell into a different pattern. Kaz caught himself staring as his Da seemed to melt into being someone else entirely, with the same effortless swirl of the smoke as it let him pass and then filled the momentary empty space. Kaz was troubled, but quickly looked away from his father before surprise could be read on his face.

“Nothing too big or fancy, just some electronics for the boys, ones I am hoping are anonymous.”

“Ahhhh, yes, I got a few things that might interest you,” the man said as he slid down the stool and flipped a portion of the counter up to wind his way through the maze. Then he stopped and turned a heavily suspicious gaze to Kaz who was touching the face of an antique compass.

“I take the fingers off anyone I catch touching things they don’t pay for!”

Staring the man down with a blank face, and putting his hands into his pockets, Kaz replied, “Yes sir.” Jordie did the same.

“Smart boy you got there mister.”

“You have no idea. So, I am looking for laptops, a router, a networked printer, operating systems and a short list of software for my two smart boys…”

The boys stayed where they were and watched as their Da went through the back curtain and their voices suddenly cut off at the sound of a door shutting.

“Ugh, this smoke is too damned much,” said Jordie and he pulled his shirt tail up out of his pants and drew it up over his mouth, exposing a portion of his stomach muscles and lower ribs. Kaz watched to see if Jordie felt any better before he would try it. Jordie dropped his shirt and shook his head. “Nope, not helping.”

Kaz grinned and said, “And you looked stupid.”

Jordie huffed and said, “Talking isn’t helping either and Da said to stay quiet.” Jordie moved down one of the aisles, his hands back to resting in his pants pockets. Kaz did the same. There were so many things Kaz wanted to touch and investigate and ask questions about. There was a two plated scale with a small box of brass weights he wanted to test. There were cases with rings, gold and silver, with gems in dark blue, red, green, yellow, light blue. There was a whole case of watches, big ones and smaller, delicately banded ones. Some of those had gems too. There were names etched or embossed on things, and Kaz saw some of those names consistently had the highest price tags, while others consistently had the lowest. Kaz knew nothing about any of it, but he felt like most of this stuff was junk, sitting gathering dust and stink because no one wanted to pay money for it.

They made their way slowly toward the back section of the store where, to the left side of the curtained enclosure, was a short wall with a huge book case leaned against it. Jordie touched Kaz lightly on the shoulder and nodded with a grin toward the books. They lived without TV screens and until today, computer screens, and so books were well loved by the Rietveld boys. They nearly raced each other to the book case. Unlike the library in Lij, they found that the books were of all types jumbled together without any organizing force. However, one thing was clear, these were not books for kids nor were they particularly interesting. Many had the word ‘romance’ on the spine, and the covers showed young women looking at young men. Kaz rolled his eyes, while Jordie was tempted to take his hands out of his pockets. Then, looking down at the cardboard boxes thrown haphazardly at the foot of the bookcase, Kaz and Jordie both discovered at the same time, magazines with naked girls, or at closer look, nearly naked girls on the front covers.

The boys turned and stared at each other in gleeful shock. Well, Jordie was gleeful; Kaz was shocked. What kind of words went with such a picture? Were there stories? Were there just more pictures? Was it a manual of some sort? Kaz watched Jordie’s hands come out of his pocket to flip open the top magazine. It fell open to a naked woman in a pose and with a look on her face that Kaz had never seen before and hoped he never would again. Jordie made a strangled sound and stared in fascination. Kaz gave his brother a hard nudge and said, “No touching!” Jordie laughed and said, “He said that only if we weren’t buying!” Kaz frowned and said, “You’re not buying that! You are NOT asking Da to buy that, are you?” Jordie didn’t answer, flipping to another page. Kaz wanted out.

They were close to the curtain and Kaz heard the murmur of voices, though not his Da’s. Kaz decided he needed a restroom but didn’t see a sign like they had at the General Store in Lij. He stood back a bit and thought the wall with the bookcase might form a bathroom. As he moved between the wall and the curtain looking for a door, he saw through a gap to a table, a dim light hung over top, a flat screen TV showing a baseball game, and a group of five older guys sitting around. They were big men, but not fit like his Da. Their faces were carved into rough slabs with heavy brows, thick noses, and thin unsmiling mouths. They were dressed in rough fabric pants and jackets like hard laborers; but were moving fat fingers over keyboards and holding thin phones to broad ears. He overheard,

“The take could be huge today if they stick with this pitcher. I told you this was gonna be good.”

“Yeah, like you’ve never said it before like, oh last weekend when we took that huge loss!”

“Just keep watching the stats over there, will ya? Keep your eye on the online flux and we won’t have another flop.”

Kaz opened the toilet door and the guys all looked up at the sound, pinning him down with their eyes, their hands reaching for their gun holsters out of habit. He hurriedly entered the dark little toilet room, pulled on the ragged string hanging down from the bare bulb fixture above, and shut the door. It was filthy and he was surprised to feel glad about their indoor chores at home. When he exited to go back to Jordie, the gap in the curtain was gone but the voices droned on.

Their Da returned with Haskell and a large boy with a sullen face carrying a large box. He looked to be a year or so older than Jordie. As he set the box down, Haskell told the boy to go relieve someone from the shuffle on the corner. The boy did a sloppy salute at Haskell, but paused to look over Jordie and Kaz and asked, “Where you all from, a prepper place out in the boonies?”

Jordie looked ready to take the boy on, but Da quickly said, “Yeah, good guess,” and all three just stared at the boy, not saying anything more. The boy’s neck creeped red and he finally made his way out.

Before Haskell and Da could negotiate price, Jordie tugged on his Da’s arm for attention. “Da, come with me, I want to show you something. Or rather, ask you something.” Kaz shook his head and turned quickly away from the path Jordie was taking their Da. Haskell looked from Kaz to where Jordie has stopped and a big leering grin erupted from the fleshy folds of Haskell’s face. Suddenly their Da’s voice boomed out, “Jordan Rietveld! Absolutely not! That is pure filth! Go to the front of the store and wait for me there!” Then Jordie’s much quieter voice said, “Yes sir, sorry Da.” And he walked by red-faced without looking at Haskell or Kaz.

Da returned to the cash register with a dark look at Haskell’s grin. Then Haskell’s slackened and he said casually, “Rietveld is an unusual name. Where does it come from?” Because Kaz was watching he saw his Da’s body go completely still before he said, “I don’t do that genealogy stuff. Now if my Ma were alive she could tell you more than you’d ever want to know!” and laughed. Haskell took the cue and laughed too as though he knew exactly what it would be to endure a too long foray into genealogy and history. Da then gestured toward the box of goods and asked, “How much?”

Kaz listened avidly as the price began high, and how Haskell said due to untraceable goods, and his Da countered very low because demand can’t be that high for used goods of questionable ownership, and Haskell dropped the price somewhat claiming there was only one other seller of such goods and they wouldn’t let it go for much less, and Da said fine but he also needed disk copies of the operating systems. Haskell had no cash register, and wrote the agreed upon prices on a seemingly random piece of paper, muttering his way through the math until he got to the multiplication of the 7.3 percent sales tax. Before he could begin his search for the calculator, Kaz gave the total. Haskell looked in shock and said “I don’t know I should trust a young boy with the numbers like that.” Kaz moved to where he saw the calculator earlier and handed it to Haskell. Haskell took the time fat fingering the numbers in only to arrive at the same number Kaz had given. Haskell said, “He’s damn good with numbers! I got lots of work for a mind like that!” Da replied, “Nah, there will be plenty else for him to do when the time comes.” Kaz stared into Haskell’s gleaming eyes, thinking of the old coyotes he had killed trying to get after the chickens.

They left the shop and Da carried the big box, watching the street carefully. He ushered the boys back into the truck, climbed back into the driver’s seat, and locked the doors. After only a few moments in the truck, Kaz was disgusted to find the smell came with them. Da said it was cigar smoke and that it wouldn’t go away until after all their clothes were washed and they had taken hot baths with lots of soap. Their Da started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic. Jordie remained quiet, and Kaz didn’t interrupt. They were almost back to the route over the huge bridge between the city and the countryside, when their Da pulled into the parking lot of a gas station that had a small box house on wheels, with an open window showing a small kitchen, and a line of people waiting their turn at the window. They all got back out of the truck and joined the line for food as their Da explained that this was a food truck, and one of the best.

The smells billowing out from the kitchen made Kaz’s mouth water. Kaz took in the people serving the food. They had warm brown skin, dark eyes, and shiny black hair. The men wore closefitting thin pants and long shirts over top. The women wore the same but with more colors and embroidery. When they spoke, it was in a soft drum patter of sound with lilts between. His father ordered him chicken buryani and buttered naan, words he had never heard before. He grabbed the offered plate and his nose enjoyed following it as he made his way to a wooden picnic table and began to devour the dish in big scoops. The flavors exploded across his tongue and he gasped and dropped his spoon to begin drinking down his soda in large gulps as Jordie and Da laughed. They teased Kaz for his reaction to the strong spice, but Kaz announced he liked it all the same!

On the drive back home, drowsy from the food and excitement, Kaz moved his thumb gently over the engraved swirls of the back of the antique compass from Mr. Haskell’s Pawn shop. He had many questions for his Da but the sound of the wheels and the warmth of Jordie had him resting his head on his brother’s shoulder. He blinked slowly and promised himself later, as he sank away.

Chapter Text

Kaz’s questions about Haskell and his pawn shop and the guys in the back became far less important the next morning as Da got them started on making an office in the basement. It was a large room, extending the full width of the house. There were no windows so they plugged in a couple standalone floor lamps, placed board planks on cinder blocks extending across the long wall, and pushed three chairs in at expanses of board that became desk space. Kaz was at the far end against the wall and was having a good time creating his own office space. He took an old glass jar and placed pens and pencils in it. He set in the upper left corner a decorative wooden box with a lid to hold special objects.  Kaz and Jordie ran upstairs and down gathering their books, notebooks, paper, and favorite things. Their Da pulled out a number of items from the storage room in the barn, things he said he had been collecting whenever he had business in Lij. So they fixed a glossy white board to one wall, set up bookshelves for text books on homeschooling, computer coding for kids, tips for young game designers, etc. And another plank board table to hold what their Da called the ‘peripherals.’

Kaz loved that day so much his body and mind had buzzed with energy. He sat in his new place, in front of the bright light of his laptop and looked down the planks to the right. Instead of sitting for lessons at the kitchen table and moving everything to and from so the table could be repurposed, they now had a place for their things to sit undisturbed. Kaz felt cozy in this dark space. It reminded him of those moments before he fell asleep each night, with each person floating separately in their own minds, in their own beds, but together under one roof.

For lunch they all took their sandwiches and water down to their desks and ate while their Da told them more of what they would be doing now that they had added computers to their studies.

First, their Da was clearly happy with all of the interrelated things the boys were learning in putting in a home and property security system. Those first few weeks of winter were spent connecting all of the outdoor cameras and infrared sensors to the new intranet they had configured and hooking it all up to a wall-mounted wide screen above their Da’s desk space. When they finally got it working, the big screen divided into numerous little picture windows that showed the area of the property seen by each camera and sensor. It was comforting to bring the outdoors into their enclosed bunker. Whenever their eyes began wandering away from their homework, the boys would see moving pictures of trees bending from the wind, a rabbit cautiously making its way unseen from its burrow, a herd of deer drifting by, or a fox sniffing after the rabbit trails.

Second, although they were too far out from Ketterdam to get access for internet connection (which their Da said was fine as they should enjoy their boyhoods away from the madness of the rest of the world), he compromised and began subscriptions to two newspapers, the Lij Register and the Ketterdam Times to be sent to his PO Box in Lij. He picked the papers up with the rest of the mail once a week and the boys delved into them the minute they arrived. They read the papers by themselves, read whatever interested them, and came to him after with written questions. It was amazing how many questions could be generated in young minds from reading stories and adverts from a tiny town where they actually knew some of the names of those in the stories and pictures; and then the questions and assumptions they had reading about people they didn’t know from a much larger city.

Da fielded questions about government, politics, social work, society events, charity events, crime, business, the stock exchange, sports teams, and advertising. This approach gifted him with informal lesson plans directed by his sons’ own interests and disinterests. Some things were surprisingly hard to explain like why anyone would read a horoscope to know what was going to happen to them in a day (Kaz laughed himself silly with this). Once Jordie commented on how sad it was that they couldn’t live in a city and that other kids (read ‘girls’) would think Jordie’s life was very dull in comparison. Da assured Jordan that in only a handful of years Jordie could decide where he wanted to live, even if it were in Ketterdam or Lij, and could decide what he wanted to do. Maybe go to a formal school, maybe apprentice with a journeyman for a skill set.

Kaz, not yet in his teens, was unconcerned about where he would live so many years into the future, and focused freely on scholastics. He drew a map of Lij and in small block letters in pencil began noting the names and events from the newspaper on it. This grew cumbersome after a while and Kaz used his lessons in coding and graphical user interfaces to create a simple program that allowed him to build maps. It was as Kaz attempted to build a map of Ketterdam that he remembered one of his questions about their one time visit to the city.

“Da, how did you know the exact way to Haskell’s Pawn Shop in Ketterdam? Do you know other streets and canals and districts they talk about in the paper, to help me build a map?”

Da rubbed his hand over his chin and looked away for a moment. Then he looked at Kaz and said, “Well of course I’ve been to Ketterdam before! Your Ma and I both visited actually. Haskells…it’s pretty well-known for selling certain types of things for lots less than full price. I can help you block out general areas of Ketterdam if that’s what you’re after.”

“Yes, I would like that. But Da, what were those men doing in the back room behind the curtain?”

“Son, it’s simple. People always want more money, but they don’t want to have to work for it. They want to feel the uplift of winning some easily, so they bet their five kruge that something will happen. Other people bet their five kruge that the same thing won’t happen. Then there is the middle man, the one who collects everyone’s five kruge and holds it until the outcome is announced. Those were the men in that back room. They were watching a baseball game, holding many people’s money. When everyone saw the outcome, the winners were given their payouts, their own five kruge plus however much extra the middle man had set for the winners. The losers are out their five kruge and the middle men use that money to pay the winners.”

Kaz was intrigued by the scheming of it. He pulled a notebook to him, flipped to a blank page and began writing out examples of betting strategy (although he did not realize that was what he was doing). His Da did though, and spent the next hour mining his memory for everything he knew about lotteries and bookies; also, he was very grateful Kaz did not know about online search engines. Kaz was brilliant, but he followed his own internal logic when it came to morals. He wasn’t sure if he should begin a lesson series on ethics and morals, since they didn’t go to church for such things, or let it ride until Kaz was older.

As Kaz’s de facto teacher, he knew Kaz was a genius. He congratulated himself on setting his youngest son on the path of modern electronics and systems and mathematics. He knew from his previous career that Kaz had the potential to be a much sought after asset. When and if the time came, if Kaz wanted it, he could become legendary on a big scale. Or he reminded himself, Kaz could choose to be a flower bulb farmer and run an online commercial presence, establish a database seed catalogue, run a laboratory for unique cultivations, and live a normal life. He worked hard for his boys to have options that would not include needing aliases and hiding from enemies.

But he also made sure his boys understood that they had real life experience that most city kids didn’t have. They knew how to protect themselves and their property; they knew how to protect their livestock from predators, how to take care of dead animal carcasses, how to spread lime and timelines of decomposition, and how to live with scavengers. They knew how the animals treated mating and sex, pregnant females and difficult births. They knew the short lifespan of animals, they saw mothers reject those with defects or illness, and they knew death. They saw animals bond with other animals. They knew how to fight, how to shoot, and how to work hard. They weren’t soft. He was proud of them.

These were significant differences from the other kids in Lij and as Jordie’s voice changed and his legs got longer, and as his strength of form and character became apparent, the more attention he got each time they visited the town. Kaz watched as Jordie fell into conversations with friends at the general store, the regional farm coop office, and in more hushed tones, the library. The library conversations were the most interesting to Kaz as the older kids relaxed without their parents hovering nearby. They didn’t seem to count Kaz who was usually lurking at a nearby table, or sat on the floor, back propped against the wall, with his nose in a book.

The library in Lij was a very small building along the main road with a big picture window and a small door, and operated by Mr. Nellis. It was his retirement project and although he began with his own money, the town had enjoyed it so much that the council began setting aside a budget for it.  The library mostly offered a range of modern and classic books for children and young adults educational books as a resource for home-schooling families, popular novels for adults with limited time and access to other entertainment, and a small collection of non-fiction books on the subjects of nature, vehicle and home appliance maintenance, and computers.

Lately, Kaz noticed that when he and Jordie returned their books, Jordie would slip a brown paper wrapped one out of his jacket and hand it over to Mr. Nellis and that when they checked out, Mr. Nellis would add a brown paper wrapped book to Jordie’s pile. After some sneaking around, since Jordie had told him to mind his own business when he had asked about it, Kaz discovered to his great disgust that Jordie and Amber were reading the same romance books and passing notes to each other within them. Kaz’s eyes could only roll so hard, he thought, as Mr. Nellis distracted him with a new book titled Compendium of Magic for Young Magicians. 

But if asked, each would say that their very favorite time for reading was when their Da read from his favorite paramilitary thriller series and indirectly revealed his specialized knowledge of lock picking, the quietest methods of breaking and entering, boosting of cars, canvassing of a room, how to get out of handcuffs and zip ties, how to hold a hostage, how to work on the mind of someone holding you hostage, and how to infiltrate various security systems. The stories themselves were exciting and fun, but their Da’s experience inspired a solid hero worship from both boys.

And thus did the two years following the purchase of computers from Haskells’ expand and solidify their world. The steady rhythm of their days created an idyllic serenity filled with the joy of following, without censure, the interests of their hearts and minds. On the part of their Da, there was the contentment of working the family farm, defending his home, and building his boys into men; for Jordie there was the pride of working side-by-side with his Da, the tenderness of learning his Amber’s heart, and the joy of teasing his younger, more serious brother; for Kaz there was the loyalty of his mother’s crows, the glee of winning all of the strategy games, the drama of his magician shows; and lots of humor in all of their endeavors. They didn’t say the words often, but a strong love was shared between them.  

Their next challenge came in mid-January, at the celebration of Kaz’s eleventh birthday.

After they had finished with settling the animals for the night, they gathered in the kitchen to celebrate his birthday with a meal of roasted chicken and herbs, baked sweet potatoes with butter and brown sugar, and a small chocolate cake Jordie had wanted to make for Kaz. It was a box cake, with store bought frosting that Jordie had decorated with a flotilla of peanut butter chocolate cups on top. Jordie led them in a loud and wailing version of the Happy Birthday song that had them all falling around laughing until they gasped for air.

Their Da said they wouldn’t be able to sleep after all of that! But he didn’t limit them in how much they ate of it or how much cocoa they drank. Lying in bed later, eyes wide and a smile on his mouth, Kaz pronounced it the best day ever. His eyes fell closed as his Da shut his bedroom door.

The next morning as Kaz and Jordie put on their snow boots, zipped up their coats, and flung open the back kitchen door to walk out to the barn, they found a strange metal object on the wooden stair well. It looked like a huge four-legged bug and had a flat plastic bag taped to the top. Kaz went to grab it but Jordie flung out his arm and barred him from moving forward.

“Stop! We need Da to see this just as it is.” Kaz nodded and ran upstairs yelling for Da.

Their father came quickly as he too had been about to leave for the barn. When he saw the object, Kaz saw a dark frown deform his Da’s face. He looked to the snowy path, the yard, the tree line and all they saw was normal and silent. Da grabbed the object and brought it into the table.

“What is it?” asked Jordie.

“A drone!” said Da. “It flies and is directed by a handheld console. Someone could stand out on the main road and fly this in and land it.”

 He tore off the tape and plastic and opened the pouch to find a single piece of paper. All eyes were on the paper, reading it together: 

“Compromised. Your name on Rollins desk. Move fast – The Broker”

Their Da stared at the paper. Then the paper crumpled in his hand, he bent over the table and slammed his fist down, making the drone jump and skitter. He yelled NO very loudly.

The boys were scared and they didn’t make a sound. He looked at them and barked: “Go take care of the animals.” They ran. They got through their chores panting white puffs of anxiety as they went. They came back together to find their Da still at the kitchen table, talking to himself over a steaming mug of coffee.

Jordie got himself a mug and Kaz got some for the first time too. Jordie raised his eyebrows, looking from the mug to Kaz.

Kaz whispered, “I am eleven now! I can have coffee!”

They sat at the table and waited on their Da to speak.

Kaz decided it was time for some of his questions. He said, “Look, Da, I know about the visitor who surprised you one night in our living room. Is this thing from the same person?”

Jordie turned and glared at Kaz. “What? When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Kaz just shook his head and looked at Da. “It was after his visit that we got the gadget box and set up the cameras and sensors. It was after that we got the laptops and began computer monitoring. Who is looking for you? Why are they looking for you? What will they do Da, when they find you?”

Their Da dropped his chin to his chest and breathed deeply. He raised his head and looked at them both. “You may want to know things, but to tell you anything is to make you valuable to my enemies. What we really need is to decide what to do with this warning. Here are the basic facts: I have enemies from my work before I became a farmer. This Rollins, while no real threat 15 years ago, looks to be one of them seeking revenge. But I also have friends from that time and one of them, known as The Broker, found me and visited here, warning about security. Today’s use of a drone shows that we did a very good job of securing the property, since he chose not to make it in on foot like last time.”

“We have guns. We have traps. We have bolt holes. Rather than just give up and leave the farm, and all the animals for an unknown length of time, I’m thinking we could ride this out. The Broker is still in the game, a government guy in his day job, and I think he might be overstating this to be on the safe side, but…I could take you both in to town and ask around for someone for you to stay with for a while.”

Jordie and Kaz quickly shouted “No way! We stay together Da! We know how to shoot and we are not leaving you!”

Their Da seemed pleased. “Well that was easily decided No surprise really as this family has a long history of protecting what is ours.”

The boys nodded solemnly. And the Rietveld men prepared for the grim possibility of deadly force.

Just like he did that day in Haskell’s shop, their Da became a different person after the drone and note. He wore a pistol in his underarm holster at all times. He moved and propped loaded shotguns and rifles to whatever room they were in. He began giving orders in a terse unemotional voice. The boys saw his face and the barely restrained rage beneath his skin and became the best soldiers they could be.

He made pot after pot of coffee. He laid out the old plat map of the property and made adjustments according to the passage of time and all that he had done to the property over the years.

Jordie and Kaz would have told anyone asking that their Da was a quiet man, not given to speaking just to hear his own voice. But he now muttered out loud, the words a narrative to every decision and action he took. He wasn’t so much telling Jordie and Kaz things they should know, as reviewing everything he was thinking by saying it out loud. Kaz listened and remembered.

They needed to down trees to fall across the road leading to the house (they could cut them up later for firewood). The boys needed to put on their snow boots and run around the yard and in and out of the woods and fields, making multiple cross paths everywhere, to hide any tracks they might make in escaping the house, should that need to happen. 

Then they made a concealed exit from the house to the woods by digging a trench from the main floor bedroom window on the west side. It was the least visible window of the house, facing away from the main drive and facing away from the cleared backyard and entry to the barn buildings. They banked the snow to the ledge of the window and dug a small trench through the snow from the window to the tree line, and placed white tarps over top. Then they had lightly spread snow over top of the tarps. Should anything happen while they were in the house, this was their concealed exit point. This was where they would group before splitting up and taking separate routes to individual hiding places in the woods. When the danger had passed, their Da would signal for them to meet again. Two blasts of the whistle for back at the house, one long for break cover and run to the nearest neighbors.

Next Da inspected their Go bags and every item within: protein bars, water bottles, electrolyte packets to add to water, water purification tablets, a knife and holster, a lighter, first aid kit, mylar blanket, extra set of clothes, two sets of wool socks, a knit hat, gloves, binoculars, single tube night vision, 30ft small nylon weave rope, toiletries. Then Da dropped plastic zip pouches next to them. They opened them to find picture IDs, birth certificates, health vaccination records, and a small stack of money totaling $500. They recognized the pictures as the ones their Da always took at each of their birthdays, standing in front of the front door. Each one recording the changes to their faces and bodies, as well as their height relative to the door frame.

“Da, my papers say I am Kassten Wilhelm Rietveld.”

“And mine say I am Jordan Frederic Rietveld!”

“You know how predators track our livestock by scent? Humans in the world beyond our farm track each other by names and records. These are just in case we need them, and I can make other sets if need be.”

Kaz asked, “Did you just make these names up or are some of them real?”

“Real?” echoed their Da, softly laughing. “They are real when we make them so.” Then, he looked to the side as though listening to another voice, and relented. “Your Ma named you both. Jordan carries the family name of Frederic, and Kassten carries her family name of Wilhelm. Rietveld is your real last name. Huben was her maiden name and that is all you need to know about names right now. I just want you prepared for anything. Jordie, I want a word with you; Kaz set your Go bag next to the exit window.”

“Yes sir.”

When Kaz’s footsteps receded down the hall, Da said,

“If anything happens to me and you are in a situation with authorities at a hospital or the police, you should know that there may be trouble with Kaz’s records. Your birth is registered with the authorities, but in all that followed the death of your Ma, I failed to get his registered. This is just for you to know, not to volunteer to others. Without a way to verify, most will take the easy path and accept his documents.”

Jordan stood tall and nodded solemnly as he accepted this baton of adult responsibility for his younger brother. He would fulfill his father’s trust.   

Chapter Text

They ran multiple drills during the day, one of which included Jordie and Kaz running to the barn to release the cow and the horses from their stalls and to prop open the coop door. If anything happened to them, free range animals would be their warning to the neighbors. Each drill had them meet together before setting off to their individual hiding places. Although exhausted from the drills and constant worry, it was impossible for Kaz to sleep. And from the sounds of it, he shared vigil with Da who made no climb up the stairs to his room. Jordie was still able to sleep, but that was who he was. Jordie took each thing as it came, and when it was time to sleep he slept. 

Kaz clearly was the opposite. Kaz was worried and wanted to figure out how to establish the best outcome from every possible scenario. Like making sure he went to sleep in full outdoor gear and boots on. If something happened at night, Kaz wanted to run, not struggle with clothing. 

Feeling restless, Kaz got up and walked slowly downstairs and through the kitchen to the top of the basement stairs. He peered down to the blue light glow of the monitors reflecting off the walls and steps. 

“Da?”

“Yes, Kaz, come down if you want.”

As he drifted tiredly down the stairs, he saw his father revealed, little by little, sitting in the silence, staring at the glowing screen, watching the perimeter camera feeds and switching screens to IR sensor logs. 

He approached and made to slide onto his Da’s leg to sit, something he hadn’t done in quite some time. He was really too big for such things now, but his Da allowed it, slipping his arm around him to pull him closer. They both stared at the screens in silence together. Then his Da shifted and began speaking in a low rumble voice,

“As useless as the feeling is, I regret this. I want this to all be nothing, but I know too much to be comforted by wants and wishes. Men who have done what I have done, do not go on to have wives and children, for the danger of them serving as vengeance. It doesn’t matter that I worked for the better good, for bringing down brick-by-brick the worst of the world’s evil doers.  Here I sit waiting someone else’s reckoning.”

“I need to get you boys a little further away from the target I make, to ensure safety for you and Jordie going forward. You both are going to boarding school after this. I’ve kept you boys isolated for probably too long.”

Kaz was so overwhelmed with feelings at hearing his Da prepare to separate himself from them, that he didn’t have words. He just shook his head fiercely and hugged his Da’s arm tighter to his body. His Da sighed and said, “Ignore me. No need to worry about that now.”

Somehow Kaz fell asleep sprawled against his Da, who had also nodded off, but now moved to adjust Kaz’s weight. Kaz’s eyelids lifted and took in the room for a moment before dropping back down. The darkness of the room was the same as the darkness of his closed eyes. The darkness of the room…

“Da! No lights!” cried Kaz fearfully. He dropped suddenly to the floor as his Da bolted up and assessed the monitoring screen, then the continuing sound of the generators. Intruders were here, but possibly not to the farm house yet. 

“GO! Get Jordie, and go!” 

Kaz scrambled to catch resistance with his feet and moved as fast as he could, as quietly as he could, up the stairs. It was difficult moving away from his Da when he only wanted to stay. He suppressed the sound of his breaths, even though he wanted to pant in fear. He entered their bedroom, leaned over the bed and whispered fiercely:

“Jordie, it’s GO time!” His brother startled awake, looked at the anxiety of Kaz’s shadowed face, and began moving quickly. He too had gone to sleep in his boots and outdoor clothes and together they began their exit drill. So far, things were going smoothly.   

All three met at the window of the farthest room on the main floor with their bags in hand. All Kaz had to do was sling his Go bag to his back, roll out of the window and quickly crawl the corridor in the snow to the tree line. He hefted the bag and stood at the window, briefly sweeping his gaze across the dark blue glow of the snow under moon diffused clouds and at the deep dark of the tree line. He was scared. He did not want to move. He felt a hand lower to his left shoulder and another on his right. His brother and father stood behind him and offered this moment of silent encouragement. Kaz took a deep breath and rolled out over the window sill. 

Despite having practiced this part of the plan numerous times, it still felt unreal. If there was to be so much fear, there should be some corresponding distress happening around them, but instead the snow was just snow, the ground was damp, the air was cold, and the night sounds were all as they should be.

As he reached the end of the secret snow corridor and saw only darkness beyond, he paused in hope of being able to see an ambush if the intruders had somehow figured out their course. Nothing registered. Not even the sound of Jordie coming from behind. This was where he could be seen if someone was watching. In his mind he heard his Da saying hesitation was a killer. He made himself exit the cover and walk quickly beneath the trees in small circular patterns to disguise leaving three distinct paths outward. His breath now made white puffs of clouds in the air. He stood still again, hesitant and waiting; even though he knew he was supposed to be moving as fast as possible to his hideout. 

Finally, he saw Jordie’s face illuminate as he too reached the end of the corridor. In the silence, Jordie’s movements seemed ghostly. Kaz watched as Jordie hesitated at the opening just as Kaz had done. Then they both looked upward as they heard a thump, like a heavy mass of snow falling from a high branch. Mere seconds and another weird thump in the house, and then the house bloomed with orange light and something invisible hit Kaz, lifting him up and hanging in the air as items rushed by him, as he rushed by tree trunks, to fall deeply into the snow. Upon arrival, he was still facing the snow corridor, saw Jordie struggling, and then break out of the opening. It was terrible timing, but what choice was there? Jordie took a lunging step forward on the snowy embankment.

Kaz’s ears were no longer able to distinguish sounds; there was just a rushing roar. So without any warning thump, the ground at Jordie’s feet exploded, and his body flew in pieces through the air along with snow, branches and rocks. Kaz’s mind took in the fragments of time and motion that made up the violent death of his brother. Stunned beyond measure, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t blink. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t hear. Just as his mind insisted he also couldn’t stay still and stay alive, a burst of pain pulsed from his left thigh. Waves of piercing pain and pressure. Kaz looked down and saw that a shard of tree branch had impaled his thigh at a fearful depth, while a good four inches stuck out in an upward angle, like the handle of a hunting knife. Kaz knew basic first aid from working on the farm. Their Da would counsel to not remove the stick until there was a good tourniquet. Also, Kaz was unsure if he could endure the pain of grappling with it. He would have to move with it remaining embedded in his leg. 

Could he even move? 

Another blast hit the house, and another hit the barn. Flames and smoke were devouring their farm and home. 

Move or die. Kaz dug for purchase with his good leg, used his arms to thrust himself up. His bad leg screamed at him and Kaz moved anyway. The best magic trick I’ve ever done, thought Kaz. He reached a hand to the backside of his leg and felt around. He didn’t feel the stick protruding. 

He had been thrown deep into the dark of the woods, but he knew where he was and he knew well where he was to go. He dragged himself to the shallow ravine that followed the rise of the hill, slipped over the rock-lined lip and followed it a good distance uphill to what they all referred to as The Big Rock. He had to adjust to using his arm strength to climb over the top of the rock and slide down behind it to the huge fallen tree whose root end sat against the rock. Ages ago, Kaz had dug a hole in the exposed root ball to access the trunk as it rose up off the floor of the woods and reached up a good forty feet into the air, where its uppermost end rested in the crook of another very large old growth tree.  Climbing and exploring trees was one of Kaz’s favorite things to do in his free time, and these woods were over 100 years old with thick branches overlapping in midair. Over time he had created a path among the interwoven tree branches that carried him through multiple tree crowns. Without the injury, Kaz could leap easily through the branches to a spot where the branches and pine needles screened him all around, and he became invisible. He had never been found in this spot by either his brother or his Da. Kaz figured it was partly because both of them chose places in and around the ground and never thought of how a small boy could hide his thin body near the canopy; partly because nature had provided a path to the spot that hid tracking signs like footsteps and disturbed ground; and partly magic. 

Tonight there was no magic. He was off balance with his Go bag on his back, and he had to grab onto branches and move slowly. Fortunately all of his practice of this route in the past few days had removed the accumulated snow that otherwise would be dropping from these trees tonight and giving away his location. He knew he was taking far too much time getting to his spot. Whenever he paused to get a deeper breath past the pain, he still couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t be sure of how much noise he was making, let alone how much noise the intruders were making. 

He grappled the branches and hoped the movements went unnoticed. He landed onto the branch he wanted and leaned heavily against the trunk as he removed his Go bag. With a shaking hand, he reached above his head and felt the hook set into the upper branch for just this purpose, and hung his bag so it too became invisible resting against the trunk. Only then did he allow his body to sink slowly into seated position in the wide curved crook he called his place. He reached to the sides where the ends of the retaining belt lay and buckled himself to the tree. With his legs splayed down the sides of the big branch that became his seat, with the tree providing solid support to his back, with his hands tucked into the belt that wrapped like an arm around him, with his chin now dropped to his chest, Kaz had a brief disorienting muscle memory of being asleep propped on his Da’s leg just moments ago as they monitored the danger in the basement. Sitting alone in the cold night, his mind tried to reject all that had happened since that moment of feeling warm, safe, and loved.  

His left leg began tingling and Kaz knew there was pain waiting for him.  He knew he needed to pull the stick out, but wasn’t ready. He held as still as possible and stared out at the branches and clouds. He felt the gentle sway of the branches in the slight breeze. He couldn’t see flames from the house from where he was but smoke swiped his nose now and again. 

With nothing left to do but wait, everything felt distant and unreal. His thoughts lapsed and spun without direction. He wondered if he could even hear his Da’s whistle, if it ever came. When would he know it was safe to try and leave the branch? Would Da and Jordie even know where to come looking for him if Kaz couldn’t get down with his injured leg? He would have to yell to them and hope they heard. 

No, that wasn’t right, he thought. His eyes drooped as voices began contradicting one another in his mind. You saw explosions hit right where they were, you saw Jordie’s body fly into pieces. He won’t come find you. But what about Da? True, you didn’t see his body fly apart, but you saw the house surrounding him fly apart. Do you think he could survive that? Anything is possible with Da! Maybe he knew what the thump sound was and got to the basement. He began to drift among the thoughts and voices in his mind, while his body fluctuated between sweats and rolling shivers. His nose hurt from the cold breeze. 

Some unknown amount of time later, Kaz’s closed eyes began to register a bright light. He opened his eyes carefully to find brilliant sunlight reflected back from the white snowscape visible through the branches of the trees where he perched. He adjusted position and a hot flash of pain reminded him of his leg. Tears poured down his face before he even knew he was crying. He heard himself sniff, he heard the breeze through the pine needles, heard everyday sounds in the woods. He didn’t hear human or farm animal sounds. 

He needed to get down out of the tree and get this stick out of his leg. For the first time he was afraid of the distance to the ground, of the pliable branches. He moved slowly to stand up but the wound in his leg had him doubting he could continue; but he had to continue.  He debated leaving his Go bag in the tree for now, but decided to take it with him rather than attempt the climb again with his leg. In a way, he was content with the time it took to get back to even ground and the trail back to the house. Every movement of his leg took his full attention and relieved him from thinking of what might lay ahead. 

He tried to keep his eyes bound to where he placed each step and to not peek through the woods and brush to the house and yard. The air still smelled like smoke. Then, it all began to unfold in wider and wider breaks through the foliage to the devastation beyond. The house was now a broken structure of partial walls, tumbled brick chimney, doors still in frames, gaping windows, and mounds of piled debris. The barn was an echo of the house. No structure was left intact. Smoke still trailed out from smoldering embers. Kaz suddenly realized how lucky he was that the snow suppressed the flames from reaching the surrounding woods.

Suddenly he couldn’t control himself. His eyes raced across everything looking for signs of life, signs of death. He began to shake at the traces of pink near where he saw Jordie explode. There would be no whistle. There would be no meeting at the porch. The silence stretched and waited for him to do or say something. A flicker of movement far across the space, by the tree line near the pile of broken beams and siding that used to be their barn, drew Kaz’s eye to a scatter of black shapes perched on branches. The crows sat silent in the morning sun. The leader must have moved just now in reaction to seeing Kaz appear from the woods. 

All of the pain, the cold and hunger, numbed him and something within him took control. Kaz dropped to the ground and dug out his first aid kit. He tore packets of Advil until four tablets sat in his hand and downed them with a gulp of water. Tears leaked out the sides of his eyes again. He looked at his protein bars. He didn’t really want one but knew it would help his body to use the medicine. He took two bites and another gulp of water. He leaned back against a tree trunk and thought through what needed to be done. He had pads, tape, tourniquet and antibiotic ointment. He didn’t know how much of the protruding stick was buried in his leg. 

He could try to walk to Lij, or to a neighbor’s house and get help but…Da and Jordie were dead. He knew it. He was alone. It didn’t matter that he didn’t want to be, that being alive without them hurt. No one cared what he wanted, certainly not the people who had killed his Da and brother. His Da’s enemies had demolished their lives, and walked away with the balance of their own lives left to live. A fever of rage flushed through his body and his heart became convicted: He would live and bring misery and death to those who did this. In anger, he grabbed the branch embedded in his leg and pulled as hard and fast as he could. He bellowed as it left his body, and then couldn’t get a breath in as everything went black.

When he woke, he saw that the stick was red for the length of his index finger. The hole in the fabric of his pants welled purple red. He was breathing fast and hard, so it took effort to get the tourniquet under the leg, to press the folded pads over the hole, to tape the pads down. The pads seeped red already but he kept going, twisting the tourniquet with a twig before tying off. He laid back for a moment and realized he forgot the antibiotic ointment. Ah well, next time. He pulled piles of snow toward him and buried his leg. It’s all he knew to do and he hoped it would be enough. 

At some point he felt he could move again and could see there were a good number of hours of sunlight to the day. He uncovered his leg and the snow looked to have stopped the bleeding. The numbness helped him to get up with the help of a steadying branch and he limped heavily toward the barn. 

He worked in a daze, feeling distant while his mind created vivid picture memories of the carcasses of the horses, the goats, the chickens. The blood, the lifeless open eyes, the stiff protruding limbs, the twisted mouths and tongues. He found the ATV in usable condition and hitched the trailer, put on the winter gloves from his Go bag, and began piling the dead. It took three trips to the burial ditch they had used for dead wildlife and farm animals. It was getting filled completely today. He emptied bags of lime into the trench. He used boards to lever the horses onto thick tarps. He attached tow ropes and dragged them to the trench. He had a brief thought of how his Da would be proud of Kaz’s ingenuity. 

He was so very tired, but a strange energy bolstered him through the work. He got the tractor from where his Da had parked it over in the apple orchard. He scraped dirt and snow over the trench to cover the carcasses. The sun had just dropped behind the tops of the trees when he turned the ATV and trailer to the house, to the far side where they had last been together. He turned off his mind. His eye looked for red. His eye looked for the shapes of arms, trunk, legs, and heads. He collected the pieces and laid them out side-by-side on the tarp. He walked concentric paths outward toward where he had fallen from the blast, eyes trained to the ground. Again his mind recorded every picture, every touch, and every smell. He stopped searching with an hour to go before true dark. He took everything to the trench and pulled the tarp down, laying another tarp over them. He looked down at the covered lumps and had nothing to say. There was hollowness within him, and silence within and without. His mind whirled and then landed randomly on the last words that had been said: “Go, get Jordie, Go! Jordie, it’s go time!” 

He got back into the tractor and buried them. He parked the trailer on top, slid down from the seat to the mush of dirty snow melt. He closed his eyes, and his knees gave way. He fell with a thump on the ground, his mind frantic with the vision of kneeling on the bodies of his Da and brother. So close, and yet not with them. A feeling of weight bent him over. He wanted to be with them. He heard a moan and began to panic. Was he wrong somehow? Were they alive now under the dirt? His mind shuffled through images of all the wrong things it saw today. The moan sounded again and Kaz’s body vibrated with it. He dropped his head into his hands, and cried. He pulled hard to get breath in, and it pushed hard to get back out in loud wailing sobs. The crying took over his body, bent him back and forward at will. Liquid streamed from his eyes and his nose, his hands covering his face though there was no one to see. He couldn’t stop, even when his stomach began heaving in protest. The barest spit came up and dripped out of him like his tears and snot. He fell over in exhaustion and lay on the ground, facing up toward the dark sky. He wiped his face with his sleeve and stared unseeing into clouds backlit by the moon, fading to dark at the edges of the sky. His mind was mercifully as empty as his tear ducts and his stomach.

 It was full dark when he began a fire in the yard fire pit. He made a nest of hay bales and still intact blankets. He took another handful of Advil, and redressed his wound, which had seeped blood in a long dark stain down his pants. It felt swollen, hot and painful. He made sure to add the antibiotic ointment this time and packed it in snow again. He made himself eat the remaining bites of his opened protein bar. 

When he could not feel anything in the leg anymore, he rolled into some blankets and stared at the flames of the fire. Bandages for his leg, work and rage for his mind and heart. Sleep eventually came. 

Kaz woke to the insistent caws of the crows from the tree line. They were strangely loud. Kaz groaned and wondered why he had slept so late, why Jordie or Da hadn’t gotten him up already. He threw off the blankets readying to get up, and gasped at the fiery pain in his leg. The pain reminded him. He remembered. He remembered his sorrow and his rage. 

He knew he had to go. If this is what his Da’s enemies were willing to do, then he needed to stay dead too. And, he promised himself, here in their yard, here on their farm, he would make his Da’s enemies pay. He would bring to them many times greater than what they had delivered. 

By mid-morning, he had repacked and was headed out with a strong walking stick in hand and his Da’s gun holster tucked under his left armpit. He looked to the crows still gathered in the trees waiting for him to bring their treat of grain. They looked at him. He thought of all he had buried yesterday and glared back at them. He growled, “Forget me!” 

Chapter Text

The last look at the property gate; the look back at the woods from the edge of the Petersen’s south field; the tree he huddled against the first night and all the similar places the following nights; the journey to Ketterdam was a series of pictures for Kaz. His world had shrunk to the immediate needs before him: walking, tending to his wound, being unseen, keeping warm, eating and drinking what he could, relieving himself, avoiding predators, and resting. Living took all of his attention and he was thankful. Kaz hadn’t cried again after that moment when he had finished burying all of his dead. Yes, a part of him knew he stood just below a tidal wave of pain cresting suspended above him; the grief of living alone without Jordie and Da.

But he was finding he wasn’t completely alone. There was a voice in his head that spoke to him now and Kaz did what it said. The voice wasn’t kind or consoling, but it was wise and told him things that kept him alive. It cautioned against danger. It guided his survival. It said crying was a waste of time. It said feelings got you killed.

Although the wound in his leg was healing, it still hurt to move as much as he needed. He was basically dragging his leg along with the help of a walking stick, exhausting his arms with bearing the weight. And though he tried to walk during the night so as not to be seen, today he had kept moving due to drenching rain and no real shelter. He was cold and tired and his leg finally just gave out on him as he approached one of the many waterways that drained the farm country to the sea.  

So he sat in a heap amongst the tall weeds leading to the bank, watching the flow of grey water, under low-lying dark grey clouds, pummeled by incessant water pouring over him and now water soaking up into his clothes. He shivered at the cold of it and knew he couldn’t stay that way but also that he couldn’t move.

His chin dropped to his chest and he closed his eyes. Water trickled and ran everywhere. His shoulders hitched and Kaz became blazingly angry. His body was giving up. If he toppled over and just let nature take its course, how was he different from Jordie and Da, lying in the cold dirt, water trickling and soaking around their parts. They couldn’t do anything, but he could. He could! The voice in his head was annoyed by his failure. It yelled at him to quit being the baby and to get the hell up!

He raised his head, opened his eyes, and discovered the glow of a light floating just above a dark shadow on the river. It was coming through a slight bend. Kaz threw his walking stick ahead of him a ways, then pushed his hands against the ground and hefted himself forward, over and over until he was sliding down the muddy bank and crouched at its swelling edge.

The dark shadow was a very slow moving tow craft with dim bow lights and softly lit cockpit. A single figure was at the helm. As it approached, Kaz saw a bulkier dark shadow drifting behind, a silent mountain covered in dark tarps. By the rolled shape of the covered items and their length over all, Kaz guessed at logs being taken to a lumber mill. No one would be on that barge of trees, and the coverings would provide shelter if he could burrow in. He was completely soaked anyway. He could float to it, grab his way up the ladder on the stern, and crawl his way to cover. He’d still be wet and cold, but it would serve.

He rested protected from the rain under the edge of one of the waterproof tarps, enjoying the smell of tree sap and bark, but could not sleep. He kept watch of the bank illumined by the pilot lights on the tow craft. Hours later, still in the dark of night, a bolus of light began shimmering ahead of them. Kaz watched as the natural bank gave way to cement walls dotted with drain pipes, small docks, and metal walkways sometimes lighted. As they continued, roadway and building lights began to reflect off the waves of the canal, interrupted twice by the shadow of bridges they slid beneath. Kaz cautiously pushed more of the tarp up to get a bigger picture of where they were and saw the strangely tilted, sometimes interconnected, multilevel buildings of Ketterdam’s canal-facing neighborhoods.

He hated the thought of that cold dark water again, but he tied his walking stick to his Go bag, shrugged the handles over his arms so it rested along his back, and made himself slip over the transom and float to the wall. He drifted along it to a metal ladder extending up the wall to the walkway above and willed his cold shaking hands to grasp hard enough to hold him as he lifted himself up. Water sheeted and then dripped off of him, which was funny in the pouring rain. Once again on solid ground, he stared around at the dark street holding deep puddles of rain; silent, locked buildings; and scarily silent, impenetrable alleys. This was not his Da’s Ketterdam.

He needed dry clothes. He needed a heat source. He needed money.

He found his way in the following days among the others living on the streets. He knew to make his first blow the hardest and most vicious as it made everything that followed easier. Each successful take brought more surety that he could survive. His ability to find hiding places helped even more.

Young people on the streets, if they had any brains or cleverness about them, or if they were large and good in a fight, had options the rest did not. They could join a gang and have protection, a job and money, and a place to sleep. But Kaz was still too young, too small, and he limped. He was too often cold, sleepless, and hungry. He was eleven years old with no way of making money, and he spent most of his time not ending up a dupe or slave to someone bigger.

He ended up drifting together with two others from the roving pack of kids on the streets near and around The Barrel. Their names were Keeg and Dirix and both were around the same age as Kaz. They had met one day, inadvertently running nearly the same winding exit route from where the Stadwatch and helpful good citizens were converging to assist a man who had just realized his computer bag was missing, along with his wallet and keys, etc. At the first strident blare of a Stadwatch car siren, every street kid had disappeared from the area. If you looked like a culprit, you became the culprit.

Keeg had brown wavy hair, blue eyes, and freckles and although not fat, was heavy on his feet. Dirix was short and thin, with curly brown hair, intent brown eyes, and was whippet fast. Kaz with his silky black hair, black eyes, bold eyebrows, and memorable face, had his grey hoodie pulled up over his head. They had all arrived at various speeds to an alley that wove between tall buildings and dumped out into a busy thoroughfare a good three streets away. Dirix and Kaz had flown around opposite corners of the buildings that flanked the alley, and smacked into each other. Keeg powered his way into the alley a few seconds later and bowled them all over together. Kaz fought his way out, elbows swinging and fists ready. The other two found their feet and backed away, grabbing at their sore spots. Kaz’s face was fierce and threatening. Keeg protested,

“We didn’t do nothing!”

Kaz took in their heavy breathing, their grimy clothes, uncut hair, and worn shoes. He nodded.

“Fine, let’s get out of here.”

And they all ran together until it was safe to walk and hide themselves among the crowd. A little later, when Kaz had led them back to a garbage receptacle off the square where all the trouble had begun and threw off the lid and retrieved a computer bag, they decided Kaz was their friend. Kaz decided they could be useful.

They made sure they weren’t seen together often during daylight hours, while they worked the crowds for what they could get. But they found each other at some point each night and huddled in blankets with their backs together for warmth, taking turns at keeping watch. They shared with each other where they could get warm without being rousted; the best bathrooms open to the public; which routes of Stadwatch were too lazy to care; where to hit up drunk, oblivious tourists; and which of the many crazy street people to avoid. Information was gold on the streets.

Just as Keeg and Dirix were beginning to congratulate themselves for making it through a winter on the streets of Ketterdam, the city came under a severe weather warning. A huge winter storm system was sweeping over the water from Ravka and eight foot snowdrifts and a full week of negative temps were expected. All homeless were encouraged to seek shelter at various locations. Some local churches were also offering sanctuary.  

The boys stood to the side of the sheltered doorway of the public library and debated their choices. The sky held heavy dark clouds and the wind was strong and sharp with the chill of fine ice crystals. Night was only a few hours away. The other two argued against going to the shelters or churches, explaining to Kaz that kids were always fingerprinted and interrogated, and then databases were searched. Those who were identified were returned to their original homes whether they wanted it or not. If they were not identified, they would be remanded to the welfare system and placed into foster families. Kaz scoffed and suggested a quick stockpiling of blankets and food and breaking into the equipment shed at the city’s official botanical gardens. No one would be doing gardening in a storm and they would have shelter to themselves.

Kaz remembered his Da’s lessons on how to pick basic locks so the equipment shed proved easy to gain entry into. Full of bravado for being smart enough to find shelter away from nosey busybodies, they grouped together for warmth beneath tarps and blankets. They talked shit with each other, and laughed a lot. Kaz missed Jordie and thought briefly of how Keeg and Dirix had become street brothers. But that voice said NO, they weren’t his brothers, they couldn’t be trusted. Kaz withdrew a bit and the voice left him alone.

Kaz’s young body had fended off infection and serious illness while his leg healed, while he walked alone to Ketterdam, and while learning to survive the streets; but now, here with others, it began a slow slide into delirium. Keeg began coughing regularly on their first day in the equipment shed. Light coughing began to have a wet mucous sound by evening, and then Kaz and Dirix also had it. Huddled together, they were acutely aware of each other through the sweats and shivering, and the hunching over with aches. They knew they were truly sick, but they had no idea just how bad it was going to get, and really no way of changing the outcome. Kaz’s last thought before sinking into unconsciousness was that it was nice not being alone, and he was gone before the voice could comment this time on the soft sentiment. 

Kaz woke several days later disoriented, finding himself in a bed with sheets and a pillow. Next to him was a small side table with a glass of water and a tissue box. The air on his face was comfortably warm. He had pajamas on and socks on his feet. He sucked in a breath of surprise and his body convulsed into coughing and spitting up of mucous. He heard movement but couldn’t open his eyes to see who was with him. When he was able, he saw a girl holding out the glass of water to him. She had blond hair cut in line with her jaw and light blue eyes. She was young, dressed in a button-up shirt with long sleeves and a pair of jeans. She didn’t smile and she stared, but she wasn’t a direct threat at the moment, so Kaz took the glass and sipped some water to soothe the back of his throat. She moved away and Kaz finally had a chance to look around. The room had a bunch of twin beds, some against one wall, and more alternating space along the opposite wall. It had natural light from a bank of small rectangle windows in the wall above his head. He saw two bodies in the beds flanking his and from the hair showing on the pillows, they were Keeg and Dirix.

“Where…” Kaz began to ask, but stopped when hearing his voice. It was an unusual raspy sound. He cleared his throat and began again, “…are we?” and shook his head again at the sound.

“SpechtBox,” replied the girl before turning and leaving the room without another word.

Kaz saw a door at the far end and he hoped it led to a toilet. He made to pull back the covers and was surprised by the effort it took just to move them aside. He shivered at the loss of warmth too. He moved his legs to swing over the side of the mattress, and suddenly he was in motion toward the floor. His body collapsed in a heap on the wood planks. He had fallen! As he thought of the effort of getting himself back up, the door opened again to a very big man.

He was an older man, older than his Da. He was about the same height as his Da, but he had the biggest neck, shoulders, arms, and chest Kaz had seen. He looked like he could pick Kaz up and toss him through the wall and into the street. His hair was very short and thin, showing the scalp beneath. He had sideburns flowing into a short cropped mustache and beard. He was wearing gray sweat pants and a thin black Tshirt, damp with sweat. His arms had tattoos covering every bit of skin, swirls of black curved blades, fangs, a compass in a circle on the left biceps, an anchor with a chain and the letters USN in a circle on the right. He had heavy furls of skin bracketing his mouth, and his dark eyes bored into Kaz. The voice told Kaz to hold still, and hold the gaze. Kaz didn’t flinch.

After a moment, the man’s eyes crinkled a bit at the edges and his mouth lifted into a small smile.

“Anika,” he said to the girl hovering at the door behind him, “go get some of the soup. Three bowls.” She silently disappeared.

The man came over to stand over Kaz for a moment and then said, “You’re healing from some serious pneumonia and will be weaker than a baby right now. Since you also have a bum leg, I’m gonna just lift you up this time.” And he leaned down to scoop Kaz up.

Kaz moved back against the bed and said he needed the toilet. The man assessed him and finally said, “Roll onto your knees, face the bed and prop your arms on top and lift yourself up.” Kaz did it and got his feet under him. The man gestured to the door Kaz had been eyeing, and under his penetrating and assessing gaze, Kaz limped slowly over to the door and closed it behind him. When he came out, the man was seated in the chair that the girl had been using and waited for Kaz to climb back into the bed.

Kaz felt terrible and knew he would be getting back into that bed and staying in this place for now. But still, his eyes looked to the windows to see if they opened and how thick they were as he passed them. He also took note that Ketterdam’s city skyline filled the windows, and in one was a huge hydraulic demolition machine, left to arch across the clouds and buildings like a monstrous crab leg. Across it were the letters: Brekker.

Once Kaz was under the blankets, and had taken another sip of water, the man spoke again.

“My name is Specht. This is a professional gym that trains boxers, wrestlers, martial arts…basically all types of serious fighters. It is called the SpechtBox. You boys were found in one of the city’s equipment sheds by a guy on their maintenance crew who happens to be a current friend of my sister. No one on that crew wanted to be bothered with all the paperwork of a call to the Stadwatch or other authorities and so here you are. This isn’t the Geldrenner uptown, this is a bed and plain hot food and some much needed medicine free of charge. I am going to ask you to help out around here once you are able to do so.” Kaz nodded.

“Also, I am now going to ask you some questions that I need real answers to, understand?”

Kaz silently nodded again. Specht leaned forward resting his forearms on his huge legs, bringing his steady gaze closer to Kaz’s face. Kaz held his position.

“What is your name?”

“Kaz.” Again his throat rumbled as he spoke.

The man waited. Kaz waited. The man sighed.

“Kaz what?” he asked. Kaz hadn’t had to find or use a last name yet and blanked at a quick answer. His eyes looked up and left for an answer in his mind and landed on the letters along the arm of the demolition machine arching beyond the window.

“Kaz Brekker,” he said looking Specht straight in the eye. The man huffed and looked out the window.

“You’re fast, I’ll give you that,” he said and then asked,

“Anyone out looking for you? Anyone going to track you to my door?” he asked.

“No one,” said Kaz, without hesitation. The man nodded and then asked,

“How long you been on your own?”

“Why?” Kaz asked with a frown.

“Want to know how good you are at surviving. Most kids don’t survive outside for long, especially on the Barrel side of Ketterdam, never mind how damn cold it is out there right now.”

His inner voice, sounding this time like his Da, advised against giving information to a stranger, no matter if said stranger was providing food and shelter. In fact, it scoffed, nothing is given for free.

Kaz shrugged, “A few months, maybe.”

Specht calmly nodded again. The girl pushed against the partially opened door with a tray and brought with her the warm salty smell of chicken soup. Kaz’s mouth watered and Specht had him cradling the bowl in a tea towel in his hand so he could eat sitting up in bed. The explosion of flavor on his tongue, the warmth of the soup sliding down his throat, the glow building in his stomach at being filled, became everything. Minutes passed as Kaz lifted the spoon from the bowl to his mouth and back again in a smooth and efficient loop. He barely noticed the girl waking the other boys and giving them their bowls. She also handed each of them a large pill. Kaz recognized it as veterinary antibiotics, exactly like those his Da used with the livestock. He looked to Specht, thinking to refuse to take it, but Specht was staring him down with a glare that told Kaz plainly that he would not be causing the man any trouble over the medicine.

Specht rose from the chair and addressed all of them.

“If you were ever taught manners, use them with Anika. She is helping you when she actually has many other things to do. Follow her directions, as they are actually my directions. Do not be idiots and leave. I am not turning you in to any agency. Your job is to get better and we’ll talk again later.”

They all nodded in relieved agreement.

Chapter Text

This was communal living, and strangely similar to Kaz’s life with Da and Jordie on the farm. A bell was rung in the morning and they all got up and headed to breakfast at a big table in the break room. The boys bunked in one room; Anika by herself in another. No fancy cooking; food was provided and you made sure you got some and cleaned up after. Then they split up for chores and work shifts. Their evenings and bed times were their own.

No one was related to anyone by blood, but there was the bond of reciprocal survival. They had shelter, protection, food, and some money. They had people who would notice if they died.

Keeg and Dirix relaxed into their new situation, happy with this new home. Kaz was restless and uncomfortable. He wasn’t able to sleep in the room with others. His ears heard every sound and his mind was hyper-vigilant. When he did doze off, he dreamt of silent shadows heading inbound to his location, bringing fire, death, and dismemberment. He woke struggling to scream, and with his new voice, the sounds were abrasive. He could never fall back to sleep after that and just sat and stared at the other two sleeping on without a care. Sleeping through anything, just like Jordie.

Kaz took to sleeping in various spots around the gym and office. Places where his back had the wall, and he could see all access points and where he had a good escape route. It was obvious he wasn’t sleeping in his bed, but they knew not to bring it up with him.

In addition to jobs around the gym, they were required to learn at least one form of fighting. After Keeg, Dirix, and Kaz returned to health, they were invited one by one into the gym’s central boxing ring with Specht. Just seeing Specht standing at ease in the ring was intimidating; and having to climb your way up and in and feel the difference in size was paralyzing at least for Keeg and Dirix, neither of whom had ever had formal training in fighting. What they each had were abusive drunks for a father and a stepfather, and enough gumption to survive territory battles in the Barrel. Each of them approached Specht with faces showing equal parts fear and bravado. Each used similar strategy: they waited for Specht to start, and when he didn’t, they lunged toward him as fast as they could manage with their fist cocked for a massive blow. Specht dodged, they fell into the ropes and ricocheted to the mat. Then each was assigned to basic boxing lessons with Specht daily.

Kaz was last to the ring because of his younger age and leg injury. He took his walking stick into the ring with him and Specht didn’t say anything against it. Kaz’s eyes never left Specht’s. Despite the apparent disadvantages, his face did not show fear, but calculation. Specht’s eyes narrowed and his attention became more focused. Kaz dropped his walking stick from vertical to horizontal and paced to curve around Specht’s right side. Specht stepped back with his right foot to continue facing Kaz straight on. Kaz moved closer, Specht didn’t engage. Kaz held his position. Then, without breaking eye contact until the last moment, Kaz flew into a movement that looked to land a blow on Specht’s right, but twisted with his inherent quickness to land a blow on Specht’s left. Specht’s hand got there just in time to intercept the stick and save his thigh, and moved his right arm around Kaz’s shoulders, to pull him in against him for a crush and throw. Again, Kaz was fast, and pushed his end of the stick inward against Specht’s leg, which levered Specht’s hand that was holding the other end of the stick away from his body.  Kaz used the time it took for Specht to make those minute adjustments to thrust his right foot behind Specht’s right foot, letting himself fall into the crush hold. The momentum of his weight pushing back should have thrown Specht over his planted foot, if Specht wasn’t so much larger than Kaz, and an experienced fighter.

As it was, Kaz lost his stick and was gently picked up and set back a few feet. Kaz fiercely shrugged himself free and turned to face Specht and try again, but Specht said,

“At ease, Brekker,” and passed over the walking stick. “So, you are quick and you have had some training.”

“Some Krav Maga, some boxing, and some wrestling,” said Kaz with pride.

Specht crossed his arms and lowered his chin, assessing. Then asked,

“Before or after the leg injury?”

 “Before.”

“Weaponry?”

“Knives, throwing and combat; pistols and rifles, range and live targets; staffs and short sticks; and throwing axes.”

Keeg and Dirix were making noises of stupefied amazement and Specht was frowning.

“Were you in one of those military schools for boys?”

“No.”

“Hunh, I think that’s more disturbing than if you’d said yes. Tell me then, how long have you had the injury?”

Kaz considered. There wasn’t any reason he could see for not answering.

“About 3 months now.”

“Has it been seen by a doctor?”

Kaz shook his head no.

Specht turned to the other two boys and told them to go find Anika for direction on what today’s chores were. He told Kaz to follow him as he bent his way through the ropes and jumped down to the floor. He let Kaz negotiate the drop on his own, and Kaz took it in stride. He followed Specht down a side corridor of the main open gym to a door Specht was unlocking. He reached in and flipped the light switch, illuminating a small room with a rectangular cushioned table in the center and shelves on the far wall. Specht moved around the table and reached for one of the many unidentifiable items off the lower shelf. He gestured to the table,

“Hop up on the table and sit on the edge.”

Kaz slowly set the stick in the corner of the room and got himself onto the table, noting the still open door. Specht set down next to him on the table a length of bamboo about the thickness and length of Kaz’s forearm and a smooth curved piece of silvery metal. Kaz went tense and alert. Specht sighed,

“I’m not going to hurt you. I am not even going to demonstrate on you. This is a bamboo roller and a Gua Sha knife that I am going to ask you to use to help your leg. But first let me tell you, I had a young woman with some medical training in to look you boys over when you were brought here so sick. She saw your leg injury and said it was a deep puncture wound and that those types of injuries are difficult to heal properly without lasting effects. She said the scarring looked rough and untreated and that most doctors would send you for imaging and a scope procedure and most likely, since you are still in pain and limping, surgery. Kid, the reality is that I don’t have that kind of money or any legal standing to give permission for those treatments, understand?”

Kaz glared at him and said roughly, “No one is fucking touching my leg!”

Specht huffed a laugh, “Yeah, I figured that’s what you’d say. I also figure by the distance you keep from people that you don’t want anyone putting their hands on you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“So listen,” he said picking up the Gua Sha knife with its smooth curved edge, and placing it randomly over his forearm, “use this in a crosswise direction over the scar tissue. No need to press hard. It will seem like nothing, but it break up adhesions. Then stroke in the direction of the muscle to stretch the fibers out.” He set it down after a few motions in a couple directions and picked up the bamboo roller. He braced his foot up against the table, displaying the surface of his clothed quadriceps, and placed the roller against it. “Then take this roller and use it like a rolling pin. Use whatever pressure you want, but it will be painful. This is to loosen the muscles after they have been worked. All of this will help you and if you want to know more of the why of it all, just YouTube it.”

“You want me to come to this room for this, or…?” asked Kaz.

“You take those with you and I’ll have our massage therapist purchase more, when I actually hire another massage therapist.”

“Okay, but I’m still training, right?” Kaz asked, pissed at not getting any fight training assignment.

Specht laughed loudly. “No worries about that young Brekker! That is why I am giving you recovery tools. Your leg needs to be better because you will be trained in everything we got!”

Yes! thought Kaz, heading out to find Anika, this was worth staying around for.

Anika was a curiosity to Kaz since he had only lived with his brother and Da. She wasn’t like the girls he had seen at the farmer’s markets. She didn’t work to be liked by others. She was about his age, around 11 or 12, but a little taller. She wore exercise gear and hightops. She gave instructions loudly and flung swear words together into a thrashing of disdain. She trained in the boxing ring and she was being taught to manage the front office. She wasn’t friendly, but she was steady and efficient.

He found her at the desk in the office, sitting in front of the computer. The frown on her face was glowing discontent from the blue light of the screen. She glanced at him with irritation as he walked over to see the screen.

“This computer is a fucking piece of shit!” she groused.

“What were you trying to do?” Kaz stood a few feet away from her chair taking in the frozen screen.

She sighed heavily and said, “I was just trying to get into my Zoom class for like the third fucking time, but every time I click the link to enter, it fucking freezes.”

Kaz hummed and asked about his chore assignment.

Anika looked at him in amazement. “That’s all? You’re not going to grab the mouse away from me and take over? Not going to be the big guy and fix the computer for me?”

Kaz blinked at her. “No.” He stared at her. She stared at him. He had no idea what she was imagining.

He watched as her mouth slowly curved into a smile and her eyes slid into an amused gleam. Her teeth had not suffered braces and the smile was fierce but endearing. For a moment, Kaz saw his brother’s smile grinning at him. Kaz grinned back and figured it was a good time to ask,

“What is a Zoom meeting and how do I YouTube?”

Anika spent the rest of the afternoon giving Kaz a tour of the world of wifi, internet, email, search engines, social media and entertainment. Kaz felt an even stronger buzz of excitement than he got when his Da set him up with his laptop. But the voice cut through, saying: Your Da could have bought internet! He chose to keep you small and ignorant! He could have tracked his enemies! He didn’t really want to hear anything against his Da, but Kaz could not stop thinking of all the ways in which having connection to the information on the internet would have given them so much more as they lived so isolated. Maybe even given them a way out of what had happened.

His earlier excitement spun into an anger his body couldn’t contain. He skipped dinner, dressed in the outdoor clothes he had chosen from the Goodwill Box they had broken into in the Walmart parking lot a few nights back, which Specht laughingly called Midnight Requisitioning, and silently slipped out the door alone. He knew the camera would record his exit, but he also knew no one would come after him. It was time to get the Go bag, which he had placed in one of the tallest trees in the Botanical Garden, the night before the storm. The next morning the other boys noticed the captain’s drawer beneath Kaz’s bed was padlocked and no one ever saw him open it. Kaz didn’t need to as his treasures were stored secretly elsewhere in the building. What they did see was the underarm shoulder holster and pistol he now wore when not fighting in the gym. They saw the handle of a tactical combat knife and wondered at what more they could not see. 

Weeks accumulated into months. Kaz and Keeg and Dirix took payments from clients and drop-in customers, gave tours of the facility and equipment, directed students to teachers, wiped down equipment, and watched hundreds train to fight. Kaz took it all in and continued learning new fight techniques from Specht and from guest teachers that came through the fight gym circuit. Kaz had used the recovery tools Specht gave him and found, after incredible pain initially, that his muscles didn’t hitch as much with fast movements and the roller eased his muscles after workouts. Kaz was found to be particularly skilled at various martial arts, especially techniques that used staffs. Once a traveling instructor from Shu Han offered for Kaz to move along with his team in hopes of training Kaz for prize fights. Specht told him the gritty details of the fighter circuit life and let Kaz decide. Kaz remained at SpechtBox.

There were other visitors to the gym; mob bosses, big club owners, who came dressed in suits and with entourages and egos in tow. Ones that Specht called sir. Every few months Specht would get an anonymous text and they would set up Scout Night. The best of Specht’s clients were invited and those who wanted jobs with the big clubs would schedule ring time.  Sometimes the bosses would test a potential recruit by having them fight one of their own bouncers. The best fighters were offered jobs at the better clubs in Ketterdam. Kaz noted their faces, their mob tattoos, and particular fight styles.

Keeg and Dirix hoped to be invited some day to compete at Scout Night. Specht waved them off telling them that was years away. Kaz didn’t comment and no one asked. It had already become apparent that Kaz was a whole different level of fighter and thinker than Keeg and Dirix. He was the one who set up the game that Specht jokingly called real-life Mortal Kombat. On some nights Kaz roamed the Barrel with Anika and the guys, looking for ‘steep discounts on resale items.’ Kaz, with his long slender hands, was like a magician with swiping phones, tablets, wallets, earbuds, credit cards, and jewelry. The others watched him to learn his tricks but they couldn’t see how he worked so fast. He just had a sense for who carried the best treasure and how to take it off them.

Kaz also spent his leisure hours walking the Barrel alone. In those first days and weeks he just followed the general energy as it flowed from the harbors to storage, from storage to shops, and the waves of people who came to the shops on new inventory days. He learned the patterns and discovered the anomalies of partial shipments diverted elsewhere, of late night load ups, and gang territories. He walked and watched alone. His keen eye also discovered the use of small magnetic drop boxes, usually affixed to the undersides of metal benches or under the metal footing of street lights. Of those he had checked after the person left the area, he had found small packet of drugs in one, and a coded message in another. He figured it was a good method for things one didn’t want on phone records in court. He filed the method away for its potential.

On days when his leg wasn’t up for miles of walking in the cold, Kaz rode the city on the buses. The buses were in service at all hours and he soon memorized all of the routes. He sat alone, watching all the different parts of the city roll by the window.

Outside of the Barrel, there was the university district, where young people flooded the streets in waves, dressed in school colors and to be seen by other young people. Cars also flooded the streets thumping with music. He imagined himself walking along the sidewalks with a book bag, maybe with a couple friends, spending his time in classes and the library reading. Writing papers and submitting assignments. Getting graded by so-called experts in their fields. He imagined being a person whose goal was to get a job in one line of business and operate within ethical guidelines, in a world where the greatest money went to those who operated outside such guidelines. He rolled his eyes at such a waste of time and energy.

Then there was the industrial district, where people dressed for manual labor and drove trucks with side panels, tools and equipment. Kaz couldn’t even imagine himself in that life. It was the city version of a farmer’s life. No one was getting rich from being a flower farmer!

There was the Zelvar district, where middleclass people wore professional clothes, and adhered to beginning work at 8 am, lunching at noon, and leaving work at 5. On the sidewalks the men ogled the women, and the women ogled back. Traffic jammed in the Zelvar district with midlevel luxury cars. It all looked seamless from the bus window, but he knew those same people hung their respectability on hangers at night, and came into the Barrel with the same naked greed and lust as others. He couldn’t hack the dishonesty. He was a genuine thief.

He rode the bus along the edge of the Geldstraat district which was as far as the Merchant Council would allow the city to drive its buses. There one saw the three story stone houses planted squarely within five and ten acre wooded lots, bordered with decorative black iron fencing. Long driveways began with iron gates, guard shacks, and cameras. People were rarely seen on the streets there. The neighborhoods were heavy with quiet and gravitas. Kaz never imagined himself there because his attention immediately focused on how to get onto such properties unseen, how to break into such houses without setting off alarms, what he might find within to take. One day, he promised, I will crack one of those and serve myself a banquet of valuables. His grin was reflected in the window back to him at the thought: I could start a home security company!

Despite all that he saw, he was the most relaxed on his return route to the Barrel. Yes, the buildings were worn, some falling into ruin. Yes, the people hunched squint-eyed and unsmiling. Yes, things weren’t nice. But Barrel folk were direct and their motivations were the same: survival, pleasure, and power. Which was to say, they hustled for money in whatever way they could. He understood them. Each time he came back to this side of the city, it was a small homecoming.  

In his mind it was the limp and cane at such a young age that made him memorable among those he saw in the streets day by day. He didn’t see that he was also notably good looking and operated with a surprising intensity. People watched him and listened to him whether they intended to or not. He showed up exactly when interesting things were about to happen and this intuition made his presence alarming. When he asked questions people found themselves answering. So in time, Kaz became the thief, the fence, and the negotiator; and if a podge protested a grab, or tried to change terms, then they got gym-style persuasion.

Anika, in keeping with the Mortal Kombat joke, created a scoring sheet that listed kicks, punches, leg sweeps, headlocks, roundhouses, uppercuts, throws, and weapons. They kept their score on a small old chalkboard next to the equipment room door, and Kaz had taken the lead in the first night and kept the highest score ever since. What kept Kaz amused was seeing Anika in second place more often than the rest.

They got faster and meaner and owned things. They became known as the Gym Rats.

Kaz carried his pistol and knife into every fight, and carried the brass knuckles Specht had given him early on in his boxing lessons. But his deadly skill with his cane came the night of an ambush over near Liddie territory.

The Gym Rats headed through on their way to the Exchange, where a big outdoor concert was happening. It was a wide open space of cement patio, encircled in eight foot high brick walls, with wide cutouts for entry and egress in each of the four directions. The space held upwards of 5,000 people who could gather and then disperse outward in concentric circles to restaurants, clubs, brothels, casinos, and bars. The summer concert series was the city’s latest plan at trying to keep tourists in the area for longer hours in the evening. Kaz and crew were more than happy to skim the crowds and take their own share of the night’s profits. They walked down the filthy alley behind Off The Handle, an old decrepit club owned and operated by the Liddies. Tourists still came to it, but like a museum tour, once and done. In comparison to the other clubs along the Lid and further into the Barrel, it was small, dark, and unhandsome. Since nothing much happened in or around the club, Kaz lead them through the alley at ease, smack talking the best grabs until they simultaneously saw the opening of the alley ahead of them cut off by a line of dark bodies. A quick glance behind showed a parked car at the other end, and two more dark bodies silhouetted leaning against the car watching them. Kaz turned back to the bodies in front of them, and growled,

“What business?”

“That’s the question, rat. What business do you have coming into OUR territory, to pluck OUR pigeons?” said the tall body at the center who now stepped forward.

Kaz knew the voice and the body; it was Tull, a scrub of a lieutenant for the Liddies. Two behind, and four in front; a half dozen to their four. Anika and Kaz had guns, and they all had Specht-weighted fists.

“You painting a new line for the Liddies on the fucking sidewalk? We are heading to the Exchange same as all the other people on the street,” said Kaz.

“No, you’re fucking not!” was the reply as the Liddies went into motion, tightening their grips on pipes, chains, and a hatchet.

Anika bolted to the shadows of the club wall, turned, aimed her pistol at the two by the car. They stayed at the car, seemingly to wait until needed.

Keeg and Dirix flanked Kaz, who tossed his cane to the side and slipped on his brass. They all went in swinging. The Liddies didn’t train in a gym. They turned their scraps of brains off and let their arms follow momentum and weren’t bothered much by being blind in the unlit alley. Four to three was a fine fight for the Gym Rats until Keeg threw a punch that pushed Tull into Dirix, who lost his feet and fell into Kaz. Before Keeg could adjust, the fight became a dog pile on Kaz, pinning his slight frame and bum leg under great weight. He couldn’t move either hand in toward his body to get his gun or knife. He and Dirix were taking blows from the guys on top of them and Keeg was occupied too. Guns were a last resort because of the noise and attention that came with using them, but Anika couldn’t see much beyond Keeg as the only one standing. She heard the thud of pipes pounding on bodies and knew Kaz couldn’t take much more. She shot twice at the car at the end of the alley and gaped as the two sentinel gang members got into the car and drove off. She quickly turned her gun to the melee next to her. This had to end and they had to get out fast. It was too dark and everyone was too intertwined for her to use the gun again. She pocketed it and joined Keeg who was trying to pull Tull off Dirix while exchanging blows and kicks.

Kaz was still trapped by the third Liddie who was pressing his knee with all of his weight on Kaz’s injured leg and holding Kaz’s arms down and away from his body. Kaz knew his surprise move would be to reach even further away from his body, and hopefully grab his cane. He was right, the guy had focused so intently on keeping Kaz from reaching inward that he wasn’t ready for an outward reach. Kaz extended himself and his hand grabbed the cane. With the unexpected move, the guy’s arms were suddenly splayed wide faster than he could adjust and his chest fell down to meet Kaz’s, bringing them face to face.

He came so close that Kaz’s eyes blurred the image of rubbery lips, heavy round eyes, extra flesh wavering with movement. The guy’s humid breath covered Kaz’s face with damp where it landed. The pain in his leg screamed at him as though pierced with the stick again. Kaz froze. His mind went elsewhere; to mutilated body parts, to sweat dripping down his face, to the give of dead flesh. His hands clenched and every muscle fired for action. A part of him began watching the scene as a bystander, watching with interest the arc of his cane slamming into the guy’s head, pulling away and arcing again to land across his shoulders. He watched as he slid his body out from under the collapsing body, rolled and pressed himself up with his left hand, as his right arm began another swing of the cane. And another. And another. He now saw arcs of blood rising and curving through the space in tandem with the cane swings. Arc following arc, motion and muffled sound, until his bystander self noticed he was being watched. Then his consciousness snapped back, and he heard Keeg and Anika calling his name. His arm dropped and his eyes took in the bloody broken face and head of his lone attacker. The voice crooned it was a job well done. Kaz looked to the others.

How long had it been since the gun shots? How much time did they have to fix this and get out?

No sirens yet, and no one yet willing to investigate a dark alley in the Barrel. Keeg was propping Dirix up, and Anika was checking pockets for IDs, phones, cards, and money. She said,

“Remind me to never dog pile on you. We’ve got to get out of here now. Not sure if the cowards in the car will make their way back.”

“You go. I will take care of this one,” Kaz rasped.

“What? No. I can help you!” Anika said, looking into Kaz’s shadowed face, unable to read his expression.

He spoke in staccato, “Get. Fucking. Gone. NOW!”

She knew he was right. Their code in the streets was to save themselves. Hesitation and argument invited trouble. Without another word they disappeared silently to navigate single circuits back to the gym. Kaz stood in the dark alley listening and assessing. There was still no sound of anyone coming to investigate.

He was furious, with the Liddies and with himself. This could not happen like this again. He bent over the one he’d killed with his cane and grabbed the guy’s arm. It was bloody and his hands slid down past the rolled shirt sleeves, and landed on bare, bloody skin. Dead skin.

His hands froze and he cried out as revulsion rolled through his body. Without warning he vomited over the man and over his own hands. The warmth of it kicked off another wave of revulsion, and he stood locked in the cycle like he was being electrocuted. The voice screamed unceasingly at him to get away! He couldn’t do it. Then, in his mind, he thought he heard another voice. A lilting, jovial voice, telling him to go ahead and keep tugging on the arm…until it came off…so he could pile them up like treasure. And the new voice laughed Jordie’s laugh. It was madness but it broke the circuit. Wiping the vomit off his hands by swiping them against his pants, he took out his pistol and shot all three Liddies execution style, grabbed his cane and limped heavily out of the alley and into the street. He walked in the opposite direction from that his crew had taken, exaggerated his hunch over the cane, and muttered to himself. He became just another shuffling street person, ghosting through the streets.

He walked in the dark for miles, his footsteps a rhythm unbroken. In the early hours, feet and leg in pain, shivering from the cold, hungry from the purge, he entered a small 24/7 mini market for water and food. As he walked the aisles, his eyes landed on a cheap pair of driving gloves. He reached out and felt them. They were thin and smooth and black. He added them to his purchases on the fly. Outside he tore them from their packaging and put them on. He flexed his hands, and felt the material constrict and release with the movement. Something within him settled, he took a deep breath and when it released, he was fully present. He picked up the cane, and enjoyed the buffer of the fabric over his grip.

He didn’t see the others until early afternoon of the next day. They were already in the gym working or working out when he pressed against the door and carried himself through with a heavier limp than the day before. He noticed the stiffness in movement and bruises across the cheeks and necks of Keeg and Dirix. He noticed Anika’s sharp gaze taking in the stiffness, the bruises, and the new gloves on him. He walked slowly over to the Mortal Kombat score board and picked up the chalk. He drew another row at the bottom of Anika’s list, and wrote: KS. He then wrote the number three in his column and tossed the chalk down and walked away. The others moved over to see what he had written. No one said a thing; up to that moment kill shot was just another level to their game. Now it was a sobering reality. They couldn’t imagine beating his score. Kaz was now untouchable.   

Chapter Text

Thanks to her father, Anika already knew what happened when one followed stupid men in the Barrel; she was all in with the wizard of smart.

Seeing Kaz’s interest in all things related to the computer, Anika had given him his own login. He had known very little about the online world but did know a lot about equipment and software. He asked detailed questions about the router, password protection, and other behind-the-scenes administrative functions that Anika was unable to answer. So while she took glee in knowing more about the online world, she knew her superiority over Kaz would be brief.   

From their many forays among the unsuspecting residents and seasonal tourists of Ketterdam, the Gym Rats collected a fine array of electronic devices. Every one of them had a laptop with which they would go and sit in spots with free wifi, and watch router packet traffic. If asked, they would claim to be home school students, doing homework while their parents were at an appointment nearby. It was a touch-free pick pocket system. They remained warm and dry in winter, cool and dry in summer, and well hydrated from their obligatory purchases of sipping beverages.

Specht was philosophical about their activities outside of SpechtBox, but realistic about the increasing amount of space their equipment was taking. He commanded them, while staring directly at Kaz, to go find a storage unit elsewhere. Kaz had nodded agreement and then with intense focus, became perfectly still and stared at nothing for a few moments. Specht decided as long as it wasn’t on his property, it was best not to know what Kaz was scheming.

Data hauls were easier to store and got dumped onto a non-connected desktop computer they had set up at the far wall of the boys’ dorm room. It was uncomfortable, but it was free space. Kaz took on the task of sniffing through the data for what was useful.

They built a list of stolen identities, usernames, and passwords and stashed them within a password protected folder named Not_The_Trash_Bin. They set up accounts in stolen names like those of the three dead Liddies, and siphoned money from their marks into what Kaz blandly called the RIP Account.

The main office computer was in use by Anika and Specht during the day and Kaz was busy out and about most evenings, so his time at their one internet-connected computer ended up being late at night after the others were heading to bed. He kept his personal laptop, the one Da had given him hidden, knowing that the sight of it in his hands would generate questions he didn’t want to answer. It didn’t have the software for the types of uses he wanted now and some part of him didn’t want to change anything on it. The desktop and configs were from a simpler time. The voice told him erase your past, you are leaving a trail, but so far he had resisted wiping it clean.

Anika typically closed and locked the office after the last gym session at night. Kaz picked the door lock after her every night, left the office dark, and reversed the computer screen to black background and light gray letters. Gym sounds and parking lot noises were muffled. Kaz found it relaxing sitting in the cushioned roller chair, in which a toe touch moved him to where he wanted to be, peering through a portal to the outside world. With the weight of his pistol harness hanging against him, these were the safest moments he had in this new world.

He had discovered by chance that he had a gift for winning of card games. One night some of Specht’s old Navy friends came around and they began a game of medium stakes poker. Quickly there came to be a booze bar, games of darts, music, and laughter, but Kaz found himself drifting over to watch the poker game, drawn by the piles of money collected in the center.

He already knew the rules of 5-card draw, 7-card draw, Texas Hold ‘em, Aces Lo, and the one called most often, Black Jack from online games he had watched. But unlike the online games, here he felt the energy around the table as the cards were dealt, as hands chose and slid bets across the table. He watched who held and who drew, who went silent and who talked more. He watched faces and hands; when they drank, when they sighed, when they brushed their hair off their foreheads, when they checked their watches, when they picked up their phones and checked their messages. He took it all in like a new language, one spoken in gestures and patterns and flow; the movement of risk and possibility.  

Kaz could predict who had the winning hand. He also knew who would lose consistently.

Near 2am a few of the guys took off and Kaz, having shown his keen interest by not moving away from the game for hours, was now invited to play. He was fronted money from the pot to begin his play, money he would pay back if he won.  

Kaz won consistently.                   

When the game closed down for the night, Kaz had not only paid back his fronted money, but won extra. He looked up, eyes bright and cheeks flushed with such a successful night, and found Specht looking at him with a speculative eye. Kaz raised a brow in question. Specht chuckled and said, “A fighter, a thief, and a card shark – you were born for greatness!”

Still too young to get into casinos and clubs in the Barrel, he was free to learn all about card games and strategies by playing online. He relied on YouTube videos for nearly everything. By following whatever interested him onscreen, he fell down information silos and trekked his way into online neighborhoods and communities.

Whenever he was free of direct responsibilities, he fell into the computer and disappeared for hours at a time. He studied and absorbed information at a phenomenal rate. 

He schemed.

He needed money, equipment, and people. He needed a reputation, authority and power.

Sitting at the desk late one night, heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway to the office. Kaz closed all programs and opened a video window on how to deal cards professionally. Specht entered the office.

“Thought I would find you here. What do you do on that thing anyway?” asked Specht.

“YouTubing how to deal cards,” Kaz replied.

“Don’t you need an actual deck for that?” joked Specht.

Kaz slid a deck from the far side of the desk into Specht’s view.

Specht came further into the room, grabbed two tumblers and a whiskey bottle from the cart, and sat in the chair across from Kaz. As he poured into the glasses he said, “Show me what you got.”

Kaz slid aside from the computer, cleared a big enough space between them and began a bridge shuffle that moved in a continuous loop left hand to right and back to left. The cards flew in a smooth arc. Once he’d collected them into his left hand again he began sailing cards to a spot next to Specht, to Specht, and then the spot to the other side. The cards were tilted and flicked to land in small piles without a single exposure.

“Damn, you learned all that from a video?!”

“And a thousand practice deals until my hands do it without my thinking about it,” Kaz said. Then he began a second deal with some bottom dealing. He stopped and looked at Specht expectantly. Specht frowned and asked, “What was I supposed to notice, besides the fact that you now wear driver’s gloves 24/7?”

Kaz just shook his head.

Specht considered asking a more searching question about the gloves, but taking in the sharp planes of Kaz’s unsmiling expression, dropped it to ask,

“Have you been watching any recordings of professional poker players?”

“Yes, plenty from all around the world, and the Tides Poker Tournament from the last few years. Last year’s prize of one million was surprisingly taken by a Black Tip,” Kaz said, sipping slowly from his glass.

 “Yes, and hasn’t been seen around since.”

“This year’s tournament is scheduled for fall and offers a prize of one million. I want in on that.”

“That’s what I came to talk to you about. It’s all about gang sponsorship. They don’t allow gym rats to sit at table with professionals. We need to dress you up and get you to some private poker nights first. I can get you started, but I’m telling you that you’ll be around the table with the cutthroats of the Barrel and you’ll be young. If you win and win big, you’re going to attract attention. The most dangerous part might be the walking away from the table with the money.”

Kaz shrugged and said, “So we go in with a handpicked team from the gym.”

“Yeah, we probably should, and we better talk about the gang families, because if you end up as good as I think you are, you will get leaned on and have to choose. Unless like last year’s Black Tip, you disappear.”

“There’s the Liddies, Black Tips, Razorgulls, Dime Lions, the Dregs, and some group called Harley’s Pointers.”

“Harley’s Pointers are gone, leadership got infiltrated by Stadwatch detectives, money and property confiscated, and all of the members ‘disappeared.’”

Kaz dropped the deck and slid his chair back to align with the computer screen. “Look, I know the basic history of each of the big gang families. What I want to know is who is selling tradition and who is looking to sell the future.”

Specht frowned and shook his head in puzzlement.

Kaz flicked his gaze from Specht to the screen, rolled his hand in the air like a stage show host signaling for the audience to keep up, “Who is rolling out opportunities to spend their kruge in online games, accessible anywhere, alongside their club experiences?”

Specht huffed, “Kid, I have Anika doing my office management software. I have no idea about online gambling.”

Kaz pointed at him, “Exactly. Which gang boss has other people doing his office management software and has no idea about online gambling? Which gang has an old crew at the top, and not many young ones coming in?”

Specht narrowed his eyes, tilted his head in consideration. “I’d say Haskell of the Dregs. Yeah, I think he still has the same cronies making book in that small back room of his pawn shop. I think they run both, paper and computer. I heard it’s kind of a mess and they get hit up with protests on the wins and payouts. But when it comes to settling the protests, they try to negotiate and it’s just fucking weak. Although they do have some younger guys trying to make their way.”

Haskell’s Pawn Shop. His father had gone to an aging Barrel Boss for computer equipment for his farm kids? Kaz wondered, how had his father chosen Haskell’s? Had they known of each other from before?

Kaz said, “So if something doesn’t change soon, they’ll be dropping too low to recover, and get shredded by the big dogs.” Specht nodded and downed more of his whiskey.

“Kid, you’re damn smart and growing into arrogant, but you are only 13 years old at most. You’re going to have to start at the bottom like anyone else. Which reminds me, we don’t get social workers down here so you’ve been okay but with increased attention, you are going to need some official ID soon.”

After living at SpechtBox for nearly two years, Kaz knew Specht made good money as a forger of documents, most of which tended to be identification records. 

Kaz’s gloved fingers flicked over the keyboard and ended with a definitive bump of Enter. After a few seconds, his hand moved to the mouse, and his finger rolled the ball in quick soft taps. He turned the screen to Specht, “According to this genealogy site, there were only ever two families with the name of Brekker, somewhere out in Belendt, and that was over 150 years ago. I’m keeping it. And make me 15.”

Specht stared at him, considering, “I suppose the damage to your voice hides your age too.”

 Kaz remembered the months of Jordie’s voice change and was briefly grateful for his raspy voice. He smirked and tapped his whiskey glass to Specht’s in salute.

Later Kaz looked more carefully at the social media images of the big name club owners in the Barrel and their entourages, confirming what he knew from Scout Nights. Muscle wore athletic wear or cheap suits in garish colors. Some gang members wore rapper chic. Lawyers and bookkeepers, the numbers and money people looked like average uptown workers: bland respectability. Not a surprise, but there weren’t many photos of the big bosses.

He knew he needed to be deliberate about his look from the first moment he walked into the room; the first moment he officially entered the game as Kaz Brekker. Barrel flash was a colorful fuck you to the respectable side of Ketterdam, but it didn’t bring respect. Eventually he would need to have a reputation big enough to sit at table across from those on the other side. He would dress for that future.

He fell asleep with his leg propped up, his body tipped back, and his head perched on the headrest of the office chair.

He woke to a slight movement of air caressing his cheek, pulled his leg down, and jumped up shooting the chair back against the wall with a loud thump. Just before full launch, his mind took in Anika standing by the desk, setting a coffee mug down with one hand, and holding another to herself.

“Fucking knock next time!” growled Kaz.

“To my own office? Fucking sleep in your own bed!” she said, moving around him to grab her chair.

Frowning hard, Kaz grabbed the coffee mug, which he noted had Darth Vader on it, as he moved out from behind the desk, and took a deep sip and sat down in the chair Specht had pulled forward last night. It was everyone’s idea of a joke, comparing his raspy voice and terse, sometimes dramatic speech to that of the evil Darth. Maybe he should practice the measured ceremonial walk…Kaz lunged forward waving a startled Anika away from the computer.

“What?! What now? I have work to do Brekker!” she said as she stepped aside with impatience.

He didn’t say anything as he quickly cleaned out search history, saved files, and backup logs. She rolled her eyes.

They both settled into their places again. She began logging into the phone system to gather the messages. He continued with his coffee, waiting for the recordings to finish.

She flicked him an irritated look. “What business Kaz?”

“I’ve never asked, and you don’t have to tell me, but how come you are here working for SpechtBox and not with a family somewhere, going to school and having a boyfriend?”

She raised her brows and blinked, “A boyfriend?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Whatever your version of an average teen life looks like!”

“Hmmmm.” She said. “If I tell you, you have to tell me the same. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“My father was first Lieutenant of Harley’s Pointers when it went down. He was shot and killed and before you say something stupid, let me say I’m grateful every day I don’t have to make a visit to the prison.”

Kaz looked at her thoughtfully. “Barrel kid, born and raised then. How’d you find Specht?”

She shrugged, “One of my father’s women promised to take care of me if anything happened to him, so she left me at Specht’s door and he took me in same as you. Why are you asking?”

Kaz asked, “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

Anika choked on a gulp of coffee and took a moment to recover. With watery eyes and a dramatic wave of her arm, she said,

“What the hell Brekker, that’s an interview question! Are you interviewing me!?”

“I know where I want to be in five years, what about you?”

“My guess is you’re looking to get noticed by a gang, and joining one.”  Kaz shrugged but didn’t deny it. “What do you need other people for? A gang will be your insta-family.”

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Kaz repeated.

She moved her gaze to the far wall, thinking and talking it out, “I don’t go to formal school. I only know the Barrel and gang life. I don’t think I’m getting any good paying jobs elsewhere in Ketterdam. I’d make a terrible whore and I don’t see myself getting married any time soon, no matter for money and protection. I’m good with what I got here, helping out with business and taking care of myself. I guess that leaves me also looking for a gang or staying here at SpechtBox.” She grimaced at the restless feeling she had at that last idea.

Staring into his coffee Kaz said carefully, “You are smart and get shit done. You swing hard in a fight. I have plans and if you are interested, I…would have you with me.”

She kept her gaze to her login screen. The moment felt unreal, both so young, sitting together in the front office of SpechtBox, making plans for a future elsewhere.

Kaz continued, “Consider getting a fake ID from Specht and learning club business. Maybe a part time job somewhere like the Treasure Chest.” He grabbed his coffee mug and cane, and pushed himself up to walk out the door.

She said, “Not so fast! How come you were in a shed during a winter storm and getting sick and not with a family somewhere, going to school and having a boyfriend?” She looked at him with a hint of challenge, waiting for an offered truth, something he never, ever gave.

He turned to her from the doorway, “Sometimes I think of my wonderful normal teen life…my brilliant grades in school…my revolving door of sweet and lovely girlfriends…but I’m just SO THRILLED,” he said theatrically, placing the Darth mug to his heart, “to be HERE!” and limp walked away.  

Chapter Text

The afternoon before Kaz took his first seat at a private poker game, a package was delivered to the front office addressed to him. Anika had answered the door and brought it in. It was a long, slender box that weighed heavier than it looked, especially at one end. Anika noted the return address was one of their high-end weapon craft vendors with headquarters in Shu Han. Usually she would just leave it in the office for pick up, but this was the first package to ever be delivered specifically to Kaz through regular post and the timing seemed significant. She hefted it over to the gym.

There were only a couple clients working on the bags, but the shred music was pounding loudly as if there were dozens. She made her way to Kaz on a set break from barbell lifts. When he saw the package in her hands, he smiled a full genuine smile. She stopped in startled surprise. He grabbed the package from her and opened it immediately. The packaging fell away from a smooth wood box with a decorative clasp and the vendor’s name etched on the lid. Kaz set it down on the weight bench and opened the box.

By now Keeg and Dirix, getting time in on the hanging bags, had noticed and hovered for the big reveal too. The box opened to a red satin-lined crèche upon which lay what looked to be a vintage dress cane in black lacquer. Kaz grabbed it up and began twirling it; then stroked his gloved fingers over the wood and looked carefully at the silver handle. It was in the likeness of an elongated Crow head and beak. Kaz tossed the cane straight up, caught the thin end, and swung it in a smooth wide arc in front of him. The air made a swooshing sound, and his spectators looked fearfully at the implication of the damage such a swing could do to soft human bones and flesh.

Kaz looked triumphant.

Anika said, “Nice…now you just need to upgrade every other thing about you!”

Keeg laughed and then joked, “Nah, it looks good with gray Adidas and sweaty hair.”

Dirix joined in the heckling, “What else you got for your big debut tonight, pretty princess?”

Kaz narrowed his eyes, gripped the cane, and lunged at Dirix. All three of them whooped and ran away laughing. Kaz turned away, hiding the smile on his face, as he gathered everything and headed to the showers and locker room.

They would soon see that he actually did have an upgrade to everything else about him. It had taken the theft of a black Armani suit from a shipment warehouse, a bus ride uptown to a tailor in the Lid, a story of having a funeral to attend, money to purchase a black shirt, black satin tie, a pair of shiny black leather boots, a black duster, and a black fedora with black ribbon band – but he had pulled together an outfit worthy of a future Barrel Boss.

Later that evening, as Keeg, Dirix, Anika and Specht waited for Kaz to join them in the walk to the back alley of The Treasure Chest where two rooms on the main floor level were set aside for the game, Specht was retelling them what to expect to calm their jittery nerves. They would all take seats in the big room, in front of a screen that would show the game as it was happening behind the locked door of a smaller room. This was to eliminate as much cheating as possible. The dealer, the five players, and a waiter would be searched and only then allowed entry. No one was allowed weapons or communication devices of any kind.

Each player brought 10k and an additional 20K was offered by the organizers to sweeten the deal, to bring in the best players. 

It was already dark and the sparse lighting of the parking lot just made the shadows darker, so it took everyone’s eyes a moment to resolve the sudden appearance of a dark figure moving toward them with hard sole steps, the flash of a silver crow-headed cane, and a black fedora hat being placed upon a recently trimmed head of hair with the other hand.

They stood in silence as he paused in front of them and read the surprise, amazement, and respect on their faces, at his impeccably worn black Armani suit and accessories, and settling both gloved hands over the cane handle said, “Are we ready?”

As a private game, in the days that followed, there were no newspaper headlines or pics and captions of the event on social media, but everyone in the Barrel now knew that a certain Kaz Brekker had come to town. 

He won the night with a cash out of just over 53k. No one had ever won so consistently, nor with such heavy pots. The organizers were trying to make back their losses by selling views of the recording of the play as people wanted to see the card magic of the young prodigy. The buzz was so high, the next invitation came only a few days later instead of the weeks that usually elapsed between events.

Kaz rode the high of the win all night, celebrating back at SpechtBox with a retelling of the hands and the reactions in the room.

Mid-morning on the day after, he slipped out of the back of the gym without his cane, made his way through brush, broken bottles, plastic bags, and winding footpaths, to the edge of the canal across which lay East Stave. He wore clothes he had pulled out of a donation box, all worn and gray. His hoodie was pulled up and over a black knit hat, hiding his hair. His let his face relax into dull apathy and kept his gloved hands in his pockets. He had his tactical knife in his gray hightops, and his gun in a Velcro sleeve holster tucked beneath his pants band at his back. He had his money concealed in plastic bags duct taped to a throw away Tshirt under his layers. It made him look bigger and if a fight came, it could work as padding.

He jumped the old broken planks stacked across the canal as a secret walkway, and paced himself to walk with other street people making their way down to the harbor, taking his time until he reached his destination, an old stone building with a narrow face to the street, and a single back door onto a filthy cramped alley. It was secured with a single cylinder deadbolt. Kaz placed a special magnet against it and the bolt released. He eased open the door, moved through and to the side, quietly resetting the door to frame, and the bolt to channel. He stood there a moment taking in the sounds of the building. No steps on the stairs, no doors opening or closing. Just the rumbling pings of an old radiator heating system.

He followed the narrow hall to the entry door and placed his ear to it. Nothing. He pushed against the swing and moved into the wider entry room and across the threadbare carpet to the stairs heading up to the next two floors. He placed each foot on each wooden step in a different place, and in different ways, practicing silent movement.

Anything built from wood in these old buildings set near the harbor, creaked and squawked from years of swelling and drying. If he could negotiate these without notice, he could sneak anywhere.

When he got to the door furthest down the hall on the third floor, he settled himself against the wall to the right of the doorjamb gave the handle a test twist. It was locked. He knew the door was secured in three ways: a simple key lock door handle, a single cylinder deadbolt, and a chain latch. It was laughably simple to move through the protocols to disarm the door, the challenge was to do so without alerting the person within.

He didn’t time himself today, going for silence over speed, and was gratified when upon hip bumping the door open, the person hunched over a keyboard set upon a plastic folding table, bellowed in fear and flipped their chair over.

A rough rumbling chuckle came out of Kaz as he relished the spectacle of his surprise entry.

“Duuuuude, you cannot do that to me! How do you even do that?” asked the boy as he set his chair to rights.

“Practice obviously,” Kaz replied, grinning in satisfaction.

“You are terrifying,” said the boy. Kaz was satisfied with the ring of truth in the statement.

Pim was perhaps a year younger, living with some small sense of security with his aging Aunt, who had taken him in after his mother had died in her thirties from breast cancer. The Aunt was now in her fifties, and her single life in the Barrel had taken its toll. She showed signs of carrying the same illness as her sister but refused to see a doctor saying they were expensive and she didn’t want what little material wealth she had ending in someone else’s pockets as she died anyway. Pim did whatever labor jobs came his way and wasn’t picky about how legal they were.

Pim was the Barrel’s version of good folk, and reasonable good folk were afraid of ghosts that walked through triple locked doors!

Kaz had met Pim out on Pier 8, where the Harbor Master directed the midsize commercial vessels to berth, on a day that Kaz had surreptitiously joined a dock crew tasked with unloading electronics from Shu Han. Pim knew Kaz wasn’t officially part of the crew, but had taken one long considering look at him and treated the situation as though he had unexpectedly met up with a good friend. This led to Kaz joining the work crew without suspicion.

The two boys chatted back and forth as they worked, appearing to catch up with each other. Pim sketched out his whole history and situation without a care. Kaz allowed that he lived with his Uncle over near the Barrel, and spent his time working out and doing odd jobs.

By end of shift Kaz had a new idea, so when Pim offered that he crash on his Aunt’s sofa rather than walk the early dark hours of the morning in the rain, Kaz accepted. After seeing the place and feeling it was perfectly situated for his plan, Kaz slid out two Alienware gaming laptops and a router hidden within a large, hand-sewn pouch in the back panel of his overcoat. Pim’s eyes got huge and his breath stopped for a second.

“Duuuuuuuuude…” he said as Kaz placed the equipment on the folding table that served as a desk in the kitchen-dining-living room space. Kaz had lifted 5k worth of electronics while Pim had never noticed. They quickly set up the space, removing the trash equipment Pim had been using up to that moment. They had set up the computer screens back-to-back and gone exploring through the pre-loaded software and setting of accounts and personalization.

Working together, they learned that both of them were self-taught coders who loved the power of computers and who were adept at using them to solve problems, gather information, and simulate worlds. They shared a grin at discovering where they both landed on the hacker ethics scale.

“So, you’re a blackhat then?” asked Pim.

“I’m a whatever-hat gets me what I need,” said smirked Kaz.

Pim didn’t have a single other friend like Kaz. As the morning dawned, Pim realized he wanted more times like this one, talking with someone as smart as Kaz about computers. He tried to think of how he could interest him, when Kaz offered the solution,

“It’s difficult where I live to have computer equipment. Could I stash mine here and drop by when I need to use it?” Kaz asked.

Pim was fast in answering, “That will work!” Thinking it through, he then shook his head and said, “I don’t have a spare key so we might need to make a schedule.”

Kaz rolled his eyes, “Don’t need one. And to be clear, no schedules, and nothing of my name written down.”

Pim nodded and laughed a bit, “Okay super secret agent man!”

Kaz discovered that Pim was a massive gamer who spent his spare time creating a multiplayer game called The Barrel. Kaz asked questions and Pim ended up taking him on a tour of his game map and characters and equipment lists and Kaz saw potential in Pim’s simulated Barrel life.

“You know, I’ve read that there is a lot that can be done with a game beyond the game play…” Kaz said.

Pim looked thoughtful, “You mean like what, secret chat rooms?”

“And backdoors, cheat codes, and if we build realistic scenarios with real data, it could be a training simulator for gang life. Not that we would market it openly. We could build a rep around it; give it to key people and let demand show us what happens next.” Kaz tilted his head, his eyes narrowed at the wall behind Pim, his mouth sliding to the side in concentration. “Maybe we create more than one version, one we sell to game developers and one we keep for ourselves.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t the buyers make me hand over all versions?” Pim said, rolling along with the incredible idea of having something sellable.  

Kaz rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t.”

Pim had registered the use of ‘our’ and ‘we’ and felt excitement for a future with Kaz. Fleshing out the game was going to take an incredible amount of time and effort and the idea of help suddenly made it a real possibility.

Kaz came by when he could, but not routinely. He never spoke of Pim to anyone at the gym. Neither of them had fancy phones, so Kaz would just show up and, in the barter life of the Barrel, Pim and his Aunt were okay with that in exchange for the free expensive computer and router and help with game development.

Today Kaz took off his hoodie and a bulky Tshirt that he set on the table next to his laptop. He turned it on, and then turned to the Tshirt, flipped it inside out and began carefully ripping the tapped packages from the shirt. Setting the lumpy packages to one side, he opened a thin flat one and pulled out what looked to be official documents. Pim resisted trying to read them upside down, but his eyes saw the Ks and Z of Kaz Brekker.

Hesitantly Pim asked, “What are you doing?”

Kaz began working the keyboard and kept his attention on his task. “You are witness to Kaz Brekker beginning an online identity. Please show proper shock and awe.”

Pim laughed and made himself focus on his own work, until Kaz got up again from his seat and began stripping away duct tape from the other packages, revealing stacks of cash. Pim was in the presence of more money than he had ever seen in one place in his life.

“Kaz, what the hell?” asked Pim, as he gestured to the money.

“Won it. Mid-stakes poker game. And now, to bank it.”

“Most people have to go in person to a bank to open an account…” said Pim, “but I’m guessing you won’t have to?”

Kaz’s mouth curled up at the edges.

“Seriously, you are hacking a bank?”

“Well, a small one currently without a security expert on staff.”

A wicked grin curled his lips as he continued to work. He set up three separate accounts: one for Kaz Brekker and two with other aliases. He glanced at Pim and said, “Now that my money will be at their establishment, they will need a stronger firewall. I really should make them pay me for my services!”

Kaz turned back to the keyboard and his keystrokes began an impossibly fast tempo. Pim imagined setting up a shunt, but shook his head at the math of coding it, of setting an algorithm to randomly siphon imperceptible amounts from one of the bank’s internal accounts to an outside shell account that would then dump money into one of his alias accounts.

Pim suddenly realized he needed a clever Barrel Hacker in his game and opened his dev box to begin coding. He grinned as his mind instantly thought of the character name: D1rtyH4ndz. Flicking a look back up at Kaz, Pim knew it was perfect. He would put in some hours and surprise Kaz with it later.  

Finished with that, Kaz placed official bank account slips on each of three stacks of money for in-person deposits. He filled out one of the slips for one of the stacks, directed Pim to fill out the next with the first alias, and tasked Pim to get his Aunt to fill out the final slip for the second alias. He would deposit some to his own account; Pim and his Aunt would deposit to the other two accounts. Forty-three thousand would be secured and the process would be easier with future deposits.

Kaz threw the shirt and tape debris in the trash bin, closed his laptop and set it on the shelf, and put the hoodie back on. Next he placed some money on the table, saying “For the help, duuuuuuude,” and headed out.

Chapter Text

Wave upon wave of incredulity crested over the Barrel following each of Kaz’s wins over the next few months.

He became a celebrity as people wanted to see the new guy dressed all in black, with sharp, gleaming eyes beneath the hat brim, gloved hands wielding a crow beak cane, limping through the streets. He emphasized the limp, a calculated act to generate pity that would offset the audacity of his meteoric rise to fame amongst the card shark community. He wanted as many wins as possible before they tried to oust him from the invitees.

Kaz provided his own seed money now and didn’t flash his winnings around. Unlike other winners, he didn’t take his crew out for dinner and drinks, didn’t take his money to any of the clubs, didn’t buy flashy things. Other than his new way of dressing, he kept his lifestyle simple, and this garnered even more attention. Barrel folk relished his mystery and by the fourth game night, Kaz was a young teen standing tall under the collective scrutiny of every one of the gangs.

On the night in question, an hour after the game was underway, the regulars in the viewing room heard the door open and watched in a little alarm as well known members of the Liddies and the Black Tips entered and then leaned up in a line along the wall, two on each side. Big muscle and hands in jacket pockets; they ignored the room and watched the screen. Specht and the Gym Rats sized up the threat. If trouble started, as long as no one else in the room got in the way, they might not take too much damage getting out. Untouched by the heightened tension of the viewing room, the poker players continued their banter and play.

At the end of the night, each player settled their wins or losses with the game boss, and came through the secured door into the viewing room where their crew joined them to walk out of the building.

Specht watched the room empty, yet it still held the reps from the Liddies and Black Tips. He and Keeg, Dirix and Anika had stood to wait, on their feet and ready. At least if trouble started now, there wouldn’t be bodies in the way of the bodies they wanted to hit.

Kaz exited the room with the game boss right behind him, who was complimenting him on another amazing night of wins. When Kaz saw the thugs lined up he smiled hugely and addressed them, “What business gentlemen?”

As one, they pushed off the wall, the two on the left speaking first, “You’re to come with us, talk with the boss.”

Kaz raised his brows and looked to the other two thugs, one of whom said to the other gang, “He’s got a better offer waiting with us! Come down to our club, drinks and play for free, and talk with Geels!”

Kaz shook his head in mock regret, “Gentlemen, if I ever don’t have a future, I’ll be sure to come knocking. Until then, I must decline both invitations.”

He placed his hat on his head and boldly stepped to the door, his crew followed swiftly and they were out into the street untouched and walking away. The Liddie reps and the Black Tips reps came out the door quickly, a voice yelling out: “Cocky little shit, good luck holding out for a talk with the Dime Lions!”

Without turning, Kaz raised his hand in the air and, seeing it, the others joined him in time to wave a barrage of single finger salutes to the fading figures behind them.

The mood remained high as they celebrated another win and Kaz’s notoriety. The whiskey dropped low and one by one they said goodnight and headed to bed, until it was just Specht and Kaz.

Kaz leaned back in his chair, propped up his leg and asked, “Specht, how do I not know the name of the Dime Lions boss?”

Specht frowned, thinking about it. He shook his head at Kaz, and said, “Well, it’s a bit difficult because he uses more than one name. Sometimes he goes by Hertzoon, sometimes just a nickname like the Kaelish King. He’s pretty recognizable due to the red hair, pasty white face with freckles, and the emerald green clothes he decks out in. To be honest I’m not sure I’ve ever heard his real given name. He’s never come personally to Scout Night. Maybe he just lives behind aliases.”

This made Kaz curious and cautious. Until he knew more, he’d be wary of the Dime Lions. Aligning himself with such a boss might be more trouble than it was worth. Any invitation from them would need to be deflected with a display of respect.

With the latest prize money, Kaz achieved the purchasing power to buy an old, inactive club farther down the Barrel, toward the Harbor. Sitting for years with a worn ‘For Sale’ sign stapled to the door, Kaz figured correctly that it would go cheap. Kaz had already researched and set up a legal Limited Liability Corporation under the alias attached to the account. He had plans.

For now it was enough to get Anika, under her own separate alias, acting as the ‘Executive Administrator’ for the purchase, making the calls and sending the documents Kaz supplied. Unsurprisingly, the offer was snapped up and inspections were quickly completed. When the deed came in the mail, Kaz had Anika purchase a safety deposit box and store it along with a few other items under another alias.

She came back to the gym after running errands one afternoon and found him practicing the breaking of boards, which she had seen him do many times but noticed that he now did it with gloved hands. It side tracked her for a moment,

“Does it …(crack)…ah, yes, it still works with the gloves on. Why do you wear those gloves all the time now?”

He didn’t answer, didn’t even turn toward her in acknowledgement, just continued to place boards in the channel holders, took position, and thrust his hand through as easily as if the board didn’t exist. He said,

“Everything is done?”

“Yes.”

“How are things going at the Treasure Chest?”

“Good, real good. There is a lot to learn but I like it, and I can already see what I’d do differently.”

He looked at her and glanced around the gym. No one was near and the music was typically loud. He said,

“I want you to have shares in the club I’m building. I’m going to offer shares to others too, but you’re the first. You’ve already invested time in it and people work harder when it’s their own win or loss.”

“I’ll be happy with whatever shares you give me.”

“Anika,” he shook his head, “you negotiate better with your right hook. That was awful!” and he began to laugh, he couldn’t help himself.

Anika, sweetened by the rare sound of Kaz laughing, began to laugh herself. She said,

“Fine, I’ll take 80% of the shares and you can be happy with the rest.”

“Okay, then you will be investing heavily upfront in the renovations will you? And fronting the initial layout in equipment and booze? You will cover employee wages for the first 3 to 6 months until we clear enough profit?”

She grimaced, “Yeah, NO. Got things to do!” And she ran back to the front office.

And if, a few hours later, she thought again of Kaz laughing, and ended up smiling at nothing at all, no one needed to know.

Anika looked forward to Kaz winning the next poker game with greater enthusiasm now that Kaz had shared a small part of his vision. She was invested, the more they began with, the better chance Kaz’s new club would be successful.

The guest list for the games was supposed to be secret but Anika had connections in the Barrel. She learned the guest list and while three of the invitees were players Kaz had gone against on previous nights, there was one new name, a Jesper Fahey. She asked around, but he wasn’t part of a gang. He was a mystery, and in the Barrel that meant trouble.

She hadn’t planned a trip back to the gym before her shift at the Treasure Chest, and Kaz refused to use smart phones so she couldn’t message him. It was frustrating and something she would change when she worked with him.

She headed to the Treasure Chest, her shift beginning a couple hours before the busiest hours. Working the bar and watching tables, she noticed when a strange group of thugs, a mix of Liddies, Black Tips, and Razorgulls walked in with a tall and slender teen boy who immediately caught the eye.

Sure, there were plenty of tall teens in astounding outfits in the Barrel, but this one! His Barrel flash was displayed with extra swagger. He wore a yellow satin double-breasted jacket with shiny blue disks sewn onto the lapels over flowy yellow satin trousers with shimmery blue satin ribbon running down the sides. He sauntered in yellow satin mid-heel boots and wore an amazing blue velvet hat with a yellow satin ribbon. He was lucky with his dark complexion and startling gray eyes, his beauty raised his style from outlandish to attractively eccentric.

He caught her staring and tipped the brim of his hat at her, and looked to be about to flirt when one of his brooding entourage waved him to a chair around the Black Jack table. As he took a seat, he eased open the button of his jacket and as the two front pieces slid aside, Anika saw two slim gun handles alongside his hips. This guy wore a double revolver hip holster, just like a gunslinger from a movie!

Escorted and surrounded by a mix of gang members, he was another mystery. How likely was it that she would come across two strangely mysterious guys in one day?

Curious, Anika assigned herself to be the cocktail waitress for the table. As she took their orders, the guy flirted outrageously with the dealer. Just as Anika was going to interrupt for his order, the moonpie-faced Liddie next to him barked,

“Fahey, give the girl your drink order!”

Anika grinned at the jackpot fate had handed her. She looked him in the eye and said,

“Fahey? Well that’s a Kaelish name you’re saddled with!”

“Ah darling, speaking of my saddle already? You can call me Jesper and I’ll take a glass of Kaelish whisky to go with my name,” said the man with an amused smile.

A polished flirt, the kind Anika detested. She endured many, polished and otherwise, at the gym. It would be a shame to have to plant her fist across his face before she learned anything truly useful. Holding back, she played along and took his order.

At the bar getting the orders set on the tray, she swore again at Kaz for not having a phone. If only he could come and see this for himself. She didn’t want to text Specht, Dirix or Keeg and involve them in this before she had told Kaz. She would observe, but she wasn’t spy material. All she’d be able to report was his favorite drink and whether he won against the house at Black Jack. Ah well.

But what she saw at the table over the next few hours was not the careful, controlled game play of a superior card shark. This was a wild ride of risk taking. Jesper Fahey raised the stakes in breathtaking jumps, only to reveal busts on crappy cards. And he talked too much! Explaining how he just knew the exact card was coming up next. How did he get an invite to the same game with Kaz Brekker? Why was he being courted by more than one gang?  

Anika was still mystified at the end of her shift. As she gathered her things, readying herself for the walk to SpechtBox, the group around the table also broke up. The men blocked Jesper from the door, and she could hear them telling him roughly to get his ass home and sleep it off. Jesper was likely properly drunk given how many whiskey neats he had shot back, but he managed to walk much the same as when he came swaggering in. These men were acting like nannies.

She watched with narrowed eyes as Jesper leaned in and spoke quietly to the men and then gestured at her! The men looked her up and down, shook their heads, and left.

As Anika approached the door, he held it open for her as though one presented manners for Barrel gym rat girls. She passed him without notice and headed in the direction of home. He dropped into step beside her. She stopped abruptly and turned to him with fierce suspicion.

“Are you…walking me home for Ghezen’s sake?!”

“Yes, darlin’. This is the Barrel and it’s still the dark of the morning.”

“You do realize I can take care of myself? That I do so after every shift?”

“What does it hurt to let me walk along with you?”

Anika wanted to tell him it would hurt HIM to walk along with her! She realized another reason she was not cut out to be a spy: she was far too direct. It was a struggle to change things about herself just to cajole information from someone. She sighed.

“Fine. You can walk with me, but why aren’t you moving to another club with your buddies?”

He huffed a laugh, took off his hat and raised his face to the sparsely clouded sky, looking at the vague stars to be seen through the city’s aura of lights. Anika snorted as she kept her eyes scanning the edges and corners of buildings, the depth of the shadows in the parked cars, and listened for the odd noise.

“If you give me some bullshit story, I will show you how a Gym Rat gets the truth out of you!” she growled.

“Please let it be with kisses and flirty talk!”

“Idiot!” she said and quickly pulled her fist back for a devastating knuckle kiss to his jaw.

Jesper took a step back and suddenly she was faced with double barrels with hammers cocked, held in steady hands. She was now pinned down by potential and immediate death.

She swore at herself for dropping her guard. Just because he was bad at cards and dressing himself didn’t mean he was bad at everything! Served her right being robbed or shot in the middle of the street with guns she had clearly seen earlier in the evening. Then, Jesper dropped the guns back into their hidden holsters and continued walking unconcernedly down the street without looking to see if she followed.  She did, but more cautiously than before.

He said, “I love card games, I love the turn of the card and glorious high of the wins, but I’m not rich and sometimes when I hit the lows, I need time to pay off my debts. Which is all fine when people are reasonable, but let me ask you, is it just me, or is there a great lack of reasonable people here in the Barrel of Ketterdam?”

She snorted in response.

“Yeah, so I owe some people some money and they are babysitting me until I can pull a job for them and pay off my debt.”

Anika shook her head and in a low voice asked, “What kind of job is there that pulls together members from three separate gangs, who are otherwise sworn against each other?”

“Look, I may be new to Ketterdam, but I am not a complete noob. I can’t tell you that!”

“It’s that hush-hush? How did they just let you walk home alone then?”

“The famous Jesper Fahey charm lulled them into underestimating me. Works every time!”

At her glare he admitted, “Okay so I might have said you and I were spending the rest of the night together.”

She really did take a swing at his face this time, but he was much taller and had fast reflexes. He easily jumped out of the path of the swing.

She said, “Get away from me! Before I get serious and try to kill you.”

“My mom would kill me if I left you on these dark streets to walk alone.”

“Your mom will never know and your death is your own problem.”

“Ouch!” he said and stopped walking.

She continued on. She didn’t hear any steps moving in any direction. She resisted looking back. She kept walking. She resisted. Sighing she turned and looked back. He stood dimly where he’d stopped, hat again in hand, looking dejected. She hated how it got to her when she absolutely didn’t care. She rolled her eyes and caved,

“FINE. Walk me home.”

He was back with her in a few loping strides and she resigned herself to listening to him ramble about coming to Ketterdam for college, but dropping out as it just didn’t suit him. She should have just done this from the beginning: allowed a deep silence and let him fill it up. She discovered where he currently rented space, the names of the gang nannies, the fact that he had been studying up on professional poker tournaments, as well as an overly generous description of the current state of his sex life.

He dropped her at the door of SpechtBox, waving as she turned inside and gratefully ended the evening. She walked by the office door and saw the computer was on, a partial glass of whiskey sitting beside it, but an empty chair. Probably gone to take a piss she thought as she left a note in the chair. “I’ve got news to tell, but DO NOT fucking wake me up early tomorrow!”

Chapter Text

Dirix and Keeg woke her up early by standing right outside her door and talking about their plans for the day in very loud voices. As soon as she realized what they were doing, she leaned over the side of the bed, picked up both boots, and flung them at the wall they stood behind. Two loud smacks followed by two thuds followed by crumbled pieces of drywall.

“There better be a full cup of coffee waiting for me in that break room, or I’ll break both your noses!” she yelled. It wasn’t like she could just roll over and go back to sleep. Their footsteps and laughter faded down the hall.

She pulled on some sweats and a Tshirt, threw open the door and let it bounce off the wall behind her. She deliberately put her weight into her heels of each step down the hallway to the break room.

She stopped dramatically in the doorway and looked to Kaz sitting at the table, dressed in his gym gear, looking amused. She narrowed her eyes at him and spoke with fierce sarcasm,

“Thanks so much for not waking me up early!”

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly pushed a coffee cup toward her. It was the bright yellow mug, the one that said “I am a fucking ray of sunshine.”

She growled and grabbed the mug as she sat across from him. She took her time drinking down half the coffee before looking at him again. He was looking at the newspaper and drinking from his Darth Vader mug. Her sleep deprived brain snagged on the thought that only Kaz Brekker could out Vader the Vader.

“What business?” he asked.

“I found your guy at the Treasure Chest last night,” she said, and in short sentences, told him of meeting Jesper Fahey and his three gang entourage. Kaz gave her story his full attention, and when she got to her abrupt questioning on the walk home, dropped his head into his hands and cleared his throat in annoyance.

“What? Don’t give me shit about my questions!”  said Anika, a little embarrassed. “If you would carry a phone, I could have told you he was at the club and YOU could have questioned him yourself!”

Kaz’s head came up sharply, his dark eyes bore into hers. He had the look of a predator right before the paralyzing pounce. She didn’t move or speak.

Kaz slid his hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a thin, black rectangle that looked like a smart phone. As he held it up to her view, she saw a strange sigil embossed on the back that she didn’t recognize.

“I have a phone. It is a rare brand and doesn’t play nice with others,” Kaz growled.

Anika blinked, then blustered,

“Fine, don’t share your number with me! I mean, who am I to think we were working together and might need to share info?”

He shot back at her: “Is your phone encrypted? Do you make sure your wifi is off when you are not actively using it? Do you connect to unsecured wifis when you are out and about? Do you leave your phone in the office while you go do something elsewhere in the gym?”

“You already know the answers to all of that! I use my phone just like everyone else.”

“When the time comes, we will have secured systems and comms; until then, we do the most untraceable thing, we speak in person.”

Anika rolled her eyes and sighed heavily.

Kaz returned his phone to his pocket and asked, “Do you know where Mr. Fahey bunks?”

“Yes,” she said, “he told me without my even asking! The guy can’t let a silence happen! I now know way too much about everything!”

She withdrew a slip of paper from her pocket on which she had jotted down the address last night before falling into bed. She slid it across the table and asked, “What are you going to do? You realize this could be three gangs literally gunning for you!”

He glanced at the address and threw the paper away. He stood up and collected his cane.

“Yes,” he said, “and I’m literally going to help them do it.” And out the door he went without explaining anything.

Frustrated, Anika went looking for Dirix and Keeg. Once she’d dealt out some retribution for the early wake up, she’d feel better!

Kaz was dressed this morning in dark grey athletic gear stripped of branding and dark sneakers with all reflective bits masked by black Sharpie ink. As he got closer to the rundown apartments at the address from the paper, he pulled his hoodie up over his hair and stashed his cane along the lip of a long cement flower bed.

It was the busy part of the morning with trash trucks moving toward the buildings and streams of people heading out to work. Kaz followed the truck route to the back of the property and followed the walkway down the alley to where one truck was stuck waiting just under a fire escape ladder poised between the first and second floors. He grabbed the handle on the back of the truck, stepped onto the running board, pulled himself up to the top and leapt lightly from the truck to the rail of the stairs.

He moved quickly up to the window ledge of the eighth floor and walked along counting rooms. Nearly every window was covered by blinds or curtains except one. One wide open sheet of glass. Someone was an idiot! He peeked inside and saw a jumble of brightly colored fabrics, piled on the floor, the bed, the dresser, and the desk. Face down on the bed of fabrics laid a dark-skinned, dark-haired, very tall boy with no shirt and eye-popping yellow slacks and bare feet dangling off the edge. Fahey looked to be asleep with his back rising and falling to slow, deep breaths. He looked to be alone, and Kaz was betting on any guards being out in the hallway. He popped open the window carefully and slid inside quietly.

He slowly pulled his gun from its holster and laid his trigger finger alongside the barrel. He pulled his knife from a sheath in the sleeve of his hoodie and palmed it for a quick throw. Then he paused to assess: still no movement besides the even rhythm of breaths.

Raising his gun into position, Kaz rasped, “Fahey!”

The body on the bed exploded upward and rotated a quarter turn before falling back to the mattress. Kaz now faced two gun barrels and two blearily intent silver eyes.

Neither boy moved as they assessed their threats. With his chest and arms bare, Kaz noted that Jesper did not have a gang tattoo, and Kaz switched from Plan A to Plan B. He spoke first,

“I came to meet the guy who thinks he can shoot me for winning a few poker games.”

Jesper’s eyes widened as he realized who was in his room. He said silkily,

“Interesting that you chose to meet me in my boudoir.”

Kaz scowled and said, “Don’t make me shoot you first. I’ve got a plan where neither of us dies. I came here to talk.” But Kaz didn’t lower his gun.

Jesper pushed up off his elbow and moved to sitting with both barrels still pointing at Kaz’s chest.

“I could just shoot you now and be done, my debt cleared.”

“I could just shoot you now and be done, no plans needed.”

They both stared intently at each other, braced for a round that might leave either or both of them dead or seriously injured. Their breaths came and went easily. Their bodies deceptively still.

Silence pooled between them.

Then as one they dropped their barrels down toward the floor. Not dropping his eyes, Kaz said, “Honestly, I could have shot you through the window.”

Jesper set his guns on the side table within reach and then dug his fingers into his hair and rubbed gently. He dropped his arms to his side, looking around for something and said, “We’re both too pretty to kill. Give me a minute and we can go to the corner place and get some coffee and food and you can tell me about your plan.”

Kaz scoffed, “Just walk by your nanny guards and go get a bite to eat? No, we’ll go over it here and now.”

A bell later, Kaz stood alone in the room waiting for Jesper and his entourage to have a head start leaving the building. He let himself out of the apartment and walked out the side door on the ground level and was happy to see that his cane remained where he’d left it.

On his return to SpechtBox, Kaz reviewed his meeting with Fahey. He had gone in with more than one plan, the first of which was to shoot Fahey as he slept and send a clear message to all of the gangs that he was a serious player. But watching Fahey’s quick reflexes and confidence with his guns, and seeing the steady gaze of a killer in Fahey’s eyes, he flipped the plan to moving him out from under the claw of the gangs and recruiting him to his side. It would be debt owed and as Fahey’s current situation proved, debts worked powerfully on him. Kaz could definitely work with that.

In addition to being a sharpshooter, Fahey boasted of his skills with cars, stealing them and driving them, all while keeping clear of the Stadwatch. Kaz shook his head at Fahey taking the risk of working solo with gang-owned chop shops in the Barrel. He must be either really good, or more likely, was being groomed as the fall guy next time there was trouble. Fahey might need a little managing.

The next game night was a week away and they each had their lists of things to do. He played out the plan in his head and made mental notes. They would both need to act their parts well, and Kaz was banking on Fahey’s flair for persuasion and drama.

He needed to get two of the bullet proof vests from Specht’s equipment bunker, get one to Fahey and make sure one would fit under his own Armani suit. Fahey would find a van with enough space to lay out a dead body and get it parked in the alley and then get a second car for himself. Then Kaz needed to talk with Pim and the Gym Rats and they would be good to go.

It was not often that Specht called a morning meeting of ‘employees.’ Everyone knew their assigned tasks and their hours for working or training in the gym. Everyone knew their status was ‘at will;’ they could walk away from Specht’s at anytime, and he could close his door to them at anytime.

And yet, when Specht set an early morning all-hands-on-deck meeting, everyone took a seat. 

Specht stood in his trainer gear, leaning against the counter next to the coffee maker, coffee mug cradled in his big hands. Below the Mortal Kombat dragon on the mug, it said: Test Your Might. He had a client within the hour, but as the legal adult in the room, needed to hear and assess Kaz’s plan. No one at SpechtBox was going to die as a gang hit under his watch!  

He began, “I want to hear this plan of yours, but I want you to know that I can make you another set of papers and have you on your way out of Ketterdam within 24 bells.”

Kaz shook his head and glanced at each of them around the table. “I have bigger plans than that and they’ll find I’m not that easy to kill. But if any of you need to walk away…”

No one moved and no one spoke.  Kaz, with his singular experience of going into a threat situation without his Da explaining much of anything, had decided to explain everything and see how it went.

“Okay, then this is what we are going to do. We got word that they’ve moved locations over to the main floor back rooms of the Gilded Lily. I’ve already gone round and taken a look at the rooms and the exits. Access and seating will be very similar to the previous games. The difference is that in addition to the main corridor from the front entry to the viewing room, there is a side corridor to the right of the viewing room that leads to the alley. Two ways in and out, everyone got that?”

Everyone nodded.

“Maybe they think Fahey with a gun is enough, but we’ll plan for a few more. The viewing room is the same size as the other one which should help with keeping out an army, but if they are serious they will tuck people in the extra rooms on the main floor and second floor. If it were me, I would also have my people in the alley and out in front.”

Kaz leaned back, explaining: “These are the Liddies, Black Tips, and Razorgulls; the gangs whose invites I refused. I pissed them off and they don’t want me over at the Dime Lions. Someone has decided that if they can’t have me, no one will. Fahey’s instructions are to shoot me at point blank range and take all the money he can grab. Supposedly his nanny guards will help him escape.” Kaz shrugged, “My guess is once I’m shot and Fahey exits the room, they will shoot him too and grab the money. It’s what I would do.”

Specht looked puzzled, “Wait, since they pat down each player on the way into the game room, how are they expecting Fahey to get a gun in there?”

“One of the Black Tips knows a girl there,” Kaz said, “and she is to tape a gun under the table that, surprising no one, will go undetected in the pre-game room search. Fahey is supposed to take the seat nearest the dealer and to use it as everyone gets up to leave for the night.”

 Anika narrowed her eyes, thinking through the action in the viewing room. “The rest of us better have spots right outside the room door at that time.”

Kaz nodded, “We plan for all contingencies based on what we see when we get there. We want to arrive early so we have someone at the door to the game room. We want two floaters, one to take a quick trip upstairs to check that its business as usual in that direction, and one to check the alley. If there is any problem, one of you pounds on the door and we throw the game and try our best to get out. If everything is fine at that point, then yes, at least one person should be outside the viewing room door to help. I will be sitting directly opposite of Fahey in hopes that he will have the clearest shot at me.”

“WHAT?” they all shouted and Specht’s voice boomed over them all, “You WANT him to shoot you?”

“Yes! Both of us will be wearing Kevlar vests from the gear you keep for special training exercises. I am planting a fake blood pack in my vest that Fahey will shoot for maximum dramatic effect.” Kaz grimaced, “Here’s hoping it’s a small caliber.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the room. Keeg finally asked, “How will your being shot help anything?”

“Everyone there will report that they saw Fahey shooting me. Hell, it will be on the video feed for playback. He will be free of his debt to the gangs and gain some much needed protective notoriety for himself. While I am dropping to the floor and faking death, thereby giving the gangs a temporary false hope that they are rid of me, he will grab my winnings. He is to get out of the game room and use you all as a screen to get out into the main hall. His vest is to save him from a shot by his own guards.”

“You are letting him run off with all of the money?!” exclaimed Dirix with disbelief.

“Hell no! It’s to keep it from the others in the room. Grab the damn bag from his hand as he runs past and if he resists, shoot him in the leg!” Kaz said grimly. “Hell, if he doesn’t let go immediately, shoot both his legs.”

Dirix said, “Yes sir!” He was going for the joke with a mock sign of respect, but it hit true.

Before anyone could interrupt further, Kaz continued, “Meanwhile, your job is to retrieve my body, carry me out in front of everyone, sad and wailing at my death, and head toward the alley where a driver of a utility van will be waiting. Odds are everyone will have scattered by then and it will be an easy ride back to SpechtBox.”

Specht rumbled incoherently, shook his head, placed his mug in the sink and went to meet his first client of the day.

Kaz’s dark eyes gleamed with anticipation, “When this is done, we will have delivered a righteous slap to three gangs, removed me and Fahey from gang contention, added a sharpshooter to our team, and walked away with the all money.”

As they all went their ways, Anika could be heard swearing down the hallway, “Ghezen, let’s hope he can run in those yellow satin boots.”

 Later that night, dozing with his legs stretched out on a pile of mats, his back slouched against the gym wall, a slinking predator of fear wove through the tree line of his consciousness.

He dreamt of himself lying on the floor, trying to catch his breath from the impact of the slug to his chest, his eyes shut as he faked death, although he knew well that dead eyes stared wide open. In slow motion, dream hands and arms, heads and unidentified masses, floated through his vision, glistening and pale through the darkness. He felt the weight in his hand of each piece, the give of skin as he touched them.

He heard a strangled whisper, at odds with how hard his dream-self tried to shout for help. Fear swamped him, his real body damp with sweat, as his dream body could not move. He strained to release the body pieces, to get distance, to get out of the nightmare. Finally, nearly at breaking point, he felt something pop and he was awake to the sound of his breath soughing in and out in harsh gasps. He instinctually rolled over onto all fours. His breathing slowed, his sweat began cooling on his skin, making him shiver with chills.

He knew the images were just in his head, but the feelings were overwhelming. He tried telling himself that he was miles beyond the farm and nothing could reach him here. But dreams ignored logic. He got up and grabbed his cane to walk off the dream sick.

It didn’t take genius to understand that he was worried about tomorrow’s game: being shot at, being picked up and carried to the car, being pliant and letting things happen to him. He didn’t know if it was because he had grown up solitary, only knowing the touch of two family members and just didn’t like strangers, or if he really was so weak that doing what needed to be done that day on the farm had messed him up.

He told himself to focus! To do what was in front of him. He would cover every inch of himself possible, and make himself endure.

But he couldn’t help but puzzle over what was happening to him. In just three years, he had gone from hugging and leaning on his Da and brother, to not liking others near him and trying to avoid any touch. To throwing up from the Liddie’s face and bodily fluids so close to his, to discovering the comfort of wearing gloves nearly always.

The voice in his head told him to shut up and stop thinking about things that make you weak!

He just hoped it didn’t get any worse.  

Chapter Text

He was tired the next day but adrenaline and coffee kept him up and moving. Everyone was on high alert getting ready for tonight’s game and plans. They all dressed with care, going for what Anika called casual gladiator style. Boots, tactical pants, long sleeved shirts, pistol holsters, knife sheaths, and gloves. Kaz dressed as a replica Barrel Boss as usual, with the slight bulk of the Kevlar vest and an indiscernible blood pack in the pocket over his heart.

The Gilded Lily was a two-story white stone building with small regular windows evenly spaced across. In the very center of the ground floor was a double panel grand entry door painted in dark gold, with garden accent lights that brightened it at night. The walkway up to the door was narrow stone in a nondescript gray flanked by graveled expanses without flowers or trees. All of this dullness drew the eye to the impressive artistry of the flowing pedals of a painted gold lily stretching from ground to rooftop and accentuated by a flood lamp.

The reality of a brick and mortar ‘escort service’ was oddly more reassuring to Kaz than the frantic pop-up windows of online porn. In reality, there was an approach, an assessment, a discussion, a negotiation; layers upon layers of smooth scripting before the visceral reality. Online, a person went from “Hunh, what’s this?” to “What is THIS?” Small video screens with body parts, twisting and thrusting; sounds, wet and moaning; faces not visible or far too visible. The hentai that Keeg and Dirix talked about, and showed to each other, was often odd, fantastical and tortuous. He thought of his Da and Jordie, of the magazines at Haskell’s Pawn, and felt ashamed of his curiosity and arousal.

As he turned up the walkway, Kaz noted with interest a small sports car in front of the next building along the street. It was in front of a meter, with a sign taped to the window declaring the vehicle inoperable and scheduled for tow service. Good. This was likely Fahey’s answer to his own get-away car. Kaz’s glance down the alley just moments before had confirmed the white utility van he had arranged for himself and crew.

He led the way to the main doors and into the lobby. It too was painted white and was decorated with low-backed sofa groupings, gold velveteen pillows, a large occasional table for the setting down of drinks, mirrors and candles and wisps of lace drapery. Young women dressed in soft fabric dresses of all sorts of enticing styles stood or lounged, ready to host the evening’s guests. Kaz watched the languid movements of their arms and hands, as they reached out to touch the guests and pull them in. He deliberately set himself in the center of the space farthest away from being engaged by any of them. He drew his arms in against his torso and placed his gloved hands on top of his cane, glaring warning like a dark lighthouse on a rocky island.

The Madam, a woman well past her own escort days, dressed head-to-toe in a no-nonsense, respectable pant suit of dove grey, approached and inquired of Specht, the adult male of the group, how she could assist them.

Specht dipped his head in respect and identified them as players in tonight’s game. She turned without another word and walked them down the main corridor, past a barely lit room with paired guests enjoying a bar, past another nearly dark room with a dance floor and private alcoves, past stairs ascending up to the private rooms above, and to the door of the rooms set aside for their game.

Kaz absorbed the details of this tour and his mind flew into calculations. He knew brothels were money makers for the gangs, but he had always thought of them in terms of hours, rates, and division of cost and profit, much like gambling payouts. He had never been inside a brothel, had never seen how the spaces were set out, how the product was displayed and marketed. Just these few glimpses at pairings and groupings in the rooms and overhearing their talk gave Kaz ideas about the flow of information and the placement of electronic devices in such a place. Kaz made a mental note to look further into the business structure of brothels in the Barrel and into the gossip, associations, and blackmail-able illegal activities one could mine.

Keeg leaned in as they stood before the viewing room door and jokingly offered to be the one to check out the upper rooms. Anika joked back that they should arm wrestle for it. Kaz couldn’t resist saying,

“I doubt there will be tentacles!” and opened the door and went in on the burst of laughter from Specht and the others.

The viewing room tonight had basic wooden chairs pressed up against the walls and a huge drop down screen on the far wall. There was another door to the adjacent room in the long wall to the right. The door sat slightly open and there was the sound of someone moving within. A quick look showed the organizers double checking the set up. Kaz and crew were asked to take seats in the viewing room while everything was made ready. They settled in to wait out the remaining half bell before game time.

Kaz watched as each of the other known players arrived.

Flask Henry was not a gang member and had sat at two previous games. He was somewhere in his forties, thin and partially bald, with piercing blue eyes. His face rarely showed expression, but his eyes would deepen or lessen in intensity as he played. His movements were slow and deliberate. He would probably be furious to know that he had two tells: a slight shifting of his torso to the left at a clearly losing hand, and a straightening of his spine when he had a winning one. He had yet to walk out of a game completely empty handed, but he wasn’t what Kaz considered real competition. Kaz could ignore him most of the time, waiting for the shift in posture.

Mr. Oliver was in his early thirties and nearly through initiation with the Liddies. Kaz had only seen him once before. He wore a fleece hoodie of dark grey with the hood pulled up over his bushy dark hair, and wore dark glasses over his eyes, both of which made Kaz secretly laugh at the irony. Everything about him was a push pull of ‘look closely at how hidden I am trying to be.’ His gestures where overly dramatic and he spoke in a hypnotic cadence. Kaz disliked him and relished his tells. The man lacked breath control.

The third player, besides himself and Fahey, was Tarbet. He was an independent like Flask Henry, but was looking for gang sponsorship. From his game play, he was most likely going to get it, if the gangs stopped looking at Kaz. He was perhaps twenty years old and had blond hair swept back off his forehead. He looked like a prep school kid except for his shrewd gaze and sharp words. Kaz had had to focus to find any tells, and he enjoyed the competition of Tarbet at the table. Because Tarbet bantered while he played, a pattern was found in his silences. He was overly blank when he had either an extremely good or bad hand. It was the only tell and it was hard to gauge. Kaz had lost some hands to Tarbet at first.

Fahey was escorted in by four thugs at a quarter bell remaining. His outfit was eye-smacking. He wore bright turquoise tap pants and a suit jacket with an intricate floral design of orange appliqué running up the panels, over the shoulders, and twining in a central pattern down the back. Beneath his jacket he wore a polished cotton button down with the collar popped, in a cheetah pattern of orange browns. His head was wrapped in a scarf of silvery sky blue that made his gray eyes take on a blue cast. Anika peeked at his shoes and laughed silently. Jesper had not paired his outfit with practical footwear. He wore silver leather cowboy boots with orange embroidery mimicking the appliqué pattern of the jacket. On his right hand ring finger he wore a huge silver ring, on his left thumb a thin dull iron band, and on his left ring finger he wore a beaten patterned copper band. He was electrifying.

Anika looked back at Kaz and thought you couldn’t draw a sharper contrast between two people. Kaz was terrifying. His mouth was twisted in disdain and that was before Faehy made a show of extending his hand and offering his name,

“I’m Jesper Fahey, the one to beat tonight! And you must be the card whisperer, Kaz Brekker!”

Kaz shook his head, “Never heard of you,” and turned away and took a seat, legs crossed at the ankles and fully extended into the room, making a show of ignoring Fahey.

Fahey, not to be outdone and left hanging in the center of the room, stepped to the chair next to Kaz, and mimicked Kaz’s pose exactly. Kaz’s crew scrambled to hide their amusement. The thugs who had entered with Fahey, tried and failed to get Anika and Dirix to move over and let them have the door seats. They sullenly took the next available, folded their arms over their chests and looked balefully at Kaz and Fahey.

Finally, tonight’s game enforcer entered the room signaling for the players to line up for a body search. Everyone from SpechtBox knew his size, weight, and favorite punching and kicking styles. His name was Muzzen and he trained at the gym in hopes of making enforcer at one of the upscale clubs near the Lid. He owed money to Specht for the training, and had respect for Kaz teaching him how to fight smarter. But beyond one nod directly at Specht, he kept quiet and began patting down the players for the game room.

Kaz stood up and approached Muzzen first. He placed his cane against the wall behind Muzzen and came to stand before him with his feet a little apart and his arms raised away from his torso. Under the watchful eyes of the packed viewing room, Muzzen withdrew Kaz’s gun from his under arm holster, holding it up for everyone to see. All eyes were on the gun, all talking dropped to mutters and silence. Backs leaned a little more, arms were crossed.

“What does the winningest player need with a gun?” asked Muzzen.

“For the walk back with the winnings of course!” said Kaz, sending a smug look around the room. There were more mutters, with words like cocky, ass, and motherfucker coming through loud and clear. Kaz grinned even wider as Muzzen placed the gun into his pants band at the small of his back saying:

“I’ll be keeping it for you while you play,” said Muzzen. Then Kaz moved beyond and behind Muzzen to pick up his cane as Flask Henry took the stance for his pat down.

In short time the door to the game room closed and all eyes in the viewing room moved to the video feed as each player took their seat. Anika watched closely as Fahey took the seat next to the Dealer, and Kaz took the seat directly across.

Watching the game play with percolating anxiety, Anika heard herself laugh a little too loudly at Kaz’s increasing annoyance with Jesper’s game play. Of all the things Kaz had planned for, he hadn’t thought to see how Jesper played the cards!

At some point Dirix left for a piss and came back to say that the van was still in the alley and good to go.

The hands played out as usual with Kaz winning the most money and Tarbet winning the second most hands, but smaller pots. Maybe it was just her anticipation of what was to come but Anika saw stronger resentment in the other faces, and felt a skitter up her spine as the evening’s game came to an end. 

Even though she knew what was about to happen, and was watching Jesper carefully as everyone stood up to gather their winnings, she was shocked at the

BANG!

as Kaz’s body lifted and flew upon impact to the wall behind him. There were shouts and the Dealer backed away from Fahey with his hands up. Muzzen reached to his back with one hand and his face went slack with confusion. With a quick glance around the room, he dropped down on his haunches to check Kaz.

The second shock came when Mr. Oliver pulled another gun from under the table and

BANG!

shot Jesper! Jesper’s face looked like he was suddenly falling off a skyscraper backwards, as he fell back across the chair behind him. He hit the ground hard.

Mr. Oliver swung the barrel around toward Tarbet, who had remained still in his seat with his hands covering his winnings, and another

BANG!

rang out and Tarbet slumped to the ground.

With the hands of Jesper, Kaz and Muzzen hidden below the table from all eyes on the screen, no one knew where the next shots came from as  

BANG! BANG!

and both the Dealer and Mr. Oliver went down.

Specht went to the game room door, pounded on it with ferocity and shouted for Muzzen to open the door.

On the video a struggle could be seen from where Jesper had fallen. The chair launched up and over and two hands landed on the table top. Jesper’s face rose above the table edge and back into view and he looked ill. His hands trembled as he scraped money into his own winnings bag and reached across to grab Kaz’s.

Muzzen finally moved to the door and opened it. Specht wasted no time pushing him aside and bent to lift Kaz up. Muzzen lurched to the recording equipment and fumbled with the devices, turning off the feed. When he turned around, Anika’s brass-laden fist smashed across his temple and he went down.

Jesper wove on his feet, money bags in hand. Dirix didn’t wait for a handoff, just pulled Kaz’s larger bag from Jesper’s hand. No shooting of legs was necessary.

Anika pushed Jesper to follow behind Specht as they made what looked like a medical emergency exit from the room. Kaz was right; everyone else was more interested in getting the hell away from the murder scene than checking on details. One great thing about The Gilded Lily, no one was calling the emergency Stadwatch number.

Jesper was free and making his way out the front, and Specht was delivering Kaz to the cargo floor of the van, while the others glanced at their young blond driver and took all available seats.

The doors thumped closed and Pim negotiated the alley at good speed. He glanced quickly over at Keeg in the passenger seat and said,

“My directions are to take you straight to SpechtBox. Nothing changed? Kaz is…going to be okay?”

Anika walloped the hell out of Pim’s seat back from her seat directly behind him, and yelled

“What the fucking hell? How was that even the fucking plan? Did anyone else notice that wasn’t anything like the fucking plan?!”

Specht’s voice answered calmly, “Anika, shut the fuck up right now. Kaz took a 9mm to the chest from a distance of a banquet table. Your yelling doesn’t get him conscious faster!”

Silence settled as Pim drove; Keeg, Dirix, and Anika watched the Barrel at night slide by their windows; and Specht felt for Kaz’s pulse and put a hand on his chest to monitor the rise and fall of breath in the dark of the van.

A short while later, Anika directed Pim to pull around the back of the gym. Doors exploded open and Specht carried Kaz to the massage room and placed him on the table, shooing everyone else out.

Anika stood seething in the hall just outside the room as Keeg and Dirix took the money bag to the boys’ room to stash.

A movement at the entrance of the hallway from the gym caught her attention and she saw Pim framed and standing awkwardly. He became the duck in her shooting gallery.

She strode down the hall, narrow-eyed, focused, and intense.

Pim stood still, absorbing her impact. He didn’t have the words for what he saw; he felt something quite beyond his experience. He didn’t know the how or why, but something of his destiny had arrived before him.

He stared slightly downward into her raging blue eyes, her stern face, took in her fisted hands, her centered fighting stance, and didn’t dare smile. He stood very still.

She jabbed a finger into his sternum and said, “Who are you?”

“Pim.”

“You better have a whole bunch more words yet to say!”

“If Kaz has never spoken of me, I figure I shouldn’t say more,” he said, still not daring to move more than his lips. “Can you direct me to the boy’s dorm? Kaz said there would be bags I was to collect.”

The question turned her from rage to angry puzzlement. This guy was acting like Kaz had another life, other people in his confidence, separate from the Gym Rats and Specht. And that thought just added more fuel to her fire. How dare he only tell them of parts of the plan? How dare he reduce her to guard duty as he and Jesper had a full shoot out!

Maybe she should…the sound of another person coming through the back door of the gym distracted her.

“It’s me, Jesper,” said the person in turquoise and orange clothes and silver boots.

She brushed by Pim, walked past Jesper, and threw the bolt lock on the back door. She couldn’t deal with a single other idiot tonight.

Coming back by Jesper she grabbed his arm and hauled him to the massage room. She tapped on the door and quickly opened it to Specht watching as Kaz slowly sat up. At the opening of the door, Kaz whipped his head around and he glared at her. She glared back. Jesper, a good bit taller stood looking over her seething head, and said,

“It looks like I was right: we’re both too pretty to kill.”

That got a small twist of a smile out of Kaz and a grunt from Specht. Anika let out a small hiss. She took in a breath to let loose with a full clip of verbal bullets, but Specht said firmly,

“Not now. Show Jesper where he can bunk down. Make sure to set the door alarms. We are all getting some sleep and opening in the morning on time, business as usual.”

Letting out a soft growl of frustration, she turned and stomped down the hallway again not caring if Jesper followed behind or not. Pim trailed behind them both, intent on getting Kaz’s packed bags as instructed.

Kaz and Specht waited until their footsteps faded and they were out of hearing range. Kaz took in a breath, but Specht spoke first,

“This was a cluster fuck. Right now the Barrel is talking about how a game enforcer, one who trains at my gym, looked to be helping one of my kids kill a neutral territory game dealer and a gang initiate. Right now gang bosses are watching a video that shows two of the three survivors are from my gym. That one of the survivors is the asshole who's been winning their money for months now. I make money being neutral among the gangs. I train enforcers and bouncers that work for all of them. You can’t be here any more.”   

Kaz’s mouth was a tight line. He’d been about to tell Specht that he was moving out tonight to keep things clear, especially as others might come looking for him. But at this moment he felt his mind split in three directions. One had him exiting the room and moving on with his plans, without a backward thought. Another had him explaining the differences between the plan and what really happened and the whys. This part of him felt desperate to be understood and Kaz sneered at the smallness of it. The third part of him wanted reassurance from Specht that he would be accepted back at SpechtBox if he needed shelter. Kaz turned in disgust from needing anything from anyone.

Kaz said nothing and slid off the table. Specht, knowing physical gestures of goodbye would only anger the boy, left the room. Kaz took off the Kevlar and redressed. He smoothed his clothes and went to the door, pausing a brief moment at another goodbye. Then he walked through swiftly, pulling the door closed with a snap.   

Chapter Text

Lying low always sounded like down time, like a rainy day in the off season for a flower farmer. Thinking back Kaz wondered, had he ever just done nothing?

Within 12 hours his life had again drastically changed. He was no longer a trainer at SpechtBox. He couldn’t spend hours training with the equipment in the gym. He wouldn’t be heading out amongst the tourists with the Gym Rats. He wouldn’t be wearing his Armani, or using his Crow cane. He wouldn’t be sitting in Anika’s office, using the computer and router to track the flow of information to and from business contacts, martial arts instructors, and visitors to the gym. He wouldn’t be gauging the weather of the day by the heaviness of Anika’s tread down the hall.

He woke that first morning, curled up under a blanket on the floor next to the sofa in the main living area of Pim's Aunt's apartment. He came awake to his mind already deep into plans now that he had free time. He kept still with eyes closed as he heard Pim’s Aunt gather up her things and leave the apartment for work. Then he got up and discovered they only drank decaf tea! Kaz stood for a split second pondering the line of when murder was acceptable, and then he opted for water and a protein bar from his bag.

A couple hours later, Pim came out of his room to see Kaz at the table working on his laptop. Moments later they were both involved in their first dual coding session of the game.

Pim revealed the new D1rtyH4ndz player character and Kaz scanned the champ’s abilities without much expression.

‘D1rtyH4ndz, Top Tier, Magician Assassin. Attacks enemies by tossing sharp-edged playing cards that deal different types of damage. The Jack deals gunshot damage. The Queen deals knife slash damage. The King deals magic damage that drains their resources; triple damage if the strike is in retaliation for previous damage received.’

 Pim became nervous at Kaz’s silence and blurted out,

“Gl0v3d didn’t terrify like a Barrel villain should, so I ”

“It works. Keep it,” said Kaz.

“Oh. Okay, good,” said Pim, relieved.

“Have you coded yourself into the game yet?” asked Kaz.

“No, I can’t really see a kid who codes all day and does odd jobs having a cool Barrel rep,” Pim said with an eye roll.

Kaz leaned back in his chair in thought and began twirling a pen over and under his fingers, as he watched a shaggy, blond-haired boy sit quietly in a chair and create a world like a digital Ghezen.  Taking in his rounded shoulders in hoodie and jeans, Kaz saw the humor in simulating Pim into the game as a god.  He would need to balance game dynamics so the champ wouldn’t be overpowered.

Kaz stared thoughtfully out the window as he slid into a rare moment of seeing himself from a bird’s eye view. If, or rather when, he approached Haskell and the Dregs, would they see him as a young boy, as nothing but a body in cheap clothes, with a skill for cards? All the while being the creator of a more profitable and powerful future, like Pim with his game. What real life dynamics would try to keep him from being overpowered? His mind flashed back to the coyote eyes of Haskell in his dim pawn shop. He felt the weight of his rifle in his hands on the farm, taking care of predators, the calm of holding his aim, the ease of the trigger. He laughed at his brief worries. There was nothing wrong in holding all the power.

A while later, a few lines of code left to go, he said, “The Barrel of yesterday is still out there in the streets, brick and mortar clubs and headquarters and old cons and games that require operating face-to-face. But the Barrel of today has video cameras, facial recognition, databases, and law enforcement interagency cooperation. In today’s Barrel the best gangster is invisible, cracking online systems and stealing and creating advantages anonymously.” 

Pim frowned at this random soliloquy and faltered in his keying, feeling like his game had just been chastised.

“But dude, my whole game is the old Barrel.”

“Yes, it’s a perfect tribute and people will want to play at being a gang thug and achieving the rank of Barrel Boss without the real life risk. I predict many will be happy to pay solid kruge to play at it,” he grinned smugly.

Kaz turned his attention back to his screen and keyboard, saying “I’m almost done with your champ.”

Pim suffered only a few moments of angst before Kaz turned his screen for Pim to see:

‘P1mvizibl, Top Tier, World Builder and Destroyer. Attacks enemies by trapping them with cityscape walls and crushing them with falling roofs. Assists allies by creating escape routes with doors and ramps.’

“Duuuuuude, that rocks for real!” Pim said. And they both laughed.

They each fell silent as they went on to replicate Barrel famous landmarks, territories and oddball personalities into the game, with plans to create fight scenarios with an amazing arsenal of weapons. They spoke only when they were hungry and needed to decide on what to eat.

But Kaz didn’t end up staying in the apartment as he had originally planned. On the second night, after dinner and some coding, Kaz picked up his bags and walked to the door. Pim and his Aunt watched him with questioning eyes. Before he actually walked out, Pim’s Aunt spoke up,

“You are welcome to keep staying on our sofa!”

Kaz didn’t even glance at the shamble of foam and fabric she was referring to. He turned to her and spoke in a soft rasp, “I’m a target and I won’t bring that to your door by staying here regularly.” He said to Pim, “I’ll see you online in the game. We can discuss through the chat function.” Pim agreed, and he nodded to them both and left.

He had planned to stay at Pim’s for a few weeks, but the moment the Aunt came through the door that evening, Kaz knew he couldn’t stay. She had been breathing hard, carrying herself into the apartment as though it was a huge task. She was pale and gaunt, and her eyes looked fearful. She had deep lines around her mouth and between her brows. She had moved into the kitchen, poured herself water, and downed a handful of over the counter pain relievers.

Pim had stood from his chair, but didn’t move, just faced the kitchen with an air of fear and helplessness. He had finally called out,

“Can I be of help? What do you need? Would you like me to fix you something?”

She had replied in a soft voice, “Nothing for me right now thanks. I’m just going to have a quick nap. Please go ahead with whatever plans you had.” And she had shuffled down the hall and closed a door.

Pim had sat back down, pulled over a scrap of paper and written a note to Kaz, presumably to not be overheard discussing his Aunt’s troubles with him.

“The cancer is getting bad. She will be leaving her work soon. She still refuses to waste her money on doctors or medicine.”

Kaz decided then and there that he would not be a third wheel in this family drama. He had a hideaway solution he’d been working on since he’d been collecting clothes and equipment. He had been creating it as a bolt hole for emergencies, but he could use it now instead.

Over near the Lid, a five-story building had been recently renovated to provide climate controlled storage. When Specht had begun complaining about how Gym Rat contraband was taking up valuable gym space, Kaz had created a fake ‘home-based business’ and under that identity had rented a medium-sized space. After paying the deposit and a month’s rent in person, Kaz had it moved to autopay from one of their alias accounts to continue the false identity.

It was furnished with a cot with blankets and a pillow, a desk, a chair, battery-operated lamps, a rolling clothing rack, and an airtight storage cabinet for food and beverages. Against the back wall were boxes of contraband that were the original reason for the rental of storage space. He had access to a public restroom in the facility, and had hacked the feeds of the two intervening cameras to show undisturbed corridors.

He climbed the stairs to the fifth floor slowly, pressing down on the cane with more effort with each flight, and exited at the far end of a long hallway with a barely suppressed groan. He had chosen the unit directly across from the stairway, above the office on the ground floor. He dealt with the combination lock and lifted the door in a rush of metallic sound crashing back and forth down the hall. He stepped into the dim interior and brought the door quickly down and fixed an interior lock to the door. He dropped his bags and turned on a nearby lamp.

He moved to the cot and dropped down.  Away from everyone he could stop pretending that his leg was fine. He grabbed the meat of his injured thigh and pressed hard, through the pain, until there was only numbness. Then he let go. Fiery heat suffused the area and the pain was lessened. He laid back and let himself drift for a moment or two.

He could hear the sounds of some light traffic, and sounds of air traffic, but what he didn’t hear was people talking. Calm welled up and Kaz felt settled in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. He liked this bubble of solitude high above the chaos of the Barrel below. It felt like his place among the trees in the woods.

After changing into soft joggers and T-shirt for sleeping, he sat at the desk and brought out his old laptop, the one from Haskell’s Pawn. He went looking for the router from the office below. It was password protected but Kaz was betting on it being a factory default password. He was right and quickly connected to the internet.

Memories stirred and for the first time since learning of the internet, Kaz’s mind drifted to the identity of The Broker. Of his father’s previous life. Of why he was only now thinking of searching for the name Rietveld as he had checked on Brekker. He swore at himself for not thinking of it sooner, but his fingers still rested unmoving on the keys.

Where to begin. He went back to the global genealogy site he’d used to search on the name Brekker and began a 7-day free trial. He typed in ‘Rietveld,’ ‘Lij,’ and let the date range be a hundred years to present. He hit enter. There were so many records. Kaz was overwhelmed by information he couldn’t verify with his own memories. He had been 11 when he learned his and his brother’s full names for the first time!

Next he typed in Jordan Frederic Rietveld. Nothing. Kaz went to the FAQ and learned that there was a time restriction so that identities of living people could not be stolen. He sighed and went back to the many instances of Rietveld, looking for something that he could claim as his own.

A little under a bell later, he had a file on his desktop with what could be family information, the gem of which was registration of the marriage of Coraline Van Zanten to Johannes Rietveld about 18 years before, in Lij. When he searched on ‘Coraline Van Zanten’ near Lij, he found a single yearbook picture of his mother in her senior year of school.

He stared into the face of a strikingly beautiful woman with long dark hair, dark eyes shining with good humor, and a wide crooked grin. He was her son. He saved the picture to his hard drive and then drifted in his thoughts until he woke slumped back in the chair, with the screen saver flowing hypnotically across the screen and the lamps all still on.

The next day, dressed again in his non-reflective, nondescript gray athletic gear, the hood pulled up over his hair, reflective sunglasses, soft grey driver’s gloves on his hands, but his cane left behind in his bunker, Kaz pulled on a small backpack and checked his phone.

Kaz had received a notification of a post to the Harbor Master employee schedule board showing a need for extra hands unloading shipments tonight from Shu Han and Ravka. Time for a little shopping, maybe even a few Grisha phones like the one he had. Also, it would give him cover to look over the curious ship from Fjerda docked over in the private area. It had interesting antenna and radar dishes. It looked military and private at the same time. It was a puzzle to be solved. But the dock job began late, and there was something else to do beforehand.

First, how to find Fahey. If the card game had gone as planned, Kaz and Fahey would be talking around the break room table at SpechtBox. Or in Pim’s apartment. But now Fahey, like Kaz, would need to stay out of sight.  

Kaz scoffed. After watching Fahey play cards, Kaz would start with the highest risk option: That after a single night at SpechtBox, Fahey had gone back to his apartment and would get up at his usual late-morning time and step outside wearing eye-catching clothing. He would then saunter unconcernedly to his favorite breakfast café on the corner.

Kaz took the bus over to the area near Fahey’s apartment and got himself a seat at the café, far from the window but within sight of the door. He got two large cappuccinos and settled in to wait. He returned one empty mug to the dirty bin, scoped a back hall to the restrooms that had an exit door to the alley, and went back to the table to start on the second.

At almost noon, the door opened to a tall, dark and handsome guy in burgundy joggers, an emerald green hoodie tunic with the figure of a famous hip hop dancer striking a pose, and shiny gold high-tops. He also had a beanie with gold sparkly threads pulled low over his ears and riding his brow. It brought attention to the small gold hoops in his ears. This was probably muted colors for him.

Kaz was ready to signal him over to the table, but Fahey didn’t look around, merely headed straight to the counter. Kaz was disgusted by his lack of situational awareness and thought briefly of ways to deliver a pointed lesson on the matter.

Kaz spent a lot of time restraining his natural impulses.

When Fahey finally looked around for a table, Kaz kicked out a chair from under his and said,

“Here’s the table for pretty people.”

Fahey grinned wide and headed over saying,

“Well one of us dressed like it!”

Kaz rolled his eyes. “One of us dressed to not be noticed today.”

Fahey looked him in the eye in all seriousness and said,

“That will probably never be me.”

“I figured as much so I brought you this.” He pulled a long grey duster jacket out of the backpack and pushed it across the table to Fahey who looked at it with horror.

“What? Why?”

Kaz glared.

Fahey lifted his triple caramel macchiato with whipped cream to his lips and sucked down the hot liquid and cream with a loud slurp, then licked his upper lip. Kaz watched this display blankly. Fahey sighed.

Kaz said, “Go to the restroom and put it on. When you come out, go out the back exit at the end of the hall. Head to the bus stop on the next street over, and get on bus 83, which should be there within 5 minutes. I will join you from the next stop over on Cask St. Then we can sit and discuss in privacy.”

With brows pushing up the beanie, Fahey nodded and carried the duster and mug with him. Kaz watched him actually enter the restroom, and exit a moment later covered shoulder to below knee in grey, with gold flickering above and flashing below. Kaz sighed in frustration. Managing Fahey was going to be a challenge. Hopefully it would be worth it.

Seated in the back of the bus, Kaz learned that Fahey had been followed closely by the Liddies as he drove to the place where he was to pay off his 10k seed money. He’d been nervous of them taking a hit at him and discovering the Kevlar vest, but it hadn’t happened. The only worrying thing was when they said next time they needed a gun fight, they’d find him but until then, they didn’t want him in their clubs. Miraculously he had walked away.

“That’s not a miracle, that is you being more useful as a fall guy,” Kaz said.

“Not everyone is out to get everyone else, Mr. Brekker!” said Fahey, with a pitying look. And then, looking away, “And I need to make my living somehow.”

“Have any of them offered you to join their gang,” asked Kaz, with an expression of polite interest.

Fahey scowled, “Join? One of them? I’m making it just fine on my own!”

“Are you?” asked Kaz in a sarcastic drawl. “That’s interesting as I’ve been thinking how much more I can do by joining one of them.”

Fahey sat up in astonishment, “NOT the guys who just tried to shoot you!?”

Kaz snorted, and turned to asking get-to-know-you questions. (Jesper was flattered at Kaz’s interest in him and slid back into his signature loose-limbed slouch, happy to have the chance to flirt with him. He first heard about Kaz from the thugs looking to have him shot. He had been told about how cocky Kaz was, how he dressed like a Barrel Boss but had barely any scruff on his jaw or upper lip. How he wore driving gloves like some high performance racecar driver. How he sent narrow-eyed glances around a room and over a person, never acknowledging a person, and never missing a detail. How he won at cards like the Saints’ own favored son.

Then that morning when, lying face down in his bed, warm and relaxed on top of his soft duvet, he had been shocked out of sleep by a deep, sexy rasp of a voice calling his name. He still felt the instantaneous rush of attraction and adrenaline that had him both threatening Kaz, guns at the ready, and checking him out. He had turned and stared into hard dark eyes, pinning him down with an intensity as deep and shadowed with malice as the barrel of the gun Kaz had held. 

While Kaz’s persona had loomed large, his body was slender and his head would tuck nicely under Jesper's chin in an embrace. The terry cloth material of his athletic gear shifted over the swell of muscles.

Then, the night of the game, seeing Kaz dressed in his Armani suit! The whispered slide of rich fabric over strong thighs and butt, across the chest as he picked up his glass of whiskey. There were higher odds of him winning every hand of poker that night, than of him winning the fight of attraction to Kaz.

And now, seated across from him, watching for a hint of his eyes through the sunglasses, well, Jesper tried not to be too hopeful that Kaz had tracked him down. He would give him all the answers and then ask a few questions of his own.)

Kaz asked him how well he knew computers. Fahey said he knew how to use them for school, but had never felt like figuring out how to code them. Rather, his interest lay mainly with what he could do with his phone.

He liked feeling connected to the whole world, and once he realized Kaz had little to no experience with social media apps, he jumped up and launched himself into the seat next to Kaz and leaned in so that one arm pressed in along Kaz’s, and one knee was nudging Kaz’s, and his face hovered such that his sculpted brown cheekbone was inches from Kaz’s eye. With his own eyes on his phone, and talking without pause, it took him a moment to register that Kaz had gone rigid, his jaw clenched, his mouth a grim line, his eyes boring into Fahey’s as Fahey’s eyes went searching for what was wrong.

Kaz said, “Move.”

Fahey blinked and took in a breath to protest, then stopped. He shrugged, and casually moved back to his original seat. There was a moment of awkward silence as Fahey struggled with the rejection. He shook his head and returned to his phone. Submitting to having to turn his screen and show it across the aisle, he began showing Kaz, in a much reduced tone of voice, his profile and his many followers not just in the Barrel and Ketterdam, but the world over.   

From what Kaz could see, even as a runaway and newcomer to the Barrel, even at his young age and without any meaningful connections, Fahey was a minor celebrity, showcasing his style, his good looks, and his extroverted nature. People liked to be seen with him. Others, boys and girls, liked to show their sexy times with Fahey, who just laughed it off.

Kaz’s mind flipped 180. Instead of hiding, maybe Fahey should be seen. Kaz imagined a gang with a social influencer. Everyone knew gangs used force to create and protect their path to wealth. The right force on the right lever was not to be underestimated, but…to be the first gang in the Barrel to use social influence…Kaz could see opportunities to make persuasion work for him.

Seeing their stop ahead, he put those thoughts aside and rang for the stop. Fahey followed, but had recovered his natural buoyant attitude and loud voice, and asked annoying, rapid-fire questions that Kaz wasn’t answering while walking by the other riders or while standing on the sidewalk.

“How can it be the late afternoon? How long have we been riding that bus? Why are we getting off the bus in this neighborhood? What are we doing here? How come you don’t just-” Kaz had spun around and as Fahey barely stopped from ramming into him, felt the startling pinch of Kaz’s index finger and thumb holding his lips closed. He looked into Kaz’s eyes and held still even when Kaz let go of his lips.

Kaz said in a quiet rasp, “We are doing a job. You are going to find us a car that looks like we could afford it and you will sit in it waiting for me at the small neighborhood park two streets that way.”

Fahey’s brows rose but he nodded at Kaz’s quick jab north of where they were currently standing.

“If I don’t show in 30 minutes, leave me and abandon the car somewhere, but do NOT take it to one of the gang shops. Also, don’t mention anything about meeting with me today.”

Fahey looked thoughtful for a moment. And then offered,

“If you need backup, I’m good to go.” And he patted the sides of his waist band where presumably his guns were holstered beneath the folds of his hoodie.

“It’s not a shooting situation this time,” as he walked around the corner and down a street of low income homes with small patches of worn grass and weeds.

Fahey watched with indecision, but when a loud engine rumbled behind him as it slowed to roll over a speed bump, he turned toward a low brick building where a good number of cars were already parked behind in a dirt lot, with more cars arriving. The drivers were mainly older men, looking dour and desperate. He caught sight of a sign and it read ‘Zeke’s Tavern’ in dirty worn letters. The building had no windows. This was the place for the serious drunks. Once inside, they wouldn’t come out unless to piss against the wall when the toilet inside was busy.

He was Zemeni however, walking among Kerch vehicles. He reached into his pants pocket and dug out a key ring with car keys. It was his decoy for just such occasions. If questioned, he would raise both hands, keys displayed, smile wide and say, “Uber driver! Just dropping off and picking up!”

The lot was empty of people at the moment, so he walked through the cars parked along the edge, testing their doors for one unlocked. With their minds on their next drink, many forgot the simple task of locking their doors. The Fahey luck prevailed and he found an open door. Slowly and calmly he hotwired the car and drove it out of the lot. He congratulated himself on knowing how to hotwire as most car thieves these days used transponder keys. He didn’t have the money for one of those and hotwiring still worked.

He parked along the edge of the park as instructed and went through the glove box, exiting the car to dump the title and registration in the trash. He got back into the car and began pairing his phone to the radio. He had a special playlist for late afternoons, filled with long instrumentals with nature sounds and hand struck drums. It was the time of day where he was most likely to ruminate, reminisce, where his leg jostling, finger thrumming, constant movements became slower or intermittent. Sometimes, he fell into a nap, beneficial for late nights. He had just begun singing to a song from his childhood when the back door opened and Kaz slid in and shut the door.

Jesper let the music play on at considerable volume and looked Kaz over. He looked just as he had when he left him on the corner. Kaz ignored the odd music with incomprehensible lyrics and said in a deliberate manner,

“Take this road to the end, turn left and get on the freeway heading south. When I tell you, we will exit and take surface roads to the freeway heading into Ketterdam from the east. Once in Ketterdam, we will park this car and take a bus to the harbor for our night job.”

Fahey shook his head at what he felt were needlessly complex maneuvers, and followed Kaz’s directions anyway.

In the early hours of the morning, it took effort for Kaz to get the rolling door to the storage unit up and down. He was exhausted and his leg hurt terribly. He just wanted to sit still. He would have to use the roller on his leg. Using the roller hurt so much he only did it when it was really bad. He grabbed a bottle of water and downed a couple pain relievers. He didn’t even have the energy to change clothes. He did empty his backpack, stowing away the Grisha phones he had stolen tonight. He was hungry but not for another protein bar. He’d get something after he woke up.

He leaned back and let his eyes drift closed. He thought about how Fahey had done well with getting them a car on the fly without too much questioning. How he had dealt with having his lips pinched shut. How he had followed directions and taken on the role of hardworking dock worker. He would think through the angles of an online social media presence and how that could work, using it to influence and shape future schemes.

A chime sounded, so softly one would have to be within a foot of the laptop to know it had been made. Still Kaz swore at not having it on mute. He pulled toward the desk to do so and saw a notice of a message in The Barrel game. He hesitated looking further, as he knew what it would be. Finally he made himself open the chat function and read the message from Pim.

“Dude, I found the bottle in my pocket. When I got home she was up and crying with pain. I gave her one of the pills and she’s sleeping now. I owe you BIG.”

He tensed a bit, waiting for that inner voice to berate him for doing something risky to his own survival for a woman who was going to die soon anyway.

His mind flitted to moments on the farm, of his Da dealing with sick or injured animals with pragmatic mercy. It felt wrong for humans to suffer long, slow deaths in comparison, but…

The voice remained silent. Kaz took it as a win.

Chapter Text

The people of Ketterdam, weaving aggressively through the slow, hesitant groups of tourists, rarely looked up from the trenches and alleyways sandwiched between old, tilted buildings. They knew better than to stand in the streets and stare at buildings.

The tourists, losing their ways among unfamiliar surroundings, and losing their wealth at the same time with nearly every apologetic jostle, rarely looked beyond the faces and street signs. And on days with driving rain from the sea, barely above the handle on a door to warmth and comfort.

Certainly no one expected a boy with a bum leg to creep over the crests, drift under the eaves, and spill through the gabled windows of the rooftops of the closely seated buildings. And when Kaz chose to settle in a spot for surveillance, it wouldn’t even matter if they were looking.

He had dropped into place an hour before Anika was finished with her late night shift at the Treasure Chest. He was watching the intersection and road she would most likely take on her way home. He had paid a visit earlier in the evening to a third floor office nearby and had hidden items in one of his many caches. They were metal containers, painted dark brown, black and gray, with magnets for attaching to the surfaces of anything metal. They were attached behind drainpipes, air compressors, heating and cooling units, the flashing at the base of city lights or the flashing on rooftops. People just never looked closely and saw them. It was an easy save of his night’s work if he was about to be rousted by Stadwatch, or in rare instances beat up and patted down by other street thugs. To move items directly under their noses, to pass close inspection only to reveal (if only to himself) his success, were his moments of glee.  

He was most proud of the cache that hung from a wire looped in punctured hole at the top of a downspout. It was a small metal screw-top canister that could hold up to four USBs, set inside a plastic container to keep it dry. He placed items in the canister, sealed it up, and let it drop down into the spout by the wire, completely hidden from sight but easy to pull it up later when it was safe.

He used his phone compass to record the coordinates of all of his caches and made notes of their physical location. Not that he would forget, but in case he had to ask someone else to do a retrieval.

Sure, Kaz could hack most computers that connected to the internet, but it was usually the ones deliberately kept unattached that had the best blackmail information. Tonight's dupe of a stand-alone, unconnected hard drive would be interesting to sift through later when he got back to the storage unit.

Kaz spent a lot of time thinking through information flow, access and storage. If things went the way he planned them, he would eventually want his own smart bunker. He wasn’t interested in low-level identity scam sweatshops, even though they made lots of money, because such operations had to constantly move to stay ahead of the Stadwatch. Kaz wanted something that didn't require repeated expenditure on rent and equipment.

Tonight however, he just needed to intercept Anika for a post-shoot-out assessment.

He watched the street traffic. Each street had its rhythm and pattern of people and activities. This street corner was currently a newly contested edge between Black Tips and Liddies, so there had probably been some posturing earlier in the evening. As closing time for the Treasure Chest neared, male and female escorts were chauffeured to curbside, to be available to those exiting the building, flush with money and adrenaline. The shush of tires, the strike of heels on the cement, the low thrum of engines. It was such a different soundscape from that of wind, birds, and tractors being driven over fields in the distance. A small handful of years now in Ketterdam...he wondered if he would feel a stranger now in the country.

With nothing else to occupy his time, Kaz took in their clothes, their walk, their gestures, their voices. He heard their pitches to potential clients. He watched the negotiated sales, the occasional intervention of a handler. He never saw an escort refuse a client. He knew what was being negotiated and sold from what he had seen online and heard others talk about around the gym. He wouldn’t judge what he didn’t know, but, the business side of it was terrible. The power differential, the inability to use refusal in the negotiation of price and services…he shook his head at such a tilted way of doing business. If his future included making money from prostitution, he'd have to think through the procurement process. He made a mental note to interview a madam.

He roused from his thoughts at the sight of Anika striding around the corner and down the road. She had her chin up and carried nothing, letting her arms swing loosely as she walked. Her short blond hair was covered in a dark beanie, and her high tops muffled the sound of her forceful steady tread. To hell with the current crop of female heroes in movie posters around the city, here was their best modern urban warrior, thought Kaz.

He slid out of place and moved as soundlessly as he could to the backside fire escape of the neighboring building. He had thought through a number of approaches to Anika’s anger from the other night. He figured if there was a chance she was still angry at how his plans had not gone strictly step-by-step, then he would give her an outlet.

He dropped down from the metal stairs to the ground and walked softly and quickly down to the alley that would get him in position ahead of her. From the occasional echo of her footsteps he would arrive just as she began walking by the mouth of the alley. Knowing her street smarts, she would probably be walking in the middle of the street so as not to be so easily grabbable. The challenge of getting to her without notice sharpened his senses.  

He waited until she passed and set his feet into the same cadence as hers, walking directly behind. Within a few feet of her, just as she had realized a presence behind her, he moved her into a lock hold and twisted her left arm to that painful edge just before a break of tendon and bone. Her weight was nothing to him as he pulled her back, twisted, and threw her over his own back and toward the alley. As she flew through the air and grunted on impact, he threw himself after her and allowing one footfall with his good leg, launched over her. She had got her feet under her and was rising, swearing loudly in fear, when he grabbed her and dragged her into the alley.

He pulled away slightly since he didn’t actually want to hurt her, just challenge her a bit and get her into the alley for a talk, but she was trained by Specht and took advantage of pause to land a hard fist against his midsection. Knowing better than to bend forward in reaction, he clenched his muscles and stepped back, eyes on her hands and arms and legs. Yes, there she went preparing for the next logical move, lifting her arms to push his head into her lifted knee. He feinted the fall into her upraised knee but then twisted to the side and swiped his leg against her anchoring one. She went down with a muted roar. He said in a voice made raspier by the blow to his gut, 

“Quiet!”

She went still and with ferocious intensity, looked directly into his shadowed face.

“Kaz Brekker?! What the fucking hell?!”

He turned away from her to take them deeper into the anonymity of the alley. She followed without her signature stomping tread, but whisper swearing viciously. Growing up as she had, he respected her skill with swearing. He leaned against the musty damp wall of brick. She leaned against the brick accommodating his need for distance from him without thought. She forfeited the swearing for catching her breath.  

He asked, “Anyone been around looking for me?”

Here went all her plans for giving him the cold shoulder treatment. She bit out her words, “You couldn’t just let me know you wanted to meet?”

He smirked at having successfully distracted her and said, “I’ve been missing my training sessions.”

She growled, he grinned. But then with a little less amusement he asked,

“You’re good Anika, but where in the hell is your military grade pepper spray? Where is your gun?”

She sighed. “They’re too bulky to attach to my belt and I didn’t want to deal with taking them off and on while working and…yeah, I just didn’t. Go ahead, try me again tomorrow!”

He huffed a sound she thought of as his laugh.

She said, “No one yet has come looking for you or Jesper. Our next Scout Night will be soon.”

“We’re not in the clear yet. Don’t let Fahey be a fool.”

She snorted, “I’ll get right on that.” After a moment she said,

“I know you don’t care, but I’m still mad that there were so many surprises the other night. That you made other plans without sharing them. How can I help if I don’t know what is happening?” Her voice sounded strange to her, a little like when she was young and asking her father why she couldn’t go out on errands with him.

His voice answered in a tone of amused disbelief, “You want to be known in the Barrel as the one who knows where I am and what I am doing?”

She thought of the shoot-out, of how Barrel gangs took care of pesky problems like someone winning too much and too often. She thought of the number 5 she had written in the kill shot column on their Mortal Kombat score board under Kaz’s name the day after the shoot out, and how she had erased the whole board, ending the “competition.” Yes, just being associated with Kaz was a danger. With embarrassment her mind then slid over into remembering the coy, pleading and alternately demanding tones women used with her father when he was Lieutenant of Harley’s Pointers. Hating that image, desperate for there to be something else for her, she  thought back to when Kaz said he was going to be in a gang and wanted her with him in his future plans. Did she really want to be the helpful girlfriend of a gang member?! Ghezen! She would never be happy with something so grasping and small.

And honestly she didn’t think that was the role Kaz had been offering. He had told her she was smart and swung hard in a fight. Those weren’t what she would consider words of attraction from a potential boyfriend.

She did actually know some of Kaz’s plans. She might be the only other person to know of the alias LLC and the purchase of the old club. She was almost certain she was the only one with online access to the RIP account.

She sucked in a quick breath at the realization: Kaz Brekker trusted her more than anyone else.

She took another moment to let that sink in. She would ask one question and then let her hurt and anger drop.

“I never did ask what you meant that day in the office when you said you had plans and that if I were interested, you’d have me with you.”

She saw him roll onto his shoulder to face her. His words now zinged directly toward her.

“I meant that I need someone I can trust to make things happen without question. I want you with me as a boot-stomping, take-no-prisoners, gate-keeping, business associate of high standing,” said Kaz, using his charm as he did when he knew a win was close.

Successful gangs had strong hierarchy. Yeah, maybe she wouldn’t always be in the know, but as Kaz’s trusted second, she would be where everything was happening. She was a Barrel rat from the cradle, and her instinct told her Kaz Brekker was a leader she could follow; it was time to act like it.

“So, Boss, will we be conducting business in alleys now?” she asked, speaking lightly in contradiction to her mournful but resolved heart.  

“About that…” he said, and she heard the rustling of fabric. Then there was an overly bright glow in the dark alley as he activated the screen of a Grisha brand smart phone.

“Take it,” he said, holding it out to her in the palm of his glove.

She took it from him with rueful satisfaction of getting at least something she had wanted from Kaz Brekker: the ability to contact him anytime. She darkened the screen and put it in her pocket.

He said, “Keep it hidden and use it only for our business. YouTube ‘Grisha Phone.’ There are instructions in the Notes app for how to keep it secure from hacks. My number is under ‘Tech Support.’ Do not use pictures and cute aliases on this phone!”

“Uh-hunh,” she said with laughter in her voice. “Nooooooo problem. I would never.”

In the dark, he allowed himself a dramatic roll of his eyes.  

“I am giving one also to Pim. His number is in your contacts as ‘Game Dev.’”

“What is that an alias for?”

“Not an alias. He IS a game developer. When it’s ready it’s going to be big.”

“Ooooh, I’m interested! Can I beta test?”

“You have his number. Ask him yourself.” She hadn’t heard him move but his voice was suddenly further away.

“Watch the alleys!” he called out, “I’d hate to have to interview and train a new hire already!”

Ugh, maybe she actually hated him? She walked out of the alley and headed home without a backward glance.

Kaz looped around and quietly followed her to within sight of SpechtBox. Then he too turned and headed home. 

He was dragging by the time he climbed the five flights of stairs to his unit. He had used all of his without-a-cane points on the rooftops and in the short fight. He was downing pain relievers with a gulp of water before the sound of the door rolling to the ground had faded away.

Seated finally at his makeshift desk, he debated what to do. His earlier plan had been to sift the data he’d stolen from the secretary of a businessman who was hoping to gain a seat on the Merchant Council and who was a proponent of a implementing a new valuation of property taxes on businesses in the Barrel. As a new property owner, Kaz was strongly in opposition to such plans. He had gone on a fishing expedition of the gentleman’s home computer, and saved the hard drive to one USB, but then moving away from the desk, had spotted a laptop set like a blade among the books on the shelf behind the desk. When he had pressed the button to turn it on, it had lit up with full charge and Kaz had instantly copied the entire hard drive to a second USB on a hunch. He was keen to find the man’s secrets, but the talk with Anika had him thinking of his next steps with Haskell and the Dregs.  

It was time to do more than an online search which had only shown social media mentions and the inclusion of the building address under business listings for Pawn Shops.

Mention of the Dregs on the street had Barrel folk either shrugging without interest or complaining bitterly about mishandled bets. No one really knew Dreg territory boundaries anymore, or who all was still in it, besides the cadre of middle aged men that had come up with Haskell through the ranks. It was time for surveillance of the pawn shop. It was time to trail after those who came in and out. It was time to hack any onsite systems and sift the data. It was time to plan his approach.

Suddenly two things happened at once: a notification bloomed on his phone showing his first text from Anika and his computer began a cacophony of crow caws. It was a specific alarm he had set and it took priority. Ignoring the phone, Kaz made a grab at the keyboard and mouse, clicking to an announcement screen showing that one of his first bank accounts, one into which he had placed a portion of his poker winnings, had been irregularly accessed. Kaz had a protocol for this, although this was the first time he was using it. He emptied all three of his accounts into a new one at another local bank he had titled ‘house renovations.’ He then wiped the evidence of his three accounts from their records. Then, he deployed a daemon that would randomly take money from one in-house account to another ad infinitum. Fixing that mess would take time.

Opening the text from Anika, he saw a pic of a softly rounded, pasty male forearm with a tattoo of a crow perched on the edge of a cup with its beak aimed at the dregs of kvas pooled in the very bottom.

‘one of haskells doughboys at gym this week. thought of your cane’

Indeed, thought Kaz.

Chapter Text

Kaz limped to and from the public restroom of the storage facility with more deliberation than usual. It was an early spring morning and the weather was rapidly cycling through drastic temperature changes. His leg didn’t like it. The pain was like a bite in his thigh and reminded him of his days walking to Ketterdam. Reminding him of why he was here.

He was now the same age as Jordie had been on that last night. His washcloths had begun to snag and pull over his chin and his upper lip. He remembered back to the day he hovered in the doorway of the bathroom as his Da showed Jordie how to shave. Kaz didn’t remember it being difficult, and in a way his Da had taught them both that day.

He added a trip to the store to his ever-increasing list of things to do. First up, he wanted Fahey’s help with war driving the blocks surrounding Haskell’s Pawn. Haskell’s was the target, but they couldn’t just sit out front of it all day and they might as well map the routers and servers and hard drives surrounding the shop while they were at it.

If there was time and opportunity, he also wanted to follow Haskell’s cronies and whoever was a Dreg these days. He wanted to know who they were and where they lived. How often they all were together and apart. He knew from his time on the streets with Dirix and Keeg, and then at SpechtBox with Anika, that sharing a common base made for stronger bonds. He needed to know what he’d be working with when he went in with Haskell. He wouldn’t approach the Dregs until he had plans.

He pulled on his joggers and his hoodie quietly as he heard voices in the corridor, people accessing their units, talking on their phones. While he waited for them to leave so he could exit unseen, he began texting Anika:

‘Text Fahey: get car, meet at corner Bilgehoop, noon. Will need at least 4 hours of time.’

‘Set up accounts in Fahey’s name, 500 kruge each, at every gambling house in Barrel, except Liddie and Black Tip places.’

 Anika: A waste of kruge

‘Didn’t ask.’

Anika: Hang with us tonight, me, D&K, Pim?, 11pm, TChest?

He left the invite unanswered and opened his old laptop. He began opening and reading rapidly every item on the USB from last night’s visit to the secretary of an ambitious businessman. Kaz scanned each file and quickly sorted and saved items of interest to his desktop, moving mechanically until he opened a folder within a folder with a document with the boring name of  ‘draftspecs.doc.’ It opened to nearly 200 pages with a Kerch government watermark on each, and a header and footer stating the information was protected by government security classification. Kaz flipped to the internet and searched on government document security classifications. It was top secret. It was an extremely unlikely thing to be found on the laptop of a secretary to a nobody of a businessman.

He flipped back to the document and began reading lists of current weaponry by the governments involved in the Ravkan land war; reading of research and development projects of new weapon technology, the best of which was coming from an inventor named Sturmhond.

Further, there was an analysis section that explored which companies were expected to be first to market with versions of the new tech. The conclusion chapter gave a best estimate of when such items could be expected on the black market, and in the margin was a digital note: a possible schedule of when such things would be available for auction on the Dark Web.

He checked document properties but the author name and date of origin were missing. The schedule within the document only used general terms like ‘first part of the fiscal year,’ and ‘to coincide with the events of Harbor Day.’

Why wasn’t this document encrypted? A number of possibilities came to mind. Bottom line, he’d been dealt an unexpected and highly valuable ace. He would hold it without a tell.

He saved the file to his own hard drive and continued, but nothing was as interesting until he got to the final file, zreadme.txt.  Readme files were the digital version of a hidden compartment for junior desk clerks. Inside Kaz had discovered addresses, precisely labeled, for sites on the Dark Web. Could it be this easy? Could they be the locations of the auctions?

Unfortunately he didn’t have time for more right now. He took extra care hiding the USBs within his storage unit, then scrambled to pack his gear for the day. He’d have to hustle to get to the corner of Bilgehoop and Quarterhoop by noon. 

He exited the building to the sounds of the city at full volume, steam hissing from grates above boiler rooms, cars braking and honking, people talking to their phones. Kaz ducked his head and matched the speed of everyone else, forcing his gait to their slower speed to hide his limp.

With his memory for faces and names, he recognized plenty of people, but acknowledged no one. The few people who recognized him as a street kid, as a Gym Rat, returned the favor. Kaz found comfort in the silent mutual refusal, until his eye landed on the pale arm of a hand reaching out to pluck a bundle of flowers from a water bucket outside the florist’s shop. Although it had a tired looking navy blue with white trim façade, the place was typically busy. Their offerings were more than reasonably priced and men of the Barrel and Lid liked near and cheap. The young woman had ice blond waves of hair rolling back and forth over her dark gray wool coated shoulders. Her face was without makeup and her ears, neck, and wrists without jewelry, but Kaz recognized her from the meet and greet room of the Gilded Lily. On impulse, he decided that it might be more informative to interview an actual service provider than the Madam.

She had moved inside to pay, so he stood outside and waited. She exited after a brief moment with a bouquet of variously colored daisies, many hues not found in nature as far as Kaz knew, with the stems bundled in a plastic sheath. She looked content until she looked up at the young man standing silently and unmoving in her path.

He was still just a teen, an older boy really, until she looked at his face with its traces of perpetual scowl, and into his dark and intent predatory eyes. She knew men like this intimately. She held still and waited for him to speak.

He spoke without the slyness that so many men used to coax her attention,

“You are from the Gilded Lily. I would like to talk to you about business. Talk only. Perhaps 30 minutes to an hour of your time.”

She blinked at the unusual request. Before she could summon the wits to reply he spoke again,

“Not now, but tonight if possible.”

She shifted the flowers into the crook of her left arm, and pulled out her phone, saying,

“I need to check my schedule…” after a few moments of tapping on her screen she said,

“If you can come at 9pm, I can see you before I leave for an offsite.”

Kaz nodded, moving back into the foot traffic. She called out,

“Ask for Annalisa, and please show up in something other than sweats!”

Kaz felt the tips of his ears go hot.

As he approached the corner of Bilgehoop and Quarterhoop a few minutes before noon, along came a sports car, old and spectacularly orange. Fahey lowered the window down and said:

“I brought the power and the fun, get in!”

“Why orange? Why not black, or gray, or white like every other car?”

“Because this is the color of my friend’s car, which I borrowed for this unexpected road trip or whatever we are doing today for 4 hours!” said Fahey as he flicked the dangling glittery key chain ornaments.

Relieved of the potential humiliation of being hauled into juvie court by the Stadwatch for circling around the Barrel in a stolen orange sports car, Kaz moved to the door, but before getting in, he reached into his backpack and pulled out what looked like a metal fin with a long thin cord attached at the base. He plonked the fin on the top of the car and got in and shut the heavy metal door, holding the thin cord until he had raised the window to hold it in place. Once he was settled, Fahey said, 

“You don’t know how to drive do you?”

“I will in about four hours,” said Kaz.

Fahey looked sucker punched.

“You want me to teach you to drive? This is an old car, with a manual transmission…”

“Yes, I see that.”

“Um.”

“What?”

“Have you ever tried to learn to drive before?”

“No Fahey, but I’m pretty sure if you can do it, I can do it.”

“In just four hours?” said Fahey in an incredulous tone.

“No, in three hours. I need you to drive up and down the streets of a certain area first.”

With an even more puzzled look Fahey asked,

“Whyyyyyyyy? And does it have to do with you making the car look like a street shark?”

“You teach me how to drive, I will teach you how to war drive. Deal?”

Fahey had no idea what war driving was or whether he even cared, but he replied in his best attempt at a Kerch accent, “The deal is the deal.”

Kaz winced at the accent but gave some immediate directions. On their way, he situated his laptop and phone and attached an adapter to the thin cord he was holding and plugged it into the outlet for the lighter.

Kaz had Fahey complete loops of the neighborhoods surrounding Haskell’s Pawn Shop. These old worn streets of the Barrel had small family businesses, small family homes, the occasional apartment worth living in, and a drifting mass of unemployed lurkers. Peppered throughout were gang tattoos. Kaz shifted in his seat and suddenly a dark grey, utilitarian Glock was removed from a holster and displayed on the dashboard.

“Seriously? That gun is ugly!” Fahey said with disdain.

Kaz sighed with dramatic weariness, “My gun should look pretty?”

“Yes! My guns are beautiful. When I look at them, and hold them in my hands, they uplift my spirit. I aim better, I shoot better, I feel better. It is a joy to use them. That thing on the dash exudes mechanical uglitude! I would hate holding it. It would bring no joy to pull that trigger.”

There was a slight tremor to Kaz’s shoulders before he said with amusement, “It suits me.”

Kaz forestalled further distractions by lecturing about sending signals, identifying open wifi networks, assigning GPS coordinates, and real-time mapping of the location of the vulnerable networks. Kaz also typed footnotes about the building and signs attached to the coordinates as they drifted by them.  

When he fell silent, Fahey said,

“So aside from all that techno mumbo-jumbo you just spouted like an old professor at the University, you are basically trying wifi doors to find which ones are unlocked.”

“Yes.”

“You could have just said so.”

Kaz rolled his eyes.

When they got to the center of their multiple loops around, Fahey was puzzled to find a filthy, rundown, shoebox store with a sign saying “Haskell’s Pawn Shop.”

“That building can’t be worth this effort!”

Kaz huffed a breath, staring out the low sitting windshield at the building he hadn’t seen since he’d been sitting next to Jordie, peeking out of the truck side windows with interest, at where their Da was taking them on their first trip to the big city.

Fahey felt Kaz withdraw and turn grim. He eased back in his seat quietly to gave him time. Kaz didn’t even bark at him when the repetitive tapping of his left foot began to shake the car. He stopped. But when his fingers began feeling their way through the ornaments dangling off the key fob, causing metal to click and ring, Kaz shook off the mood and said,

“Can you believe this is the headquarters of a still active Barrel gang?”

“No! Hopefully the gun on the dash is to put this gang out of its misery?”

“You can’t know how tempting that is, but no. It’s going to be better to infiltrate and rebuild behind the rep of the old boss and his cronies than to kill them outright and be the upstart who didn’t earn it.”

“You are joining THIS gang?!”

“And I’m bringing all the best people with me.”

Kaz shot him a glance and began putting his electronics away; opened the window and reached up to detach the fin antennae. At the zip of the back pack, he turned to Fahey and said,

“How long until I can Tokyo drift the parking structure corkscrews?”

Fahey laughed outright.

“Let’s see if we can even get you to shift and downshift without popping the clutch first.”

“I bet 20 kruge I can drive as well as any other Barrel rat at the end of the day.”

Fahey laughed, “I’ll take that bet. If I don’t win the kruge, I’ll at least win the title of best Driving Instructor!”

Of course Kaz had spent all that time in the passenger seat watching Fahey move his feet on and off the pedals and listening to the sound of the engine before each shift of the gear. He was shifting smoothly within an hour of trying and completely bored of the back portion of the Warehouse District’s Harbor parking lot. He drove out and through the streets. He demonstrated a love of fast turns and a great hatred of idiot drivers (read: everyone else on the road).

Fahey said he’d have to owe Kaz the 20, and Kaz scowled.

He tried to distract him with, “What kind of car will you get now that you can drive?”

“Own? A car? In the Barrel?”

“Yeah, especially with, you know, your leg and everything, it’s better than walking.”

Kaz had added a glare to the scowl. He said facing the windshield, “A car requires at least 250 kruge for documents to drive, a 500 to 1000 kruge annually to park in the city, or ownership of a property within the city, and submission to a fluctuating fuel market, and from what I have seen of other gang cars, unending kruge for body work to remove bullet holes, road rage damage, broken windshields, and knifed tires. I am not rich enough for a car in the Barrel. That is why I have you.”

“So…actually…YOU owe ME at least a couple thousand kruge for our last two outings with cars. You can just subtract the 20 I owe you from the total.”

Kaz couldn’t help it, he laughed, a genuine laugh. Fahey subsequently decided he was having a really good day.

Kaz drove them back to the corner of Bilgehoop. No one needed to know the vicinity of where he holed up at night. He got out and leaned back in, “I have a job for you.”

Still feeling pleased with the afternoon with Kaz, Fahey looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Kaz said, “I want your eyes on the gambling houses in the Barrel, how they operate, how it feels to sit at their tables, who are the best and worst dealers, who is sitting at their tables, how everyone is dressed, if there are big winners, or winners at all, and report back to me. So I’ve set up a 500-kruge account in your name at every gaming house in the Barrel, except those you’ve been warned off. Take your time and make it look like your natural way of spending time.”

Fahey beamed with additional good will. “This is my kind of job! I’m on it, Boss!” and gave a short salute.

Kaz stood up and without another word, walked away, his mind already on getting ready for his interview with the girl at the Gilded Lily.

First stop was to get a haircut. He hesitated outside the barber’s door. His Da used to take them into Lij for regular haircuts, and Kaz had never had a problem with the barber’s arms floating around his head, or with the barber’s body pressing the chair back, and the leaning in and over. And then, after that night, he hadn’t had the motivation or money for haircuts. His longer hair served as insulation from the cold.

Then after taking shelter at SpechtBox, he had just grabbed scissors from Anika’s desk one night and cut his longish hair into a shorter mop around his head. It was better for fights that way, and Anika had nodded approval when she’d seen him the next day.

And then he’d had the big idea to get his hair cut professionally for that first invitation-only poker game. He’d waited his turn, got into the chair, everything was fine, and then the barber had flung out his arms, and a black billowing cape descended around him, and unreasonable fear had seeped into him and intensified with every move the man had made. As he’d circled Kaz within arm’s reach, round and round, Kaz had tried to hide his struggle for every breath. He’d stopped answering the barber’s friendly questions, and then in desperate need of a break, had asked for water so the man would walk away for a minute. When the man returned to finish, Kaz barely held still. When the man finally turned away, and the scissors had dropped from his hands, Kaz had launched from the chair ripping the collar clasp of the cape as he went. Standing a good six feet from the chair, he had shaken the trimmings off himself like a dog shedding water, gasping for breath. He’d felt the stares of the others and seen sympathy in the eyes of the barber. He’d felt weak and small, and the voice in his head had roared at him, Stop showing them showing them showing them how weak you are!

Did he dare get another haircut?

He walked to the Barber Shop and looked in the front window. It was packed and would require a wait. He walked on to the convenience store and stared at a hair trimmer and scissor set. He grabbed it and shaving supplies, and a lighted mirror. And then, cinnamon spiced mouthwash and a deodorant. After all, he was going to a brothel tonight just like an adult; he’d look and smell like one. And, he assured himself, it absolutely had nothing to do with Annalisa’s gibe at his appearance in sweat clothes!

His limp on the way home, and the sway of the relatively heavy bags against his legs, reminded him of Pim’s aunt. Fine, he grumbled, he would meet up with everyone tonight at the Treasure Chest and check in with Pim.

He went online for hair styles finding nothing that could be styled quickly with limited means until in exasperation he searched on ‘gang boss haircut.’ He found the image of an actor in a very popular, multi-season show about a gang boss from a hundred years ago whose hair was shorn closely around the ears and nape and up to the edge of the crown, where the hair was about 3-4 inches long and could be swept back. Kaz liked it and with precision cut his own hair similarly. He’d need something to make it stay swept back, but tonight he’d just use his hat.

When he stepped back out onto the streets, he was suited and leaning thankfully on his cane. If anyone came looking for him, let them come. He was Kaz-fucking-Brekker and this nothing town was going to learn what that meant.

Chapter Text

He walked into the Gilded Lily prepared this time for the room to be crowded with languidly posed bodies. He took up his spot in the center of the room and stared at the elaborate white curved front desk, behind which stood the Madam from just a week ago. She gave back an equally steady glare from an equally dour face. He waited for her to speak first. Under the interested gazes of her service providers and their potential clients, she capitulated,

“Mr. Brekker, alive and walking once again. How nice. I will have to ask that you hand over any guns you might be carrying. We no longer allow shoot outs in our establishment.”

He gave a small smile, and politely countered, “I have an appointment to see Annalisa, and no need for my gun as we are going for a walk around the block.”

She looked like she was trying to translate his Kerch. “I am unfamiliar with services referred to as ‘a walk around the block.’

Soft and muffled laughter sounded around the room.

Kaz held his stare and his posture. Footsteps were heard running lightly down the stairs and Annalisa appeared wrapped again in her grey wool coat. She smiled ingratiatingly at the Madam as she walked quickly by and said in a soft voice to Kaz, “Sorry to be so forthright but if you could pay at the desk, we can be on our way.”

Kaz moved to the desk and pulled out his Grisha phone. The Madam typed an amount into the desk tablet and displayed the reader for tap-to-pay. Once payment was confirmed, she gave a brisk nod.

Annalisa moved to the door and Kaz strode ahead to open it for her. A security guard followed them to the sidewalk, and stood staring after them as they continued to walk to a spot a block away from the yard.  

Kaz began, “I’m a business man looking into possibly providing Escort Services in the future. I want to hear from someone who provides the actual services to know what to do and what to avoid in my own establishment.” She nodded and he continued,  

“If you were to open your own establishment, what from your current business model would you keep and what would you avoid?”

The conversation took the whole hour and Kaz was weighing and balancing the tradeoffs. While she had given him what he was looking for in how to build a successful business model, she had also given a matter-of-fact description of the depravity at other establishments in the Barrel. Yes, bad things had happened to him; yes, he had been brutally orphaned; yes, he had to learn quickly how to survive and hadn’t had the luxury of morals; but he had been free, even if it were just the freedom to choose to die.

What Annalisa described was slavery. Kidnapped children forced into prostitution by abuse and starvation, locked into small rooms, stripped of basic human dignity; children whose every moment was pain and humiliation. She hinted at secret places in West Stave where such children were also sometimes auctioned, sold off for cruelties often ending in death.

The money of it was capricious, based as it was on perverted lust and a sociopath’s arbitrary valuation of a human life. Kaz found himself Kerch enough to be equally offended at the betrayal of no contracts, withheld wages even after services were provided, and no protection of the service provider.

She spoke of rumors about such things happening at The Willow Switch and The Menagerie, places Kaz only knew by building location. She spoke of how these places housed slaves alongside voluntary providers, creating a mix of both so that even if the Kerch government or Stadwatch came through to inspect, they couldn’t tell the difference between the two. Not that they would look that hard, as many on Stadwatch patrol in West Stave were bribed to look the other way, and those bribes were often to partake of the very activities they were sworn to stop.

When he had asked for her opinion on a brothel as a center for collecting information, she had laughed and said that had always been the second economy of prostitution. She reminded him that service providers were not trained spies; they were gossip collectors, which relied on their memories after a full shift. When Kaz mentioned collection of digital data, she told him he needed to talk with the people over at The Menagerie. That since the Peacock was known to conduct auctions on the Dark Web; she might know more about the use of computers and technology.

At a quarter shy of 10pm, a glossy black limo glided to a soft stop directly in front of the pathway to the Gilded Lily. The headlights were strong and washed an overly bright white-blue light over Kaz and Annalisa’s figures, clothing, and faces. Kaz had turned his face downward to avoid being blinded, should he need to sight and shoot accurately. A uniformed driver left the lights on, as he got out and walked over to the guard standing in the yard who had been vaping while keeping watch. The men were facing the couple, staring and talking softly. Annalisa shielded her eyes from the glare with her hand and said,

“Why do people have to be such assholes?”

Kaz shrugged, “Because they can. Do you know who that is?”

“The uniform is a dark teal color, and the car is showy rich; I’m afraid it’s my escort to the offsite event, and it looks like I’m an extra for the Peacock.”

“How does she need an extra?” asked Kaz.

“Sometimes there will be a request for two who look alike, or for a certain look, and if they don’t have it, they don’t want to send a client elsewhere and lose their repeat business. It’s cheaper in the long run to just hire someone from another brothel who meets the requirements.”

Kaz watched the driver take out his phone and take a picture of them both, without hiding the action in any way. Both the guard and the driver continued their obvious stares. Kaz was tempted to give both men a bloody beat down, but he was only a handful of days from being shot at, it would further antagonize the Madam, and now wasn’t the time to begin a war. But he noted their faces.

“Have a profitable evening,” said Kaz, briefly touching the brim of his hat at her as he turned to walk away.

“You too,” she said as she speed walked back to the yard. “And by the way, you look very good in your suit!”

It was satisfying having confirmation of his good looks, as knowing their worth was important if he ever had to use them. Truth was, if he hadn’t been trained to fight, if he hadn’t met other street boys who warned him about the Uncle Lesters, and probably if he hadn’t been taken to Specht’s, he could have ended up being bought and sold for sex like so many others.

With his eyes constantly on the shadows for threats as he walked to the Treasure Chest, he thought of the import of what he had learned today. Yesterday he might have listed military weapons and human trafficking as unlikely revenue streams in the Barrel, as drugs, gambling, money laundering, and stolen goods reigned supreme; whereas today they were a certainty. Some might ponder the nature of coincidence that he learned of both in the same day, but his mind pondered the value of the knowledge.

He turned into the alley behind the Treasure Chest and stood to the side of the back door to listen before picking the lock and sliding quietly into the long hallway. The place was busy, so his maneuvering was to avoid a noticeable entry and to take stock of the social situation he was joining.

The table had a whiskey bottle and shot glasses, many mugs of beer, and a bowl of pistachios, and seated many more people than Kaz had anticipated from Anika’s short text. Kaz stood in the shadow of the hallway, masked by the crowd, and took in each person. Anika was in standard work gear: white button-down, long-sleeved shirt, black tailored vest, and black tailored pants.  She wore no jewelry, but her blue eyes were sparkling as she pointed and made comment of something to Fahey across the table. Next to her was an empty chair that Kaz figured was for him.

Following her gesture, Kaz disdained Fahey’s outfit which was athletic gear in the exact color of orange of today’s sports car. He also had on a classic twill driver’s cap that Kaz would have pinched from him if it had been in black. Next to Fahey was Pim in his everyday wear of jeans, T-shirt and navy blue hoodie, staring in amusement at Anika’s antics.

Dirix’s outfit was a deep green tank top with a green/blue/yellow plaid shirt hanging open over the top, but was partially obscured by the girl leaning into him from the side. She had short wavy brown hair, dangling earrings, make up, and a flirty off the shoulder blouse that traced around the slope of her lovely neck and shoulders. Next to them sat Keeg, taking up quite a bit of space these days with another year of added bulk, with another girl leaning against him. She had sculpted black hair feathering away from her face in thin wisps, very long silver chain earrings spilling along her neck, and wore a form fitting, soft red sweater. She was looking up at Keeg with admiration which struck Kaz as ridiculous.

Finally, seated on the other side of the remaining empty seat at the table, was a girl with gold hair twisted up so the ends spilled down in shower of silk behind her. Her face was smooth and pale except for a gracefully curving arc of freckles across her cheekbones and nose. Her lashes were long and dark, so they had to have makeup of some kind, but he agreed with the drama it made of her pale green eyes. Her lips were a glossy pink, and closed in a small smile as she watched and listened to the others at the table.

She was in a sleek black dress to just above her knees, showing bare thigh and knees before being covered once again with tall black leather boots. The dress was deceptively modest; with a rounded collar and long sleeves, yet revealing every line of every curve beneath. Kaz traced them and had them memorized within seconds, at least from this angle. She had one leg over the other, gently swinging her upper boot in the air, allowing the hem of the dress to fall away just a smidge further up her thigh. Her long slender fingers held a whiskey glass perched along the crossed thigh, amber liquor sliding around ice cubes.

Her wrist sported a silver smart watch, and she had some interesting rings on, ones he’d have to get closer to see clearly. He was already moving across the space before he realized he had decided to move. He stood taller and tried to make his leg swing more smoothly as he took the last few steps toward the chair, and as everyone at the table registered his approach.

Anika nudged the empty chair next to her without saying anything. Fahey, Dirix, and Keeg were all greeting him at once in a rumble of sound as the girl with the green eyes looked up and into his own. He hooked the cane over the back of the chair and stepped to the gap on her side of the chair, and took a seat, continuing to look into the girl’s face, unconsciously giving his shoulder and partial back to Anika.

Fahey saw it all unfold before him in only a few seconds. Kaz, the dark and mysterious, in a black Armani suit, with what looked to be a new hair cut beneath the edges of his hat, seated between two attractive blond women, who coincidentally matched his choice of black for the evening. Fahey saw the brief incredulous hurt on Anika’s face, and then the smoothing out of expression. Fahey saw the noticeable extra moments Kaz spent looking at Imogen, and saw her equally attracted attention. He hoped his own face was not revealing disappointment. He sought cover for both himself and Anika as he said,

“Boss, as you can see, we started the meeting without you.”

This did the trick, causing the table to laugh, and Kaz to finally move his eyes over to Fahey.

“Anika, new company policy: anyone wearing orange to a formal meeting must pay for all food and drink,” rasped Kaz, accepting a glass of whiskey.

Everyone laughed again as Anika replied, “It will just be with your kruge.”

Imogen leaned forward, extending her glass out to the center of the table, and said in a posh, well modulated voice, “Cheers everyone.”

He moved quickly to tap his glass to hers, as everyone else did also. He wouldn’t have thought of it but it was a good way to start the evening.

He soon learned her name was Imogen, and her school friends were dating Keeg and Dirix and had invited her along tonight as it would be a group thing. The girls were good friends, and from what they shared of their lives, were from homes with money and went to good schools. Imogen had her own car and was their driver tonight. Kaz noted she stopped drinking after only one whiskey. In fact, Kaz couldn’t seem to stop noticing everything she said and every move she made.

“We missed a good bet. He went back to suits within a week,” Anika said to the table, trying to draw Kaz’s attention her way.

“I had a meeting tonight,” Kaz said darkly to the Gym Rats’ laughter. Imogen just smiled and raised her brow at him.

Kaz told her, “I’m a businessman.” Young though he was, no one contradicted the statement.

She asked, “What happened a week ago?”

Fahey launched into telling about a poker game, and conflicting gang interests, and guns, and Kaz let his tumbler drop heavily onto the table, the noise causing everyone to look. His dark eyes were flat and staring into his, reminding him of that first morning, seeing them behind a gun barrel aimed at his heart. He shut up.

Kaz said, “This is the Barrel, where a night of poker becomes a movie script.”

Dirix changed the subject, “There have been some clients asking for you at the gym, and Specht says you’re free to drop by when you’re ready.”

Imogen asked, “Are you a fighter then?”

Kaz played it off, only admitting to a little here and there. Dirix and Keeg gave testimonials to Kaz being far better than he was letting on. Kaz noticed Imogen was looking amused, so he asked,

“What about you? Have you taken any fight training?”

She laughed and said, “No. But if you fight, I will gladly stand ringside and take the money.”

He grinned at her and she grinned back. Knowing looks shot around the rest of the table.

Anika wondered what these uptown girls would think of a real fight going down in front of them. How they would hold up to the sound of fists and feet slamming into flesh, the grunts and shouts of pain, the sweat flying in drops onto anyone standing near. She leaned in said quietly under the general noise around them,

“Scout Night is tomorrow night.”

Dirix and Keeg began making plans for their girls to come see them in the ring, but Kaz scowled and said,

“You want them seen by Barrel talent scouts?”

Anika said, “So? I’m seen by Barrel talent scouts all of the time.”

“You’re different Anika and you know it,” growled Kaz.

This made Imogen narrow her eyes, looking first at Anika, then to her friends, then to Kaz.

“I think we accept this challenge,” she said, chin raised, eyes locked with Anika’s. Energy was zinging around the table.

Kaz’s hand felt his way to a coin in his suit coat pocket. He pinched and curled it up between his fingers. As his hand came up out of his pocket, the coin began falling and flipping from finger to finger in a soothing rhythm and without pause, came back the opposite direction.

The Gym Rats knew of this tic, but it was new to Fahey and the girls. They didn’t get a chance to comment though as Kaz once again took control of the conversation,

“I need info on the Dregs. I have the top level stuff and some of the business stuff, but now I want Barrel gossip, old stuff and new. I want to know what the Barrel thinks Dregs territory is and who are the real enforcers, who are the pushovers.”

“Are you in a gang?” asked Imogen, in the same casually interested tone she had used asking if he were a fighter.

“No,” said Kaz. And no one added another word. Into the sudden silence came the motion of Fahey lifting his phone and taking a panoramic of the table.

Anika stood up saying, “What the actual fuck, Fahey?! You don’t take pics in the Barrel!”

But his fingers kept moving over his screen and all he said was, “Sure I do.”

Anika reached for her glass, and Kaz, knowing she intended to let fly with it, said in a deliberately patronizing tone,

“He’s a social influencer, Anika. Nothing wrong with us looking like we have business going on.”

Anika snorted but did not fling her glass at Fahey. Finally Fahey looked up and said with satisfaction, “Done.”

Anika had not sat back down, and Imogen chose to rise also, saying,

“Well it’s time we got going. It was good meeting new friends.”

The other girls groaned at their ride leaving early, but good naturedly joined in saying their goodbyes. Everyone watched their lingering kisses and hugs with Dirix and Keeg. Kaz couldn’t help his eyes sliding to Imogen, whose eyes were on his face instead of the others. Kaz felt his ears go hot.

Imogen smiled and said, “I’ll be seeing you again tomorrow then.”

Kaz accidently breathed in too hard, and his chest jumped in response. He nodded. It was the best he could do in the moment.

Her eyes crinkled a little more above her smile, and she said, “Sleep well, magic man.”

Kaz’s fingers stopped and the coin dropped back into his pocket. He watched as Dirix and Keeg left to walk them to their car.

Fahey came around the table with a quizzical look at Kaz. Kaz said, “What?!”

Fahey put his phone screen up for Kaz to see a pic of him in his suit with his cane, standing in the street with a girl with long ice blond hair. Kaz took in the caption:

‘Street-side reserection of a dead man. #TheGildedLilypullshard’

It was posted by that driver of the limo, from the Menagerie. He thought the caption funny, but what was the man’s purpose for the post? Kaz felt it like the sound of a snake just out of sight. He could ignore it and hope it disappeared, or draw it out and kill it. He’d wait to see what came next.

Chapter Text

Kaz had cleaned chicken coops and horse stalls in hot steamy weather. He had thrown his fists into other people’s bodies, repeatedly, to take what he needed. He had cleaned the bathrooms and the gym equipment at SpechtBox. But having to follow Jesper’s social media accounts? Worst job ever.

It wasn’t just Jesper’s strangely angled photos, suggestive captions and comments, but all of the responses, profiles, and hashtags. Kaz knew that following Jesper’s accounts would give him better feedback on Jesper’s exploration of other clubs in the Barrel than a verbal report, so he had made an account using his gamer name, D1rtyH4ndz. He had no picture, no quotes, no followers, and was only following Barrel clubs and businesses, and Jesper. 

He took interest in the analytics and how businesses promoted themselves. He made note of how they did their teasers and promoted their specialty nights. Thinking of his own future club, he couldn’t see Fahey planning marketing roll-outs and posting by schedule, and Anika wasn’t the right person either. He would need to find someone else when the time came.

Even though he was curious about who the man was, Kaz didn’t follow the driver for the Peacock who had posted the pic of him and Annalisa. The account was open, so he could see the pic and that there were no comments. The two pics posted in the same night, the one with Annalisa and the other of him and Imogen, both beautiful young women, made him look like a player. Of course it was a misconception, but would it be a problem? He'd have to think on what he wanted out there about him. His impulse was that there should be nothing.

Moving to his next action item; since he hadn’t really gotten to talk with Pim last night (the dress hem on Imogen’s pale smooth leg moved in his mind), he opened The Barrel Game and began looking at recent changes. The champs list had expanded by more than half. Pim had been doing considerable work.

Kaz spotted a champ named An1_Kayo and grinned. He chose her for a Barrel run, walking her down Main Street at midnight, her goal to get info to her gang while being hunted by a rival gang. Pim’s notes said her fists were her best fighting weapon, and that she should be created with huge fists of metal. Kaz had her checking rooftops, alleyways, storefront windows, and car traffic. The graphics were stock items rendered badly, but the effort for now was to have engaging champ and side character interactions and multiple game options. Knowing this was Pim’s version of Anika made Kaz want to begin the graphics work even sooner.

A shadowy box, which later would be a thug cruise car, rolled down the eerily empty road, threatening his champ. Since the target was at range, Kaz prepared her street grenades and hid behind a reinforced metal mail box and waited until the car crept into throwing range. Gunfire riddled the mail box but her health took no hits. She lobbed a grenade and landed it in the center of the car and it exploded. Threat obliterated. Poorly rendered graphical objects split apart and flew through the space of the screen. Kaz propelled himself backward away from the screen, split with reality and felt himself flying through the air, his memories mirroring the fragments of the graphics on the screen. His heart raced and he was suddenly furious. His hands clenched and then pounded down on the desk making the laptop jump up and slam back down, and drop closed. Sweat and chills overcame him. He slid from his chair onto his knees. He concentrated on his choppy breathing. It took some time to return to normal. He stood up finally with gratitude that he was alone. He needed to be alone. It was becoming essential.

Finally, he opened the laptop again, entered the game’s chat function and sent a message directly to Pim:

‘Good work on champ dev, build start gallery to 50.  Sound tracks for city, fight scenes, and weaponry? Start with recording fight sounds at SpechtBox and indoor gun range. Ask An1_Kayo for access. Also, get with Fahey on best cars and specs for car chases’

He sat for a moment, but decided against asking after Pim’s Aunt. There wasn’t anything that could be done and Kaz had been around people long enough to know he wasn’t wired for nor brought up for comforting people. Giving Pim things to do with the game dev and keeping him focused on something he could do, would have to be good enough.

His phone lit up with notification of a text from Anika: ‘Specht says get over here now.’

Still out of sorts, residual panic had Kaz frowning and moving slower than he wanted. Something had happened, and it wouldn’t be good. It was only a few hours earlier than he had planned to go to SpechtBox anyway and help set up for Scout Night. He headed out in new high-end, name brand, and all black sweats, the Armani suit of athletic gear. He took his cane, his gun in its holster, his knife in his black leather high tops, and brass knuckles in his pocket.

He crossed over the canal via the plank bridge camouflaged by overgrown tree branches, the one used by the street people, and made his way through empty lots of rubble and litter to approach SpechtBox from the back. The building’s white washed concrete was glowing pink in the evening’s sunset. As he got closer, he saw Specht standing over what looked like a body wrapped in a tarp. He knew it. For the second time in a single day, he felt split in two. A part of him was analyzing Specht’s body language and face for clues about whose body was lying at his feet. The other part was on its knees cowering as his inner voice bellowed at his reluctance to keep walking, at his reluctance to be near another dead body.  

Specht looked up and saw him coming. All Kaz saw in his face was grim concern and what-the-fuck puzzlement. Kaz flicked a look at the cameras he’d set for recording the back entrance. He saw broken brackets and missing hardware.

“Yeah, they look to be smacked down by baseball bats. Anika is looking through for the last images recorded. It’s fucking unbelievable this happened during daylight hours. We were all working in the gym, even Anika. The monitors are up in the office and they got in and out without us seeing them or hearing anything over the music.” He was rambling but Kaz understood.

He nodded and looked down. The tarp covered a slight body. He steeled himself to see a dead child even though there was no reason he could think of for such a thing.

“Anika says you know her.”

Kaz couldn’t think who it would be. He bent over and reached his gloved hand for the edge of a flap of tarp that had obviously already been lifted from around a head. Ice blond hair in waves slid out at the movement. He froze at the recognition of whose face would now be revealed. It was Annalisa. Kaz set his cane out of the way and bent back down to unroll her from the tarp. Specht protested the action. Kaz said,

“You thinking of preserving a crime scene for the Stadwatch? You want your business name involved in this? How’s that ‘neutral territory’ thing going to work after that?”

Specht assisted getting her free and made a sound at the sight of her hands zip tied in front of her. Kaz noted it was the same dress he’d seen her in last night, the one she wore to her offsite for the Peacock. Only now there were thin slashes through the fabric, stuck in some places to where her wounds had seeped blood. Slashes to the upper arms, two slashes across her cheeks. He could see the salt crystals of many anguished tears from swollen eyes. Kaz rolled her over and the back was a bloody mass of thin slashes. She’s been beaten with a thin rod with her hands tied. Her neck lolled in a strange way. Kaz figured he was looking at a broken neck. His inner voice said in a soft tone, she was given the mercy of dying in one piece.

Kaz began collecting heavy stones from the random rubble of the empty lots, tucking them around her body. Then he motioned for Specht to help him roll it all back up and securing it all tightly with rope. Together they walked the bundle back the way Kaz had come, to the overgrown trees of the plank bridge. Kaz pulled the body into the brush beneath the trees. Kaz would deal with it once it was completely dark.

As they walked back, Specht asked,

“Who is she? What happened?”

Kaz shook his head, taking a moment to think through his answer. He had stepped on a hidden snake. He had no idea where it had come from or where it was going. Her body here at the gym was a warning to him about something, but what? The rumors of human trafficking? The involvement of the Peacock? But how could anyone know they had talked of it, since no one had been near enough to over hear them? And what did it matter that a Barrel rat like himself knew of the rumors? This warning only substantiated such rumors. And what did they think Kaz would do even if he had evidence of such rumors? Nothing about his life in Ketterdam would give anyone the idea he worked with Stadwatch.

Why kill Annalisa? Why bring the body to Specht in clear warning to Kaz, since it was his last known living space? It wasn’t making sense. He shook his head again and said,

“I saw her in the street yesterday and asked for an appointment to talk business.” At Specht’s huff of derision Kaz amended in a sharper tone, “About how to set up a successful Escort Service. And we met and spoke in the street in front of the Gilded Lily since the Madam recognized me from the night of the shootout and didn’t want me on her property. We stood and talked about business structure, employment contracts, and profit margins for one hour. Near the end of our time, our picture was taken by the driver of the car sent to pick her up for an offsite event. It ended up being posted on social media. That is all. Killing her just does not make sense. It’s a waste as a warning.”

Kaz didn’t want to have to apologize for bringing trouble to Specht’s door so soon after moving out to avoid bringing trouble to his door. Instead Kaz said, “I’m only a few weeks from having another place where people can find me.”

Specht shook his head. “When lightning strikes in the Barrel, all the fish go belly up. Whoever left this girl here at SpechtBox, might be hoping it spreads beyond you and me. We’ve got to hope they didn’t take a pic of the drop on my property and post to social media.”

Kaz wanted his hands on a keyboard instantly to set up search bots for anything posted related to his name or Specht’s and any place or person associated with him. Then he wanted a good long stretch of time learning about the code of that social media platform everyone was using. He was probably a day away from getting to do any of it. He said,

“I’ll take care of the cameras and Annalisa. Do you still want my help in the ring tonight?”

“Yes, I need all hands on deck. I got two last minute additions that are a little odd, one from Ravka and three from Fjerda. I can’t imagine a reason for any of them to want to demonstrate their fight skills for a job with Barrel gangs.”

Kaz looked into the distance, his eyes narrowed, and gears of his mind spinning at high speed. Was it a coincidence that Scout Night had three Fjerdan fighters so soon after the arrival of a yacht, docked in the exclusive private harbor of visiting dignitaries and rich vacationers? One with interesting radars and antennae, which had proved to have Fjerdan licenses and maps, a Fjerdan speaking crew, and a Fjerdan owner: one Jarl Brum?

Specht stayed in the gym, and Kaz went along to the office. Anika looked up as he came in and she didn’t smile. She looked like she had lots to say so he spoke first,

 “Did you find anything in the last camera images?”

Of course she wanted to know why an escort of the Gilded Lily was lying outside the back door less than a day after talking with Kaz Brekker, but there was relief in moving directly into what needed doing. Dead bodies were a common occurrence in the Barrel, and she knew Kaz had the experience of making them disappear.

She gestured for him to come over and see the monitors for himself. Together they watched a white van with no side or back windows and no plates, back into the space surveyed by the cameras. Two men got out, dressed in jeans, boots, and hoodies. They wore nylon masks that smashed their features and hid their hair, eye and skin color. They took baseball bats and smacked the hell out of each camera until there was nothing left to see.

Kaz sat back down opposite her and said, “A ubiquitous white van. Can you get a still of it? Send it to Jesper on the off chance he might see something he recognizes.”

She nodded, and he continued,

“Anyone else besides you and Specht know about this?”

“No. Dirix and Keeg went out the front with the clients after their sessions. It was just me and Specht afterwards, and he found her when he went to take the trash out to the bin.”

He moved to the next topic. “Any idea who our Ravkan and Fjerdan fighters are tonight?”

Anika shook her head. “No idea. I’m guessing they think they’re going to come in here and beat our Kerch asses with their superior training.” She leaned back in her chair to watch how the challenge landed.

Kaz’s eyes gleamed, his lips curled up and up into a sly, vicious grin. Anika sighed to herself at his seemingly unconscious sexual tractor beam. She tried to imagine the beam going over her shoulder and crashing into the unfeeling wall behind her. Maybe his living elsewhere and only seeing him in brief doses was a good thing after all. She said,

“You might want to spend some time in the ring this evening before people start choosing you for their punch dummy, Mr. I-Practiced-A-Week-Ago. Oh, and Mister-Magic-Man for Imogen.”

Kaz narrowed his eyes and got up and left without another word. She grinned. No, she was not above gloating at having landed a one-two verbal combo to Kaz Brekker.

Chapter Text

The gym was empty of its usual clients in the hours leading up to Scout Night. Specht was looking over a handwritten list of contenders, and another list of talent scouts, and conferring with Kaz, Dirix, and Keeg about requests for opponents. Since Kaz had been purported as shot in a poker game just the week before, no one had requested him. This now left Kaz free to be assigned to random matchups, perhaps military students from Fjerda and Ravka.

Competitors for the role of gang enforcer were always male, since the job required survival of unruly gang members, threats to the boss, removal of drunken or drugged-out aggressors at gang-owned venues, and the threat of force in parleys and turf wars. An enforcer enacted the law of the jungle: the superiority of testosterone-fueled muscles. This did not mean that Anika, trained in numerous fight styles and experienced at street fighting against male opponents, couldn’t be put in the ring against an opponent if she, or a client, so chose. But it was an option neither she nor Specht would force on anyone, as the perceived insult of being beaten in the ring by a young woman, in front of peers and potential bosses, might make her the target of vengeance on a day when she was alone and outnumbered in the streets. It just wasn’t worth it.

Her job on Scout Nights was to gate-keep the entry and insist on participants (or brain-dead morons as Anika sometimes called them) following the rules that kept SpechtBox a neutral territory within the Barrel. First, all weaponry had to be voluntarily surrendered to a secured locker. This created a deliberately-organized choke point on the influx of people, where they could be identified before they had access to the hallways, bathrooms, and gym. Second, Keeg was posted in the hallway between the office and gym to ensure that no one got curious about closed doors and continued undeterred. Third, Kaz was posted just inside the gym next to a whiteboard where he scheduled a fighter with an opponent. The schedule was viewable from the seated areas around the center ring.

Fight skill demonstrations consisted of rotating through different fight styles. The goal wasn’t to win, but to show speed, agility, power, technique, and character. Most participants knew this and bouts typically lasted 10 to 15 minutes; but, if a person was outclassed by their opponent, a bout could end in a mere 5 minutes. Specht and Kaz were both capable of shutting down most opponents in 2 minutes, but held back as the goal was to help clients get jobs, not embarrass them.

Shortly before opening the doors, all staff was in their Specht gear: black cotton tees tight to the body to better display the effect of gym training, with SpechtBox across the front in bold silver lettering, black joggers, and black and silver boxing shoes. Even Anika wore the shoes, just in case she was needed in the ring. Kaz swapped out his own black Tee for the SpechtBox Tshirt.

It was Anika’s job to know every person who came through the door, but from the looks of the large groupings in the parking lot, she was going to be seeing a lot of irregulars tonight. She ran to the gym to request help. Having Specht front and center of the weapons locker would make things go a bit smoother, especially if it came to refusing people due to overcrowding. It was definitely going to be standing room only tonight.

Kaz, who had followed Specht to the office and saw the crowd of people, suddenly barked, “Take their phones too this time.”

A flash of insight lit up several pairs of eyes instantly. How had they never thought to implement this before? Without another word, it became a new policy. Phones would go with the weapons into the secured locker. As the first people came through the door, there was an unusual buzz of energy, a bit of extra to every little thing that made Kaz’s hair rise on his skin. With all that had happened since the shoot out, with the shocking death of Annalisa and the addition of competitors from Ravka and Fjerdan; free floating energy was building and Kaz wasn’t sure he would be the only target. Specht and his damned ‘all the fish go belly up.’

Anika grabbed a clipboard and decided to walk back to the gym with Kaz and record names there. Kaz stopped by Keeg in the hallway and she overheard him say, “Tell Imogen to park in the old cannery parking lot north of here and walk over to the back of the gym where the women’s bathroom is. Tell her the window will be left cracked open and to come in that way. If Specht has to refuse people at the door, they will never get in otherwise.”

Anika rolled her eyes as Keeg nodded in agreement, pulled out his phone and texted instructions.

Kaz and Anika settled into their positions and began dealing with the steady crowd. Anika recorded an extraordinary list of names for Scout Night, with representatives in the viewing area from every gang in the Barrel: Liddies, Geels from the Black Tips, Razorgulls, Doughty from the Dime Lions, and Rotty from the Dregs.

The gym was nearly full when Kaz locked his gaze on a man in a dark teal velvet suit who entered the gym and gave his name as Cobbett. His meaty physique and brutish face with crooked nose showed him to be an enforcer of some sort, but he wasn’t dressed for fighting and took a seat in viewing. He was dressed just like the driver for the Peacock. No one from the Peacock had shown up at a Scout Night before and Kaz was not liking the odds of it being a coincidence that the first time was happening the night after the driver had posted that pic of him and Annalisa.

Kaz heard the door open again and watched a man of average height, dressed in an expensive dove grey bespoke suit, enter the room and pause just inside the door. The tailoring of the cloth was exquisite. He had a lean, muscled physique and a sculpted face, like one found on men’s style magazines. He was too young for his perfectly white hair, pulled back in a swoop off his high brow, which made Kaz remember Annalisa’s ice blond tresses, drifting across her grey coat, now wrapped in a tarp and nestled by the canal. The man held a cane in his right hand, white wood with a silver fritz handle, smooth and unadorned. Kaz finally looked at the man’s eyes, and was startled by the sight of silver grey eyes, staring expressionlessly into his own dark ones.

He did not know this unusual man.

Anika waited, pen and clipboard poised for his name. He finally looked at her and stepped forward showing no discernible need for the cane he held. He announced in a cultured Kerch accent, “Van Braam. Darden Van Braam. I will be viewing the proceedings.” He turned and walked to the seats, taking the one farthest away along the back row.

Another fighter entered the room, but Kaz couldn’t immediately respond. He teetered on the edge of darkness at the sound of Van Braam’s voice. He knew that voice. It pulled him back to his childhood bed, and Jordie asleep nearby, and the light across the ceiling, and his Da’s night rituals, and his Da’s voice in answer. It was the voice of The Broker. Did he know who Kaz was? Why was HE at this particular Scout Night?

Kaz forced himself to attend to the fighter before him. It was Dugan, a regular, and Kaz knew his styles. He chose to be the man’s opponent, and placed their match after the third fight. If Imogen and the girls arrived late, they would still get a chance to see the Gym Rats in the ring.

The next fighter to come through the door was a young female, perhaps a year or so older than himself. She was tall and strongly built, probably weighing a good bit more than Kaz. Light brown hair was woven against her scalp in braids that were folded and clasped tightly against her nape. She was dressed in a tight red sports bra that made her generous curves immovable above wide smooth abdominals, that a little lower down flowed into equally tight black leggings that armored equally generous curves of hip and thigh, beneath which would hopefully be very strong muscles.

She said, “No, you can’t take a tour later. I don’t like your hair.”

Kaz raised a brow and snarked, “You’d hate my front snap kick more.”

She smirked, “I’d take it and then roundhouse your pretty face.” Kaz looked into her challenging eyes, but was less than impressed. He hadn’t taken a roundhouse to his face since before Ketterdam. Was she flirting with him, in the fight schedule line?

“Name?” asked Kaz dropping his voice into a bored tone.

“Nina Zenik.”

“Sounds Ravkan.”

“Just what Barrel Kerch would say.”

“Fight styles?”

“MMA.”

Kaz rolled his eyes in irritation, “Care to be more specific so I can select an appropriate opponent?”

“Are you worried for me or them?”

A tall, young man with buzz cut blond hair, suddenly stepped closer and leaned over Nina to say in broken Kerch, with a heavy Fjerdan accent,

“Why find her an opponent at all? Women shouldn’t be in the ring competing with men.”

Nina whipped her head around to him and had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye. He was of great stature, heavily layered with well-toned muscle. His face was sculpted and his eyes were a deep and brilliant blue. If he hadn’t spoken, she may well have fallen in love instantly. As it was, she said,

“I’ve fought against many men and won. Perhaps it is you who cannot compete with a woman!”

Furious, he looked down into her sparkling green eyes. She would be beautiful if she weren’t standing in such revealing clothing, being loud and angry, in a room full of men.

The two fell into assessing each other.

Kaz looked beyond them and saw that the last two people in line were also tall Fjerdans and settled back to watch Ravka take on Fjerda. Should he mention that the fights tonight were skill demos and not competitive fights? Nah, this was fun.

The man spit out angrily, “I have never known a woman to fight against trained fighters.”

“So if war comes to your country, all of your women will sit prettily and watch as they lose their lives, their homes, and their children?” she taunted.

The man growled, “It would never come to that as Fjerdan men would defend them!”

The next Fjerdan guy behind the arguing one leaned around and said to Kaz,

“I want time in the ring. I am a boxer.”

Kaz nodded and seeing that both young men outweighed him by quite a bit, glanced over at Dirix and Keeg who nodded back. Kaz gave one a place on the schedule with Dirix and when the next said he was also a boxer, gave the man a time with Keeg. 

Both young men jostled their argumentative companion in disgust as they went to take their place on the side of the ring where the fighters were grouped.

Kaz checked to see where Ravka versus Fjerda were in their negotiations. They were red-faced, breathing heavily, and glaring at each other with hands on hips. It was time to get this evening started. He asked the man,

“Your name?”

The man turned to him, looked at the spots on the board and realized he and the girl were the last two without an assigned opponent. He looked as if he would turn and walk away, or flip the board off of its supports and tear the gym apart. Kaz made a show of adjusting his stance and body weight. Specht, having finished locking up the front, came through the door and stood directly behind the angry Fjerdan. Anika had set the clipboard down and was also standing in a centered stance, ready to move quickly if necessary.

The man took it in their movements but remained silent. Kaz decided it was time for the reminder:

“Tonight’s time in the ring is about displaying one’s skills. These are not competitive fights with winners. Fighters are to demonstrate a few minutes of each of their best fight styles against an opponent who provides a challenge, but not drawing blood or breaking bones.”

The man’s shoulders dropped the tiniest bit. He said,

“Matthias Helvar.”

Nina’s eyes gleamed with victory as she turned and moved toward a seat with the fighters. She waved her hand in the air behind her and said, “Come, it will be a fun children’s story: Matty Meets the Mat.”

Kaz couldn’t help a shared grin with Anika and Specht as ‘Matty’s’ shoulders went back up toward his ears and he lumbered behind her to a chair.

The first demo fight was an easy spar between Specht and a regular client. It served as model to the newcomers on how a fighter and opponent worked together to show skills. At the end of the second fight, Kaz spied Imogen and her friends slipping into the room. His eyes raced over Imogen’s black athletic wear with silver accents. She looked great. She sauntered with the girls to seats just in front of Cobbett, the man in the Peacock’s color.

Focused as he was on her every move, Kaz saw Cobbett reach out a meaty paw and lay it heavily on her hip as she lowered herself into the seat. Kaz stepped forward to do something about it but stopped as Imogen quickly stood, grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it across his body, holding it at the edge of maximum pain. The man’s face was red and his eyes were nasty. Imogen leaned down and said something to the man before dropping his arm, turning her back to him and reseating herself. Cobbet leaned forward as if to continue with Imogen and Kaz narrowed his eyes hoping to laser the man with a hostile glare. Instead, Imogen looked up and saw that Kaz was staring fiercely in her direction. She tilted her head questioning his look, and gave a sweet smile and wave of her hand. Kaz moved his gaze to hers and nodded, but swiftly looked back to Cobbett. The man had seen their exchange and suddenly settled back into his chair, crossing his arms, and looking smug. Warning bells rang in Kaz’s head. He scanned the people waiting for the events to begin. Many had seen what just happened and were side-eyeing Cobbett, waiting for any reason to come to Imogen’s assistance. That’s just what Specht didn’t need, an all out brawl. Again, the energy of the room was spiking tonight. Who was the lightning rod? Kaz glanced over in the direction of Mr. Van Braam, who was adjusting his weight in his seat, starring unswervingly at the ring. Interesting, thought Kaz, at what he was sure was deliberate deflection.

Kaz was up next in the ring. On impulse, on the way up the stairs, Kaz said to Dugan,

“This is your third try, yes? Maybe it’s time to go all out.” he challenged.

Dugan’s jaw flexed and his eyes became more determined. He replied, “Hell yes, let’s do it!”

They both entered the ring with serious intensity and the crowd quieted in anticipation of this bout being a little more than an average demo.

As they began circling each other, Kaz said, “So I’m the drunk idiot who’s just thrown a beer in your face because you’re telling me to get out. Show me what you got!”

Duggan knew better than to try and come in close and land the first blow with Kaz. He said, “I let the asshole make the first move, my permission slip for raining down pain.”

Kaz gave a feral grin. “You’re right; a drunken asshole would strike first.” And Kaz came in close, looking to land a combo of punches. Dugan had his eyes on Kaz’s shoulders, gauging the shift for blocking the combo, when suddenly Kaz dropped fast to the mat, propping his weight on his arms behind him as he gave a swift double-leg sweep to a momentarily hesitant Dugan. Dugan stumbled but didn’t allow himself to go down; which was a mistake. If he had gone down he could have used his fall to move away and regain his stance. Instead, he took long seconds to regain his balance, and Kaz used the time to pop back up and swing hard into Dugan’s jaw. Then Kaz danced back to let Dugan reset as this was to be a successful demo. Dugan shook his head as he returned to pacing Kaz in a circle.

His face was red and full of threat as he said, “Drunks that drop to the floor don’t get back up like that Brekker.”

“A few red bulls with their alcohol and they can do anything,” said Kaz to the sound of knowing laughter from the viewers.

Dugan knew Kaz had a bum leg, but feared hurting it would only succeed in making him angry enough to knock Dugan out, and that would not win him any jobs. Dugan decided instead to land a flurry of blows. Of course he telegraphed it and Kaz let him come in close, quickly deflecting the blows to parts of his body that would better withstand the onslaught. After a few good hits, Kaz broke out of it and danced away, eyes gleaming with the many returns he could give if it were a real fight. He thought of Imogen watching and feinted and delivered swiftly a few unexpected hard kicks to Dugan’s sides, just shy of his ribs. Then he fell back and slowed his feet, lowered his arms a bit.

“Okay, his red bull buzz is over. Show us the finish.”

Now Dugan’s eyes gleamed with calculation as he lunged in and braced his leg against Kaz’s torso, grabbed Kaz’s opposite arm and pulled Kaz’s weight over his planted leg, all while guiding the arm through the move. Kaz ended on his knees with his arm twisted up behind him, and Dugan standing over him. Specht dropped into the ring and called it “Done.”

Dugan released his arm and Kaz dropped both arms to the mat and somersaulted over, using the momentum to come to a full stand. A flourish in the place of an awkward attempt at standing from a kneeling position with his bum leg.

He and Dugan shook hands. He said, “Solid demo.” Dugan said, “I owe you man.”

Kaz climbed out of the ring and let his eyes find Imogen’s. Her eyes were waiting for his and she grinned at him. He was confused to feel a happy warmth at being the one she sought. Where Anika had from the beginning been comforting with hot soup and bossy with house rules, Imogen was pleasingly attentive and mysterious. Kaz seemed to want her attention and loved the mystery. For the first time Kaz was considering what it would be to have a girl friend. What would his Da and Jordie think of that? Of the boy who begrudged his brother giving away a free flower to a girl he liked. Kaz glanced over at Van Braam. The Broker was looking with polite boredom at Specht. Another bit of deliberate deflection. Another much less enticing mystery. 

Next up was Dirix taking on the first of the Fjerdans. From the moment Specht said, “Go” it was obvious the Fjerdan was treating the bout as a real fight. Specht actually stayed within the ring for this bout, tucked in the corner and ready to add his skill and experience to stopping it if necessary. Dirix was completely focused as both young men’s fists flew with strength and precision. The Fjerdan was taller with a bit longer reach, but Dirix knew how to compensate. It was turning out to be a great demo, if either man was actually after a job. Dirix was showing his girl he had what it took to survive the Barrel, and the Fjerdan was showing himself to be a trained fighter. At 10 minutes Specht put himself between the two and called it done. The Fjerdan wouldn’t stop though, thinking it some kind of alpha shit to ignore the rules. Specht didn’t hesitate to swing his own meaty fist up under the young man’s jaw, dropping him for the first time, to the floor. Dirix grinned as Specht called out “Done” again and stood over the Fjerdan as he got to his feet and was pressed to exit the ring.

Specht fixed a cold gaze on the next Fjerdan entering the ring to fight Keeg, but ended up watching Keeg for fear of overly fierce blows instead. He called the fight done after only 8 minutes. The Fjerdan jumped from the ring completely unsatisfied, pointing at Keeg and threatening, “Next time we meet without your ‘daddy!’” The spectators laughed at the smack talk. Some began talking again about prize fighting at SpechtBox, which Specht always shut down. There were other venues, ones that could handle the cash and the crowds and didn’t mind gang fights and destruction of equipment and facilities.

What the Fjerdans didn’t realize is that they were protected here, and if they met Dirix and Keeg out in the streets, the outcome might not be as expected. Out in the streets, Dirix and Keeg knew how to fight dirty and while the Fjerdans thought of boxing, Gym Rats thought of surviving.

The crowd was finishing the evening in a good mood. When Zenik stood and entered the ring for the final bout with the tall muscular Fjerdan reluctantly following, spontaneous applause began and there were some flirty calls and whistles.

Zenik placed the finger tips of both hands on her lips and flung kisses to the crowd in response. The Fjerdan turned a deep burgundy at his cheeks, his ears, and his neck. Zenik turned toward him at center ring and flung a finger tipped kiss to him as well. It seemed she knew how to work a crowd; even Van Braam was smiling at her antics.

Specht spoke to them, getting them focused on taking their places; then he spoke “Go.”

Helvar took a step back and stood still. Zenik lowered her chin and walked in an arc to one side, then turned and walked in an arc the other direction. She was watching his eyes and his body. He remained unresponsive.

Zenik ridiculed his passivity, “Your friends are the fighters and you’re just the target dummy?”

Helvar’s expression returned to fury. He glared at her and still didn’t move.

Kaz called out, “Nice blow to his ego, but let’s see some actual fight skills Zenik.”

Now her cheeks flared pink, and she went in hot, literally using the man as a fight dummy. With his bulk, outweighing her by half, planted like a massive mountain on the mat, she didn’t waste time with grapples, but launched kicks and punches to his thighs, stomach, chest, and chin.

She cycled through Krav Magra, Muay Thai, Jujitsu styles and then moved in close for some pressure boxing, bombarding him with merciless punches. Although quiet, and maybe unheard by anyone seated more than a couple rows away, Helvar grunted at some of the blows. She smiled in satisfaction, then dropped back a few steps and glanced quickly down; at the one place a male fighter was especially vulnerable.

Helvar noted the glance and looked at her with seething disgust. Still he did not move to defend.

But Specht had also caught the direction of her gaze and hurriedly shouted, “Hold!”

He turned toward Helvar and said, “She is obviously trained. You can at least defend yourself!”

Helvar just shook his head, his eyes on Zenik.

Specht yelled, “Done!” and the crowd booed at not getting to see the silently called shot.

Only as Zenik moved to the ropes to leave the ring did Helvar move. He closed the distance between them and stated with fierce emphasis, “He stood with honor on the mat. The end.”

Zenik replied, “You are way too tense. You need a massage! Come see me and I will place my hands on you in a much nicer way!”

Helvar was not to find any respite from a deep burgundy blush tonight. He sneered at her, “Of course you are one who is paid to touch men!”

He launched himself from the ring on the opposite side from her and looked for his friends. Resigned to seeing they had left without him, he strode for the door without looking back. The crowd was apathetically kind and gave way to his path through them. Zenik laughed softly as her eyes traced him to the last moment, then pivoted back to Specht. He looked at her speculatively and asked,

“Are you truly a massage therapist and are you looking for a job?”

Now that he wasn’t directly involved in anything requiring focus, Kaz began to feel the effect of the milling crowd, the press of so many in such a small area. He doubted he’d ever get used to it. He grabbed his cane and stepped up onto some metal stairs that went to an equipment storage loft and took advantage of the height to watch as people left. When he saw Van Braam slip out in advance of the masses, he swore. He needed someone to track him and discover where he went from here, but there was no one other than himself who could do it without being caught. Kaz was frustrated he couldn’t do it himself, but it was already late and he had to deal with Annalisa tonight. It burned to miss this opportunity, but at least he had a face and a name. He would chase after The Broker when he was ready.

He would also chase down the three lumbering Fjerdan fighters at a later time. And from the quiet and earnest conversation happening between Specht and Zenik following his query about a job, Kaz suspected that should he wish to, he would easily find Zenik too.

Ah, and here was a disappointment in the making: Imogen and the girls winding their way across the room to where he stood. He saw Keeg guiding and protecting his girl with a hand on her waist; he saw Dirix guiding and protecting his girl with a hand on her shoulder as he followed closely behind and spoke into her ear, making her laugh. Imogen made her own way through the crowd easily, her air of confidence causing others to give way, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a place for him by her side. He wanted to explore all that went with such things, her scent, her warmth, her smiles, and her laugh; but he couldn’t do anything with them tonight. It would to take hours, even with Dirix and Keeg helping, to get a punt and head out to where the body needed to be dropped and get back before dawn.

The group now stood just below him on the stairs, looking up at him. Kaz was irritated at what he had to say, and what he had to do. He was going to disappoint Imogen and her friends, and Dirix and Keeg as well. His life was different. He was as far from an average teen boy as one could get, as tonight’s events proved. Girl friends meant having evenings free, and being pulled away from what needed doing. Kaz couldn’t be like Dirix and Keeg, keeping their ambition pared down to their circumstances. Kaz was changing his circumstances to mirror his ambition.  

He spoke like a boss telling his employees that they needed to work overtime, “I’m afraid tonight is a bust for hanging out. I found out earlier that there is something needs doing tonight that can’t be put off and I need Dirix and Keeg.”

The guys took it with frowns but no protests, knowing that Kaz wouldn’t be saying this unless it were true and also that Kaz wouldn’t actually care if they did protest. They knew their lives in the Barrel were better with Kaz than against Kaz. 

The girls didn’t take it without protest and Imogen’s gaze became intent. Her eyes roved the planes of his face. She glanced at his hands folded over the handle of his cane. The others fell silent at how Imogen was sizing up Kaz like they had just seen so many do in the ring.  Finally Imogen’s mouth curled up in a small smile and she said,

“Ok, you do what you have to do. But let’s agree to get together next weekend. My parents will be out of town for a long weekend so how about you all come over one night? We’ve got an in-home theatre room for movies, a hot tub for soaking sore muscles, a pool, and a big game room with an wet bar and a pool table.”

Dirix and Keeg were wide-eyed with all that Imogen was promising, while Kaz was cautious. Things that sounded too good to be true, usually were.

“Where do you live?” he asked, “A mansion on the Geldstraat?”

“No, but nearby. Tell you what, why don’t you all meet at the Starbucks next to the University library and I’ll pick you up.”

Kaz didn’t like it. She was maneuvering for full control, getting them on her turf, reliant upon her for when they could leave. He took on a deliberately polite air and asked,

“I apologize for skipping the formality of an actual introduction, but may I ask for your full name before you whisk me off to your mansion for the weekend?”

Everyone laughed, even Imogen, but he noticed she also hesitated a bit in answering.

Finally, mirroring his politeness, she said, “Jansen. Imogen Jansen, Mr. Brekker. Pleased to meet you.” And she peeped up at him again through her darkened lashes.

She was good at this, thought Kaz. And he liked it. He smiled down at her and said,

“It’s a date then, Miss Jansen.”

The other girls sounded off with “Awwwww” which made them all break up into laughter and good spirits for the upcoming weekend date.

By now the gym was empty of everyone but them and Specht and Anika setting things to rights. Anika was moving items with exaggerated efficiency, a slap at the three guys standing around doing absolutely nothing to help.

Dirix offered to escort the girls to their car over in the cannery parking lot, which they accepted. Keeg and Kaz moved over to help Anika and Specht.

As soon as they were alone, Kaz asked, “Why was an enforcer from the Menagerie here? Have you ever had them approach for training or for hiring?”

Specht was shaking his head strongly, “Not once in all the time they’ve been operating here in the Barrel. I caught him before he left and asked what I could help him with, since Scout Nights are kept on the down low and usually by invite, but he said he was just checking out the market. Which made no sense and sounded like a lie to cover for his real reason. That's two from her in as many days; she bears watching.”

Anika snorted, “I know Barrel flash is popular, I mean just look at Jesper, but who the hell would willingly work in teal velvet?”

Kaz said, “While we are looking around for info on the Dregs, let’s find out what we can about the Peacock and the Menagerie.”

They all agreed to do what they could. Kaz waited a beat and then asked,

“Who is Darden Van Braam? I haven’t ever seen him at Scout Nights, yet he looked familiar with it all.”

There was a silence, and Kaz scanned the faces. Keeg looked puzzled, Anika looked interested, and Specht looked thoughtful. Kaz kept his eyes on Specht, watching for his tells as Specht considered what to say.

Finally he said, “He has been here before, a number of times, but not in recent years. He is from one of the oldest families on the island, one that is rumored to be very eccentric and very rich. He used to have something to do with something related to the military, but I’ve never heard any details. When he shows up on Scout Night, he never speaks to anyone, but I believe he has recruited people afterward. Some of the best skilled fighters have dropped out of rotation after his visits.”

Kaz raised his eyebrows. Because of the stories his father used to tell, Kaz knew what Specht was saying. The Broker recruited skilled assets, ghosts like his father. And interestingly, he had come tonight after a multiyear break. This was the lightning strike of the night, thought Kaz.

When Dirix returned from escorting the girls to their car, Kaz told them there was a body to take care of. As they gaped at Kaz, Anika told them how she and Specht had found the body behind the gym and that they didn’t need the Stadwatch crawling up their asses and interfering with gym business.

Kaz directed Keeg to a punt tied to a short ramp behind one of the rundown businesses along the canal on the far side. Keeg took the craft and worked the pole through the slow current until he pulled up at the street people’s plank bridge. In the moonlight, Dirix and Kaz lifted the body and dropped it slowly into the punt, then joined Keeg on the craft, spreading out for the best weight balance.

They kept a strict silence and an easy pace, gliding through shadows and the occasional reflected glow of a street light. Following Kaz’s directions, they arrived two hours later at one of Ketterdam’s constructed canal barriers, hovering a good distance above the open sea water below. The current became swift here, so they pulled up before they ended up struggling for control against it. They pulled the punt up and out, laying it against the rugged bank. Kaz and Dirix lifted the body and carried it along the bank, the roar of the canal water erupting into the ocean muffling their footsteps and heavier breathing.

At the top of the barrier, they took a look down at the water playing out beneath utility lights. Kaz had read a news report of a drunken college student who had tried walking the barrier one afternoon as part of a dare from his friends. He had fallen into the waters of course and no body had been recovered. The news reporter had interviewed a member of the local Coast Guard who had explained the effects of the draw of the currents just below the canal barrier which had probably pulled the body down and out into a well-known coastal current that pulled objects along parallel to the land for many miles until it reached Cape Flint, a jut of land on the southern point of the island, before shunting objects out into the vast True Sea. Kaz had thought upon reading of the play of those currents that the information could prove useful.  He hoped the rocks he had set around Annalisa would approximate the weight of the male college student, and that her body would take the same course and disappear.

They swung the body between them, gaining force for the toss out into the turbulent waters. She left their hands as a small dark shadow, rising up, pausing for a brief moment, limned by soft moonlight, before vanishing below into the darkness of the water at night.

Without hesitation they turned and walked quickly back along the shore in silence, meeting Keeg standing guard over the punt. The silence stretched and strengthened as they picked up the punt, secured the pole, and steadily picked their way along the bank, back up the canal until they reached water with a pliable current.

They made their way back to the short ramp behind the business it belonged to just as the far distant edge of night began to lighten.

With tired half waves they parted company. Keeg and Dirix to their beds at Spechts; Kaz to walk the alleyways towards his storage unit.

Near dawn, Kaz burrowed thankfully into the dark of his temporary bunker, threw a handful of pain relievers down his throat with a gulp of water, then surrendered to sleep.

Chapter Text

His body had rested, his mind had not.

Carrying the weight of Annalisa’s body, feeling how it hung in the tarp, had sent memories up through his fingers, through his arms, and bunched in his shoulders, waiting for the moment he fell into sleep to creep up into his dreams.

The last image before his eyes had slowly opened had been of sun rays lighting tree branches throughout the woods back home, as though he were in his tree looking outward, as he had done many times. Strange how he now stared at the ceiling, his back anchored to a cot, his ears hearing vague sounds of the city through the walls, but felt the movement of his tree perch, the sense of waiting for Jordie or Da to find him, and yet peaceful with the wait. These dreams were worse than nightmares. A pall of sentimentality clung to him. He needed coffee.

Snorting with disdain, he rolled up and ground his teeth at the ball of fire in his thigh. After all that he’d done yesterday, with the fights and taking care of Annalisa, the muscles of his thigh would do better if he rolled them. But he hated the pain of the roller and only used it if absolutely necessary. And to do it before coffee? No. He’d just make his cane extra useful today.

He had many things to do, and he mentally listed each item in best order, but a part of him did not want to do any of it. A pale shadow of him was still sitting quietly in a tree watching the landscape. His body was lethargic. He felt vicious with himself and the world.

A perfect day for getting shit done.

He headed for the Kooperom, the café nearest Haskell’s Pawn Shop. Like the rest of the surrounding buildings, it was worn and tired, its sign filthy and barely readable. The inside matched the outside, and smelled like old grease. Kaz’s cane tip slid on the floor boards which made him wary. The person taking orders behind the counter was unsmiling and apathetic. There was only one other customer in the place, huddled over and scraping a fork over a mess on a plate.  

Kaz ordered a plate of eggs over easy, dry toast, and a cup of black coffee. Hopefully he’d survive the meal.

He took a seat along the wall, facing the door and front window. He set out his laptop, found an unsecured network and pulled up some search engines.

By the time his plate was set down on the cold counter for him to fetch, he had confirmed his suspicion.

She’d lied. There was no Imogen Jansen.

He salted his eggs and piled them onto the toast, biting into his breakfast sandwich, and following with a gulp of coffee. He was sixty percent sure the eggs were fine.

He navigated to the administrative website of the only high school serving the privileged teens of Ketterdam. He searched on Imogen, and the names of her friends. The names showed up together in three classes. The last name of that Imogen was Aten.

He found her address, her parents’ names, her grades, and her teacher’s comments alongside them. He raised an eyebrow at the tuition. The payment records showed the Aten family was currently paying for only one student, so if Imogen had siblings, they were at least four years older or younger.

Imogen was an above average student, but had yet to show a preference to one area of study. There was nothing of note in the disciplinary field.

He flipped back to a basic web search and entered her father’s name.

His body went rigid with fury at the search results. For a moment all he did was stare at the long list of news articles featuring Imogen’s father, in his role for the Kerch government.

Then he clicked and scanned each article thoroughly.

He thought through the timeline of when they had met and the death of Annalisa. He picked up his phone and opened ‘On Tap’ the social media app Jesper used. He searched on her name but found a bland, school girl profile account, and no pointer to the pic Jesper had taken of them all at The Treasure Chest. So, she kept her reputation clean, probably for her parents.

What were those girls doing with Barrel rats? Typical slumming for thrills or with them for a purpose? Or what the hell, maybe both. Kaz guessed, thinking back on Imogen’s gleaming eyes and cool smiles, and her lie, that it was probably both.

He pictured The Broker in his suit, and heard again his upper class voice and mannered speech. Two deceptions in one night, both from the wealthy and privileged side of Ketterdam. Did they think themselves protected and untouchable over there?

His jaw set as he contemplated playing the angles of the upcoming night at her house while her parents were away. He would get the truth and get himself, Dirix, and Keeg out unscathed. They didn’t belong on that side of town, with those kinds of girls. They belonged here.

It was time to walk this neighborhood, go into every store and restaurant and talk with people. He was going to ask for work and learn about the Dregs from the people living on their turf. He was going to place some bets. He was going to be seen and remembered. He would let himself be watched and see how long it took before Haskell noticed and how he responded. Kaz didn’t need a fancy education to understand cause, effect, and probability.

While he was at it, he would make chalk marks on buildings with unsecured internet. Marks hidden from the average onlooker, but for those in the know, identifying places with free wifi. Kaz was setting multiple cons. The productivity of the day crashed through the childish wish for the safety of his tree.

It was late afternoon when he began making his way out of Dreg’s territory and back toward the storage unit. He wasn’t in a hurry and his leg was weary. He had calmed from the surprise of Imogen’s father and set another task for himself. He would find the names of all those on the Merchants Council, the Kerch Government, and the top wealthiest families in Ketterdam and he would find out everything about them. He would know their families, their neighborhoods, and their schools. He would know their jobs, their colleagues, their servants, their debt-to-income ratios. He would know the gems in their jewelry cases, the cars in their multi-door garages, and the allowances given their children. And then, he would learn their secrets.

He needed an organization of his own. He needed a bunker. He needed boots on the ground, and butts in seats. He needed levels of loyalty, and levels of protection. He needed a portion, for now, of the power of The Barrel. He needed to be feared and respected.

Seeing The Broker at SpechtBox, so different than how Kaz had imagined him, had him questioning where to look for those who had killed Da and Jordie and destroyed his home. Instead of middle-aged retired military guys, or criminals, or vigilante thugs for hire, maybe they too wore suits and spoke in genteel tones. Maybe they too had inherited wealth and family estates. Kaz needed to be more than just smart, more than a tough from the Barrel: he needed the power to move big levers at the right time. 

Winning those poker games had got him noticed by the gangs and refusing first offers from the Liddies and the Black Tips had made people curious. Now that he knew who Imogen’s father was, he suspected he was now in the scope of a few other power brokers. But Kaz knew how to slip by a snare and he would move quickly before he too became a body in a tarp.

The setting sun was shooting beams of pink light from the far horizon beyond the harbors across the jumbled buildings of the Barrel, flashing gold from every piece of glass lit by them. It was nature’s pregame show before club fronts, event marquees, and car headlights lit up the night, drawing tourists and locals into expensive pleasures peppered with the lure of survivable risk.

Where others lusted for drinks or drugs, winning at games, or sex, Kaz lusted for spreadsheets calculating ever increasing profit margins. He walked by groups of people, talking loudly about their plans for the night, building their energy as they headed to the clubs; flash in both clothes and attitude. Someday they would be dropping their cash in his establishments.

He veered left, up the sidewalk across the street from the apartment building of Pim’s Aunt. Nearly to the end, he stopped to lean back against the wall of the much more modern building directly across from the apartment building. To the curious, he was a cripple taking a break from limping with a cane. To anyone who knew him well, his every action and inaction had a purpose to be aware of, including the perusal of a building.  

The front was painted dark blue with white window casings. The windows themselves were barred with iron grids for protection. There was a single panel door in white, with a transom window above. Next to the door were two rectangle windows that brought light into the entry and management office. The building had no forecourt, no balconies, and no decoration. It had a gray tile narrow gambrel roof. It had a basement, four main floors, and an attic. He knew it had a back door to a little-used alley, and a metal fire escape stair snaking from the second floor to the roof. The building didn’t draw attention in any way from those around it. It was as average and common as a building could get in this section of the city.

Per Kaz’s instructions, Anika had created a legal subsidiary to the LLC they had used to purchase the old club building over in Dregs territory. That purchase had used practically all of his poker winnings. Kaz was contemplating how to get the money to place an offer under the subsidiary to buy this building. It was perfect for the secret bunker he wanted in place. He would buy it and clear it of residents by raising the rent to a ridiculous price. Once clear, he and Pim could begin to make it fully secure and deceptively benign.

He’d been keeping an eye on shipments in the harbors, looking for something he could steal and sell to raise the money, but nothing small enough and valuable enough could be found. He didn’t have the space as yet to work with stealing and moving large amounts of anything. He couldn’t bump enough items off tourists for the kind of money he needed. After the bank had tripped over his skimming algorithm, he was lying low with that con as well. In the deepening blue of twilight, Kaz pushed off the wall and crossed the street to enter the building in the usual way, for a visit to Pim. For the first time, Kaz stood before Pim’s door and rapped on it like a normal person. His mouth quirked in humor and that is how Pim found him.

Pim was always a bit quiet, but he was now dimmed with fatigue too. He didn’t say anything as he stepped back and let Kaz move into the apartment. Because of the silence, Kaz heard the murmur of voices from behind Pim’s Aunt’s closed bedroom door. He gave a quick glance at Pim and rasped in a voice made rougher from talking all day,  

“You already have a visitor?”

Pim nodded, “A nurse social worker of some sort, I didn’t understand all of the initials after her name. Someone from my Aunt’s work sent her over unofficially after my Aunt gave notice and quit working.”

Kaz moved over to the table and took his place opposite Pim’s laptop. Pim came and settled into place and things seemed to return to normal for a brief moment. Kaz didn’t pull out his own laptop, just leaned back in his chair and asked,

“How are you situated when she passes?”

Pim’s eyes widened as he stared into Kaz’s sharp dark eyes and serious expression. Kaz watched as Pim blinked and looked away. Pim shrugged and looked back at Kaz, finally saying,

“She says the apartment is paid up through the year. She says she has a little savings, but that I will be on my own. You know I do dock work at night, so I will eat and stuff.” He shrugged again and jostled his mouse, causing the screen to brighten and reflect off the rounded curves of his cheeks and forehead, revealing tears at the corner of his eyes.

Kaz said, “That’s good. I have some online work for you to do too. I can’t pay much but it will be something.”

Pim shook his head and protested, “Kaz, there is no need to pay me. I owe you for helping my Aunt.” He leaned in and said in a lower voice, “The nurse brings her meds now, for free.”

Kaz ignored that and asked, “Did you get with Anika about recording fight sounds?” and away they went into game dev until almost an hour had passed and they returned to their actual surroundings by the sound of the bedroom door, rustling clothes, and a firm tread down the hall into the main room.

In walked a middle-aged woman with long dark hair with sides of silver pulled back and coiled at her nape. She wore dark grey scrubs, athletic shoes, and a smart watch on her left wrist. She had no jewelry of any kind, not even a wedding ring. Her eyes were black and piercing, her face smooth and calm. Over her shoulder she carried a utilitarian bag, presumably full of nursing items.

She tilted her head at the both of them sitting at the table, and said in a rasp of a voice similar to Kaz’s, “So, you DO have friends. Glad to see it.”

Pim huffed a breath and gave her a half smile.

She looked to Kaz, taking in his grey athletic wear, his back pack, his cane propped against the edge of the table, his probable age, his eyes far older, and held out her hand,

“Lena Morozova, or Nurse Lena. And you are?”

Kaz had shook hands with many people today, far more than he wanted. It had been part of his act of looking for a job in Dregs territory. His hand twitched in reluctance and she gave it a quick look, which was smart as he could easily have raised it from his lap with a gun or knife. She noted the gloves and watched his hand as he finally reached out to shake hers briefly. She looked at him with curiosity now, but without question turned back to Pim and said,

“No new instructions. Her time is very close. You will watch over her tonight and I will be back early tomorrow morning. If she seems in pain, go ahead and give her another tablet. No need to worry about side effects at this point.”

Pim nodded. Satisfied, she turned without further comment and walked to the door. Kaz stood up saying, “I’ll go ahead and walk you to your car.” He threw the backpack on and grabbed his cane. She watched his every step, again with assessing curiosity. She accepted his offer of escort without comment.

They walked down the stairs together, her leading the way, Kaz following out the door. Kaz could tell she had now fallen into medically assessing his gait as he walked, but still she made no comment. He almost liked her just for her silence. She approached a small compact navy blue car and said, “Thanks, this is me.”

She opened the door, threw her bag over into the passenger seat, and got behind the wheel. She shut the door and turned on the car but then lowered the window. Kaz had remained on the sidewalk where he would wait until she pulled away and he could surreptitiously take note of her license plate number. She looked over at him standing dimly in the dark street and said,

“He needs a friend.”

She pulled away as the window rose and Kaz had her plate number.

He mentally added her to the long list of people he would be conducting digital searches on tonight. Diligence would go a long way toward revealing hidden motives, secret identities, and potential enemies. He could thank Annalisa, Imogen, and The Broker for that.

Kaz stood alone in the street, under a thumbnail moon scything its way through the clouds overhead. Glancing at his watch, he took a sudden turn into a quiet alley that T-boned into another one and would cut some distance. This was one of the original alley ways, narrow and sloping, before the Kerch government decided streets should lie in grids of rectangles and squares. It was empty of objects as it didn’t have room for cars or garbage bins. With eyes fully adjusted to the dark, and his senses sharpened by experience, he knew the alley was also currently empty of people too; just a long, dark corridor of brick and closed doors. Kaz continued with his limp and cane, but remained alert as always.

Something wasn’t right. Sounds from the street were distant and muffled, and no closer sound registered. The shadows at the end of the corridor remained as they had from the beginning. The closed doors showed no gaps as he approached. There were no cameras mounted under eaves or along the walls or door frames. He glanced behind him and all was as it had been moments before. He glanced to the narrow rectangle of moonlit grey clouds two stories above, and nothing impeded his view.

And yet, the hair on his neck and forearms were raised. He kept his pace, but was now a coyote feeling the threat of a distant gun.

He came to the bifurcated turn into the next alley. He glanced right and turned left. Still no sound and no obvious threat. He continued to the street and down it, his cane thumping an uninterrupted rhythm against the concrete. He looked over his shoulder as though looking for traffic before crossing the street, but did not catch anyone coming out of the alley.

He thought quickly. At the next car driving nearby, or the next sound by someone on the street, he would find a place to hide and become silent. He was within easy distance from his storage unit, but didn’t want to lead anyone to his refuge. He would make one more detour down an alley. He waited for traffic but ended up taking advantage of what looked to be a fight between two occupants of a window-fogged car. The car rocked a bit before the passenger side door flew open and a young woman erupted out onto the sidewalk screaming back at the other person in the car. Kaz quickened his steps and slid into the next alley between nearly matching two-level apartment buildings. He lifted his cane, carried itand walked silently, placing himself within the shallow eaves of a door, becoming a silent shadow nested within shadows.

He slowed his breath and remained still. He concentrated on every sound and breath of movement. A male voice had joined that of the woman in the street. Then a car door slammed, an engine revved and tires screamed away. The car echoed its way out of the area and relative silence returned. He continued to wait. Paranoia saves lives, he thought with a smirk.

There was no sound of pursuit, and he wasn’t on high alert like back in the previous alley. But something, intuition or instinct, kept him from moving out of his concealment.

And then it happened again, a wave of heightened sensation, the hairs on his neck and arms raised. He then did the unthinkable, he closed his eyes. There was some illusion here and eyes were always the betrayers. Someone was near, and their feet weren’t treading pavement. Someone was traveling some other way, and he suspected it was on the roofs, since he used them himself on occasion. He was tired and he wasn’t up for climbing and searching for someone in the dark. He’d have to wait them out, hopefully get the chance to attack. In fact, he was ready to unleash everything he had on this opponent. To be dealing with this after the long day he had had, he wanted the grim satisfaction of cracking bones and spraying of blood. He opened his eyes in time to see a streak of soft black fly across the narrow strip of sky above. Someone had leapt the gap soundlessly! He still didn’t move and within a handful of minutes, his senses relaxed. The pursuer was gone.

To be certain, he retraced his steps away from where he was, looping around a longer detour to the storage unit. Nothing beyond drunks and drug pushers bothered him. And after a few thwacks, not even them.

He grabbed coffee and sweet rolls and finally let himself into his place. He set up his laptop and prepared to work down the list of people he would be researching: Pim’s Aunt’s accounts, Lena Morozova, Darden Van Braam, more on Imogen’s father, Jarl Brum, Matthias Helvar, Nina Zenik, owner and employees of the Kooperom, and then, yet again, check Jesper’s On Tap account. Which reminded him, look into the Menagerie and the Peacock.

He needed a clone of himself he thought, and actually laughed at the thought of what people would do if there were two of him, the sardonic humor of his face traced in the blue glow of his screen. 

Chapter Text

She’d lost her target in one of the many dark alleys of the slums of Ketterdam.  She replayed the moment in her mind but could only guess at how he had faded so silently into darkness. If she had kept just a bit closer to him the noise of the fighting couple from the car wouldn’t have masked his escape. But, she hadn’t quite gotten the rhythm of his limp and thud of the cane and so had kept a buffered distance from him; a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

What caused a young man to use a cane anyway? And what was he thinking walking dark and dangerous streets alone, disabled as he was?

She was alone as well, but had the advantage of being small and able to vault, jump, and move silently and quickly along the rooftops, through the branches of trees, and along the thick cables of electrical wires suspended between alleys and buildings. She wasn’t, as he was, treading the wet cement of streets enclosed by buildings, cars, industrial garbage bins, post office boxes, tourist kiosks, and broken junk left to rot.

And saints, the smell of it all! She had thought the putrid air of the shipping container she’d been locked into for nearly two weeks had been the limit of what her nose could handle, but the vents of air shooting up from narrow claustrophobic alleys assaulted her like a hard slap in the face. Should she ever need to run the rooftops of Ketterdam blind, she would know when to jump just by the smells.

This city was loud, garish, dangerous, and of no redeeming value with its casinos, bars, nightclubs, organized gangs, prostitution, drugs, and droves of rag people shuffling round the edges. She had seen many cities as a child performer with the Great Suli Circus Company of Ravka, admittedly from the window of her parent’s RV, but had never seen this side of any of them. Of course if she had seen streets like these from her window, she wouldn’t have been alone, and her parents would have instructed her toward gratitude of her own life’s blessings.

She stopped herself from bringing those memories into existence here in this hellhole, and focused on the descent of a brick building by the metal flashing for water runoff. It wasn’t well attached and she needed to be alert and silent. She dropped down only a few yards away from the pump house across the canal from The Menagerie Hotel. She approached alongside the closest building to it and waited, making sure she could walk to the pump house unseen.

When she was sure, she walked stealthily to the pump house door hidden by shrubs. She keyed in the code and passed through into the darkness within, closing the door quickly behind her. She waited another few breaths before placing her fingers over the top of her small flashlight and turning it on. She moved her arm around her, all four sides and above, verifying that she was alone.

Satisfied, she moved to the small metal-caged stairway that would take her under the canal and beneath The Menagerie Hotel to a door into the sub-basement and to the private elevator that accessed  the top three levels of the hotel. The dim lights of the sub-basement covered the corners and edges of the space with shadows. Her eyes canvassed them all as she walked swiftly to the elevator and pushed the button to call it to her. She waited with her back to it, facing outward into the basement, feeling vulnerable despite the quiet. The wait felt long, and her body, forced to rest, began to feel tired. When the elevator finally arrived, and the doors opened to empty space, she swiftly placed herself in the center, pressed the button for Aux 2, rolled her shoulders back, and stood in stillness pose: her weight solidly on all parts of her feet, spine in alignment, shoulders back, head centered, controlling her breath. She had been taught this pose practically from birth and she doubted it would ever leave her.

The elevator made no sound as it advanced upward so she kept her eye on the changing characters on the display, nerves ramping at the prospect of admitting failure to the Wolverine.

She had only been in Ketterdam a short while and she was justifiably wary of everyone, but especially the Peacock, the Wolverine, and the stiff in the business suit named Van Verent.

Just ten days ago she had ridden in this elevator trembling with fear. She had been filthy, undernourished, exhausted, terrified, and hauled around by two brutish men twice her height and many times her weight. They had groped her and spoken of her in their harsh language she didn’t understand, and had laughed at her fear with cold meanness in their eyes. Overwhelmed nearly to losing her mind, she had felt for the first time since her life had been stolen from her, for one brief moment, the wish to be back in the Apparat’s Ashram in Ravka. The elevator door had opened to the entry and common area of Aux 2, her new home should she prove useful and valuable.

The common area wasn’t like the charming and welcoming entry spaces of the lower levels of the hotel proper, or like the seductive sophistication of Aux 3, the floor of the Peacock, her lovely girls guarded by her brutish enforcers, the nexus of her escort services business. No, the entry and common area of Aux 2 was a sleekly designed, white and gray business space with a large centered table, rolling desk chairs, a huge video screen affixed over the space where windows would be, a high-end laptop sitting in the command chair, a coffee and snacks trolley, and shelves stacked with various tech gadgets and power cords. The left and right walls of the space were bisected by a hallway that led to individual hotel room doors.

That first time she had ridden this elevator, she had been dragged over the elevator gap and placed under the gaze of three people seated around the table. The first, seated at the command chair, was a deceptively average man of dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin, with a disturbingly expressionless face. He had been dressed in white cotton pants and matching white shirt jacket with a thick black belt knotted around his trim waist, the ends of which had many gold bars. His dark hair had been pulled back into a small bob tail. He leaned back at ease in his chair, detached from the others, yet intensely present in his stillness.

He had looked her over in an assessing way, which she now knew was a necessary part of his role as Van Verent’s Director of Training. He was introduced as the Wolverine.

The second man seated at the table that night, with shoulders resting higher along the chair back than those of the Wolverine, drooped within his tailored grey wool suit, silver dress shirt, and teal and grey striped tie. He wore a silver-toned watch on his left wrist that glittered with diamonds and was matched by a wedding ring on his finger, also glittering with diamonds. His pale face had thin wet lips, a bulbous nose, and flat blue eyes that had flown swiftly over her body and face first with interest, then with disdain. With scraps of remaining grey hair slicked across his mottled dome of a head, she had been grateful to be found undesirable. His right hand had cradled an iced beverage with the casual grace of the privileged. She now knew him to be Van Verent, the wealthy Kerch hotelier.

Next she had looked to the woman sitting across the table from the men. She was white gold elegance in sculpted white marble, rose hued lips, and the seductive pull of hooded blue eyes, and gold spun silky straight hair flowing down her long neck and shoulders. She wore a tailored gown of raw silk in teal, diamond lace earrings draped gently amongst her hair, and her uplifted cleavage, showcased a large diamond pendant. An elegant, highly polished figure of a woman, with her long toned legs crossed and on deliberate display, leading the eye to beautiful feet arched into the highest teal silk heels she had ever seen. She found herself painfully embarrassed when the woman had murmured “Oh my!” in Ravkan and had sighed softly before continuing in a cultured, lilting voice, “Please be better than you look.” She was the Peacock.

Van Verent had frowned, and said something in Kerch, in a very sharp and frustrated tone.

The tone scraped her raw and she had shot at him in Ravkan, “You sit for two weeks in a metal cage with crackers and water and see how well you look!” Every eye had fixed on her, every face held a frown, and she immediately wanted to pull the words back inside, but they had been delivered and noted.

She saw the Peacock’s eyes narrow to a threatening glare, her flower pillow lips tighten and twist, the long elaborately decorated nail of her fore finger press into the table with deliberate intensity. She doubted her life had minutes remaining.

Then the Wolverine spoke in fluent Ravkan, “I see potential. You are assigned room 4. You are to shower, eat and drink everything that is brought to you, and sleep. I will send for you to join me here tomorrow. Good night.”

He had then gestured to a young man in a hotel branded shirt and slacks that she had not noticed in her tiredness and distress, who stepped away from the far wall and gestured for her to follow. He had led her to a largish room, certainly larger than anything she had ever had to herself, including her bedroom in her parent’s home. It had a queen bed, two bedside tables with lamps, a desk, a desk chair, an armchair and settee, a double sided closet, a dresser, a console with a small refrigerator and microwave, and a private bathroom with a shower and sink and toilet and full length mirror. In the main room, the walls were bare of decoration except for a wide video screen and associated computer tower and keyboard. The only thing the room lacked was a window. The only exit was the door to the common room.

The boy had also pointed to a pile of folded clothing which turned out to be a pair of joggers and a long-sleeved shirt and a black banded device. He touched the device and then lifted his pant leg, showing how he had such a device attached to his ankle. He touched the one on the clothes and looked at her ankle. She nodded. He then pointed to a piece of paper and a pencil and made the motion of writing in the air above it. She saw it written in Ravkan and was a list of clothing and shoe items with blanks for her to indicate her sizes. With shaky hands she wrote what she knew. He took the list with him when he left.

Later, completely showered and uncomfortably full of regular food, she had lay with the table lamp on, waiting for sleep, but there had just been too many changes, too many fears to fully relax.

She fell out of her thoughts as the elevator gave her stomach a swoop as it stopped and settled. The doors slid open to the Wolverine alone at the table, watching her appear with his usual expressionless stare.

She glanced up at the video screen and saw the screen was split into two displays, one an aerial view of the city of Ketterdam, with street, canal, and building names; the other a list of code names, hers in the fourth row, listed in a chart. Every other code name had ‘report saved’ next to it, showing that she was in fact the last of the cohort to check in. She lifted her chin and walked with a show of confidence to her place at the table, swallowing against the nausea of anxiety, in completing this first report as a spy.

The Wolverine tapped his mouse, clicking on her code name Lynx in the legend of the map display, and the computer drew the course she had taken tonight in bright green. She took in a quick breath. Despite feeling freedom in being allowed away from the hotel on her own, despite the feeling of freedom being outside and hidden in the shadows, she had in fact been tracked the whole way. The Wolverine then set the cursor on the other side, clicking on the report function under the name Lynx. Her eyes quickly scanned the prompts, and prepared to give answers that would find favor.

She had learned much in these past ten days of training under the Wolverine.

With its open harbors and island protectionism, and isolation from the ongoing war between Ravka, Fjerda, and Shu Han, Ketterdam had become known as a neutral training ground for spies, or as they would call themselves, independent military contractors. The Apparat, while publicly espousing a philosophy of non-violence, had seen this as a golden opportunity to create a secret warrior force devoted to his religious community, the Cult of the Sun Saint.

It had not been explained how the Apparat knew and trusted Van Verent or the Peacock, only that he had business relationships with both. The Peacock had offered up a bit of information as she swept the whole table of girls a malicious glance, that she willingly took on the burden of taking in cast-offs from the Apparat’s Ashrams and training them to become escort service providers. Every one of the girls at the table had remained still and without expression at this, but within her a shrill voice had begun screaming, echoes ricocheting in waves through her heart, mind, throat, and guts; all the places she had been taught that centered energy in the body, all of them had resounded with her inner anguish. Please Saints, let me win a place beyond the Peacock, beyond ‘service provider.’  But the Peacock’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, taunting them all with a smug assurance that she would get them in the end. The Peacock had gone on to reveal the reason the Apparat had thought them special enough to be included in this first cohort of warrior spies. The Lynx had been recommended for her acrobat and knife throwing skills.

One of the three, and she was guessing it had been the Peacock, had decided the code names of this first cohort for the Apparat would represent animals of a menagerie: her own was the Lynx, the others were the Wolf, the Mare, the Fox, the Serpent, the Fawn, and the Leopard. Seven in total, sent from Ashrams around the globe. And just like animals in a zoo, each of them had been tagged with subcutaneous locator devices in place of the ankle trackers they’d been given upon arrival. The sublocs used the cell towers throughout Ketterdam to triangulate their locations as they stalked and preyed upon their targets.

The Wolverine told them in their first meeting that he had nearly two decades of formal military training in close combat, weapons, surveillance, infiltration, psych ops, and urban warfare. He also spoke the six main languages of the Grishaverse and had a Master’s Degree in Computer Information Services. He was obviously not an Ashram cast-off, but why he was working for Van Verent was an interesting question.

He imposed a warrior code of no drinking alcohol, no sex, consistent sleep hours, eating of farm fresh foods, regular blood panel tests, no drugs, yoga, pilates, ring training, martial arts, weapons training, placement of electronic surveillance devices, use of computers, hacking, and training in a small gym facility “associated” with the Van Verent hotel in Ketterdam. Strangely, he also insisted upon three prayer sessions per day, morning, evening, and just before sleep. The prayers were from an old book titled, The Lives of the Saints, and she wondered if the Apparat knew they were not praying from his own more modern book.

Her eyes returned to the first prompt in Ravkan: Target Acquisition. She reported how she had found Brekker crossing from Dregs territory into an as yet unclaimed portion of the Barrel and how he had stood for some time looking at an average apartment building. She did not mention her surprise at his height, the strength of his stride despite the cane and limp. She did not mention his intensity, his focus on every person, car, doorway, alleyway within sight. She wondered why he had been chosen as a target. None of them had been told much about their targets beyond the details of their appearance, where they lived, and where they could most likely be found. The Wolverine had said these were random targets chosen for beginners, but from watching him for only a few hours she knew her target could turn dangerous.

After she gave the Wolverine the details of all she had seen, he had opened another program they were to use to create evidence boards. Working quickly in silence, he showed her how to create a file with Brekker as a large circle, a couple smaller circles for the woman he escorted to a car in the street, and for whomever he had visited in the apartment building. He set these against a background map of Ketterdam, establishing location. He placed a red line between the apartment building and where she had lost him to an alley, and then set a dotted line with no terminus to show that there was potentially a home location on a trajectory from that point.

She hesitated, watching his face and listening to his voice, at apologizing for losing her target. What did his silence about it mean? Would her punishment be less if she brought it up herself?  She wanted to ask if anyone else had had trouble with their targets. She took a deep breath, steeling herself to bring it up, when he suddenly turned his head from the screen, and snapped his gaze to her face. He leaned back and let his hands drift off the keyboard. He said in Ravkan,

“You need to sleep better when you get the opportunity. Go to bed. Tomorrow when you log on to the system you will find my instructions in the field notes on what to research before following Brekker again.”

Exhausted from her time on the rooftops and from the tension of her fears, she nodded and took herself to her room. She wanted to think he was kind, but experience had taught her to not imagine kindness where there was none.

Yet the Wolverine’s dismissals were so different from those of the Apparat that, once her door clicked closed, she pressed her back against it in a flood of relief. Who knew how long this reprieve would last; she would enjoy every second of relative safety she was given.

Still, she did not drop her guard, not here in her own room, or in her own bathroom. She would not be surprised to learn that they were monitored through video and sound even while in their private, individual rooms. She did not strip herself of her clothing and walk freely. She kept her clothes on and changed items as modestly as possible. She conformed her habits to those they expected, and knelt at her bed and prayed aloud as they had been instructed, to Sankt Juris:

Sankt Juris, protector of soldiers, guard me with warmth this night so I may live to continue the fight tomorrow, in your name, so be it.

She turned out the light and crawled beneath the blankets and curled on her side, folding one cold foot around the other, and tucking her cold hands beneath her cheek. Then she prayed her own prayer to Sankta Marya:

Dear Sankta Marya, hold back any impending doom from falling upon me, and guide me safely onto the path of my way back home, in your name, so be it.

Just as she slipped into sleep, the form of a young man, dark-eyed with gleaming dark hair, walked across her vision with a scowl upon his face. Her mouth ticked up at one corner and held for a moment, before letting go.

Chapter Text

On the second chaotic and gasp-inducing tour around the University Starbucks, Fahey gave a loud woot and swung the car with dizzying speed into an incredibly narrow space for the midsize luxury car he had chose for tonight’s mission. Kaz had requested a car that wouldn’t alert every security guard on every property within Imogen’s gated community that there were gym rats roaming their streets.

Kaz had pushed them into arriving 30 minutes early so they got out for drinks together looking like a coed baseball team getting caffeine before practice. Each wore a version of grey or black athletic wear, baseball caps, and batting gloves as directed by Kaz at the all-hands meeting they’d had at SpechtBox earlier.

Kaz had walked into the break room that morning, poured his first coffee of the day in his old Vader mug, waited for their attention and then delivered, with the same methodical and deadly skill he used in the ring, Imogen’s true last name, the true last names of Dirix and Keeg’s girlfriends, the privileged lifestyle all three lived, and the upscale school they all attended. He had followed those blows with the kill shot of the role Imogen’s father played in Ketterdam.

They listened to his instructions thereafter with greater attention than usual and were on board with his plans, at least with what they knew of them.

They should expect to be under surveillance at all times and were to keep their chins down and their hats on. They were to keep their gloves on, and not let their bare hands touch smooth surfaces that could be fingerprinted. Any bottles or glasses from which they ate should pack out or hand washed themselves. And Kaz would be leaving his unique Crow cane at home.

They would not be going in Imogen’s car to her house; Fahey would drive them in their own car so they could leave when they wished, but he would not join them in the house. Kaz had pulled up a map of Imogen’s neighborhood on his laptop and shown Fahey where to park and wait for 15-minute intervals before driving and parking at a new location.

Kaz would text when to come back to the house and the guys would be waiting. Anika, imagining Jesper alone in a car in that kind of neighborhood for what might be hours, announced:

“I’ll go and stay with Jesper in the car. If anyone comes to see what we’re up to hovering around in the streets, we can look like a couple trying to find a good make-out spot.”

Fahey had grinned and tried to slide his arm around the back of Anika’s chair and she had tried to stab him with a fork in retaliation. Kaz had ignored them and tersely declared that he would be approaching Haskell of the Dregs after the headliner sports events and their subsequent paying of bets played out this weekend. This returned the room to silence as he offered all of them ways to help with those plans too. It was going to be a busy and important weekend.

Pushing their way into the ever-crowded Starbucks, they got in line while Kaz went to grab a table with a view of the parking lot.

A group of students looking for a larger table than the one they had, made a move to quickly swap to the one Kaz was heading to, but Kaz cut directly in front of the student leading the charge and unhurriedly took a seat at the table.   

The student protested, “You don’t need a big table for your party of one! Be a gentleman and let us swap with you.”

Kaz was decidedly not in the mood for this. Have them try this move anywhere in the Barrel, he thought. He stretched out his arms across the chairs next to him, leaned back with an obnoxious smirk and said,

“You don’t need this bigger table. You need an empty field to roam as the cows you are.” At their gasps of outrage, his smile sharpened.

The group returned to their smaller table, except for the protester who continued, “This is some rude bullshit. You are an evil little gimp!”

A hand reached out and pulled the back of the person’s shirt, but they remained pugnaciously facing Kaz and the table, only to watch as Dirix, Keeg, Fahey, and Anika all arrived and stood silent and amused. Finally abashed the person returned to their group and Anika, taking a seat next to Kaz and setting his Americano down in front of him, muttered, “You really need to develop your midair choke hold, Vader.”

At this Kaz’s smile melted from malicious to a genuine quirk of the lips.

To give them something to talk about in such a public place, Kaz pulled up On Tap app on his phone, found Fahey’s account and clicked on a recent post that included two dealers and in the far background, two enforcers at The Gold Strike.

“How did you do at this table with this dealer?” Kaz asked, and Fahey gave his captive audience an impromptu report of his escapades and varied fortunes at gambling establishments throughout the Barrel. His stories had them laughing and talking smack, putting them in a party mood just in time to watch Imogen and the girls pull up in a luxury sports car and step out looking very attractive and excited. Not that Kaz cared, but it was a bonus that the girls were dressed casually in jeans and pretty tops so that his crew’s athletic gear wouldn’t be so far off.

Seeing how Imogen looked in her tight jeans had Kaz rethinking again certain parts of his plans.

He had seen Dirix and Keeg with their girls cuddled on their laps, their arms wrapped around them. He had watched while seeming to look elsewhere, how the guys petted and kissed the girls, murmuring in their ears as they laid back against them. He had seen their eyes glazed with the pleasure of touch.

Here was his chance to try that with a very pretty girl who seemed open to wanting that with him. But, now that he knew who these girls were, it was difficult believing their attraction was not faked in order to use them somehow. 

He had already imagined what it might be like to touch Imogen, to hold her in his lap, to have her laugh and to look at him with her green eyes. Could he do it? Could he make those eyes glaze with the pleasure of his touch? Could he coax her to tell him the truth of her attraction to him?

She arrived at their table with a wide smile, with her light blond hair flowing over her shoulders and shifting with the slight breeze of moving bodies in a small space. She had the glow of expensive make up and gold gleamed at her ears and slid along a chained path down her chest. She tilted her head to one side as her glance took in the extra couple of Fahey and Anika at the table. If she was upset to find Anika once again sitting next to Kaz, no shadow of it appeared in her expression. The other girls had already moved to hug Dirix and Keeg in their chairs.

“Well, I guess this means we all sit in someone’s lap on the drive home as my car only has four seats. Hopefully we won’t be noticed by police,” she said.

Kaz smiled and said, “If I was an officer of the law, I’d let you off with a warning and my phone number.”

Fahey fell back in his chair with a thud and was heard under the sound of Imogen’s laughter saying, “Really, the basic cop and pretty girl role play? That’s what you got?”

Without looking away from the pretty blush of Imogen’s cheeks, Kaz replied, “Really, the protesting pretty boy move? That’s what you got?”

“Aw, he called me pretty!” said Fahey.

Kaz rolled his eyes and said, “No need for too many in your car. Fahey will drive us and drop us off. He and Anika have other things to do and will pick us up later so you won’t have to be out late in our part of town.” He watched Imogen’s face closely for upset with this change to her plans. She just shrugged and said,

“If that’s how you want it, that’s fine. Shall we head out now? There is plenty to eat and drink for free at my house.”

As they walked out to the cars Kaz overheard Fahey introducing himself to the girls and assuring them that he would keep up, even if he had to gun it across a red light. Imogen guaranteed she would not make him do that, that he shouldn’t freak out when the guards to the community took his license plate number, and told him to keep to her bumper when she stopped at the gated entry to her drive. Fahey saluted her instructions and took the driver’s seat. She then turned to Kaz and asked him to join her in her car, which had everyone deciding to pair up: Dirix and his girl, Kaz and Imogen in the sports car, Keeg and his girl in the backseat of Fahey’s car, with Anika next to him.

Before they pulled away from the parking lot, Imogen dropped her phone into Kaz’s lap with a music streaming app open saying,

“Here, set us up with whatever you like.”

He looked at the screen and tapped her library, certain that she would not have any of the music they played in continuous loop in the gym. No metal shred music for girls from over this side of the Geldstraat part of town. He saw an album he knew because of Anika and selected it, and within minutes had created a playlist of tracks that would carry them the distance. Before he had quite finished, she looked over and asked,

“What’s taking so long?”

“Making a playlist to remember this first visit to your place,” he said, and sending a download of your contacts, photos and emails to my own phone.

As he set her phone down in its holder, the song began,   

“Have you got colour in your cheeks?
Do you ever get the fear that you can't shift the type
That sticks around like summat in your teeth?
Are there some aces up your sleeve?
Have you no idea that you're in deep?”

Imogen laughed and said, “Do I Wanna Know why you chose this song?”

He smiled at her play with words but let the music play without talking over it, and watched as the world began changing around them, as stores and businesses gave way to streets with large expanses of grass and long established trees. Where streets were uncluttered by parked cars and roadside mailboxes. Where everything average was hidden. The houses moved further from the roads, tucked away, safe and secure, behind metal fences and elaborate gates. It was a twenty minute plus drive to Imogen’s parent’s house and it seemed everyone was content to listen to the music and drift along without much chatter. Well, the two in the back were making noises, but it wasn’t conversation.

Kaz tracked through the side mirror the car behind them and noted Fahey could in fact keep up and not cause trouble. Kaz noted the outfits worn by the community entrance guards as general good-to-know intel.

Finally she turned into a long drive fronted with two tall pillars of river stone that served as the terminus of black perimeter fencing from each direction and as the stanchions for an ornate black iron decorative gate, with wide wood panels blocking the sight lines to the buildings beyond. Imogen pulled to a digital keypad and entered an 8-digit code that Kaz immediately memorized. The gate rolled open and Imogen pulled through quickly and Fahey right behind. Then they were traveling a long smooth drive to a keyhole courtyard with a water fountain, blooming flower beds, and a stair case of smooth caramel colored stone to an exceptionally tall and wide double door of glass, wood and black iron, in the same style as the gate.

This was as close as any of them had ever been to such wealth and property. It was immaculately clean too. It reeked of expense. Kaz was impressed, but he was innately practical and a property like this was a graveyard for kruge. He preferred his money to make more money.

As they all got out of the car, the guys kept their chins tucked so the brims of their hats shaded their eyes and upper portion of their faces. Kaz counted four main cameras mounted along the front of the house. Imogen moved up the eight stone steps to the huge front doors and keyed in a 4-digit code, which he now knew. It felt a bit awkward and overdone to come in this way for a small date night get-together. He was sure there was a less imposing entrance used by family and staff but Imogen was choosing to take the guys from the Barrel through the pomp of the front door for full effect.  

Imogen only seemed to realize then that Fahey and Anika had not left their car. Anika leaned out her window and said,

“We got things to do. How do we get out of here? And what should we do when we come back?”

Imogen said, “Are you sure because there’s room for more if you’d like to stay and hang out.”

Anika shook her head and said in a mournful tone, “Nah, I got family obligations and Jesper owes me one. Maybe next time.”

“Too bad. So just head out and when I see your tail lights, I will open the gate from the control panel in the entry. When you come back, just let Kaz know and we can drive everyone down in the golf carts.”

Anika threw a look at Kaz. Standing behind Imogen, he threw one back. Yeah, so they were a little out of their element.

He was already grateful for how they dressed and their care in front of the security cameras. He didn’t want a security alert to her father’s phone, and a possible call to the police to drop by the house and check things out. It would be better to look like average school kids, over to drink free alcohol and explore whatever else.  

Since there was a non-zero chance they would be targeted by Imogen’s father after tonight, Kaz would make it worth the trouble. He intended to investigate every security measure on this property, note every camera, the brands and types of door locks, know the location of safes, of control panels, where the staff had residence, and grab all data possible.  

The door it opened smoothly creating a dramatic threshold moment. Kaz and Imogen stepped over together and she hit the switch of a huge crystal chandelier that instantly flooded every marble surface, the floor, the center accent table, the side tables, the flower stands, with ribbons of light and refraction. It was a deliberately overwhelming blow to the senses.

The room in all its glory was a frame for the larger-than-life-sized painted portrait of a beautiful young bride in an ornate white lace and satin gown, with a train displayed in the foreground as the woman looked over her bare shoulder toward the viewer, one long white delicate arm dropped elegantly along her side to where she held a bouquet of white flowers, which Kaz knew were roses, lilies and carnations. Typical flowers for weddings, the bouquet promised purity and new beginnings. The woman was quite clearly Imogen’s mother, with the same gold hair and brilliant green eyes.

This painting was no mere remembrance of a meaningful moment, but rather a placard proclaiming ownership, thought Kaz, thinking of the one small, black and white online photo he had of his mother.

Under cover of gawking with awe, Kaz quickly looked at the multiple levels of nested decorative molding for hidden cameras and sensors.   

Imogen saw the effect of the room on their faces and shook her head saying, “Okay, enough of this, let’s head to the fun part of the house!”

Kaz asked in a playfully mournful tone, “Wait, we don’t get the full tour?”

The other two couples made groaning noises. Imogen laughed and began walking down the hall directly beneath the portrait, calling behind her: “I will be happy to give you a personal tour, Kaz. But first, everyone follow me.”

She took them through a door at the end of the wood paneled hall, into a huge gathering room with vaulted ceilings with multiple groupings of chairs and sofas, some near the stone fireplace and others near the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a currently twilight dimmed panoramic view of the elaborate gardens at the back of the home. Dirix gave a long low “Dammmnnnnn.”

Kaz scanned the room but only saw more collectibles and original paintings than notable security features. Imogen kept them walking quickly across the room, asking them to not walk on the thick decorative carpets with their outdoor shoes. He made note of the patterns and colors of the carpets to look up their value online.

They continued to follow her single file as they walked through a door and down another wood coffered hallway with a picture window at the end. The black perimeter fence was quite a distance from the house in this direction. As they came closer to the window, there appeared a small stairwell toward the back of the house and Imogen suddenly stopped with a huff of frustration.

“I guess Mrs. Baugher has left the closing of the draperies to me since I asked her to keep out of the main house tonight.” And she reached over to a remote control sitting in a holder by the window, and pressed a button. Drapes closed across the window with the low hum of a small motor.  “Looks like I need to go through the house and close all the drapes, so I am glad you want a tour!”

She began a light jog down the stairs that dropped them two flights into a huge room divided into large sections by partial wall dividers. The open area had a pool table, a billiards table, an air hockey table, a foosball table, and a bank of arcade games standing alongside each other. On the right side of this expanse was a half wall divider that set aside a small kitchen area with a refrigerator, a microwave, an oven, and a drinks bar. The counter space had baskets filled with various single packaged snacks. A bar top counter had a row of chairs, creating a casual eating space.

On the left side of the expanse was a black floor-to-ceiling wall divider that set aside black leather recliners with individual drink tables, all facing a video screen that spanned the entire wall. This was obviously the movie room she had mentioned in her original invite. Looking back over the main area, Kaz noted two cameras, each placed in diagonal corners, providing sight into each section. He stepped closer to Imogen, catching her attention, and let his gaze caress over her bright eyes, her high cheekbones, her small smile, and said, “I see cameras everywhere. Does this mean everything we do will be filmed tonight?”

Her cheeks flooded with color and her friends giggled.

“No, these aren’t turned on right now and aren’t in the loop with the house security because this room is underground and there is nothing to steal in here.”

“Interesting. I’ve never lived anywhere that needed security. So one only puts cameras and sensors on the main floor of a mansion? Or does one also protect against helicopters landing on the rooftop?” Kaz asked.

“Let’s release our friends to start the party while I give you what may end up being a very in-depth tour!” she said with a laugh. 

Dirix was immediately pulled toward the pool table while Keeg asked for something to drink and was led to the bar. Imogen turned back to Kaz and hesitated before the stairs. He gestured for her to lead and followed closely, noticing her hips swaying before him up each step. While years of gym training had strengthened the quads and hip flexors of his bad leg, numerous trips of the stairs were going to make him regret not having his cane. He asked,

“Does a mansion like this have an elevator too?”

The answer was yes, and the question got her started on what felt like a much practiced guided tour. Kaz gave it his full attention, creating a mental blueprint of the mansion and a catalog of items.

They walked back through the wood coffered hallway but before entering the great gathering room, Imogen took him through two doors, one leading to her mother’s day room with a desk, chair, book case, and sofa and chair grouping around a low tea table. There were fresh bouquets of flowers, and a large framed photograph of a different estate, although it looked Kerch. When he asked, she told him it was her grandparent’s estate outside Ketterdam city limits. The other room was called the Tech Library and had a computer station, printer, copy machine, a video screen with various media components, a bookcase display of peripherals storage, a coffee table, and seating for about six people.

Back in the great gathering room Imogen moved to another remote control set in a holder on the wall and huge sections of fabric rolled down from above the windows, to thud softly on the carpeted floor.

Also on the main floor was a day room, which faced the courtyard and was a sitting room for visitors who would not be advancing further within the house. It had a breakfast room, which had a casual feel about it with a country kitchen table and wood chairs, and simple buffet table along one wall. The wood coffered hallway on this side of the house featured a butler’s pantry along one side and at the end was another stairwell bringing one to an astonishingly large basement kitchen. The appliances were all commercial restaurant size and Kaz made mention of how it was a lot for a three person family. Imogen said sure, but the house was made at a time when families entertained on a grand scale, and the house had been a gift from her mother’s family upon her marriage to her father, and they lived there as simply as they could. Kaz nodded as though this made any kind of sense.

The basement kitchen had two interesting features to Kaz: an exterior door to a small courtyard concealed by shrubbery and a large shade tree; and a large, very useful elevator. Imogen said it was used by staff for moving laundry, delivering food to the main banquet on the second floor, and moving any furniture between floors. She mentioned that staff and family used it frequently rather than climb the main stairs or the narrow servant stairs built within the walls in the custom of an earlier era. Imogen declared them haunted and really scary and completely off limits. Kaz let it go, but made a mental note to find original blueprints of this house.

She paused before stainless steel elevator doors and pushed the button. As the doors swished open, Kaz only just realized the intimacy of them sharing such a small enclosed space together. This was the perfect moment to try to seduce her into answering his questions. Unsure of how to begin, he directed himself in the scene: follow her into the elevator, stand close to her, look at her, and will her to make the first move.

She turned to him and looked up due to their slight height difference. He noticed she had not pushed the button after the doors closed, just stood in the enclosed space, and gazed up at him with a slight smile. He got the message; she wanted him to kiss her. He had imagined this, he could do this. He just needed to…he was startled out of his thoughts as she turned and pressed the button for the second floor.

At the lift of the elevator, her eyes were back with his. His hand lifted to touch her face, and he felt the pull of the fabric of the glove across his finger tip. His hand froze before it landed on her cheek. She looked to his hand, taking stock of the fabric encased finger so near her face. It was so unusual, it stopped them both.

Her eyes narrowed and she drew back to look him fully in the face, saying “I assumed you wore the gloves because of the constant wear of the cane handle on your hands, but you don’t have your cane with you tonight and yet are still wearing the gloves.”

He dropped his finger lightly to her cheek, and her eyes startled wide. He dragged it softly to her chin, and followed the motion with his gaze. Her expression softened and she swayed closer to him but they were interrupted by the sway of the elevator settling on the second floor. As they eased back from each other, Kaz smirked and in a soft rasp asked, “Does it matter?”

She shook her head at him, mockingly prim, as they headed out into another corridor with many doors, and she became again a tour guide, opening doors and describing how each room was decorated and how it was used. She continued with her chore of closing all the drapes. He would look for another opportunity.

The second floor rooms were the most interesting to Kaz as these were the rooms in which the social interactions happened, where the rich and powerful gathered. There was a large banquet room nearest the elevator, with a side corridor for staff to wheel trolleys of food and whisk trays of wine through discreet doorways; and with the largest and most glitzy bathroom Kaz had ever seen just across the hall.  

As they crossed the front center portion of the floor, directly above the great room below, was a wide open music lounge with numerous groupings of soft velvet chairs and sofas surrounding a baby grand piano on a slightly raised dais in the center. This beautiful and seductive area was accessible on two sides from the stairways that Kaz had first seen in the entry room below, those that had bracketed the impressive portrait of Imogen’s mother in her bridal gown. But there was another door to the left of the left side stairs: a stainless steel, utilitarian single-panel door with a keypad.  Imogen did not stop by it or even mention that door, and with her silence, Kaz knew that this was the door he had been waiting for. Instead, she continued through the music lounge and down a corridor with only two doors, staggered by a few feet on opposite walls, making for very large rooms on each side. She opened the door to the room toward the back of the house and indirect lights, tucked behind ceiling soffits, automatically came on. The room had matching off-white furniture. The four poster bed was ridiculously large, stood more than hip distance from the floor, and was a cascade of satin and lace. It stood as a barge for many differently shaped pillows. The walls had framed paintings of various white flowers. Two additional doors flanked the bed posts, one that proved to be a walk-in closet of items meticulously placed, floor-to-ceiling, according to color, size and type; Kaz could only guess at the collection of accessories that probably sat within the tall, narrow chests of drawers. One unique chest sat below and discreet spotlight, in the center of a built-in cosmetic station and mirror. The top of which was an engraved, filigreed monogram of a small I, a large A, and small M.

Ah, his next opportunity. He moved over to the chest and traced the letters with his gloved hand, as slowly and gently as he had her face. He found her eyes in the mirror, and said,

“Imogen, you’ve worked at being a mystery, but since I now stand in your bedroom, perhaps it’s time I know your full name?”

She sighed and looked away, then moved to a rack of perfectly aligned shoes and began fussing nervously with laces as she said,

“And what would your monogram be?”

Ah, deflection. Good. Proof there were secrets to discover.

“My family couldn’t afford three names. My chest of valuables would only have K and B on them.”

“I looked up your family name and couldn’t find anyone with it anywhere near here. Did your family move here recently?”

Kaz was amused, “You searched for me and my family but won’t tell me your name?”

“Everyone searches everyone these days and it’s Imogen Maes Aten.”

“Maes Aten, now those are some big names here in Ketterdam.”

She sighed again still facing away from him. He turned back to the chest and flipped the lid upwards revealing, as he had guessed, an expensive collection of matched sets of earrings, necklaces and bracelets. A couple unique lapel pins and a few older, possibly inherited pieces. One was slightly tarnished silver, with another monogram, an M flanked by a K and I. Kaz guessed this pin was from her namesake on her mother’s side.

He caught her eyes in the mirror again, still on the far side of the closet room. She said nothing about his looking at her jewelry, nothing about his comment on her names.

He raised an eyebrow at her. When she still said nothing, he dropped the lid down and walked over to her.

“Are we sufficiently introduced now, for you to tell me the truth of why you and your friends have been over in the Barrel and hanging with gym rats?”

She startled and then looked embarrassed. Possibly noting the intimacy of being confronted in her closet, she turned and walked back into the bedroom and grabbed hold of one of the bed posts to pull herself up into sitting on top of it. She patted the spot next to her like a flirty invitation. Kaz shook his head and lowered himself in the accent chair set nearby, saying,

“I can’t believe you are allowed to sit on that bed, let alone some guy in gym gear.”

 “Kaz,” she said, looking down at her feet as they gently kicked the ruffled satin duster of the lower third of the bed. “Look, even though I have only just met you and I did have a reason to go looking for you, I find I also like you and my friends are sincerely chasing after their feelings with your friends.” She looked at him through her lowered lashes to see how he took this. He leaned back in the chair; each arm draped along an armrest, his knees wide and jutting up, and watched her attempt to coax him into something. She continued,

“I began hearing of a young guy winning lots of money in hush games, and that-“

“Really?” he shot at her with rough sarcasm. “How did the princess in her tower hear about the winner of backroom poker matches in the Barrel?”

No, he was not going to make this nice and easy. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for the long game of seducing information from another. He felt the urge to jab and dodge until his opponent dropped.  He sneered,

“Stop serving me puff pastry lies and let’s get to why the only daughter of Commander Aten of the Stadwatch and his lovely upper crust bride, Karolina Maes, from one of the richest and oldest Kerch families is pretending to...” He couldn’t bring himself to finish with any of the terms “be attracted to, flirt, be a girlfriend of.” His brain could do it, but his pride didn’t want to hear her laugh it off. Lucky for him she felt the need to finish,

“I’m not pretending! I want to be your…friend and yes, I want to ask a favor.”

A favor… His mind spun quickly through the remainder of his plans for the night, and how they might need to change if the only child of Commander Aten could be levered into owing him a favor. This had great potential. He rolled his hand, impatient for her to continue. She sputtered into an explanation nowhere near as practiced as her tour guide spiel.

“I imagine that your life has been rougher than mine (Kaz snorted) but mine does have its troubles (but your inheritance more than offsets your suffering, thought Kaz). I don’t want to sit in a house like this and hostess my life away. I want to go into criminal investigation work like my father (do not react, do not react). But this is already an unresolved war in my family. The Maes were very unhappy with my mother marrying a detective and have not changed their mind with his promotion to Commander of the Stadwatch, which, let’s be honest, they probably bought for him (interesting intel thought Kaz). All of what you see here has been given over from the Maes. The last thing anyone in this family wants is for me to choose that same career path.”

And this was why he didn’t watch television or go to movies, he thought, his inability to care for banal sob stories. They made him impatient and wasted his time. There were things to accomplish in this one-time, unsupervised, open invite into Commander Aten’s home. He would not waste this opportunity with something that wouldn’t serve.

Whatever she read in his face, she wisely began speaking faster. “I heard some of the older guys at school, the ones who use their fake IDs and family fortunes to get into big stakes game play at the casinos, talking about some young genius poker player who had pulled the winnings off of older players in the Barrel, and who, when approached by some of the gangs, flipped them off in the streets. I thought “here is a guy living in the Barrel who is beating them at their own game and who might want a way out”. Maybe we could investigate together, expose something criminal together. I could prove my skills and commitment to fighting crime to my family and you could win my father’s approval. Maybe we both win scholarships to the university in criminal justice!”

Kaz snorted in disbelief. Her request was unapologetically self-centered and pathetically naïve. She was not only a rich princess, she was a do-good girl. He wanted to tell her that an attempt to use him to win a feud with her parents was ridiculous. What part of his life did he want to destroy like a bomb to a farm house so she could have freedom with her privileged life choices?

“Your father knows that you and your friends have been hanging out with gym rats from SpechtBox? He doesn’t monitor you showing up on social media? Like that pic of us around the table at the Treasure Chest?”

Now she looked uncomfortable and gave a fatalistic shrug, “He would have said something already if he knew.”

Or, thought Kaz, Commander Aten was going to make the problem disappear without her ever knowing. Kaz dropped his head back onto the headrest and stared at the ceiling, thinking through what her father could do to him and his crew, and what to do with the potential hit to his rep by appearing online as hanging out with the daughter of the biggest boss at the Stadwatch. A flash of intuition zinged across his mind, touching on the events of the past week, as Kaz realized the assumptions that could have been made by others who recognized Imogen in that On Tap pic.

 He said, “I need a moment to think, and then we need to talk some more. Meanwhile, could I get a drink?”

“Of course,” she said, “Actually, take your time and I will head downstairs and grab a bottle of something while I check on the others. That should give you time.”

He gave what he hoped was a grateful smile, “Yes, and time to rest my leg for the journey back downstairs after.”

“Oh, yes, sorry I didn’t offer a seat earlier. How did you injure it so badly? Were you in an accident?”

“Looking forward to a good whiskey,” said Kaz, returning his gaze to the ceiling.

“Okay, mystery man, I’m sure we have the best. Be back soon,” she said, leaving the door ajar.

Kaz listened to her footsteps thud across carpet, then rap against tile, then softer again on carpet. He rose and glanced down the corridor where her further progress was beyond hearing. He moved to the door down the hall and opposite hers. As he guessed, it was the Master Suite. Kaz moved with precision through the bedside table drawers, under the bed, the armoire, the walk-in closet which was double the size of Imogen’s, the jewelry armoire, a leather men’s jewelry case where he paused in his inventory for a few precious moments and hoped it was worth it, the bathroom medicine cabinet, and on the return trip to the door, gave quick looks behind the framed art on the walls.

Back in Imogen’s room he returned to the closet and spent another few seconds looking in the dresser drawers and again in the jewelry case. Just for completion, he looked beneath her framed art also.

Sinking back into the chair, he worked his way through what to do with Imogen.

When she returned with the bottle of whiskey and tumbler for him, and a glass of deep red wine for herself, she thought at first glance that he was asleep. With his head back, his eyes nearly closed, his cheekbones and throat prominent and gleaming beneath the soft light, his posture so relaxed, she wanted to sit in his lap like she had found her friends doing with the other guys downstairs in the movie theater seats. She gave what she hoped was a seductive smile and walked toward him, coming to a stop between his wide spread legs. She kept her eyes on his as she set her items on the occasional table and began pouring him a drink. He gave her his full attention.

She flipped up her phone and watched his face. He hadn’t really moved, had only lifted his lids enough for his deep dark eyes to glint with warning. She took the picture and tossed the phone to land amid the softness of her bed.

He still hadn’t moved or said a word. Imogen’s courage was fading. What if she dropped down on his good leg and he pushed her off? If he wanted her closer, wouldn’t he pull her closer? Or invite her?

And then his voice, deeper and raspier than usual, filled the space between them.

 “Do you like the taste of whiskey?” he asked, picking up his glass and taking a deep pull.

“Are you going to let me try it?” she asked still holding her wine glass.

He set his glass down, raised a hand to take her glass from her and set it down before grabbing her hand and drawing her forward to sit on his good leg.

She was warm and shifted on his leg making him very aware of how much closer she was to other parts of him. Her bare arms were held at her sides and he ignored them by keeping his eyes on her face. His pulse thrummed in his chest, his throat, and his temples. He brought his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to his chest. She leaned into it and slowly brought her face to his, and still looking into his eyes, she gently rubbed her nose alongside his. She pulled back for a moment, assessing, before bringing her lips softly to his. Their lips pressed together and neither moved. She pulled back again and they both considered each other, eyes a bit softer than before they began. He tilted his head a little to one side, she smiled and tilted in counterpart and they both moved in together this time, their lips ready for the warmth and softness of the other.

Kaz noted her eyelashes falling closed as he moved his lips against hers. It was pleasant, but a little strange. Maybe he should move one hand to under her hair and cradle her head as he’d seen others do. He moved his hand slowly and tried to make his lips do something interesting. In response, she opened her mouth a little and he felt wet warmth now on his lips. He mimicked her and opened his mouth a bit, but how much was enough?

Her tongue glided over his lips and into his mouth. He tasted the sour of wine and his mind went into overdrive with the warmth of her in his lap, the press of her chest against his, the press of her hands on his chest, the feel of her breath on his face, the warm wet of their mouths. His mind was assessing and cataloging at warp speed and wondering what to do next.

He pulled back to look into her beautiful green eyes again, and saw what looked to be yearning. To kiss him again? To make space for more between them somehow? She said in a soft low voice, “I think I could learn to love the taste of whiskey.”

He smiled, a little buzzed on the success of his first kiss. He wanted to chase after these new feelings, but his mind was tracking the time and the limits of this visit to her house. He had plans, and they mattered in the long run. He couldn’t just drop them. He stood at a crossroads and made a split decision.

He eased her from his lap saying, “And I could learn to love red wine. Let’s hope we get another chance sometime.”

She sighed and peeled away her warmth in reverse of how she had laid it down. He felt his own yearning as he watched her pick up her wine and seat herself on the bed as she had before.

Kaz made a show of checking the time on his phone, and began describing how things would be. As of this night, they would be public enemies. He would not be helping her in the way she thought, and his reward would not be a scholarship to the university; how he was to help her and what he was to get would remain To Be Determined.

As Imogen still had another full year of school remaining before heading to the university, Kaz got her to admit that they had plenty of time to find a situation to persuade her family of her career choice.

When everything was settled and they were in agreement, they headed back downstairs. Their steps echoed in the vastness of the second landing music room but this time they moved to the main stairs.

As they passed the big stainless steel, utilitarian door that Kaz was nearly certain led to Commander Aten’s home office, he asked, “What is behind that strangely modern door?”

“My father’s home office. No one is allowed within unless escorted by him, not even the staff, or for that matter, not even my mother.”

Unsurprising, but frustrating all the same. He had hoped for a look within, but it was probably a good thing that Ketterdam’s Stadwatch wasn’t stupid. He had known this might be the outcome. It would have to be enough that he now knew the layout and security measures of the house of the Commander of the Stadwatch.

They found the other couples in the theater area watching a horror movie, tucked in together in the wide recliners. The lights were off except for the under cabinet lights in the mini kitchen.

“Go get our seat warm, I’m making Barrel Bombs for everyone,” Kaz said to Imogen, as he walked to the kitchen.

Dirix and Keeg gave a cheer, and Imogen said, “Wow, just how strong are these drinks?”

Dirix smiled and said, “Kaz doesn’t mix duds.”

She settled into a seat, absorbing the feel of cold leather through her clothes and soon Kaz stood beside her offering a glass with an amber mix. She took hers and she watched as everyone accepted their own glass.

Kaz raised his drink as though to give a grand toast and the others followed along. He said,

“Ladies, these are Barrel Bombs. No drinking like grandmothers! Bottoms up!”

The girls watched the guys down their drinks in seconds and slam their glasses to the tables. Imogen said, “Okay then,” and did the same, joined by the other two.

Imogen then gestured to the chair she had been warming, and grabbed the remote. Kaz took a seat and was glad for the earlier interlude of Imogen in his lap as they glided into a cuddle similar to the other couples. Imogen cued up a new movie, her favorite, Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The girls had all seen it before and were excited, while none of the guys admitted to never seeing it before.

Kaz had only just noted, about 20 minutes in, the woman named Lucy looking through an interesting book called the Kama Sutra, and wondering if it was a real book and what it really contained, when he realized that all three girls had fallen into a drugged sleep. Kaz moved out from under Imogen, and Dirix and Keeg silently followed.

They left the movie rolling, and picked up their glasses, pocketing them. Kaz paused to text Anika the gate code and that they were ready for pick up. Then Kaz swung his phone around and took pics of each of the girls up close, and another of them sleeping in a group.

Kaz directed the guys to head out to the gate without him and that he would catch up within a few minutes.

He ran across the main floor to the stairs down to the staff area of the basement, to the laundry to and picked out specific clothing items. Next he ran to the elevator, waited with fierce impatience for it to come down and take him back up to the second floor where he ran to the music lounge and quickly set a tiny camera with Velcro to the ornate molding of a support pillar, making sure  the keypad to the stainless steel door of Commander Aten’s home office was in the center of its field of view. From there he ran with an increasingly obvious limp down the stairs to the main floor. Yes, portions of his efforts would be recorded, but if there were even a chance of getting away with some of his plans, it was worth the risk of having all of it discovered anyway.   

When Kaz finally slipped out the front door little more than 10 minutes later, the silhouette of his body in the hoodie was quite a bit thicker than when the cameras recorded him going in, but it was dark. He’d done what he could to hide his take.

As he slid into the waiting car, Anika said, “So, I hear it takes nearly an hour to tour her bedroom…”

Hoots of amusement echoed around the small space. Kaz snorted and decided to roll with it,

“Yeah, it took time getting up and down off the bed. The thing was like a pole-vault bag.”

Anika, choking with laughter set them all off again with, “Pole vault! Is that what she did?!”

Kaz gave a slap to the back of her head, but nothing she couldn’t handle. He wasn’t actually mad at anything right now. Most of his plans had played out for a big win; with a few hidden cards for future rounds. Much depended upon if and how quickly the Commander reacted to this night. Meanwhile, Kaz had other stages to set.

They left the car parked a half block behind the Liddie’s headquarters, with gleeful smiles and melted through the late night streets and alleys until they arrived a bit hungry and thirsty back at SpechtBox.

Milling around in the break room for some late night snacks, Kaz sent the pics he took of the girls passed out in the Aten’s basement movie theater to Fahey.

“Post those. Caption them: ‘Barrel-Bombed by The Best.’ And ask your followers if they can guess who and where. Make it a game.”

Jesper nodded with a grin, “I’ll make it a poll. Do I reveal or confirm anyone’s guess?”

“NO,” said Kaz sharply.

An unexpected female voice came from the doorway, “I’ll boost it on my feed too.”

They all took in Nina, standing in soft rose-colored loungewear, breasts and hair unbound, feet bare, phone in hand.

Kaz looked at her with suspicion. “Why are you here? Why do you look like you just came from a bedroom? And just…WHY?” asked Kaz.

She smiled sweetly at the group and said in a mocking voice, “Because this is obviously a super secret club that does fun things. I want in!”

Other voices chimed in around the room:

“She’s the new massage therapist. She’s actually pretty good.”

“I am phenomenal!”

 “Specht hired her and gave her a room.”

“She gave everyone a free massage as her job interview.”

“We like her, don’t scare her away!”

Anika, holding the pantry door open, called out, “Where are the extra cheesy chips? I just bought them today!”

Kaz circled a finger at Nina and reported, “Her breasts are wearing the crumbs of them.”

Anika turned and growled at Nina, who raised a brow and said, “Come and get them.”

The guys all fell apart at this and Nina rolled her eyes at them and walked away, calling back to Anika, “There’s half a bag remaining in my room that I can be persuaded to share.”

Anika quickly followed her but did not allow herself to get pulled into questions with Nina. She did actually want the details of what Kaz had accomplished in the Aten mansion, and what had potentially happened in Imogen’s bedroom. But when she got back to the break room, he was already gone. Frustrated, she grilled Dirix and Keeg on what they knew of the events of the evening. She was glad she didn’t have to see all the grandeur and feel the smallness of her own life. She was somewhat disturbed at how long Kaz and Imogen were gone from the other couples. She was both surprised and not surprised at hearing that when the two returned to the entertainment room, Imogen had slid easily into Kaz’s lap and embrace.

Anika considered what she knew. Kaz had been angry at Imogen hiding her identity. He had been angry and had planned revenge. Was seducing her part of the revenge? Or had something changed? He had left the girls drugged, so maybe nothing had changed. Was Kaz someone who would have sex and betray the girl within a single evening? Did she really want that answer?

Jesper, who slept wherever he was when tired, decided to roll up in Kaz’s old, unused bed in the guys dormitory. With a final look at his post of the pics of the girls, and the initial count of likes and reposts, he set his phone down and grinned into the dark at another exciting night since he met Kaz and Anika.

Eventually all doors closed, lights were dimmed or turned off, and quiet descended.

Meanwhile…

The door had closed behind him and Kaz had stepped into the muffled late night sounds of the Barrel from behind SpechtBox. It was very dark tonight but he knew this walk blindfolded by now.

He scanned the layers of grey and black, the elongated shapes created by distant night lights. Heard the soft passing of the water in the canal as he crossed; the rustle of tree limbs and grasses from the untended overgrowth of this section of the city. He listened to his own steps, their cadence a familiar companion on his trek back to the storage unit.

He contemplated the next sections of street and alley he had to walk, without his cane. Without the cane to deal with, he considered climbing to the rooftops. Busy as he had been all day and evening with the business of Imogen’s party and identity, a part of him had been thinking of the rolling shadow across the alley of the night before. Until he knew what was going on, he would consider himself under surveillance every time he walked the streets.

He climbed the rooftop ladder of the manufacturing building and hunched down.  He looked to the shadowed edges of the route he had just walked and he waited. Tracking on rooftops was different than tracking on the streets. On rooftops any direction and route was viable, the only limit being one’s ability to traverse the spaces between. A tracker would need to see their target or have end up making too many guesses.

He waited until his breath was at rest. He waited longer than probably was necessary, but he was tired. He did not see anyone, not even a flicker along the dark edges of the canal, the street, or the buildings. He moved at a crouch across the rooftop to the other side, where the loading bays provided thin raised surfaces and ropes as a way down. He took one of the ropes with him and walked to the next building. He rested and watched in two more places, but saw nothing. Ironically, the absence of his tracker made him more wary.

SpechtBox was a good point of origin for tracking him. It was where he would start if he were sent to spy on himself.  

The last rooftop of his route abutted that of the indoor storage facility building. In fact both buildings shared a utility elevator and equipment room since their climate control units were collocated. Kaz had stolen the key from the main office of the storage business ages ago as the elevator was a great secluded escape from the building should he need it.

However, a quick glance at his watch let him know that he was within minutes of the security guard making the rooftop round. He stood on the dark side of the equipment room as it shielded him from view of the guard who typically did a quick standard walk around.

Another break to catch his breath and watch for any watchers.

He heard the rooftop access door of the storage building creak open by the security guard. He held still, knowing that the guard would be swinging his flashlight around the space to check the shadows.

Kaz was staring out into the black void of the shared rooftop, the way in which he had come, when the guard’s light slid by an electrical box that stood up from the roof about hip height, and a piece of deep shadow appeared and disappeared faster than the momentary blink of his eye. It was very similar in size to the shadow figure from the night before.

Suddenly his skin contracted and his whole body felt like an electrical shock had rolled through him. He was under surveillance and had been followed unseen and unheard all the way from SpechtBox. Undetected, he had nearly led his tracker to his specific unit!

He thought of chasing after and running them down, but the reality was he was exhausted from a long day and night, and a few glasses of whiskey.

This tracker was good and they were probably long gone by now anyway. The tracker’s only fault tonight had been in not making sure who had made the creak of the door and then getting lit up by the flashlight.

He would need to move sooner than he thought. In the meantime he would set some wireless outdoor cameras for the roof, where dark spots would become light.

Back in his unit for the night, contained by the small secure space, finally alone with his thoughts, he set up his laptop and searched a pirated streaming service for Bram Stoker’s Dracula. He was asleep and dreaming by the end of the ship’s steerage into Whitby Bay, and the arrival of horror to the harbor.

Chapter Text

Inej left her room and walked the hall to what she and the other trainees now referred to as the Situation Room. She heard a few low voices and turning the corner she saw that once again the Peacock was “just dropping by to check on things.”  And again she was standing with her white leather, pant-enshrouded hips pressed against the back of Inej’s chair, creating a situation in which Inej would have to ask the Peacock to consider moving out of the way. Never anyone else’s chair, just hers. Each day Inej silently stood until all seats were taken, sometimes even as the Wolverine began their meeting, before the Peacock, who was never actually invited to any of their meetings, would drift away with a smirk and Inej could take her seat. Someday Inej would like to create blood red roses in a pattern all over those white pants. 

The Peacock was all smiles and glib menace. She took delight in describing the sexploitation training they would be getting soon, the things they would have to do. The world turned grey for Inej with every scenario the Peacock painted for them. She had looked round the table at the other young women, to see how they took the Peacock’s threatening ways. Was she wrong in thinking that they too had had the same experiences at their Ashrams as she had had with the Apparat and his disciples? Did the others fear as she did, being sent back to such humiliating servitude, or worse, having to commit the same acts with a continually rotating series of strangers?

No one spoke of where they came from, not of their lives before the Ashram, nor of their time in the Cult of the Sun Saint. The Wolverine never made mention of their histories either. Perhaps he didn’t know their histories. There was a freedom in not having those shadows attached to her feet. It gave her a sense of starting anew, even though they remained stolen people, indentured assets.

The first time the Peacock had told them they were to be trained like her escort girls downstairs Inej had seen similar reactions to hers around the table: deliberately blank eyes, blank faces, and frozen poses. Now they were all inured to the bullying; while Inej still continued to freeze and blank out, the Wolf, the Serpent, and the Leopard hid lethal rage behind unconcerned smiles. The Fox and the Fawn gave nods and said they would do whatever was needed. And the Mare seemed oblivious to what it all meant.  

Today the Fawn, the Fox, and the Leopard were in their seats already. In an effort to not walk over and push the Peacock away from her chair, Inej forced herself to observe and record how the others reacted to the Peacock. The Fawn, seated directly across the table from Inej’s seat, was leaning back in her chair gazing into the Peacock’s face and smiling. She would say it looked like the Fawn was flirting with the Peacock but it was unclear – the Fawn looked at everyone like that. She had large luminous grey blue eyes and silky red gold hair that swooped and curved around her face to her chin. She always had a bit of a smile to her full lips and it was her way to look people directly in the eyes and rarely look away. It only took a few seconds before one began to feel hypnotized. When she spoke she had a lilting voice that kept one waiting for all of the syllables to fall into place for the meaning of what she said to sink in, which furthered the feeling of being in trance. The Peacock of course approved of the Fawn’s seductive ways.

The Fox was leaning forward in her seat and writing notes. She was always writing notes, even though the Wolverine had told her she needed to be able to listen and remember observations without writing them down. Inej swore the Fox wrote that down too, but as her writing was in characters Inej couldn’t decipher, who really knew what she was writing down? And listening to the pencil cross and hatch the paper, why couldn’t the Fox just type into her notes on her phone? It would be easier in so many ways. But Inej would not be suggesting anything to her as the Fox tended to think she already knew everything and would take any comment as an invitation to begin explaining and explaining and explaining, until the listener was an overly steamed dumpling splitting at the seams. The Peacock didn’t get that treatment. No, the Fox was nodding in agreement with everything the Peacock said, laughing at her statements as though perfectly pleased with the Peacock’s plans. Inej didn’t trust her and hoped spy training didn’t require a sisterly love for everyone around the table.

The Leopard had the seat at the end of the table furthest from the Wolverine, and was quietly observing, as always. She was one of the most beautiful girls Inej had ever seen, and her calm and quiet manner was soothing. Her smoky dark eyes gazed calmly at each person, perfectly centered, listening and watching. She did not nod or speak, just took everything in. As Inej watched, the Leopard’s gaze went to the Peacock’s face, then her hands holding the back of chair she leaned against, then to the face of the Fawn, then to the Fawn’s hands, one of which was idly swooping in a graceful  arc, like a metronome; then to the face of the Fox, then to her writing. Inej was watching the Leopard do what she was doing. No surprise then when their gazes caught, large liquid dark eyes mirroring the other. Inej looked a bit hopefully for something shared, some spark between them, but there was nothing. The Leopard’s eyes cast down to where Inej had her arms crossed and wrapped around with her hands tucking into opposite sides, holding herself in. Then the Leopard began the loop again, looking at the Peacock, and Inej found the Peacock looking at her, with a gleeful smile. The Peacock took in a breath, but was interrupted from whatever taunt she had been about to launch by the outer door opening for the Wolverine.

He wore his usual dojo master uniform and the gold-barred belt end caught the eye as he moved. He carried nothing but himself into the room. Everyone who had been seated now stood as he approached the table, but then bypassed his own chair and continued to Inej’s. His body kept moving into the space occupied by the Peacock, slowly but continuously. The Peacock gasped then tried to laugh it off as she began losing her balance and nearly stumbled into the next empty chair. Her pale cheeks flamed red and her lips twisted. She flung her eyes to the Wolverine’s face, but he ignored her completely. He looked at Inej and said,

“Lynx, take the computer today, open all seven target files and tile them for display on screen.”

“Yes sir.”

Before Inej could move forward, the Serpent, the Wolf and the Mare filed into the room and as the Wolf passed by her Inej heard a whispered,

“Come early, get what you deserve.”

Only when the Wolverine pulled out his chair and began to sit did his acolytes take their seats, which left the Peacock standing awkwardly and then drifting toward the door in retreat. The Wolverine finally spoke to her,

“No, no don’t leave just yet. You have been taking such an interest in my work I feel it is time to reciprocate. Mare, please get another chair for our guest.”

The Mare got up and grabbed one of the straight-back chairs tucked on the far side of the room and walked it over to the end of the table as the Leopard made room for the Peacock at her shoulder.

“Please,” the Wolverine gestured, “join us for a few minutes.” He still had yet to look at her, his eyes on the files that Inej opened and displayed on screen.

The Peacock was hesitant but took the seat. There was a moment of silence as all eyes went to the Wolverine to see what happened next. But the Peacock eased into her seat as though sinking into a chaise lounge by the pool and said,

“I only come to say hi to my girls, so they know that I care about them and what they are doing.”

“Minimize the display.”

“Yes, sir,” said Inej, and the screen returned to the VanVerent Hotel logo in a field of black.

Finally the Wolverine turned his head and looked at the Peacock.

“These are not your girls. These are the new acolyte class of the Sun Saint, under the authority of the Apparat, and currently under my authority as their trainer.”

The Peacock gave a small laugh and gave a gentle wave of her hand, saying, “These girls will need an experienced woman to help them through the seduction portion of their training. I am sure that is why the Apparat sent them here, to me.”

“Have you trained any of your girls to be spies?”

“No,” she said emphasizing each word as though to an idiot, “that is clearly what you were hired to do.”

“Exactly.”

“But I do know how to train my girls in the seduction of others.”

“So do I, and for better results. You seduce for money and for return business. These acolytes will seduce to steal, to entrap, and potentially to kill.”

The Wolverine paused to let it sink in, then spoke in a coldly dismissive tone,

“Your next visit to this floor will be by invitation only. And in case you are unaware, this whole floor is under electronic surveillance.”

The Peacock absorbed this and smiled in a way that sent shivers down Inej’s spine, and then she slowly rose from her chair as though she hadn’t just been dismissed. She said in a lightly sweet tone as she went,

 “We all live in the same building, don’t be shy! My door is always open, girls.” She trailed her fingers across the Wolverine’s shoulders as she passed, “And you, so serious! Come see me when you want to relax.” And with that, she left the room, the gleeful smile still, creepily, in place. .

Inej moved to bring the target files back on screen, but the Wolverine said, “Not yet. Use your training. Someone summarize what just happened in this room.”

The Leopard tilted her head and the rest conceded the floor to her excellent observation skills.

“The Peacock has been grooming us to accept her authority around this table and for some reason, she hates the Lynx.” Dark eyes in dark faces met each other again, and they both understood one possible reason. The Leopard continued without pause, “You decided today was the day to flex your authority and kick her to the curb. She was angry and will probably be vindictive, but worked to seduce us into thinking of her still as a friend; and to think of her if we are upset with your authority; and she undercut that authority by suggesting you make arbitrary decisions based on a lack of sex.”

A wisp of a smile traveled across the Wolverine’s mouth, before he said, “Sharp and succinct.”

 “I don’t get what her deal is,” said the Wolf, “She has her own business, what does she need with us?”

The Serpent replied, “Better question: What happens when we are done with training?” She looked at the Wolverine. “Will you remain our leader? Our handler, so to speak?”

The Wolverine slowly placed his palms together for prayer, looked around the table, bowed his head and intoned, “May the Sun Saint shine upon the unknown, and reveal the rays of possibilities.”

Ah, for the recordings no doubt, thought Inej. They all placed palms together and bowed their heads. Once everyone’s obeisance to the Sun Saint was on record, the Wolverine gestured to Inej for their target reports to finally be on screen. The meeting was finally kicking into gear.

When they had first begun learning to track targets, they were given the same target each day and Inej admitted she felt like Brekker was HER target. It bothered her that the first day they began rotating targets was the day after she had lost him in an alleyway, but she could admit to how following different targets helped with learning to deal with the logistics of different times of day in a wider range of areas in the city. Every area of the city had different traffic patterns, different energy at different times, and learning those rhythms and expectations was crucial to knowing how to fit in or hide.

The first day of swap Inej had struggled with searching for dark hair, black clothes, and a limping gait, while her new target had graying blond hair and worked in an older home renovated into a business office. His commute from home to work was short, his clients were mostly middle aged, his work neighborhood took notice of her, and worse, she was bored.

The review of the reports was more interesting though because she got to compare her surveillance observations to those of the others and hear what the Wolverine advised in each case. However, today there was nothing new to add and they had already gone over these reports.

The Wolf asked, “Are we to read them all again? Is there something we need to see?”

“Yes, and read them out loud,” nodded the Wolverine, folding his arms across his chest and settling in to wait.

Fortunately they only had a week’s worth of notes to cover. When each had been read out loud, they all turned to the Wolverine with puzzlement. He looked over at the Leopard, who just shrugged and said, “I don’t see anything new, or anything meta.”

The Mare muttered, “Oh good because I have no idea what she is talking about.”

The Wolverine unfolded his arms and stood and walked over to the wall-mounted screen. He slapped the back of his hand against the screen, the loud sound startling them all, and said,

“I don’t see what I expected to see either!”

Inej was scrambling to find the answer like trying to improvise when your acrobatics partner forgot the routine during a pack-house performance. She was sure she had reported everything!

The Wolverine was stern, “You are all new to Ketterdam. New to this place, this sun-forsaken weather, these people, this language. New to surveillance! But do we have even ONE SINGLE MISTAKE? No, we do not. Does it seem likely that all seven of you are perfect?”

His intensity was effective but didn’t scare off the sarcastic comeback from the Wolf, “Anddd, the Wolverine is rabid today.”

His eyes narrowed, “Mistakes are how you learn. You can do nothing with poor performance varnished with lies. No one leaves this table without submitting at least one mistake worthy of being corrected.”

Inej knew of only one incident and she had reported it, and she knew the Wolverine knew of it too. It was on the evidence board in the Brekker file. Since she was at the computer today, she went ahead and put that report front and center of the screen and accessed the evidence board map. She turned back to the group.

“My big mistake was that first night following Brekker by rooftop through the alleys of the Barrel. I lost him at this point,” she said as she showed the mark of the last alley she had seen him and a few dotted lines the Wolverine had placed on the map to show possible trajectories to home locations. “I was pretty tired when I gave my report and then the next day we were given new targets. Now that I look at the map, I can see that maybe the moment I lost him I should have stopped? Because what I did was panic, run, and leap over the subsequent alleys trying to find him. If he was suspicious of a tracker, and had hidden in shadows, I probably gifted him with verification flying over the alley gaps.”

The Wolverine looked to the Serpent and the Mare, “How does it feel knowing you were tracking him in the days and nights after potentially discovering he was being followed? Would you have done things differently if you knew he was aware and watching the rooftops?”

The Mare said, “Yes, I think it matters and that we should know these things, although I stuck to the streets. I can’t get myself up and down drainpipes and brick holds.”

The Serpent snapped, “I don’t see how you can be assigned Brekker if you can’t climb the rooftops! He travels them too.”

It seemed the Serpent had more to say, but she didn’t. Instead her body began vibrating as she bounced a foot under the table. The Wolverine narrowed his eyes at her but the next voice was the Fox.

“So…I was um. I don’t actually think this is wrong, just different? But um, when I was following Darden <the Wolverine sighed> well, I was following at a distance gliding behind taller persons, ducking out of view occasionally, but when I popped back out of a doorway to resume, he was just there, staring into a shop window and there were only a few people on the sidewalk anymore. So, I um, I had to think of something and I just thought well, I used to be a pick pocket so why not just do that? And I tried for a stumble bump and the inside front pocket of his lovely jacket as it swung out while he was trying to catch me in my fall, but…he caught me sliding my hand out empty.”  Her eyes now had water pooling up, and then leaking out the corners and down. The Wolverine sighed again.

“What did he say, since he obviously didn’t call the police?”

“He said no harm, no foul since there was nothing in his pocket to steal.”

“Lynx, add the location of that meet to the Darden evidence board, and write that up in the report. You,” he said to the Fox, “are now permanently removed from surveillance of Darden. It seems he knew of you before that moment and forced you to show yourself.”

“That’s two of you free to go to motorcycle training. Anyone else?”

“What? We get to learn to ride motorcycles?” asked the Fawn, sitting up with pure excitement.

“Yes, cheaper and more mobile than a car. We have two right now, small enough for you all to handle, electric for following quietly, and powerful enough to keep up with any evasive driving maneuvers.”

“So you want us to make mistakes?”

“By the Sun Saint Supreme, no! I don’t want you to make mistakes, but I damn sure want you to confess your mistakes if they happen so they are avoided in future,” said the Wolverine.

The Leopard spoke up, “Serpent, I see you all agitated. Confess.”

The Serpent glared down the table and stopped vibrating. “Fine. Last night I was following Brekker, on the rooftops, and yes, he acted like he expected someone to follow him. He stopped often and waited in shadows. I managed very well I think, despite not knowing he might already be suspicious.” She turned and glared at the Lynx. “But I saw him hide behind a rooftop shed and I took position behind an AC unit. I heard the scraping of a door across a threshold and popped up so I wouldn’t lose him. I got confused because there was movement farther on the roof than where I had last seen him. The next thing I knew a flashlight was moving around and I tried to figure out what was happening. Then the flashlight caught me completely by surprise and I collapsed to the roof as fast as possible. The person with the flashlight didn’t say anything or chase after me, so I crawled as fast as possible out of the area and ran.”

“So Brekker would have to be an idiot to not know someone was following him,” said the Wolverine. “We fall back a level and follow someone else who is close to him. Check the file for his list of associates.”

“Sir, I was waiting until after the mistakes parade, but I follow a couple of Barrel personality accounts on On Tapp and there is quite an interesting picture of Brekker from last night, posted by Imogen Aten, daughter of the Commander of the Stadwatch.”

The Lynx was already calling up the app on the screen and searching for Imogen Aten. Within seconds a black and white picture of Brekker in an armchair of a bedroom, dressed in black athletic wear, dark head resting back, eyes burning darkly over jutting cheekbones, and down a long straight nose; his lips in a slight smirk. He was a feast beneath the soft light tracing his features and relaxed pose. His hands draped over the chair rest, one holding a tilted tumbler of ice and from the bottle on the table beside him, some expensive whiskey.

The Fawn said, “I volunteer to practice sexploitation with him!”

The Fox and the Mare giggled. The others ignored her. The Wolverine pointed out the lack of caption and the Lynx added the photo to the target file.

“Three for motorcycle classes this week.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

It had bothered her, that pose in the armchair. Brekker’s gaze had demanded response and Inej knew what that kind of look demanded. She had many questions about why this Imogen Aten had made public such a personal picture. A part of her responded automatically to the picture, and another part of her wanted a chance at unwinding the mystery. 

But lying alone in her dark room, listening to the harbor winds shriek by her seventh floor window, her innermost self fell into walking the path of where she began, when she had been taken, and how she was alone in the dark of the now.

A thousand times she had thought back to the day she told her parents she was going shopping with her friend. A new friend, as many of hers had been since they moved place to place, adhering to the schedules of various performance venues throughout Ravka. Always her mind caught on that perfectly innocent moment when, walking along looking into the beautiful displays in shop windows, her friend had pointed to the large white tent set up in a vacant lot, with huge draped posters of a dark-eyed young woman with radiant gold beams surrounding her dark hair, and smiling with resolute courage at passersby. Smaller signs invited onlookers to a meeting of the Sun Saint and her church. Inej had shrugged, SHRUGGED with easy camaraderie for her new friend, and had joined the crowd seated in folding chairs before a stage.

After some time of listening to the life of the Sun Saint, interspersed with laughter, prayer, and singing, while everyone had risen to chat and make their way to the tent door, they had been joined by a very kind woman who had noticed their enjoyment and invited them to a special reception behind the stage. It would just be some beverages and snacks and meeting with others who had actually met the Sun Saint, and had some of the items she had used in her miraculous works. Looking around, the girls saw that others were also being invited, and so they had looked to each other, seen equal excitement mirrored in each other’s eyes, and had said yes.

The worst yes of her life.

They had been drugged and had woken inside an underground dormitory, with pictures of the Apparat, his leadership team, and the Sun Saint the only items on the otherwise bare, dark walls. Beds were rolls of coarse blankets and thin pillows laid out in rows. Each person received a lavender silk vestment and a pair of thin slippers. The dark and the cold had stalked her like a monster in that place.

Once, right at the very beginning, she had rebelled. She had said NO. She had said it loudly, and fought with all her strength, and she had been grabbed by a grim looking man in black vestments and thick robe, taken out of the dormitory room under the tearful and terrified eyes of her friend and a few other new girls, down a long dark tunnel, lit only by hanging metal lights and bare bulbs, to a bare room with two chairs facing each other. The man had set her in one chair and arranged himself in the other.

He told her that she was a chosen one of the Sun Saint. That to be here was an honor and a responsibility. He told her many things that her mind refused to recall afterward because when she had still said no, he had beaten her. Until that point in her young life, no man or woman had ever folded their hand into a fist and swung it at her with full strength once, much less over and over. Her body had gone into shock and she had absorbed the repeated impacts without resistance. The flesh of her body had erupted into broken vessels and angry lumps. Her skin had split and run red. And it had all been done without words, with thuds and billowing breaths. Even she had remained silent, stunned at the ferocity.

Then her body, curled on the ground in pain, had been picked up and moved further down the passage, and tossed into a very small cell, without light, without people, without blankets or a bucket. She had been left alone in her own filth for nearly too much time. She had prayed for miracles, and then prayed for unending sleep. At what felt like the very last moment, the door had opened, and a woman in lavender dress and slippers, and soft kind hands, had given her a shot of some sort, and led her to a shower, and food and drink, and she had been allowed to return to living their yes. And she had been grateful by then to do so. She had eaten what she was given, formed lines with other supplicants, prayed, meditated, and sung, done the work of an off-the-grid commune, and created objects such as candles, Sun Saint charms, and lavender infused oils for sale in support of the community.

And then came the days of becoming a favored one of the Apparat, the Glorious and Radiant leader of the Cult of the Sun Saint. The horror of his barefooted approach to her on her knees after late evening Prayers to Sun Fall, where her body was stiff and her mind bemused by hours of repetitive prayers in a language she knew well enough for work, but not enough to follow the  flowery eloquence of poetic prayer. The terror as she was required to place her hand into his and submit, as she assessed how many would remain in the room for post-prayer veneration. Post-prayer veneration of the male leaders, which she was told was the physical manifestation of the spiritual joining necessary for life eternal. She was not to cry or be fearful, she was to smile and demonstrate gratitude. She was not to think herself special and exclusive to one, but to enjoy the generosity of her soul in giving to so many.

She had learned to be ashamed. She had learned to hate.

That first night after Sun Fall Prayers, that first time the Apparat had chosen her for special veneration, she grasped that it hadn’t just been her skin that had split under those first fists, and which had failed to heal in solitary confinement. Her mind could now hold fully two separate versions of herself, versions often in complete opposition to each other. Every time she was held down and forced to sweetly and reverently give what she did not want to give, another part of her was tracing a knife blade across cheek bones, pricking eyeballs out of sockets, and carving lips of lust into lips that gaped and could no longer form their evil words.

She would never return there. It was a promise to herself and to the Saints of her childhood, the ones who would pull a sword and impale a creature like the Apparat, should he ever appear before them. Besides, the Ashram would never take her back. At 15, she had aged out of being innocent enough to supply veneration to the Apparat and other advanced male disciples. Before she had even understood what it was to be sexually attractive, she had been rejected as no longer having it. She knew in her heart it was fake, that men like her father were attracted to their loves for life, but she bore the burden of the rejection all the same. And it infuriated her to know that other very young boys and girls were being inducted into that role as she had once been.

With this new life here in the dark and damp, the salty fish stink of Ketterdam, among a people who made strange chopping sounds in their speech, the Apparat, the Peacock, and Van Verent, hadn’t asked; hadn’t given her the chance of a yes or a no. She was here; she was being trained as a spy assassin, indoctrinated as a righteous warrior of the Sun Saint. The part of her that still said no, did so behind a façade of resolute submission. She would succeed in this training with the Wolverine and look for escape.

She rolled to her side, curled in tight, and stared into the shadows for a long time.   

Chapter Text

Notifications lit up his phone and the nimbus was a shout in the dimness of his storage unit.  He paused in packing his laptop bag.

Anika: Pim’s Aunt died. Nurse helped take body to Office of the Unclaimed Dead.

Nurse Lena had said her death was soon. It was a practical kindness to leave the body with the Unclaimed Dead. Pim would not be burdened with paying for a grave, embalming, or funeral. Many poor families did it these days as the Kerch government paid for the burial, a simple name plate, and a few words from volunteer clergy as the decent and humane thing to do.

Without warning, his mind illumined pictures from his past, of freshly dug dirt, the dirt, pain and blood of his hands, the thud of body parts and pulp dropping down into the soil, grotesquely similar to those of decomposing animals, lumps of flesh and material, no longer animated. His awareness returned to him with the pain of his hands pressed by his weight against the cold surface of his desk and his body curled over them, his head hanging down as he panted from the memories.

He had enclosed the found portions of his Da and brother into damp dark earth. There had been no kind words, no name plate. Only the weight and statement of the family farm tractor as monument to their sudden deaths.

His cynicism kicked in and he straightened up, eyes sharp and focused. A familiar voice snaked into his mind, at least their burials were free. And he thought of a gentler image of Annalisa’s shrouded body falling beneath dark waters to float out to sea. He’d never looked into it, but he bet the sentimental business of honoring the dead with ceremonies, formal burials, and decorative tombstones was saints-awful pricey. Early days on the streets of Ketterdam had knocked sentiment right out of him.

He mentally rearranged his day to fit in a visit to the owner of Pim’s building and texted back:

Kaz: Be ready to email offer to owner of building.

Anika: Been ready since last we spoke. Jesper trying to extend your credit at clubs.

He frowned, considering what Fahey had been posting on his On Tapp account. Was it worth more than what he had been paying him? No.

Kaz: Close the accounts. Will be there for lunch.

He threw his book bag over his shoulder, pocketed his phone, grabbed his cane and debated how to leave the building. His stalker, if working alone, had run off before confirming that this building had been the end of Kaz’s night. Did they know he overnighted here? It was most probable that they had waited for him at SpechtBox, and trailed him from there. Did it make sense that someone would be outside this building this morning, waiting for him? It didn’t make sense that it would only be at night, did it?

If they were watching him 24/7, would they try to pick him up from SpechtBox again?  Just in case there was someone waiting outside, he should at least try to seem like a customer and not a squatter. Kaz set his things down, opened his laptop and accessed the router of storage unit office, making it disconnect and reset. Then he grabbed his things and calmly walked down the hall and took the elevator down to the main floor while the cameras were temporarily blind. He nodded at the preoccupied glance he got from the office staffer, and walked out the main doors.

Thinking it through, it didn’t make sense to be followed by a gang; there really wasn’t any reason for it; yet, he thought, smug with his plans for the future. Besides, a gang would only do that if he owed something or needed a beat down, and in those cases they wouldn’t follow him any longer than it took to pull him into an alley and get to work.

And the Liddies, if they had any idea he was the one responsible for their loss of three soldiers behind Off The Handle, then they were being inordinately delicate about getting to him, and taking a very long time for exacting pay back.

Or, had he been discovered and identified from his last heist, the data grab from the office of the nobody secretary of an ambitious businessman. Since he had only made a copy of the information, left nothing behind, was completely unidentifiable to cameras, he didn’t see how anyone could have picked him out of the teeming unkempt masses of the Barrel as the culprit. And again, if by some miracle he had been identifiable, he would have been taken and dealt with already, not assigned considerable surveillance resources.

The day was hot and those in the streets this morning were moving reluctantly. Kaz tried to keep his skin unstuck from the sweat-inducing fabric of his formal attire and to ignore the dampening brim of his hat. He had dressed for business, not for the weather. He kept his head up and his gaze moving, doorways to windows, shadows to bodies, distance to near. At the intersection, he continued against the cross walk, as most did around here since standing at one to cross just made you the mark of the day, and took a long look down the street toward the Liddies’ headquarters. The car they had had parked against the curb opposite was still there, sunk on its bare axles with no tires remaining, but still there. So. Commander Aten was either still on vacation, or his Stadwatch moved slowly.

Kaz was wired, energy zinging through his veins. The next couple of days were crucial. He would make it look like he was just another thug wanting in on the money that could be made in a gang, that he was just another thug dreading the cubicle life. He would make his approach to Haskell look like he was jumping on an unexpected opportunity when he offered to assist with the fall out of the betting fiasco he had set in motion this weekend. But in reality, he was racing toward gang protection like a heat seeking missile. Something about him attracted lightning strikes and he would survive better among many than alone. One such survival in a lifetime was probably anyone’s allotment.

He took his time along the streets, in and out of businesses, when he was actually verifying that his plans for the Dregs were in motion, which they were. It was easier to appear confident and without worry, when one was confident and without worry. In addition, he felt stalker-free so far. He finally made his way to SpechtBox, choosing to approach from the front and walk through the office, like an average person with nothing to hide.

The leather chair behind the desk was empty and voices were muffled behind the swinging door to the hallway of the break room. Kaz walked through the door, holding its swing and his steps to silence, as he eavesdropped on the ongoing conversation. A wasted effort as nothing important was being said in Jesper’s very loud sing-song voice, or Anika’s sarcastic response, or Nina’s exuberant directives. He paused and sighed, indulging in a moment of parental exasperation unseen. Then he walked in to find Anika, Dirix, Keeg, Fahey, and Nina sitting around the break room table with bags of fries and sandwiches. A lone, unattended bag sat before an empty seat. Anika had purchased something for him also, and next to the bag stood, instead of a cup of soda with straw like everyone else, the Darth Vader mug with vapor rising from a black well of coffee. Kaz couldn’t help it, he smiled. Eyebrows around the table rose, and all eyes were on him as he reached with bare hands for the mug and took a gulp of his first caffeine of the day.

Anika blinked, while Dirix and Keeg kept their reaction off their faces. Fahey spoke:

“If I made you a couple of rings,” he said, flashing the rings he had made and wore religiously, “would you model them?”

Kaz swallowed and said, “No.”

“But think of the sales! I have a current design idea of three thin gliding bands in titanium, with a tiny ball that runs freely within a fourth band, imitating the roulette wheel. It would be perfect for you!”

“No.”

Fahey frowned and shook his head in disappointment, but went back to eating.

Kaz unwrapped his sandwich and said, “You’re done exploring Barrel clubs for me. I’ve got enough info.”

Fahey just nodded, keeping his eyes on his own sandwich. Anika must have prepped Fahey for the cut off.

Anika jumped in with, “He’s going to apply to be a bartender at the Treasure Chest. He refuses my invites to go a few rounds in the ring, but thinks he will be protecting me on our shared walks to and from work together.”

Kaz frowned and looked from Fahey to Anika, and back again.

“No. Don’t even think it. We are not like that,” said Anika.

Fahey finally looked up and smiled at Anika, saying,

“It could be like that though, sugar…”

 “NO!” said Anika, “It really couldn’t. Save that flirty stuff for behind the bar.”

Kaz asked him, “Have you bartended before?”

Now Fahey sat up with excitement, grabbed his phone, and waved the screen vaguely in Kaz’s direction, saying “There are online classes to become one! And lots of bartending videos on YouTube! I really love the feng shui of this one lady, he waved the screen around the table again, who makes an amazing looking drink called Dragon Vapor.”

“Are you even old enough to be hired as a bartender?”

“Who the hell is going to ask me to prove my age after I serve them the best drink of their lives with the best style in the Barrel?”

Keeg protested, “Hey, don’t make him rethink this. He wants to practice on us, and I am not saying no to free drinks!”

Dirix grinned and pointed Kaz to the many bags grouped to one side of the counter space. An astonishing number had tall glass bottle shapes within them and a variety of twist tops, waxed corks, and decorative glass baubles poking up. Other bags had held the outline of lumps of fruit, and containers of who knew what.

Kaz turned a narrowed gaze back on Anika, “The Treasure Chest of the Barrel serves fruity drinks? They suddenly the place for college girls out gambling?”

Fahey defended his choices with, “No, but I don’t need to practice pouring two fingers of whiskey into a tumbler and waving a teaspoon of water by it.”

Nina chose this moment to engage, “And what is wrong with serving fruity drinks? Let the arm candy have something sweet while they are made to stand around proving their partner’s attractiveness.”

“Have a lot of practice with that do you?” Kaz snarked.

“Yes,” said Nina simply, looking Kaz in the eye.

He blinked. He realized he had been so busy he had yet to research her online. He said,

“Really? Do tell,” and arranged his expression to one of polite interest.

Smirks appeared all around the table, and all eyes went to Nina.

She swiped the last bunch of fries from her meal through a messy mix of condiments and took them in a huge bite. Unconcerned with the waiting silence and attention, she chewed her way through to a big swallow and took a large sip of her drink. Then, she began her short narrative,

“Nina Zenik, single child of parents killed in the Ravkan war. I’m sixteen but have finished with schooling. Came to Ketterdam on an internship, which was to fulfill a gap year or two since I am uncertain what I wish to study in college. And, maybe because I don’t actually have the money for college and I wanted to see more of the world. It’s a long boring story of administrative failure, but my internship fell through once I arrived and I decided to stay. I trained as an apprentice to a masseuse back in Ravka, because like everyone I needed to make money somehow, and I am talented and experienced at making people feel better. I am grateful for the job here at SpechtBox and for making such fine friends.” She finished with the kind of glib smile one gives to a TV reporter.

While the others cheered her offer of friendship, Kaz snorted to himself and remained unmoved. He was definitely going to chase down the mystery of Nina Zenik at the next opportunity at his keyboard. He asked,

“When did you arrive here? Where did you stay before you showed up on Scout Night? How did you, a new comer, even hear about Scout Night at SpechtBox? Why did you choose to work here when you could get better tips uptown? Where did you train in fighting? How is it you speak Kerch as well as you do?”

Nina blinked at the barrage. Then she said, “Great questions. You answer one first. Why do you speak Kerch with an accent I cannot place?”

Now all eyes moved to Kaz, some with nervous expressions, because it was very unusual to ask personal questions in the Barrel, let alone a whole list of them; and while Kaz had done so with Nina, she was a stranger and everyone around the table knew to hesitate before returning the volley with Kaz Brekker.

With a cold, implacable face Kaz replied “You’re Ravkan. My accent is pure street Kerch. Would you like to get in the ring with me and learn how to speak it?”

“I’d rather get you on the table and help you lose some of that overdone, romance hero intensity,” she said, leaning back in her chair and facing Kaz’s menace with a lack of concern.

Fahey rose from the table and began grabbing items from the bags saying, “And at that I say: Let’s begin with a toast to Kaz as a romance hero!”

Amusement was on every face except Kaz’s. But Nina still had more to say. She turned her phone screen for everyone to see and held it still. The screen showed the picture of him in the chair in Imogen’s bedroom, looking predatory. Then with a swipe of her finger, the picture was replaced by the one of the sleeping girls slumped over the chairs of theater room of Imogen’s house. Everyone became still as they absorbed the image and its meaning, and the accusatory feel of the moment. Nina said disdainfully,

“I suppose you’d say some like a little monster in their romantic heroes.”

The small uneasy silence stretched and held, waiting for Kaz.

He gave an inward sigh. Of course Nina would ask and of course the others wanted the answer too. They wanted to hold him accountable, as a friend; but he couldn’t afford such things and hold with his plans. His plans were much bigger than that; he needed to be a monster more than he would ever truly need friends.

In answer, he raised his coffee mug for the last gulp, flashing them the implacable black mask of Darth Vader. As he set it back down and rose to leave, he said,

“Monsters don’t give a fuck what others think.”

Kaz caught Anika’s eye, and they both moved to the office and closed the door, to the fading sound of Dirix explaining how it wasn’t at all like how it looked.

Anika, who had grown up among much worse monsters, was uninterested in confronting Kaz on things that weren’t her business. Instead, she merely moved to the desk and slid the hidden documents tray out from under the flange of wood that hid it under the far side of the desktop, and offered them for Kaz to read, saying, “You have an appointment with him in about an hour.”

She didn’t know how he did it, but it looked like he only glanced over the pages. But she knew from experience that he hadn’t missed any of it.

He nodded and said, “Go ahead and email it to the owner. If I need anything further, I will text you.” He shot her a look,

“Fahey going to get the job?”

“Why do you keep calling him ‘Fahey’? You somehow can’t pronounce a J name?”

Kaz looked startled and it was such an odd expression on his face, she wanted it to disappear. She quickly continued, “Yes, they’ve been having trouble keeping their bartenders lately. I think the boss’ kid is giving out too many drinks to his friends and blaming the losses on the bartenders.”

 “So in a few months we will get to hire an experienced bartender looking for a new job.”

“Yes.”

 They smiled at each other.

Anika continued with business, “So, yes, everything is in place for the purchase of the building and the Dregs betting scandal. And even though you are planning to barter the work on the casino plans, I have vetted a list of contractors should you need options.” To Kaz’s nod she continued, “However, I’m going to say it: our accounts will be scraping bottom of the barrel.”

He smirked, “WE are not worried about OUR accounts.”

She rolled her eyes; she wasn’t actually worried, just letting him know that she was paying attention. She’d rather have empty accounts with Kaz than anyone else she knew.

After the door closed on Kaz leaving, Anika headed back to the fun to find that Keeg had been called into the gym to spar with a client. She sat down next to Nina and eyed the brilliant blue mix in her red solo cup. A sparkly sugar rimmed the plastic and dripped unappealingly at several ragged intervals.

She said, “No sugar on mine!”

Jesper tsked, handing a similar drink with a slightly better rim to Dirix.

“Nah, you gotta have the rim, it adds just the right counterpoint to the sweet of the drink. Besides you gotta help me practice the drinks.”

“But it looks like poison!”

Jesper waved a clutch of brightly striped paper straws at her, “If pixie stix are poison, then parents have poisoned a lot of kids.”

Nina smirked and took a long swallow of the mixture. She let out a long ahhhhhh, and set it down. “It’s good for a sweet drink.”

“Can you give a massage after having drinks?” Anika asked, eyebrow raised.

Nina eyed the clock and calculated her hours on duty. Technically she should stay sober for another four bells, in case a client decided to add a massage after their workout.

She sighed. “I’ll just drink a few more sips and then be done.”

Jesper slid a pixie stick encrusted solo cup in front of Anika. She picked it up, tapped Nina’s glass, called “cheers” and drank the whole thing in one go. She set the plastic cup down gently and put on a thoughtful look before nodding slowly.

“The good news is I’m going to live. The bad news is I am never having another one of those. When are you going to practice something tart and powerful?”

Jesper’s lips quirked up and he hurriedly rummaged through the bags until he extracted another smaller bag of limes. He set out the potato vodka and the triple sec bottles. He began cutting and squeezing a lime into another cup.

Anika turned back to Nina. “So if you are done with schooling already, you must be kinda smart, right?”

Nina looked at her inquiringly. “At what age do students finish their studies here?”

Anika shrugged and said, “The usual I guess, somewhere around 17 to 19 years of age. Like most orphans in the Barrel, I never went to school. Well, a little, but not much,” she corrected. “I pretty much just learn online what I need to work.”

Nina snorted, “Yeah, while many sit in school and never learn to work.”

They grinned at each other, judging the world from atop the same hill.  

Jesper slid over the new drink cup with a clean rim. The liquid was a slight milky green and only filled half the cup.

Anika sniffed it first this time. Everyone laughed. Then, she drank it all in one go just like the first one.

This time she dropped back dramatically into her chair with eyebrows to her hair line. She swallowed hard and pounded a fist to her chest, finally letting out a gasp.

“That is one hell of an antidote! Make me another and I’ll sip it. It’s eye-wateringly strong. The rest of you, you’re gonna want one of them too.”

“So, can you do office work after having drinks?” Nina asked, in an exact mirror of Anika’s earlier question.

Anika and the others laughed. Then Anika said,

“You know, we all practice in the ring all the time. You have to if you’re gonna walk the streets around here. But you know what we haven’t practiced enough of?” she looked around the table with high amusement.

“Shit, here it comes…” murmured Dirix into his cup of the green stuff that Jesper was calling Kraken Slayer.

“Fighting drunk!” crowed Anika. “Seriously, do fights come to us when we are sober and ready? NO. They show up right after a night full of drinks and fun. We should absolutely practice drunk fighting. Who’s with me?”

They all cheered yes, and Jesper scrambled to get drinks to all, including himself.

A short while later they noisily burst into the gym and were fortunate to find the ring clear and the current clients packing up after their sessions.

Specht looked them over as they prepped themselves for action, smack talking and laughing loudly. He came over.

“Just what in hell do you think you all are doing right now?”

They attempted to explain Anika’s theory of the need for drunk fighting practice, talking over one another and were surprised when Specht took them seriously. He grabbed a chair and plunked it down in one corner of the ring, stating that he would assess and report on the weak points of their drunk fighting techniques. He had Keeg go lock the front door and turn the open sign. Keeg then took the opportunity to down a couple shots so he could join in on the fun.

And this was just one of the many reasons they all loved Specht.

Chapter Text

He purchased the building within a bell, with no need for extra persuasive maneuvers from Anika.

If anyone was watching him walk away from the woman’s office, they would see a higher tilt to the brim of his hat and a greater swing of his cane to match his lengthened stride.

Energy continued to build and twist within him as he waited for his plans to coalesce. He brooded, alone with the feeling, because no one else knew the extent of all that was still to play out. Anika knew the most from necessity, but what she knew was what she could handle: the concrete, discrete details that dragged like a fringe along the bottom edge of his plans, plans that moved and changed continuously in response to the directional energy of a multitude of players and outcomes. It wasn’t something that could be explained and he didn’t care to try.

But energy with no outlet was proving to be very distracting. All he could do was stay busy, helping with the fringe of details, and watching carefully. Not actually sitting around watching the games that would bring the Dregs to their knees, no he had set score notifications and he could wait to check them late Sunday night and still walk into Haskell’s shop on Monday with high confidence.

The ease with which he had high-jacked the Dregs’ ramshackle betting system, a mess of paper and online bets, was an indictment of Haskell’s intellect and leadership. A simple flood of false stakes, hammering on the Dreg’s front door for pay out on Monday morning, was the swift and painful punch that should see them needing him to save the day.

Kaz was willing to be that contender, in return for a new blind behind which he could hunt for the currently unknown Rollins, the man who bombed his childhood and killed all the family he had.  

No, he needed to stay in the moment, aware and ready for the possibility of being picked up off the streets by the Stadwatch, or followed in the streets by his mystery stalker. He hadn’t survived this long to be taken down due to inattention.

He turned down the small alleyway behind Pim’s building…no, wait, it needed a new name. His mind raced through options before catching on something he remembered from his Da’s stories. A military term but he now realized it was also a computer related word. He liked those together. From now on this would be The Fob.

Without pause he turned into the first of the two cross alleys and pressed against the wall, head tilted to see movement in the entry and overhead. He waited patiently, not upset for having a short respite from walking. No stalker was revealed. He continued to the back door of The Fob and picked the lock as usual.

At his first step into the hall, he decided he liked the term Land Lord.

He pulled out his phone and texted:

Kaz: Send out Lease Termination Notices to tenants one week to vacate

Anika: Will do slum lord congrats

Slum Lord was also good.

He picked the lock of Pim’s apartment and walked in to Pim at his computer with headphones on. Pim picked up his movements in his peripheral and startled back into his chair so hard it sent him crashing over onto the floor.

Kaz laughed out loud and merely went to the table to set up his own laptop opposite as he used to do.

Pim got himself re-situated, pulled off the headphones, and paused whatever he’d been doing before Kaz’s surprise arrival. Then he slammed his hands down on the table top and shouted,

“Mother fucker!”

Kaz grinned at him. Better pissed off than boo-hoo crying over being alone in the world.

“Today it’s Slum Lord Mother Fucker.”

“What?”

“I now own this building.”

Pim stared at him, mute with disbelief.

“Every tenant will be getting a move out letter soon, to be out within a week.”

Pim frowned and remained mute.

Kaz removed his hat and set it aside; removed his suit jacket and hung it on the back of the chair.

He took his seat and gave a satisfied look to Pim over top of the pile of electronics.

“Soon you will have your choice of apartments, although I reserve the whole top floor for myself and the basement floor for the computer bunker.”

Pim’s eyes lit up and he let out a relieved, “Duuuuuuude...”

Kaz then gave him many other things to think about instead of being orphaned without a safety net. Pim would now be overseeing the move out of the tenants, ensuring no squatters or destruction of property. He would be making the necessary renovations to the property or let Kaz know what specialty work was needed, both agreeing that the electrical work had to be professional. Pim was to choose an apartment from the eight that would be available.

He would also be keeping this a secret from anyone else.

Kaz hacked and scanned the Harbor Master schedule to shop for ships known for carrying electronics imports and they scheduled themselves as members of dock worker teams. Kaz had the momentary thought that in future, these forays would be done as a Dreg, and to think about how to get regular spots on the piers.

In addition to all that would be needed to set up a computer command bunker, Kaz spoke about trying to find a drone. This would be difficult as good ones were expensive and they didn’t ship in bulk to a harbor. He would need to think who might have one in Ketterdam, and plan accordingly. He asked Pim to look into the specs. Finally, when it looked like Kaz was finished handing him tasks, Pim said,

“I think I found a graphic artist for the game.”

Kaz didn’t admit that the game had dropped to the bottom of his long To-Do list. But if the game could be brought closer to being ready for sale…his accounts would bounce back much faster.

“Who and where?”

“I met him in an online class on computer game graphics and when I asked to see his work, it was even better than I hoped. But the amount of work that will go into the 3D animated graphics of a game…that’s going to take a lot of money and you just bought a whole building!”

Kaz leaned back and his face took on a far-horizon look. His jaw ticked. He crossed his arms and sat contemplating. Finally he said,

“What’s this guy’s situation?”

“I only know his first name is Wylan. He’s about our age and taking online classes. He showed me digital and hand-drawn examples of his work. I don’t know much more yet, except that he had some difficulty accessing a scanner for the hand-drawn work because he was staying at someone else’s house.”

“Find out more about him and let me know, especially if he would be able to take on such a huge project. Maybe give him one or two of the champ profiles and see what he comes up with. Maybe he will accept a trade, maybe an apartment at a cut rate for creating a game world.”

Kaz was taking Pim’s dream another step forward, and giving him a place to stay. Kaz wasn’t soft, Pim wasn’t about to hug him in thanks or anything, but he would damn well do whatever Kaz asked him to do. He looked up to find Kaz staring down the hallway to the bedrooms.

Kaz said, “Let’s clear out what you don’t want to keep. We’ll need room to store what we get off the docks and what I can get over here from my place.”

They both got up and headed into Pim’s Aunt’s room. Thinking he was about to enter the scene of a long illness and death, with tissues, blankets, dirty bed linens, and evidence of bedside toiletries, Kaz was surprised to find a fully stripped bed, clean surfaces, and the window curtain pulled to one side to let in a little light. The small closet door was open, and was bare of all but a few empty hangers.

On the bedside table was a small business card. Kaz picked it up and read: Lena Morozova, Hospice Nurse, and a phone number. He flipped it over and found: Lena Morozova, Cleaner and Advisor, and a different number.

Interesting, thought Kaz, and flipped the card into his pants pocket. He had an ever-expanding list of people he needed to research. He actually needed a research assistant at this point, but who could he trust to reveal all that was of interest to him, who could he trust to not talk his suspicions into being or his hopes into disappearing? Knowing things was a delicate and personal business. He would just have to pull an all-nighter.

Meanwhile, “Yeah, this will work. Let’s break down the bed and push everything against that short wall. Then let’s play a few games.”

Pim was on board with that. “Wait ‘til you see how the new melee fight algorithms work across all fighter types!”

Kaz grinned. A few rounds of test games wouldn’t hurt.

Chapter Text

It was a steamy wet Monday morning in the Barrel. Haskell pulled his old car up to the back side of the Pawn Shop and grunted with the effort of getting hold of the door frame and hauling himself out of the worn springs of the broken down bucket seat, and stepped onto the slick, grimy pavement. Focused as he was on moving his unfit bulk from seated to standing, he was intensely irritated by the presence of another late model car swinging erratically into the space next to him. He frowned at the familiar faces packed within the other car, staring out at him with worry and anger. He didn’t have time to suck in a grumbling breath before a second car pulled in quickly next to the first, similarly packed with familiar and unhappy faces.

What should have been an average Monday morning had now become a surprise all-hands meeting of the Dregs.

Everyone was piling out and slamming doors, but no one was speaking. Haskell looked to Bastian, his Lieutenant, but Bastian merely shook his head and gestured for Haskell to lead the way.

Fuck, something was wrong. Having lived in the Barrel his whole life, the son of Macks “Blackbird” Haskell, Haskell scanned for trouble from the sidewalks, the streets, the windows overlooking the parking lot, and the roofs. He listened to the sounds of further incoming traffic. All was as it should be.

He pulled out his key ring and moved to open the big metal door that gave entry to the back of the shop. The sound of ten pairs of heavy shoes followed him into the building and down the short hall to a curtained room with a big round scarred wooden table and a mish-mash of chairs. Now words were spoken, in tense, quiet commands: “Make the damn coffee” “Move over” “You’re younger, you can stand.”

Haskell grabbed the best of the rolling office chairs and sank heavily into its fake leather cushion, the curved black back extending above his head like a dorsal fin.

He glared at Bastian sitting directly across from him at the table and watched sullenly as he set up his lap top. Bastian and most of the others around the table had been Dregs, and his brothers in arms for decades. Beatle, Teapot, Red Felix, Swann, Varian, Seeger, and Gorka. Big guys, the kind of muscle one needed for business. They weren’t pretty, but they were effective.

While Bastian was clicking his way to showing them all something of what was going on, Swann and Varian were laying out large manila envelopes with betting slips and small accounting books.

Beatle passed mugs of coffee around the table, beginning with a big one set down in front of Haskell. Haskell reached into his back pocket and pulled out his flask, one gifted to him by his father many years before. He loaded his coffee and was better primed for whatever was coming down.

“What the fucking hell is going on?”

All eyes were on Bastian to tell the news.

“We got big problems with this weekend’s bets,” said Bastian, turning on the big TV screen up on the wall and casting his laptop screen for everyone to see, although some of the guys were now looking down at their hands.  

“I’m just gonna give it to you straight: our online betting app is showing way too many bets placed, many by names we've not seen before. Some of the bets placed are way over our limit, and all of the largest bets were winners. We have an unreal level of payout just from the app alone. Then, the guys tell me they got friends pulling in friends to make direct bets this weekend. Swann and Varian kept those bets to under 200 each, but we got another situation. Swann, tell him.”

Swann didn’t look up at Haskell, he spoke to the table in front of him: “I was on my way to the Kooperom this morning before coming over, and suddenly there were a bunch of people coming up to me with betting slips, saying they wanted to settle up. I didn’t remember any one of them. I looked at one of the slips and it’s a fake! And they were demanding immediate payment, which was crazy anyway. I told em to come over here and payouts would be made as usual. But Boss, something is very wrong.”

Haskell drank a big pull from his mug and looked up at the screen display above Bastian’s head.

“How in the hell did this happen? How much are we gonna owe?”

Bastian shook his head saying, “Boss, I don’t know yet. It’s gonna take some time. That’s why I called everyone in, so if people start making trouble, if anyone comes knocking, we can push back until we know.”

Haskell pounded his fist on the table, making everyone’s mugs jump and their coffee tremble. Red Felix and Seeger and the two newest recruits, Rojakke and Big Bol, rounded their shoulders in defense.

Bastian could read Haskell, and he knew where he was heading. He shook his head and said,

“Boss, at a glance, some of these online amounts are in the tens of thousands. If we try to say something went wrong and we aren’t paying, we might have a bigger fight at our door than we can deal with.”

Unspoken was the fact that their gang might get buried.

Haskell wasn’t great with numbers, that’s why he relied on Bastian, Swann and Varian, but he did know that their accounts weren’t flush. They couldn’t take a big hit. Their revenue streams were maintenance level, with small flushes now and again. Not only would no one lend money to them to cover problems with bookkeeping, but they wouldn’t recover from what looked to be a huge fuck up. This was the kind of thing that had guys pack up and fade into the night and never come back. Haskell didn’t have anywhere else to go. This had to get fixed fast.

“Fix it. Fast.” Haskell got up and walked up to the front counter of the Pawn Shop, only he didn’t push the button to retract the metal bar gate that protected the front windows and door. He didn’t turn the Open sign. He sat on his stool near the cash register and thought through his options, pissed that he didn’t have any bolt holes ready. He would think of something, and from now on always have a Plan B.

Bastian gave orders, routing his enforcers to watching the parking lot cameras, making a voice message for the phone that said due to unexpected issues with their online app, there would be a 24-hour delay in this weekend’s payouts.

Then, he and the others began trying to sort through their records and making a running balance of how much they could collect versus how much they would pay out.

By mid-morning, Teapot, Gorka and Big Boll were facing down a crowd of faces surrounding the building demanding payouts for winnings. Beatle and Rojakke were reading through voice messages to see how many, and from whom, threats were coming.

By late morning, the tally was a very dark specter in the room, and panic was setting in. The whole thing was a mess and the amount they owed was absolutely astonishing. Bitter shouts and muttered recriminations simmered like boiled tea, speckling everyone’s face with red heat.

At noon, they sent Red Felix and Gorka out to get takeout food for lunch. They drove all the way to the middle of town to avoid any run-ins and so missed completely the moment when it was leaked through the Barrel that the Dregs might not be able to cover their weekend bets, and might be trying to make a break for it.

By early afternoon cars and people were parked close to the shop, filling the parking lot, narrowing the street from both sides, and lining the sidewalks. At the Kooperom, the front window in front of which sat Kaz Brekker making a show of eating a grilled sandwich, suddenly shattered under the impact of a rock thrown from a car. It made for a fist-sized hole and a spiderweb of jagged breaks waiting for just the right slam of the door to fall completely.

Kaz shook out his napkin and rose from the table, grabbing his hat and cane, and his laptop bag. He said to no one in particular, “It’s time to go get my money from Haskell.” And before he went through the door, he told the workers to find boards to nail across the window. Sure enough, as the door swung closed behind him, the wall of glass fell in a rush of sound and wheeling sharp edges flying through the air.

Those that had heard the young man in the black business suit and hat drawl that he would be collecting his winnings from Haskell, followed him through the streets. Soon he was dragging a crowd behind him.

Kaz’s suit made a path through the milling groups of people talking their way to a smash and grab of Haskell’s Pawn, retaliation for not paying what was owed. Eyes followed his progress to the still barred front door. Voices lowered as he struck the metal of his cane against the rails, a loud demand for attention from the cowering Dregs. People watched and waited.

Kaz waited too, as sweat rolled down the small of his back beneath the layers of shirt and suit coat. Come on, he thought, have the guts to engage. He turned back to the crowd and said, “I know it’s not what it looks like. I know the Dregs of Macks Blackbird Haskell don’t hide like rats when business comes knocking!”

Haskell, having moved to the concealed door scope when the clanging had rung through the shop, and trying to get a read on this young guy in a business suit at his door, was pushing to retract the bars before he fully realized what he was doing. Teapot and Gorka, and the others were ranged behind him, ready for whatever he needed, as the slender young man with wide shoulders, dressed in formal wear with a hat and cane and gloves, stood without fear, facing them down.

Behind the man, the crowd stepped closer yet allowed a buffer of space between them and the young man at the door. Haskell unlocked the door and swung it open with a clash, looking straight into the dark eyes shaded by the brim of the hat, saying “I don’t know who you are kid, but take your lawyer look elsewhere; this is a software problem and we will be paying out tomorrow when we have a true list of winners. Now get gone!”

It had been 7 years since Kaz stood face to face with Per Haskell. He hadn’t thought about how tall he had become from his nine year old self and how it would feel to look at this 50-something year old man with his grizzled grey brown hair, his slack jowly face, his small beady eyes of indeterminate color, and hear his voice again. His plans wavered under the onslaught of disgust, past and present. He had set this scene and this moment up, aiming at a goal and now he stood on the threshold, peering into a dim old store full of unsalable relics, the brutish faces of a small clutch of men who had settled for just getting by, led by this weasel of a man, whose first and subsequent instincts when there was trouble were to avoid and hide.

Kaz couldn’t remember such a moment of self doubt. It was the breathless second before action and he knew he could go either way: forward with his plans; or back away, take the loss, and make other plans.

But he had incited a crowd, had invited and encouraged this audience for a reason. Although they wouldn’t understand the full scope, his moment of doubt, the loss of momentum would be public. And with that thought he recommitted to his plan.

“You been looking at this crowd all day and you have yet to see the faces of your problem?”

He watched and noted the bloom of derision across the faces of the Dregs, all of them certain that he was trying to get sympathy for the crowd. He turned his head to the crowd, and watched and noted the bloom of satisfaction across their faces, all of them certain that he was trying to plead their case as well as his own.

With hidden amusement, he pointed to two large groups of people situated to one side of, and comprising a good bit more than half of, the crowd surrounding the shop.

“Have you noticed that there are too many Liddies and Black Tips coming to collect money from the Dregs?”

Derision had gone, and now Bastian, Swann and Varian were pushing through the others to get to the door and look at who was in the crowd demanding money. The pack of hounds had scented their mark. Kaz stepped to the side and watched the crowd react as he had bet they would: the Liddies and Black Tips were rallying for solving the problem with a fight, while the smart people faded off the soon-to-be battle field.

Haskell and the Dregs emptied the shop, bats studded with nails, weighted pipes, fists wrapped with chains or gilded with brass knuckles. The Liddies and Black Tips became quick allies and stepped up with their own ready weapons. Kaz took a moment to remove his jacket and set it over the door knob, then his hat came off and was set over the ball of fabric on the door knob. His laptop bag dropped just inside the door out of sight. Cane in hand, he weighed into the fight shoulder to shoulder with Bastian and Haskell.

A hit to his ear and another to his side ribs and he was pissed at himself for not making time lately for practice in the ring, for not keeping up with midnight requisitions with the Gym Rats. He’d gotten soft around the edges and it was his own damn fault. He made the person in front of him pay for it, over and over.

Finally the crowd was gone, and bodies on the ground. Those who had surrendered from the fight, standing a very respectful distance away, waited for the Dregs to let them come drag their fallen away.

Kaz waited to see what the Dregs did in such cases. He waited, expecting a warning, a threat, some statement to underline their victory over the others. Haskell said, “Let ‘em drag their sorry asses home.”

Haskell walked back to the shop and the rest followed. Kaz hid his contempt for the lost moment and walked behind them, pausing to grab his hat and coat. This time as he faced them all at the threshold, the door was held open and with none of his previous doubt, he stepped within and let the door shut behind him.

He’d been accepted, now to attend to the details.

He grabbed his laptop and walked behind them to the curtained room that had so intrigued him as a boy.

Busying himself with his stuff, he listened to them talk their way down from the fight and muster some first aid. They moved in the space like a family, knowing which place was their own and avoiding spaces that were not. They spoke few words and yet everything necessary seemed to get said.

A brief mental image of the Rietveld kitchen with Da and Jordie, settling down to a meal after a long day in the fields. He clenched his teeth. If this was a new family, then he was the foster child, here only as a new revenue stream.

He leaned back against the wall near the door and kept his eyes on Bastian.

And Bastian did not disappoint, he spoke first,

“Who the hell are you?”

“Kaz Brekker.”

“Your name means nothing here.”

Rojakke interjected, “He’s the guy who won all the poker games a few months back. The one who everyone thought had been shot.”

“Rumors echo like gunfire on a Saturday night in the Barrel,” drawled Kaz, collecting a few huffs of humor.

Not from Bastian of course.

“Why did you come knocking on our door, today of all days?”

“I figure any day is a good day to ask to be a Dreg,” replied Kaz.

A sad display of disbelief was seen on too many faces around the room, especially that of Haskell’s.

Rojakke again offered what he knew, “Boss, he was asked to join the Liddies and Black Tips and he flipped them off in the streets.”

“And they got a little more from me today,” said Kaz, now collecting smug smiles at the beat down they all just gave.

Bastian was not easily won, “You do fight good…for a crip who uses a cane. Is that faked too?”

“No,” said Kaz, with no expression on his face, staring Bastian down, letting everyone take a good look at the blood on his clothes, along his jaw, mixed within his sweaty hair, on his crippled feet while the rest of them sat.

“What’s with the gloves?”

“Personal Protective Equipment required by my job,” smirked Kaz. To the puzzled look on TeaPot’s face he explained, “If I’m ever caught by the Stadwatch, it won’t be because I left my fingerprints.”

Haskell’s eyes glinted and Kaz knew the hook had been set. Time to ask his own question. Looking back at Bastian,

“You see that your betting software company sent out a notice last Friday that they’d been hacked?”

Bastian clenched his jaw and turned to his laptop, heading to the company’s website to find the announcement.

“Knowing that doesn’t help us now,” he growled.

“Have you checked the registry of transactions to see if there is a tell within the IDs which bets are actual and which are faked?”

Haskell turned toward Bastian, definitely wanting that answer.

Bastian’s face turned slightly red and his hands hovered over the keys.

Kaz, who was used to interacting with his laptop like a Formula One driver jockeying for position, restrained himself from ripping the device out from under him. But he couldn’t keep from directing,

“Log on to your account and find the report function.”

Bastian rebelled at being directed by a punk. He shoved the laptop across the table,

“You show us, computer nerd.”

Kaz lifted his own laptop out of his bag and set it on the nearest flat surface. His gloved fingers flew over his keyboard at twice the speed of Bastian’s fat fingers and he barked,

“You wanna give me your user id and password, or walk over here and type them in?”

Bastian, still unwilling to concede an inch, gave out the info from his seat.

“Dregs27, Lootenant1.”

Kaz kept his face clear of expression and concentrated on typing while he heard the gang chuckle at the simple word play.

Soon he was scrolling through a report that showed the transaction numbers.

“Yes, as suspected. Disengage your computer from the screen and I will cast this up for everyone to see.”

He had everyone’s attention as he took them through the consistent anomaly with the numbers that showed which were fake. A few keystrokes and a flip of the data to a spreadsheet and Kaz reduced their losses by more than half.

Haskell’s shoulders dropped back into their forward slump at the news. The others said it was a damned good time to head over to the tavern for beers to celebrate.

Kaz packed up and readied to follow. Bastian came from around the table and as he led his soldiers past Kaz, he nodded at him and said,

“First round is on me.”

It wasn’t too hard to look pleased at the scrap of acceptance. Kaz knew it was another win to add to this evening’s pile.

The other cars were packed so Kaz ended up as passenger with Haskell. Alone time with Boss was another huge win.

Kaz figured the trip would be short but long enough for his purposes and launched into his pitch to be Dregs away from the suspicion of the others.

He restated the money that had just been saved and bemoaned the reality of having to make good on the fake paper receipts unless they were Liddies or Black Tips. He surmised that the hurt would be small, especially compared to what they had been on the hook for. He threw around the words “they, we, and our” and then gently edged Haskell into a few new ideas like selling digital protection services (access to the online finances of everyone within Dregs territory), home security services (access to homes they were protecting), and having ship container unloading teams (access to incoming products) and getting them on the Harbor Master schedule.

Kaz had many more ideas but this was enough for Haskell’s inner weasel to sit back on his haunches and rub his furry paws in greed.

“You’re in, kid. You’re Dregs. Now let’s go have some beers and we’ll talk more later.”

As Kaz reached for the tall mug of cheap, pale beer before him, standing around one of four tables the group had commandeered in the center of a truly dark and filthy tavern, and as Haskell officially pronounced him Dregs to the rest of them, he swept all the winnings of the night off the table and settled in to watching and learning the tells of his new family.

Next morning, Haskell sent Swann and Varian to open the Pawn Shop at its usual time, and told Kaz to be with them. His job was to watch the door and watch over the payouts. If anyone caused trouble, Kaz was to stop it.

Kaz was again under the direction of an adult, one who wouldn’t necessarily see things as Kaz did. He was tired, his body was trying to push alcohol out of its system, and he had many other things he wanted to do today. To distract himself, he thought of all he could do unsupervised in the Pawn Shop.

A much smaller crowd returned to Haskell’s to claim their winnings, and that too made Kaz smile. They’d intimidated the Barrel into handing over their lunch money.

Haskell and Bastian rolled in sometime in the afternoon. Kaz had surreptitiously poked into nearly everything of interest and learned about Bastian’s role and business management techniques from Swann and Varian when they weren’t busy griping about their books and their payouts.

Bastian came out from the back room and told Kaz that Haskell wanted to talk to him. Kaz thought Bastian looked rather pleased about something and moved to the back room with some wariness.

Haskell was once again seated in the chair that rose over his head like a dorsal fin. Kaz took Bastian’s seat at the table, placing himself directly across from his new boss. He sat forward like an excited new recruit and rested his arms on the table, waiting for the big man to begin.

“So you showed up today, but that’s just the start for a soldier in the Dregs,” he began, which Kaz immediately interrupted,

“A Lieutenant, sir,” said Kaz, quietly but firmly, eyes steady.

“Kid, you don’t just walk in off the street and make Lieutenant!”

“I didn’t just walk in, I fought by your side and saved you shit tons of money in just one day, probably near enough of how much your current and only Lieutenant brings to the table over a month,” said Kaz, knowing well that Bastian and his soldiers took several months to bring in anything close to what Kaz had saved them. Before Haskell could figure out a response, he added,

“And you know I am good for much more.”

Haskell had to think about it. Kaz leaned back in his chair, releasing Haskell’s eyes for a moment to give him time. He said,

“Eyes are on the Dregs right now, how we showed strength, how we dealt with the fallout, and they will watch for what we do next. Adding another foot soldier, says we have a future; adding another Lieutenant says we’re coming for our full share of the future.” And he left it at that.

Haskell’s eyes flashed with greed. He liked the bravado of Kaz’s energy and words, he wanted to think of them as his own. Kaz noted the effect of this lever.

“Okay,” he said, “you got it BUT, don’t think for a moment that you are sitting behind a computer and not getting your hands dirty! If I tell you to do any job, like a soldier, you do it with a salute. I can’t be gifting you; you gotta prove yourself, same as everyone else.”

Kaz barely resisted scoffing at how everyone else had proved themselves to this weak and lazy man and his dying gang. But Haskell was really pushing it now,

“We go old school around here. You gonna be sent on jobs you don’t like and you gotta prove your loyalty without any crying or bitching. This is a full time, twenty-four seven job. I gotta be able to reach you at all times and you gotta be where I tell you, got it?”

Again Kaz barely resisted rolling his eyes. Does he think Kaz has never worked?

“You report to me, but you’re just starting out. If Bastian or one of the others tells you to do something, they got years more loyalty on you, you do what they say or you’re out, you hear me?”

Kaz gave a nod. He'd got Lieutenant within one day – he'd take his win.

“And,” Haskell said, turning his tattooed forearm more fully toward Kaz, “you’re gotta get the ink we all got, showing you’re one of us. You can leave off for today and head over to Drakkar’s Tattoo shop.”

Hoping he looked somewhere close to obedient, Kaz said a quick, “Yes, sir,” and raised his hand to his forehead, and snapped a two-finger salute.

Chapter Text

The morning alarm blared through the Stadwatch Training Center dormitory. It washed over Matthias without effect as he had been awake for quite some time, staring up at the metal buttressed pitched ceiling, tracing the blooms of rust that some lazy, ignoramus had painted over with heavy rust-resistant paint. A waste of effort and a waste of expensive paint. Much like how Kerch Stadwatch training covered over the mush of the characters of its future cadets.

No one spoke to him as he laid waiting on them to clear out. Some were swearing and scrambling to the shower, others rolling over and choosing sleep over food. He was on a different schedule today. He’d been instructed to show up to Commander Aten’s office an hour after breakfast.

He wanted to be hopeful about the meeting but it was hard to switch to hope from all the anger and resentment he’d been feeling since his last meeting with the Commander.

A week ago he had woken to discover that his Fjerdan Druskelle squad had packed and left Ketterdam without him. He still had no idea why Jarl Brum had agreed to a special onsite training session in Ketterdam. Supposedly they were to learn specialized urban policing techniques, but he didn’t see why those skills were necessary in the well-ordered cities of Fjerda. Fjerda did not have anywhere near the kind of problems an island port town like Ketterdam had. Fjerda didn’t allow gangs to rule a whole section of a city and to cause chaos and mayhem.

He still had no idea why he alone had been abandoned to ‘extended learning opportunities.’ He’d texted the Jarl about the sudden change and had received:

“Make us proud; learn something of value.”

He had texted his squad and had gotten a few replies:

“Yeah, that sucks. Glad it’s not me, fr.”

“Maybe that girl will make it up to you!”

And from one of the two that had been with him on Scout Night, “Loser.”

He had texted his parents to let them know, and they thought it was an honor to be singled out in such a way; to be given special directives from the Jarl. His sister deepened his fury and sadness with not being able to go home by sharing:

“Word is a new litter of Isenwulf is to drop any day now. JB taking the squad to present themselves for bonding.”

Matthias had thought for one crazy moment of asking his parents for the money for a flight home, but the cost was exorbitant and would cause bad feeling at the beginning of this new military training exchange program. His parents would cringe knowing their son had caused such trouble.  

Everything had been fine until fight night at that old gym in the poor part of Ketterdam. His squad mates had left him after his “fight” with the Ravkan girl, and they hadn’t been in the dormitory when he’d returned. He’d shrugged it off, certain that they would all be there in the morning to pack and head to the Fjerdan ship.

Instead he’d been sent to Commander Aten’s office and given the news that Jarl Brum had designated Matthias to remain for another few weeks in Ketterdam for further training. The Commander had told him this as though it were a gift. If he had been expecting instant gratitude, what he got was a silent and unresponsive Matthias, who had been absorbing the punishment for what it was. He could only imagine the derisive tones in which his friends had told the Jarl about his entering the fight ring with a Ravkan woman and refusing to fight.

If Matthias had been given the chance, he would have asked the Jarl what he would have done differently in that ring. How could they expect him to take a swing at her? He knew what his punches did to other male cadets. Surely, he thought, this punishment won’t continue for too long. And if his instincts were wrong, and this wasn’t the punishment he thought it was, then he had no idea why he was here. His faith and loyalty in Jarl Brum were being hard pressed.

And he was angry, so very angry. He was here in this strange and dirty city, with people who couldn’t understand his very sparse Kerch with its heavy Fjerdan accent, with people who took their policing as a day job instead of the vocation it should truly be. There was no honor in the people of Ketterdam. Even in the little things, those he trained with did the bare minimum required; resentful in proportion to their efforts. They wanted things to be free and easy, while he knew with every Fjerdan cell in his body that honorable things came from persistent hard work. He was surrounded by people every moment of his days and nights, and incredibly alone. He hoped something would intervene and he would be sent home sooner than later.

He showered, dressed, and ate with a quarter bell remaining before his meeting. He went to the Commander’s office, checked in with the Executive Assistant, and took a seat in the nicely furnished waiting area. Matthias contemplated the choice of soft fabric sectional seating, glass topped occasional table, and decorative pillows, and vase lamps. Soft white draperies framed the otherwise purely functional window. It made Matthias feel like his uniform was too rough, his body too heavy, and in comparison to any furnishings he’d ever known personally, that he was of a lower social class from the man he was waiting to see.

At a few minutes before his own meeting time, the great double wood doors quietly opened and quickly closed. A girl about his age walked with her chin up, her eyes narrowed, and her hands in partial fists held rigidly at her sides. The Executive Assistant murmured a “Goodbye Miss Aten” but the girl continued without acknowledgement out the entry door and into the hallway, her shoes tapping as she stepped from the plush office carpeting onto the polished tile.

He slowly realized he’d seen her before, at the Scout Night at SpechtBox. She had been with a couple of friends and had been moving toward the stairs where the young thugs that worked there had gone to stand waiting for the gym to clear out.

That gym on Scout Night was not a place for young women, and certainly not the Commander’s daughter. Matthias wondered if the Commander even knew that his daughter had been there.

“You may now go in,” came the modulated tones of the Executive Assistant.

Matthias heaved himself up and approached the imposing double doors. He opened them to find the office was exactly as it had been the first time he had visited: a huge ornate wooden desk floated in the middle of a sea of ocean blue carpet. Two sides of the office had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Geldstraat and surrounding upscale neighborhoods. The Kerch flag was staged behind the desk along with a bank of video screens showcasing scenes of Ketterdam throughout its stages of growth. Since it was all behind the Commander, the effect was purely for those sitting in the visitor seats, and Matthias wondered if the hypnotic effect was intentional.

His eyes found Commander Aten’s: deep green like his daughter’s, sunk within a long narrow face, accented with sharp pointed eyebrows and a pointed chin. Only his lower lip was visible beneath the peppered gray beard, fiercely trimmed, creating the impression of half his emotions hidden. Matthias felt uneasy before him once again. What reason did the highest ranking member of the Stadwatch have for keeping anything hidden?

Matthias took one of the four chairs arranged before the desk, and waited.

“How are things going with Kerch Urban Tactical Policing?”

“Good, sir.”

“Good indeed. You seem capable and dedicated. What do you do in your free time now that your group has returned home?”

Matthias stared at Commander Aten, attempting to figure out what this meeting was all about.

“I work out in the gym and get more sleep than usual,” he said.

Commander Aten looked him over. Finally he said,

“You are an outsider, no one really knows you here. You can do something for me that our Kerch cadets could not do without being easily identified and causing unwanted curiosity.”

Ah, he was to be useful, thought Matthias. Did he want to be useful? It beat being invisible and abandoned. He tilted his head to show his interest. Commander Aten obliged,

“You have a sister, or a female cousin?’

“I have a younger sister, sir,” Matthias offered.

“Well, as you may have just seen, I have a beautiful young daughter, and I will do anything to protect her.”

Matthias nodded his agreement with this sentiment.

“I need someone to investigate the business and people of SpechtBox. I don’t know that anything illegal is being done there but I know my daughter was recently there and that she invited to my home a few young men she had met there. I have them on camera and they are not the kind I want around my daughter. I want them investigated but as this is a private matter, I cannot really use department resources. If you would agree to do some investigative work for me in your spare time,  I could see my way to giving you the highest marks and commendation to your Jarl Brum.”

He wanted to say no. He had no training in spying and didn’t think he really had what it would take. He didn’t want to spy on others for the Commander whom he barely knew. But, what would the Jarl want him to do? What losses would the Jarl or Fjerda suffer if he disappointed the Stadwwatch Commander of Ketterdam? Who was he to deny this request? In all honesty, he had the time for it and he was truly bored.

“I understand. What do you want me to do?”

The Commander’s shoulders relaxed a bit and his smile deepened to sincere. He drew some paper images from a stack to his left and laid them out in single sheets such that Matthias could see them clearly.

“If you could spend your evenings at SpechtBox, training, and watch for these young men, and learn everything you can about them, I would be most appreciative.”

Matthias looked at the pictures. He saw the slender wiry frame and dark good looks of the guy who had assigned him to fight with the Ravkan girl. He saw the brown hair and brown eyes of the stout young man who had fought with one of his squad mates. He saw the dark blond hair and muscled build of the other guy who had been assigned fights on Scout Night. All three had been working Scout Night at SpechtBox.

“Won’t it be suspicious for me to be going over to that gym when we have such a superior one available here?”

“Far less suspicious than one of our own Kerch cadets. You’ll be seen as just an outsider who acts differently.”

Matthias harrumphed in agreement.

The Commander took this to mean full acceptance. He said,

“Start immediately and report often. My assistant will get your messages and any necessary requests for my time to me as quickly as possible.”

Matthias said what he felt was required, “Yes, Sir. And about the gym fees?”

“Ah yes, go ahead and pay under your own name and submit the receipts to my Assistant for reimbursement.”

Another “Yes, sir,” and he found himself walking out of the office.

It wasn’t the meeting he had hoped for, but it was at least some detective experience he knew his Druskelle squad mates wouldn’t be getting.

That evening, after finishing up a patrol car ride-along of the Merchant’s Walk neighborhood, which had proven very boring as the only task was assisting the anxious parents of a small child who had wandered away in the crowds, he showered and dressed in his most basic of gym wear.

He took public transportation to the Lid, surreptitiously eating a commissary sandwich during the ride, and walked the rest of the way to SpechtBox.

He hefted his gym bag over his shoulder, having packed shoes for the mats and tape and gloves for the boxing bags. He would get good worth from his gym membership.

A small tinkling bell rang as he opened the door to the office. A husky female voice called out from down the hall, “First door on your right!”

He entered a basic office with aged flooring and furniture, all with a distinct grey pall. He saw the same blond haired young woman that had been there on Scout Night. She was angular and muscled, her chin sharp and tilted up, her crystal blue eyes vivid. She didn’t smile politely at his entry, and Matthias didn’t know what he felt about that. She raised a thin blond brow at him, prompting him without words to say what he wanted.

“I was here last week for Scout Night and am looking for some training.”

She said, “How did you hear about Scout Night?”

“I didn’t. My friends knew about it and they invited me along. No,” he said forestalling further questions about that night, “I don’t know how they knew about it.”

She assessed him swiftly, head to toe and said,

“You were the one in the ring with Nina, and didn’t take a single swing at her.”

“Fjerdan’s don’t hit women,” he said.

“Fjerdan’s would drop dead in the Barrel,” she scoffed, and continued,

 “What types of fighting do you need to work on?”

“What do you have?” he asked.

“Boxing, both amateur and professional with Specht and Dirix; boxing and wrestling and weight lifting with them and Keeg; and if you want specialized mixed martial arts, weaponry included, then myself for beginners, and if you are of high enough level, individual lessons with Kaz,” she said.

Having spent most of this summer in basic police training, of course he wanted to grab for the specialized MMA training, but since he was here for reconnaissance, he should try to get time with all of them. He said,

“All of that sounds good. Maybe I should be assessed by someone for where I should start?”

“Of course. All new clients are assessed by Specht. When is good for you?”

“Tonight?”

“Let me see,” she said, as she picked up her phone and presumably texted Mr. Specht.

While she waited for a response, she listed the membership levels and their associated costs. Matthias reflected that he hadn’t been cautioned against spending too much money and figured that if he had the highest level of membership, he would have the most access to everything provided.

He said, “I am only here for the summer, so give me the best you got.”

She remained unimpressed, but her attention was diverted as her phone pinged. She looked at it and then at him,

“You are in luck, Specht can meet you in the center ring in a half-bell.”

He nodded and paid for the remainder of a summer membership and followed Anika down the hall for his facility tour.

He was shown the break room, the bathrooms, the showers, the lockers for personal items, the schedule boards for when teachers were in the gym and available for personal training, and the schedules for arranging sparring matches. He was shown the weight lifting equipment and the cardio machines. And finally, he was taken down a dark hallway off of the gym to a door with a sign that read:

“Massage Therapist, Nina Zenik, LMT.”

He frowned, remembering the girl’s first name and her taunt that he should get a massage. How many Nina’s were there in Ketterdam, associated with this gym? So, her last name was Zenik, certainly a Ravkan name.

Anika was saying, “And this is our new massage therapist, great for relaxation and muscle recovery. You can schedule a massage through our website or, just come to this door and if it is open, she might have time for a drop-in. She does half-bell, full-bell, or double-bell sessions. She has all sorts of different treatment techniques and will customize as you wish. BUT, she does NOT do happy endings so don’t even think it If a client does anything inappropriate during a session, she will hurt you and leave the door open for Specht to escort you out. We will cancel your membership so fast your head will spin and there will be no refunds. You got it?”

“That will not be a problem as I don’t do massage,” said Matthias.

Anika raised her brows at him and said, “Okay, but just know she is really good. She makes your muscles cry with happiness and then your next workout tends to be great.”

Matthias shook his head, refusing to talk any more about it.

Into the silence came the muffled murmur of her voice, speaking kindly. She must have a client behind the closed door. Anika turned and walked back toward the gym and Matthias followed, but heard the massage room door quietly open and close behind him. Then he heard the rustling and soft treads of a person walking up behind him.

It was her. He knew it. She spoke.

“Just washing my hands. My client is done and my table can be ready within 15 minutes if you were looking for a session.”

Matthias did not immediately turn around. He stared at Anika’s back, hoping she would respond for him. And she did,

“Hi Nina. I was just giving a tour to a new client, Matthias Helvar, and letting him know of your services.”

Still, he hesitated to turn around and face her. She said,

“I do have a table extender for tall people if you are worried about comfort and my schedule is free for the rest of the evening.”

At this point it would be incredibly rude not to respond, yet he turned slowly toward her.

“I have done nothing to require your services ma’am.”

She saw his face and immediately recognized him. She grinned.

“Ma’am!” she laughed, trying to remain somewhat quiet while a client was still in her room. “Everything about you screams your need for a deep tissue massage!” Her laughter lit up her eyes, lifted her rounded cheeks, stretched out her beautiful lips into arcs of glee. Into that moment his hands wanted to reach out and cup her face, hold it tilted up at him, like a sunflower to the sun; but his mind writhed in disgust at the same time because her words taunted as usualand provoked him into having to restrain himself. He might actually hate her.  

He frowned at her and said, “No.”

She laughed and reached out a hand to his upper arm. She squeezed his arm, then released and grabbed the next handful above and gave it a squeeze, compressing his muscles in quick strong squeezes that left his biceps and deltoids relaxed yet tingling. Ugh, it felt good. He had never had a massage and if this is what it did then…he was never getting on her table, in a small dark room, alone with her hands.

He stepped away and looked down on her in rejection of her efforts.

She frowned and he saw in her eyes that he had offended her. He was not going to care, and looked away.

Anika thankfully interjected, “We’ll see how he feels about massage after time in the ring with Specht or Kaz.”

The idea that anyone here at SpechtBox would cause enough pain to require a massage from Nina made him snort.

Nina began moving back to her client who had had plenty of time to dress by now. Her voice came floating back in a whisper,

“I also know ways to hurt a person should I need to…”

Anika laughed, and said, “It was a surprise when she showed me how easy it is to incapacitate someone lying on a table completely at her mercy.”

Matthias was now trying to navigate the idea of soft gliding touches and the risk of death. That woman was a menace! Hopefully she would be very busy every evening, with others, and he wouldn’t have to see her.

He walked back into the gym and saw that there were quite a few men gathered around the weight equipment and the man Specht pulling on MMA sparring gloves. Rap was playing on the speakers, the kind that was actually perfect for hitting the bags, getting in the right number of hits within specific time limits.

Specht was shorter than Matthias by a head, but he was big with muscle. He was somewhere in his forties or fifties but still moved with strength and control. As he turned and looked across at Matthias his dark eyes took time looking him over. Matthias straightened his already near perfect posture. Getting into the ring with this man would be a challenge and an honor.

Matthias walked over and set his bag down on a bench, unzipped a side pouch and began pulling out his own sparring gloves. Specht remained silent. So, thought Matthias with relief, no hyperbolic sales pitch for gym membership. His stomach tightened and he began focusing intently on every move he made starting now. It would be too late waiting until they faced each other in the ring.

He sat and swapped out his street shoes for ring shoes. Anika relayed the sparse info he’d given her to Specht. Specht just nodded and Anika returned to the office. Beautiful as she was, no one in the gym ogled her as she made her way. Matthias was surprised by how it reminded him of home, as though these people might have some small thing in common with Fjerdans. It was distracting and he needed to focus. He stood, pushed his mouthguard in, and put himself in front of Specht who gestured for Matthias to climb the steps first.

He had no idea how warmed up or tired out Specht might be at this point in the day, but he’d been sitting in a patrol car all day. He began bouncing on his toes and shaking out his arms. Next he dropped left, then right into stretches for his obliques for any and all cross strikes. And then Specht was directly across from him. Matthias took in the first of three deep breathes through his nose, holding it briefly,  before letting it stream out his mouth in an even flow.

This was the moment Matthias loved most, when his mind let go of every other thing in the world and knew only the floating center between himself and his opponent. This floating center space that would be tried and contested between them within the 20 x 20 square. What did Specht see of him? Did he see Matthias’ love of landing strong hits? His instinct to finish as the victor or die trying?

Matthias watched his opponent’s eyes, jaw, shoulders, elbows, hands, and feet; calculating what it might mean for Specht to be moving slightly in and out, left and right of the floating center.

Grateful for the continued silence, he too established his balance with small movements on the edge of the floating center between them.

As this spar session was only an assessment, Matthias knew that like playing the white pieces in chess, he would be moving first. Should he jab at Specht and let the man take the real first move, or begin with a full combo?

“You thinking I’m a girl too?” asked Specht, reminding Matthias that the last time Specht had seen him in this ring he had stood like an idiot and done nothing and that his whole Druskelle squad had left him because of it.

Matthias forgot the etiquette and strategy of a practice sparring match and exploded across the floating center with a sharp inhale and an exhale of fury.

His fists and feet fought for places to land against a nearly impenetrable wall of defense set up by Specht, who reacted to Matthias’ outrage with focused calm. Seeing that calm on Specht was a rebuke to his own composure and fed a ravenous beast of anger with himself. He was spiraling and couldn’t back out. No matter how often his feet danced out, the beast brought him back in, even though Specht was now landing blows and kicks across the space and in the small gaps of his defenses.

By the time Specht pulled back to the ropes and waved the fight finished, Matthias was strangely exhausted, dripping with sweat. A glance at the clock showed it had only been a fraction of a bell in time.

And he did hurt in a couple of places. Nothing terrible, but definite signs that Matthias had been in the ring with a real contender.

He pushed out his mouth guard and climbed out of the ring. He went to his towel and wiping his face, noted that the bout had been watched by the others, that some raised their hand at him before returning to their sets.

How was it that he could be silently accepted here, in a rough-edges gym in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city? Why did he like it here of all places?

He turned to find Specht just looking at him, tattoed arms crossed over his chest. He’d been inspected and evaluated many times in his Druskelle training, but there was no telling what this man thought of him.

“You are well trained for your age, but you are young. There is much you have yet to learn but you say you are only here for the remainder of summer, which means about three more weeks.”

“Yes sir.”

“Well that just leaves working out on the equipment. You are also cleared to spar with others as you wish, including teachers, according to the rules,” said Specht, “which are: don’t break any bones and no head shots resulting in concussion.”

“Okay. Sir.”

“I have one training goal for you, given that you are Fjerdan, Druskelle, and in our Kerch Urban Tactical Policing training.”

“Yes, sir?” said Matthias, realizing Specht’s ring of knowledge far exceeded a 20 x 20 space.

“Get into a ring with a woman. Learn to fight one, or one day while policing men and women, you will be gutted by one and spend your last minutes watching your honor bleed into the street and be nothing but an unwanted mess for every car that drives by.”

Matthias stared back at Specht, and wrestled with outright refusal.

“I will let Anika know you will be scheduling a session with her. Make sure you see her before you go.”

Nothing was right here in Ketterdam. Nothing! How could he have even felt for a moment that anything about these people was like home?

This man had to know he was still here in Ketterdam, the only Fjerdan left behind, because of that night in the ring with Nina. And now he was asking him to return to the ring with a woman? One who was physically half of his own strength and stature?

Matthias wanted to pull his hair out, yell at this man, and stomp his way down to the harbor, find any ship going elsewhere, and LEAVE.

Specht gave a small twist of a smile and pointed at Matthias saying,

“All that thinking in your head is your problem. Anika, like every woman, is smaller than you, but she can hold her own in the ring. Learn to fight against her. Learn that a fight is not always about all your strength against another. Learn that opponents, who are so much smaller, are much meaner, faster, and often carry weapons. Do they not teach you this in your military or police training?”

“In Fjerda, the women don’t engage in fighting, so there is no need to train for it!”

“Yet. They haven’t done it yet. Do you want to be an immobile jackass the moment one decides to?”

“Of course not!”

Specht nodded and began walking to the other side of the gym where another client was waiting.

“See Anika before you go.”   

Chapter Text

The Wolverine had begun their training by speaking Ravkan. Each of them knew some Ravkan and their training involved commands and short responses, not subtle or elegant language. Inej spoke Ravkan well enough, having travelled around Ravka as a performer with her family.

She was currently terrible with her Kerch, as were most of the others in their group. All of them were directed to spend some of their independent study time online learning the language. She found herself bored with repeating sentences out loud to a flat screen, since the sentences were rarely ones she would use out on the streets.

Thank the Saints for smart phones. She took pics, circled signs, and let the AI translate for her. She remembered words better when she saw their use. She also did better listening to podcasts and playlists in Kerch, even if she only understood a few words at a go. She felt the pattern and inflection of them become familiar and hoped meaning would eventually follow.

Her eyes drifted to the window next to her desk, and her thoughts followed.

The hotel was a long distance from the water, but in a small span of watery horizon bracketed by other tall buildings, she saw there was a big tanker moving in closer to shore. Due to its size, it would need to veer left and anchor at the old pier in what was unofficially called Fifth Harbor, and its crew would have a long trek to get to the casino/hotel/escort services part of The Barrel for shore leave.

She couldn’t help noting the stacks of shipping containers along the aft deck.

She stood and angled herself to track the ship a little longer as it slowly moved behind an intervening building. All of that space between her and it. All of the buildings, the cars, the streets, the noise, the people. All of the noise outside blending with the Kerch that emitted in morse code bursts from her computer speakers.

All of that distance and space, and no freedom?

It was now over a month since she had been pulled from the putrid cramped space of a large shipping container that had served as her travel berth for what she guessed had been about two weeks. She had been thrown in with blankets, a backpack of dry goods for food, 24 bottles of water, and a 5 gallon bucket with a lid for her toilet. She was warned to be silent, or be discovered by sailors who would be very happy to keep her company. 

She had known the days by the gleams of light through cracks in the metal sheeting and joints. She had known the nights by the utter darkness and by feeling her way to the bucket by fingertips along cold corrugated metal. She knew the rumbling vibrations of the huge engines, the bellowing of male voices that oscillated with their movements. She did not know the language but the sounds they made were harsh and barking. She listened to the wind, sometimes a soft buffeting around her metal cage, other times a shrill undulating whistle in the cracks. She listened to the sound of clanging metal on poles, and the screams of gulls. She spent many, many hours thinking of where she might be going and what would happen once she got there. She spent her time moving her body through stretch and strengthening routines she had been trained to do since she was very young.

Once, with her body wrapped in blankets, with her back against the floor, all sounds blended together, and she had drifted pleasantly, unthinkingly, only to realize with throat-choking horror that she had been humming. She had been making noise. Her heart had pounded too hard and she had frozen rigidly in place. She hadn’t moved or taken a good breath for hours afterwards, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Then she had simply rolled over, drawing the blanket over her head, pushed a fistful of blanket into her mouth, and cried. She had burned with anger through the tears, furious at herself for crying. Crying gave them what they wanted, and she wouldn’t give it to them after all that that had been taken already.

Watching the tanker disappear from sight, she relived those moments when the ship that had brought her here had slowed and docked, and the men had left to enjoy their shore leave. She had been sitting in the silence and the stench, filthy and dispirited, not knowing what was to happen next, only that her food and bucket situations were dire.

The sound of the lock being undone, the harsh rasp of the metal door opening, and the appearance of two large male bodies filling the exit, was her welcome to the harbor of Ketterdam. They had reacted strongly to the smells released from her metal cage, and protested in the same harsh language of the sailors. They had waved for her to come out, and she had done so with a wild flash of hope of slipping by them and running for her life, losing them within the city, finding someone who spoke her language, and finally, finally getting help.

But no, a huge hand had wrapped painfully around her thin upper arm and she had been hauled along the deck, stumbling awkwardly along the narrow gangway and across an empty parking lot to a van with no back windows. She had been placed between them along a bench seat as another man drove. They had spoken to her and around her and had laughed with leering looks. She hated them. She now knew them as the pet goons of the Peacock.

Overwhelmed by the nighttime ride through the streets of the Barrel, she had trembled in fear. For the first time since her life had been stolen from her, she wished to be back in the Apparat’s Ashram. It seemed too much to hope anymore to return to her home.

She had barely registered their turn into the underground parking structure of a large, nine-storied building with a marquee in blue lights announcing The Van Verent Hotel, and a gold filigreed icon of a peacock, signaling that the Menagerie was housed within (although she would learn of that part later.) They had pulled her through the parking lot into an elevator, where their two hulking bodies had pressed her in on both sides. The man with the brutish face and crooked nose had placed his hand on her stomach and run it up along her front, squeezing one breast, then the other, and laughing. When the doors had opened, they had dragged her into the room she and the others now used as their situation room.  

Every time she left this building, she flirted with freedom.

A part of her mind was always calculating space, angles and distances. How fast she could run, how small of a space could she hide within.

When they began training with the motorcycles, out on a vacant lot in the poorest section of Ketterdam, she looked for break lines through to the street and mentally ran through the streets to take to an exit point.

She spent time thinking how one gets off an island without money while being hunted.

While one carries a locator tag under her skin.

She had small moments of freedom now: out in the streets using her strength, agility and training hunting her mark; and withstanding the force of the wind as she flew through her maneuvers with the motorcycle. She loved the initial glide and lean into the turns and the pull and acceleration as she came out of them. She loved the speed and how smoothly she wove through obstacle cones.

And then she returned to the Van Verent Hotel, known for a whole floor devoted to the Menagerie Escort Services presided over by the glorious Peacock. Which part did she belong to? Seeing her around, would anyone of the men off the streets who frequented the place, know or care?

It was a unique torture. In the Ashram she was always within the compound with everyone else. There was no alone time for comparison. Here she was offered slices of time to herself, making many small decisions on her own; a deceptive return to autonomy given that she carried a locator device under her skin.

They had been warned repeatedly that any glitch in their tag signals would cause an immediate search and retrieve response from the Peacock’s teal-coated enforcers. Cobbett was a drooling junkyard dog, held back only barely by the Peacock’s slim hand on the chain. Inej had doubts of surviving him should he be told to sic.

A chime from her phone brought her back. She needed to get into the situation room for a presentation on how professional security companies went about securing their clients, their buildings, and their cars. Inej figured they would then outline strategies for how to circumvent such systems and methods.

She grabbed her water bottle and digital notebook and headed out to take her seat, a much easier task since the Wolverine had banished the Peacock from the room. Inej didn’t allow herself to think of it as a true victory. In fact she might admit to the absence and silence of the Peacock being almost more ominous than her presence.

They gathered around the table waiting on the Wolverine and the Mare. The Fox began speaking to the group in Kerch, displaying her superior study skills and her need to be ahead of everyone else. She didn’t actually say anything that required a response so the rest of them just watched and listened to her with varied degrees of attention.

The Wolverine arrived just before the bell and slid into his seat with his usual fluid grace. The man was dressed as always in his white gi, which emphasized the brown of his skin and the dark of his hair as it was pulled tightly back to the nape of his neck. The fabric made a soft shush as he moved the chair closer and pulled the keyboard to him and began the class. The wall mounted display screen showed an internet search results screen of security companies in Ketterdam. He clicked on the first and a business page flooded the screen with a picture of a beautiful home one would find in the gated communities north of the Geldstraat.

The girls looked at each other and at the empty seat of the Mare.

No one had ever not come to the table. No one had ever dared be late, let alone gone missing. Yet the Wolverine was continuing with his presentation as though there was nothing unusual. How could they concentrate without knowing what had happened?

Inej was staring at the Wolverine’s face, eyes gliding down his cheek bones to his square jaw line, looking for any hint of what he was doing with the absence. Was he silently instructing them to ignore the fate of any one of them? With all of the training and resources given to this group, they couldn’t possibly be that inconsequential.

The Serpent was annoying as a classmate but her competitive and ambitious nature had its uses. She spoke and interrupted the Wolverine as though she had the right,

“Why do we begin without the Mare?”

The Wolverine allowed the interruption and turned to the Serpent and said in a casual way,

“Her skills are better placed elsewhere. She has left the program.”

An anxious silence centered among them. The Wolverine began again,

“As you can see, the types of things you will be up against include onsite guards, patrols, camera surveillance, alar-“

“Who decided her skills weren’t good enough for this team? Do we all get reviews? What are the options if we fail here?” the Serpent fired off, again interrupting the Wolverine, which was as strange and awkward a behavior as not showing up to the table.

The Wolverine was slower this time in facing them around the table, making of his movements an exaggeration of calm attentiveness, folding his hands carefully on the table before him in a prayerful way.

Inej immediately felt like telling him to ignore their questions; that they were perfectly capable of similarly ignoring their own fates. But she waited with the rest of them for whatever he was about to reveal.

“Was I not clear from the start? Of course your performance is observed and meticulously evaluated. My performance is observed and meticulously evaluated. Those of you who are successful will be proven members of an elite cadre of agents. You will enter an extremely competitive field where others may be even more skilled than you, and certainly more experienced. You will succeed or die trying. The Mare was offered an alternative which she accepted. The Peacock has given her employment in the Menagerie. But I tell you this: do not bank on that safety net for everyone who fails with this training.”

This time when he turned back to his presentation, the silence was unbroken. 

Chapter Text

He pushed against the wood-framed glass door and the wind of the afternoon storm took it beyond his control and into the wall with a crash that drowned the sound of the dainty bell that normally announced a customer into the café.

Mr. Valenti glared at him beneath his thick dark brows from across the room as he pushed clean dishes off a tray and onto a space under the counter. He froze on the threshold wondering if going back out into the heavy rain and overwhelming wind wasn’t the better option. But then Mr. Valenti turned and barged back through the kitchen door and his beautiful wife took his place, smiling and saying in her soft, melodic voice,

“Come in, now. Close the door. Chocolate soon dear.”

He gave a nod and moved to the wood booth of bench and table against the back wall that gave a floor-to-ceiling view through glass of the slowly moving tableau outside.

His backpack was larger and heavier these days as he dropped it on the bench, pushed it along as he slid in next to it. It was an unconsciously protective maneuver, but everything of value to him was held within its fabric folds. He used to come here after school with a much smaller pack, one that only held his tech and various chargers, his phone, his sketch pads, pencils, and pens, and fun shaped erasers.

Now he carried the burden of his being with him everywhere.

He sighed and slowly unwound his soft knit scarf from around his neck and unzipped his thick winter jacket, which was actually too much for this time of year, but of great use in today’s storm. He debated pulling off his unattractive gray beanie, but left it on. The heavy branches of the oak tree that grew from a small dirt square in the side walk next to the café fought the wind; the leaves whipped at a faster counterpoint, glistening in the rain. These were the things that his mind wanted to study. Cause and effect. Action and reaction. Endurance and decay.

Such distractions and imaginings made him pause and seem slow to anyone watching.

Wylan loved this window, this portion of street in Ketterdam, this dark cloudy day. He loved the small shards of light reflecting off everything that held a sheen or well of water.

He wanted to dig for his café sketch pad and for this scene, his three favorite graphite pencils and one metallic gold accent one. But no, he had other things he needed to imagine first.

As he pulled in a deep breath and his shoulders finally settled down where they belonged, Mrs. Valenti appeared with a cup and saucer of her wonderfully made hot cocoa. Since he had been coming here for a year or more, they knew each other as well as they could for such a casual interaction, and thus she had placed an extra large dollop of real whipped cream and sprinkled the top with sugar cinnamon, unasked.

He smiled at her, tracing her face with his eyes for any changes since he’d seen her last. He had sketched her many times, and it remained as gentle and kind as the first time he had met her.

“Thank you,” he said.

She took her time giving him a similar scan. She had been seeing this boy in her shop for over a year. On his first visit he had seemed lost and tentative with simple things like reading the menu and ordering. He’d engaged her mother instincts and she had taken it upon herself to give him a verbal tour of what they had to offer. She had set him up in the far booth and watched him from behind the counter as others came and went. He was class, she knew that. He had a face that the old masters in Greece and Italy would have fought over to have as a model for their marble creations. His naturally waved gold blond hair literally gleamed from the filtered light of the narrow and enclosed cityscape through the window. His eyes that day had been brilliant blue, and framed by lashes a shade darker than his hair. His frame was slender but he encased it in much larger clothing, as though to buffer his bones from the hard edges of everything around him. And those clothes were quality. They weren’t like in the stores around here. They were probably ordered from elite clothiers for him by his mother, or more likely, by a full service housekeeper!

He had sat for a little longer than a bell, without once looking at his phone. He had just continued to sketch in a small notebook he had taken from his school backpack.

When he got up to go, he surprised her by coming to the counter and complimenting her on the hot cocoa and thanking her for it. Such attention to nice manners from someone so young was a pleasant surprise, and another reason she knew he wasn’t from around here. She’d asked the Lord to watch over him as he walked away from their door. She figured she’d not see him again.

And then, after a few days, he had returned. He had ordered the same hot cocoa as before and gone and sat in the same booth. He had pulled a larger sketch pad from his backpack and when she had delivered his cocoa, he’d announced it was his official café sketch pad.

Well, one glance down at the simple marks with which he had framed the window before him and begun structuring the outside scene, and she knew where his talent lay. While he was delightfully polite, he wasn’t much of a talker, and so she left him to it. And thus they had a new regular customer and he had his own after-school program.

The only thing that worried her was that he was always alone, never texted, and never had a phone call. In the modern world, this bubble of silence was incredible. She didn’t know what was up with that, if this was by design, or if he was abandoned in some way. Of course she worried for him, sometimes out loud to Mr. Valenti, who told her there was far more to worry about than a rich kid who could sit and draw at his age, instead of working. She’d rolled her eyes at him and left it at that.

 Sometimes he would be absent for a few weeks at a time. When he returned he’d usually say he’d been on travel with his father who was a businessman. She had asked once what business his father was in and he had replied,

“Paper pushing,” and walked to his booth without another word.

So over time the boundaries became well established: she served welcome and hot cocoa, he sketched and said thanks.

But lately things were noticeably different. Not that any of it should matter to her, but she supposed that despite the routine nature of her work, she remained a sentient creature and the differences with him mattered. 

His hair was now an unnaturally even-toned medium brown and had grown weeks past its professional cut. He came now at different times of day, during hours most kids his age were at school. He carried a much bigger and heavier backpack, and always wore his winter coat. His dreamy eyes had become sharper and watchful, his expression flat.

He used to pay by tapping his phone’s credit card; now he paid in cash.

He ordered food and ate hungrily.

And today, he propped a small digital tablet before him, and referred to it from time to time as he sketched into a new pad.

Well then, she too could be different. She went back to the counter, pulled out a few cookies, grabbed a cup of coffee, and returned to his table. She sat across from him, setting the plate of cookies between them.

He blinked at her, his hand poised mid-movement above the paper. She looked down at what he already had on the paper and saw shaded fragments that looked like they could become a comic book rendition of a humanoid.

“Are you on to comics then?” she asked.

He blinked again and pulled his hand away from the paper, as his other hand took a thinner blank piece of paper and dropped it over his sketch. Ah, she thought, I guess that would be a good way to not smear the work. Then he flattened the tablet, screen-side down.

“Do you read comics?” he asked.

She smiled, shook her head no, and nudged the cookie plate toward him. He’d slowly taken one and she was sad at the wariness. She was going to have to ask a direct question, but she didn’t know where to start since she’d never asked anything before. Where could she start?

She decided upon the obvious.

“Why do you look like a refugee, hiding from the authorities?”

His eyes weren’t blue today; they were silver grey as his lids fell low, hiding them from her searching gaze. Maybe the color of his hair was changing their reflected light?

He reached out and took a slow sip of his cocoa. His eyes remained downcast.

She’d thought she had been funny with her question, but it hadn’t been taken that way. She waited him out. She scanned the counter and appliances and made a mental list of things remaining to be done. She listened to the shush of water outside, heard the muffled sounds of her husband moving dried cookware to their proper shelves in the kitchen, heard the boy packing his pencils away. She sighed to herself.

“Look dear, I don’t mean to bother you, I really don’t. I want you to come in, be warm, and eat and drink good things. But please understand, I would feel terrible if you were in some kind of trouble and I never asked a single question.”

His eyes rose to hers and she recalled a painting she’d once seen, of an angel dressed as a warrior, weary from battle, staring out at the observer. She had felt an instant connection and compassion for whatever had happened to make that angel’s wings and shoulders droop, his gaze so resolute. Then the image was gone and she saw the sweet boy back again as he gave her a small smile. He turned and began rummaging in his backpack. She saw clothes packed tightly and looked away to preserve his privacy.  

Then he was tearing a page from his official café sketch pad, the one with the worn brown cover she had seen so often opened out on this table.

He handed the torn page to her and said, “I know.”

She took the page and looked it over. It was a pencil sketch of her leaning over the counter, an elbow propped with a hand beneath her chin, as she stared out the window. It was what she did sometimes when tired and taking a rest, thinking on all the blessings of having the café they had dreamed of, with steady customers, and a good solid life. She looked thoughtful and quietly happy. She was shy of how it made her feel with him seeing so much and expressing it so beautifully.

“Oh,” was all she could think to say.

She moved to hand it back to him and he said,

“If you like it, please keep it. Maybe Mr. Valenti would also like to see it.”

“Oh,” she said, a little more comfortably, happy at the thought. “Thank you.”

As she looked up from the picture, the city lights from outside were triggered on with the deepening late afternoon gloom. Suddenly the booth had deeper shadows and orange glow highlights.

The boy before her seemed to change again. He said,

“If anyone ever does come asking about me, I wouldn’t want you to lie. You could look into your payment records for all those times I used my credit card, and dig until you know who I am; but the truth? You never knew my name or anything about me. And now? You only know of a brown-haired boy who sketched here sometimes before moving on.”

With that he shrugged on his coat, wound his scarf around his neck, and scooted off the bench, pulling his back pack with him. Standing beside the table to get it on his back, he dropped money on the table and said,

“Thank you for everything.”

His tone was soft and kind, but final. It made her sad, and helplessly she got up and echoed his steps to the door. The bell rang softly as he opened the door, and rang again as it closed. She went ahead and turned the open sign to closed a half bell early. There wouldn’t be a customer at this time of the afternoon in this weather anyway. And leaned her head against the glass to watch as a sweet young man walked alone and hunch-shouldered down the darkening rain-blurred street.

Chapter Text

He was at the Treasure Chest early, before anyone else. It seemed to surprise Anika that he did so, but it was what he did when he liked something; he planned and prepared. She hadn’t seen it before because until now there hadn’t much in his life he liked enough.  

Of course he knew how he presented himself to others, just look at his socials. He planned and prepared all of that too, his clothing, wide smiles, and generous manners. He was the one people listened to, drawling out those Kerch vowels. Pics, caps, no caps, tags, music, memes…it took time.

This bartender job was a perfect stage. Anika had confirmed what he already knew; business had nearly doubled in just the few weeks since he’d taken over. The long shiny bar top, the seats along it, the tables for dining, the gaming tables and dealers; these had become his nightly audience. He loved them all.

Sure, it was one of the oldest tavern casinos. Sure, things were time worn and could do with an upgrade, but that was never what it was about for him and he doubted it mattered to his customers either. It was the people, their energy, their hopes, their feelings. They changed and blew the place up with different energy every night.  He loved how they entered, how they took their seats, how they decided upon their first drinks, how they shared bits from their lives, or even how some of his regular grouches hunched over and dared anyone to speak.

All of it together: music, bells, chimes, conversations, movements, lights, sounds from outside as the doors swung open and closed, was his playlist. It filled him up. This job had become the best thing that had happened to him in Ketterdam.

But right now? Alone in the silence and unlit lights, a gang of thoughts moved away from their lean against a wall in his mind, surrounded him and confronted.

He was a drop out, suspended from school. He’d rebelled against going back, and his father had been at the end of his rope. His father had been talking with a therapist to help with the grief of losing his wife, to help with a son who needed help grieving the loss of his mother. Acting on the advice of the therapist, his father had sent him overseas to study abroad. The idea was that he would be completely away from his memories, away from a struggling father, able to find a new start in Ketterdam schools. He hadn’t struggled here so much as let go finally. He didn’t know how his refusal to attend had been communicated to his father as he hadn’t really talked to him about it. He had just texted that he was getting a job instead.

He had slid into not having much, and then slid into ways of getting what he needed. That is how he met the current love of his life: casinos. He loved the company of other daring, desperate yet hope-filled people, gathered shoulder-to-shoulder around a table, cards slicing the air, the mystery of each hand, the potential for a great win or a temporary loss. He would sit down and not realize that a handful of hours had just gone by. It absorbed him, it exhilarated him, it wrung him out. He chased those seats at the table until he had mean, heavy-fisted thugs leaning on his shoulders. And still, he took a seat, even when the price had been to boost cars to settle debts and stack up entry bets. Even when he suffered through beat downs that came with owing people.

He remained thoroughly resistant to returning to school. Nothing had sparked an interested in going further. He also remained unmotivated in making a reality of any one of his briefly thought of schemes: a car renovation business, becoming a jeweler, becoming a model or actor. He flirted with a cheap guitar, the flamenco percussive style, and writing love lyrics. He flirted with just about everyone and everything. He found plenty of people willing to love him back for a time. They stood around him, getting warm, getting inspired in their own dreams, and then walked away as though he didn’t need anyone to help to keep going. It was a repetitive hurt that deepened the loss of his mother.

She had always been there for him, even when he got tired, or sick, or uninspired. He could rest with her. She listened to all of his ideas, and responded with ways they could become reality. With her his ideas had soared and he felt himself intelligent and capable. If she were alive right now, he knew she would be in Ketterdam, pulling him out of the Barrel. Helping him dust himself off and start anew. But she’d lost her life trying to protect others, and nothing and no one could bring her back. Not even the tears and prayers of both him and his father.

He hoped wherever she was now, that she could see that he tried to make a place for himself and tried to make people happy. That she could see that he served more than just drinks, that he was helping others in some small way, even though his current life was not one either of his parents would have chosen. With his skill with shooting, they’d thought he’d follow his mom into law enforcement of some kind. She would knock him upside the head for where he was, and what he did with the guns she had gifted him, but she didn’t know Ketterdam, and more to the point, she wasn’t here.

Carefully breaking boxes down and storing them in the back exactly where Anika had told him to (because she had literally punched him for being lazy and blocking access to the freezer one night) he let out a half laugh at a sudden thought of Kaz. Of course thoughts of loss and disappointment would bring him to thinking of Kaz, who had yet to seek Jesper out and see how great he was at tending bar. Yes, he might have a small crush on Mr. Tall, Dark, and Grumpy. A flash of an idea had his spirits picking up: he should create a drink called Tall, Dark, and Grumpy.  

What flavors did he want on his tongue to swallow this crush on Kaz? Hmmm. The alcohol would have to be unique and…maybe pricey? Or taste like class but be a bargain. A special distillation, mixed with sour and spice, settled darkly within a heavy tumbler, that went down both rough and smooth. When he was around Kaz, watching glints off his dark hair, the smooth angles of his face, the small twitches of his mouth, the controlled gestures, his strong stances and posture, his lean limbs and…well, when he was watching him like a crazy stalker, he felt the zing of attraction bolt down his spine and pool at his hips. Martial arts, the crow cane. The dark colors. So far everything about Kaz had Jesper sitting around waiting; he shouldn’t be surprised a drink recipe didn’t come easy either. He would have to mix and experiment for a while.

In all fairness, it wasn’t like he was the only one Kaz had ghosted these past few weeks. Even Anika was grumbling. Jesper had threatened to make a scarecrow out of hay and black clothes, hat and cane, and take a pic and post it on his feed, captioned “Crow vacancy. Tall, dark, and deadly need only apply.” Anika had laughed but said she didn’t think Kaz had any reason to troll social media right now.

He missed him, but had gotten some good things in return: a relatively safe place to stay for nearly free; a new job he liked; and a group of regular friends. Anika, Specht, Keeg, Dirix, and Nina were as good as people got in the Barrel.  

He walked back out to the still-empty bar area and took a look around. Everything was ready and in its place. He’d checked the wifi connection and it was strong, no payment issues. He looked over at the silent dealer tables, gleaming roulette wheels, and flashing slot machines against the far wall. He relished the high polish on the carved wood chairs waiting for all the people, just like him.

As he moved down the bar to set out whole limes and lemons for juggling, he let his hand drift over the thickly lacquered red gold length of wood that made up the bar top. It was cool and smooth, and his fingertips sparked with energy from the glide. He didn’t know what it felt like to be other people, but he knew he felt more. His everyday world was an intimate passionate embrace with life and he couldn’t suppress it. He willingly shared as much as he could of it. If only Kaz would walk through the door one of these evenings and take a seat; order a drink and watch Jesper in his element.

At the turn of the sign to open, Jesper left his thoughts and welcomed what the evening had in store. People began collecting after their work days were done, sitting down a little weary and perking up after a few sips of their first drinks. Jesper was well into his rhythm and the windows were dark squares of city night when he first registered a new comer at the farthest seat along the bar. She was very small compared to the others, and the seat was pushed against a short section of wall that made up the hallway to the restrooms and back exit to the alley. It was darker over there, and she had her head down as she hovered her phone over the QR code taped to the bar.

Everything about her was sleek as though every detail had been attended to, but she was not dressed to attract attention, which drew his attention.

Her hair was shiny black, parted in the middle, and carefully combed to the nape where what must be very long hair had been folded many times into a rectangle, wrapped many times over with a thin strand of cloth and tied securely in place. It would take time to untie. One would have to stand behind her and lightly hold the bundle up, and work the unlacing carefully. Even while he continued with his tasks, a part of his mind imprinted with the image and he frowned and quickly looked over those crowded at the bar well. She could not be here alone.

But she did not look up. She did not attract his attention to make her order in person. He went to the digital display and snorted. It was a sure bet she was the only order for a soda without ice. He got it and walked it down to her without his usual fanfare.

She drew it toward herself with dexterous capable hands, and gently cared for, unvarnished nails. Definitely a woman who worked and who wasn’t out for attention. They went well with her outfit, layers of dark gray and black athletic wear, and what looked like thick socks with a rubberized bottom. Really she looked like she was cosplaying a ninja and had left her weapons at the door. She finally looked up at him since he’d stood staring at her overlong like a newbie fool. And he was struck silent and motionless for a few beats. Saints, let it only have been a few beats, he thought. He had fallen into her eyes, large and dark and serious. Taken in the beautiful symmetry of her face, the soft, gentle curves of her cheeks, nose, lips, and chin. Had traced her face and the slender strength of her neck sloping into the beginning of a perfectly proportioned body held in perfect posture. Again, he quickly glanced around for any one, man or woman, heading toward her, noting his attention to her. Nothing.

“Thank you,” she said, dropping the Kerch sounds in their proper order, but in a completely different cadence, softening the consonants and lilting the vowels.

She was perfectly lovely.

“You’re welcome darlin’, let me know if you need anything else,” he’d said, already thinking of how to keep her attention on him, maybe get her to smile and laugh. He’d keep an eye on her too in case she needed any help.

She had eventually situated herself in her seat to watch the whole bar and gaming area. She was quiet, didn’t fidget, and moved like magic. He actually forgot she was there sometimes and was startled when his eyes registered her presence as though she had just appeared. Maybe she was a ninja in real life.

She ordered one of the appetizers after a while, and took her time eating a half portion of the plate of potato quarters with cheese sauce.  He had refilled her drink voluntarily and without charge, telling her that soda was on the house for designated drivers and he hereby designated her. And that more than the juggling and fancy work he’d been doing behind the bar had had her smiling, eyes glinting with amusement.

She really only seemed to watch him when Anika came by the bar well to tell him some thing or another that he needed to do. Ah well, if bossy blonds was more her thing so be it. Yet, he remained hopeful. Her presence was calm and soothing, and her mystery drew him in.

Later, walking back to SpechtBox with Anika, he mentioned the ninja girl to get Anika’s take on her. Anika had looked puzzled for a moment as though she hadn’t seen the girl, then her face had cleared,

“Oh, the little one against the wall? Maybe someone’s daughter. Or maybe something else that’s none of our business. Did she act afraid?”

That had quelled his romantic thoughts for a bit, thinking back on her sitting there. Was she a girl in trouble?

“If she was in trouble, she hid it. And no one came near her the whole time. I think she was there on her own.”

Anika had shrugged and said, “What of it Jesper? Hopefully she spent enough money to warrant the chair, and you’ll probably never see her again.”

“Nah, she’ll be back. She has to. It was the first night I won anything big on my break. I think she brings me luck.”

Anika turned her face to him and dramatically rolled her eyes at him. “You know if you are caught at the tables on your breaks you will be fired. No luck will help you at that point.”

“Anika, if no one mentions it, I will be fine. What are the chances the boss will come in exactly while I am at the table? Besides, I’ll just say I was delivering drinks and someone asked me to be their luck and take a turn for them.”

She’d sighed and let it drop, warning having been given.

But the ninja girl had returned and taken up her same place. She again ordered soda and an hour or so later, some food. She brought out a laptop sometimes and typed into it. She was turning into an every-couple-of-nights regular, and had begun talking a little more with him and sometimes Anika. When he had asked for her name, she hadn’t spoken right away. It took her so long to reply he knew whatever she said would not be her real name. Finally, in such a quiet tone he almost didn’t hear it over the noise, she had said, “Inej.”  Despite being convinced she had given a false name, the one she had chosen suited her so well, he accepted it.

Not much of importance was shared though because she barely knew any Kerch and he and Anika knew nothing of her language. Once he had tried to use his phone to translate one sentence but the noise was too great for speaking what he wanted to say and he was too busy to type much. They had laughed and waved off using such things.

She brought along a laptop occasionally in a slim black leather case that she strangely wore like a backpack, only strapped tightly to her front under her jacket. Once early on he had come over with her drink which he provided without her having to order, and she had turned the screen toward him where he saw two translate windows, where she had typed something in her own language and the Kerch side said: “I am trying to learn Kerch by being among people in interesting public spaces.”

And he had typed back, “I am the MOST interesting thing in all of Ketterdam’s public spaces. Do you follow me on On Tapp?” She had laughed and shook her head. She had typed out: “It would all be in Kerch, yes?” But he showed her his account anyway, and she had spent some time downloading the app and setting up an account simply titled, Ninja Girl. Then they friended each other. Whatever was building between them was based so much more on the unspoken than the spoken, such a radically different approach for him.

He also made her say things out loud and that provided much laughter between them. Especially as she would make him say some words in her own language, so she wasn’t the only one to be laughed at.

He was surprised to find he enjoyed being a language interpreter of sorts, and spent time thinking of things he could type quickly and easily into her translator window. Thinking of ways he could both share information and flirt. Like when he made sure to type: Anika is my sister. She had laughed at the hilarity of their physical differences and the likelihood of them sharing even a single parent of lineage. And then she had looked him in the eye and nodded in understanding. And then she’d written back: "Do you want to be my brother too?”

He had mimed pulling a knife out of his heart, and fainting back into the shelves behind him. She had looked highly amused and shooed him away and back to his work.

But last night one of the locals who sat on her side of the bar finally decided to make his move with the foreign girl who always sat alone. He didn’t let language get in his way; he simply stood towering over her in the chair, gestured to himself and her, back and forth, and then pulled out his wallet and set it on the bar. Before Jesper could finish with his current customer and take the two leaps down the bar to intervene, the man was falling into her lap, his arms drawn in toward his stomach as she pushed his weight off of her. The man hit the floor and rolled over, arms coming to rest flailed out from his sides. Anika had seen people reacting and was on her way from a table across from the bar. He leaned over the bar to look at the man more closely, scanning his torso which currently had a wide swath of blubber exposed by his shirt having retracted away from stomach in his fall. He was puzzled by not finding any blood, or even a red spot. The man had acted as though stabbed, but looked untouched on the floor. 

Anika bent over to assess the man and stood back up immediately. She turned to the gawkers and said,

“Another drunk hits the floor!”

Folks lost interest and went back to their own drinks, ignoring the drag of his body by the bouncer over the filthy floor of the hallway, and out into the back alley.

Anika leaned over the bar and said furiously, “Don’t over serve the idiots! You know these new Kerch laws.”

He flung his arms wide, his face sincere, the very posture of the wrongly accused, “I didn’t, I swear!”

And he turned for back up from Ninja Girl, only to realize she was long gone. How did she DO that? They had all been right there looking at a body beneath her chair. She had been there and then gone.

For the first time Jesper felt unnerved by her. There was definitely more to her. And obviously she could take care of herself.

Chapter Text

Anika withdrew folded sheets of paper from the old ammo container hidden beneath the storage shed at the back of Specht’s property. One of many all over Ketterdam, she assumed. Kaz had shown them how to find and use them when they had roamed the streets as Gym Rats. If she remembered correctly, it was how he used to hide his valuables as a street kid too.

Today it was his way of communicating with her and it was a red flare that becoming a Dreg wasn’t easy.  He’d once mentioned using caches for comms if he ever felt his electronics were compromised and she hadn’t had any messages from him in the last couple weeks. Not since the Barrel was in uproar over the Dregs’ betting failure and the big fight outside of Haskell’s Pawn. Just today’s terse text:  shed cache.

Damn, it was a long list. Had she thought even for a moment that she missed him? She stomped all over those feelings now as she stomped back to the office, knowing she would be very busy. Well, at least the first item wasn't complete drudgery: she was to get with Pim and help with setting things up at the FOB.

As for all the research she was about to be doing…she hesitated. Looking over the list again, she made a command decision. She would wait until they had installed some of this equipment Kaz’s list was requesting.  How was he expecting Pim to get these things? Wait, was Pim like another copy of her for Kaz? Was Pim also pinning his future on Kaz’s plans? What exactly did he do for Kaz?

According to the list in her hand, quite a lot, and yet Kaz had asked her to oversee it. She still had an important place in his plans.

Arriving back at the door to her office, she found Specht and Nina in her office chairs; Specht holding a manila folder.

She sighed to herself. Here comes more work!

Sure enough, Specht tossed the manila envelope of documents on her desk and said,

“We’re doing a full packet for Nina, Drivers License and all support documents.”

She nodded, opening the flap and giving a quick look at the forged documents. Data in all the right places, but what was real and what was fake? Secretly, she liked the challenge of trying to figure it out while acting as though she couldn’t care less.

“We will front the fees and she pays back as she can.”

“No problem,” she said, finally looking over at Nina who was groomed like she was about to go out on a nice date somewhere. Her hair was down in waves around her face, and she had put on makeup. Anika raised a brow at her.

Nina smoothed her perfectly slicked red lips into a smile showing a row of pearly white teeth.

“He said you would need to take a head shot for my photo ID.”

Anika snorted. “You know ID photos are supposed to not look like you, right? They are supposed to be an outline of a human with blobs for features.”

“Not mine!” said Nina. “I can’t have a photo of me like that. I like to leave a lasting impression.”

At this Specht pushed back his chair and got up to return to the gym. Anika figured she had better prep him a bit for all the time she would be away from the desk.

“I have things to do in the next couple of weeks, so just a heads up that I will be away from the office a bit more.”

Nina interjected before Specht could say anything, “I could start paying off this favor by covering for her.”

Specht’s dark eyes stared into Anika’s for a moment before he said in his deep gentle tone, “You leaving me already Ani, little by little?”

Her heart. It pinched. He was right, it did feel like that, first with her second job at The Treasure Chest, and now jobs for Kaz.  Specht had taken her in at a time when she would have been prey on the streets, and even though a stranger, had been much more of a father than her own. More than any other street kid he’d pulled under the shelter of his wing, she had become his kid. But she was growing up and she just wasn’t the kind to remain a support to dear old dad, no matter who he was. She wanted to rule her own world.

But she didn’t want to actually lose Specht from her life. She said, hoping to lift the sadness, “Look at us thinking we have futures where we sit around and think of the good old days! I promise it’s just for a few weeks.”

They all snorted at that and Specht headed out the door, appeased for the moment.  Anika prepared to show Nina around the office and computer, thinking again that she would talk with Pim about how to securely do some of the research Kaz was now asking of her, since she couldn’t very well do searches on Nina while Nina would be sharing the same computer desktop and search engines. If Nina knew anything at all about computer processes and was in anyway untrustworthy, she might find reasons to suspect Anika’s suspicion.

As she pulled down the blue background screen required for official ID photos, she saw out of the window a large figure striding across the parking lot pavement, his left fist holding the handles of his gym bag over his shoulder. He was looking down at the ground as though in deep thought.

Anika turned back to Nina as she readied herself to slide in front of the backdrop. Anika made a dramatic eye roll at her,

“My eyes literally cannot roll harder than this. You did all this dress up for HIM? You have seen him what, twice? Three times? Don’t tell me you’re in looooooove?” she crooned.

“No, for Saint’s sake, no!” Nina said quickly. “It’s just going to be so satisfying when I make him fall in love with me, despite acting like he hates me. Really, he deserves to have his world shook up a bit.”

“Funny, but I think he’s just being a Fjerdan. Aren’t they all like that?”

“Probably! But it bugs me. He thinks of me as just a Ravkan. And he seems to think Ravkan girls are far inferior to Fjerdan girls. Really I am doing all Fjerdan and Ravkan girls a favor making him fall in love with me.”

Anika realized there was no sense to be had talking about it. Living in Ketterdam, the war between Ravka and Fjerda was an ocean away. She had never seen a meeting between two people from those countries and she had no idea there was such instantaneous dislike between Ravkans and Fjerdans. But she did know that Nina’s way of dealing with it was very unique and questionable. Wouldn’t it be far easier to just ignore this one patron of SpechtBox? 

The front door opened and closed and a few steps later Matthias stood in the office door, about to say something when he saw Nina in full make up and flowing hair framed by the blue. Did he realize he had stopped with his mouth open and no words? Did he even see Anika right now? She got a glint in her eye; she turned back to Nina and lightly smoothed the waves of hair that framed her face, making sure to draw the curls perfectly above her breasts. She lightly touched a finger below her chin to tip it up a bit. Her eyes were sly with mischief as she said, “Too gorgeous. Your employee ID card will be stolen if you set it down anywhere in the gym.”

“If it’s good enough, maybe I’ll use it for an Only Fans icon,” Nina said, carrying the teasing over the line.

Matthias was heard growling, “That figures!” and forgetting whatever he had come to the office for, he stomped down the hall and through the door to the gym to the sound of both young women laughing.

“Should I hurry and offer to spar with him today?” Nina said, her green eyes glowing.

“Oh hell no! It’s taken me and Specht this long just to get him to let me work with him in the ring, and he can barely accept it. I think he would flat out quit if you entered the ring. Please let us get his money for the summer.”

It was Nina’s turn to roll her eyes, saying “I suppose I’ll just find something to do while watching him. Oooooo, what if you and I go in and spar together? I wonder if he’s ever seen two women really fight?”

Anika’s evil grin deepened. “Yesssssss. Let’s do it!”

It had been wickedly funny sparring with Nina in front of Matthias. They had both gotten into it, letting their styles blend into a seamless free for all, putting their quickness and strength on full display. The spar had turned serious after a few good hits back and forth, and from then on Anika had forgotten all else. It had felt so good, and Nina was a surprisingly good opponent, for a girl who worked as a massage therapist.

Eventually Specht had rung the bell ringside, remarking that they needed to hug and make up. That got them back to laughing and noticing that Matthias was red in the face and grumbling to himself as he grabbed his bag and headed to the showers.

Specht said, “Well now he knows that women are the fighters I said they were, and that they are tough enough to take full hits and kicks. Good job.”

And with that, they too headed to the showers and eventually moved on with their day, Nina to sit and answer the office phone while Anika headed to the FOB to have a sit down with Pim.

She’d texted him so he was at the door to let her in, locking it after, and handing her the key.

She had so many questions. How many keys were there? Who had them? But as they headed up the stairs, she started with,

“Is everyone moved out?” When Pim nodded, she relaxed a bit, realizing she didn’t need to worry about being overheard. “So what has been done so far?”

“I’ve been nothing but busy. He wants a big overhaul on this place at the same time I am supposed to be getting the game ready for sale,” shaking his head with disbelief.

“Ha! I got a big list today too, which basically means I now have three jobs,” Anika said, sharing the disbelief.

“Yeah, he’s on stage waving the wand, while we rush around in the dark backstage, making sure the magic happens perfectly.”

Anika huffed, imagining her and Pim running around and into each other in the dark, hidden from Kaz. Then hurriedly tried to think of something else.

“You should make him a character in the game, call him Magic Hands like Imogen.”

“Nah, he’s already in the game as a champ named D1rtyH4ndz, because of the gloves.”

Oh, she thought. How fitting. Does Pim know? She couldn’t imagine Kaz telling him. It was as though all of the Gym Rats had amnesia that those gloves appeared the morning after Kaz had killed those three Liddies.

“That works too.”

Entering his apartment for only the second time, but the first time since his Aunt had passed, Anika felt the change even though the main living area with the dilapidated couch, old TV, dinged up side tables and faded area rug were all still in place. The kitchen table in front of the window still looked like a cubicle workstation transplanted from one of the tech companies uptown.

She sat down and pulled Kaz’s written lists from her jacket pocket, unfolding them and smoothing them out as Pim grabbed a notebook with pages of listed items in the same hand writing. They soon settled into a process where each read an instruction, they checked their own list for anything similar or related, and discussed all subtasks which Pim then wrote on another page they had sardonically titled The Case For Modern Slavery.

By late afternoon they had moved the list into a Word file with automated multilevel listing styles. Then they had begun printing out pages and taping them to the bare wall of the living room. This way they could just walk the wall to refer back to something.

There were two pages of associated tasks under “Set up of FOB;” three pages of tasks under “Set up of Bunker;” a half page on “Storage Unit” with “Move of Kaz stuff” already crossed out; a half page under “Liquidate Gym Rat Shed;” a half page under “Game Ready;” and only a few lines under “Research.”

In the darkening light of early evening, they stood shoulder to shoulder staring at all of the tasks that they, and only they, could do. Sure, a few of the carpentry or physical moving jobs could be shared by Keeg and Dirix; and the equipment heist would need all of them; but the majority of items were divided between Pim and Anika.

“I need a raise!” said Anika.

Pim laughed and then looked startled, “Wait, does he PAY you?”

Anika crossed her arms and snorted. “Oh yeah, from his completely legit company payroll.”

Pim smiled and said, “It could happen. Who knows how far Brekker will go.”

“Ugh. Let’s just get through the list on the wall before we dare him to go further.”

Pim turned toward her, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, just taking her in as she stood highlighted by the waning light. Anika felt his regard, and panicked a little at the deepening of the moment. He looked ready to say something that would maybe be too much. Please no, she thought.

As if he could read her thoughts, he lowered his eyes to his shoes and said,

“You’re worried about him though, aren’t you?”

That wasn’t anywhere near what she thought he was going to say, but still something not easy.

“Yes,” she said, surprised to find herself admitting it with quiet solemnity. 

She was worried about Kaz. She’d been young but she could still recall new guys coming into her father’s gang. Yes, Kaz was a street kid and a trained fighter, but going into a gang would mean proving himself and he wouldn’t get to choose how he did it. Haskell and Bastion, his psychopathic lieutenant would choose those paths.

The Barrel had plenty of stories of the gauntlet of pain they made new members walk through to become a Dime Lion, a Liddie, a Black Tip. In the Dime Lions, rumor was everyone in the gang armed themselves with their favorite weapon and stood in a long line, ready to dish out their own brand of pain. It was to prove how strong they were, the new guy walking through had to be tough enough to take it, prove they wouldn’t run and leave their brothers in an ambush or a fight gone bad. Often people walked away with permanent damage, but a strong bond with the gang.

Kaz might be given a secret and watched to see how he kept it. He’d definitely have to get the Dregs tattoo. And that was just the beginning. He’d probably be given some of the dirty work of the gang up to even making a kill. Not merely to provide protection, or to save his or another member’s life, but to show he would do whatever the Boss asked without question.

Not every gang was as brutal as the Dime Lions, but there was always something.

While she knew Kaz was tough and smart and not above getting the dirty work done, the bigger trial for Kaz might be submitting to the inferior intellects of Haskell and Bastian. A part of her feared he would lose it over something like poorly designed plans and murder them all, reduced to starting a new gang. When she had asked why he didn’t just start his own gang, he had said it was the long, hard way to getting where he wanted.

“Are you going to join too?” Pim asked.

She nodded. Eventually she would join too. It was a terrifying decision as in her father’s day, women had one role in a gang; they prostituted themselves for protection in the Barrel. Or, if they were older and had some brains, they did bookkeeping, back room medicine, and paperwork.

Anika was not kneeling before a gang member for their lousy protection. She absolutely could take care of herself, and she had Specht and the Gym Rats in her corner always. But, to actually make REAL money, not the hourly wage of SpechtBox or the Treasure Chest, she would need to be a member of a Barrel gang.

She was damned lucky the day she met Kaz. He would become a Barrel Boss and never ask her to kneel before him. He knew she could fight, work a computer, and follow through on instructions. She had already proven her loyalty by getting work experience in advance of his getting his club up and running. They worked well together, and it wasn’t messed up with sex.

She looked over at Pim who had a slight smile on his face and returned the question:

“What about you? Are you going to join the Dregs?”

“Yes. How else to have a good enough life in the Barrel?” said Pim, thinking about how Kaz was like a brother. Thinking of how everything he had now in his life was related to Kaz. How their characters complimented each other in the game.

He watched Anika turn her attention elsewhere and begin to gather her things together to leave. He had to lighten the moment before she left!

He said, “You know I am going to get all of my stuff done before you, right? If raises are to be given out in whatever currency, I’m gonna get the biggest AND a bonus.”

“Are we gonna play “Boss likes me best?” Her eyes were glittery with competitive edge.

He was delighted that his hook of an idea had set. With the biggest grin in a long while he said, “YOU can play, I'M going to win.”

“You are on!” she crowed, and pulled out her phone to take pics of each page on the wall before turning off her phone and putting it away. “Okay, so let’s use this wall and cross off items as they get done. Is that okay with you?”

Why wouldn’t it be? Oh, was she saying she would come over and physically cross off items? Was she asking if he would be okay with her coming over?

“Yes,” he said, “But you gotta come over and do it yourself, or I am counting that task as another thing I am doing for the boss, and I will get an item for every one of your items.”

She shrieked in disbelief, and a gentle rumbling laugh bubbled out of him.

Pim, happy with the whole afternoon, didn’t want her to go. He had to think of something before she walked away.  He said, “You want to go out and get something to eat?”

Anika stood near the door putting her arms through the sleeves of her jacket and shaking her hair back. She looked thoughtful and then said, “I can’t do that tonight, I have a shift at The Treasure Chest. But, if you want, you could come with me and eat at the bar. It’s what I was going to do, only I’ll be eating in between serving tables.”

Pim looked pleased and nodded his head. He had only been to the casino tavern that one time. And how could he refuse Anika’s invite? He could watch her in her element, bossing others around and making sure things flowed smoothly. And maybe if he was lucky, watch her take down an idiot or two as needed.

Actually, he thought, if I play this right, I can eat dinner, watch Anika be Anika, and maybe get a task done. He would text the guy he wanted as their game illustrator when he got to the tavern. Maybe he could get him to meet there and talk.

Chapter Text

She shivered as she quickly pressed her entire back side against the metal sheeting of a ventilation unit on the building across the street from their access tunnel to the Menagerie. She felt the reflective cold of the wall nearly touching her cheek. With her face turned to her shoulder, she was sandwiched in a space not much wider than a small textbook. Fortunately the fans of the machine were off, so she was able to listen to the dark. She held her breath.

Was she being crazy right now? She’d seen the Wolverine exiting the tunnel shed, and she had moved into hiding without much thought. And wasn’t that an interesting reaction?

She let out a breath and peeked from her niche to get a look at where he might be going. She caught a flash of light over his body as he moved down the street. She moved after him—across the open space and climbing along the brick wall using the downspout and concrete ridges of the bland office building that began the east row of rooftops along the street.

She knew these rooftops well. She had been mapping routes since she’d started being sent out. Now in a few places she had stashed thin planks and ropes for areas where she could not easily climb or jump. Like an official park guide, she trail-blazed across the city skyline, clearing spaces for her own safety.

She raced ahead of where she guessed he would be given his walking speed. Flat against the grainy roof tiles, she peeked slowly over the soffit and watched him walk toward her. She crawled on her forearms and toes to the corner of the line of buildings before the old castle hotel, whose building was only three levels, but whose spire soared another two stories into the modern skyline. She had climbed it once for fun. Every window had crenelations and sashes to stand upon. All of the mortar embellishments made for easy-to-reach handholds. The spire, which ended in a double hatch cross, had a small widow’s peak balcony. And the hotel spread down the street for a block. Plenty of space. There was a façade that rose above the third story and which formed a decorative flourish to the spire. Behind it she had discovered a well hidden penthouse, with a private pool and lush garden and trees, invisible to surrounding windows.

Another peek over the lip of the building and she saw him cross the empty street to the corner of the castle hotel and walk beneath its wide sidewalk awning into the lobby.

Why would the Wolverine be at the Castle Hotel when he had a room at the Van Verent? Or does he, she thought? What did she know of the Wolverine outside of training sessions?

It was the wrong time of the day to fake a reason to wander the hotel lobby and hope to figure out what he was doing there. She could make a day or evening visit and take a pic of the hotel directory, maybe find a clue.

Meanwhile, she slid along the wall surrounding the private pool. Branches from the trees of the enclosed garden reached over the wall, and the sound of a small waterfall into the softly lit pool was soothing. She slowly enwrapped herself within the structure of the tree branches, and stilled. The floor to ceiling panes of glass encased a library sitting room with a rich old world vibe. One lamp, with a small shade, sitting upon a wood desk was the only light. Sofas and chairs appeared to float on the thick white rugs. Shelves of books lined the back wall, framing niches of vases, decorative boxes, and dark framed oil paintings. All of it exuded the air of the rich, all of it likely curated and presented for those with sensitive visual appetites. None of it looked like any house she had ever visited, before or after being taken.

She eased each muscle, one by one, letting herself nearly sway with the branches and leaves as they moved with the occasional wind off the harbor. The city sounds were muffled here; it was a place of peace in this briny, gritty, city of Kerch. She let her eyelid fall to just a slit of dim light and waited.

Time hung there in the tree with her and unnoticed, her mind dropped into a daydream, cradled and suspended in the tree.

In the Ashram, they had been instructed in how to meditate using mandalas, but her mind always took her walking out onto an infinite coastline of sand and waves. The horizon was unobstructed in all directions, the sand silky smooth on her feet, the light everywhere at once, the breeze softly sending her coils of hair rolling across her back and trailing into the air behind her. She wore soft flowing clothes and sunk down into virasana, knees nestled in the sand, her fingers drawing lazy courses through the grains at her sides.

A slow deep breath in, and a slow release, and …a furrow appeared between her brows…there in the near distance of her mind was a tall, strong body swaying just slightly between the thud of a cane and his steps, dressed all in black, hat shielding his downturned face. Walking away.

She followed without sound.

Occasionally he would raise his head and cast his sharp-eyed gaze to the sides, taking in everything around him. His face a flat resistance to anyone and everything. She knew his path; this was the walk she had watched him make the other morning. She remembered her surprise as he headed through the city park, through the wooded bit at the back, and had continued out of the park and into a long sliver of space between the city street and an old unmaintained section of side canal, one of those used as overflow protection against flooding. It had held a small array of tents, quiet people and a few unleashed dogs, the bowl of the canal hazed over by thick grey smoke from fires in metal barrels.

She had had to stop at the tree line and watched from too far a distance as bodies moved and created a space for Kaz around the fire, as a dog came over without fear for a pet from Kaz, as Kaz draped an offered blanket around his suit clothes, laid down in the crease made by the canal walls and floor, tipped his hat over his face, gripped his cane in his hand, and seemingly dropped into sleep.

Why, why, why her mind echoed.

His file said he lived at SpechtBox, and then they had tracked him to the Storage place before he had spotted the Fox tracking him. He had places he could go. He had friends. Ones he left messages for in the darkest hours of the morning, leaving notes and thumb drives in hidden metal containers for them. She had found it such a clever way to keep contact, away from the casual and more often intentional electronic surveillance of this city, that she had kept this secret from any of her reports. So far. She told herself she was just waiting for something important enough to be reported as she hadn’t yet had the chance to inspect anything he had placed. Both times he had left something, he had hidden nearby and texted, then waited and watched. Each time, Anika had come out the back of SpechtBox almost immediately and retrieved papers and a thumb drive.

She discovered she enjoyed withholding the secret. It took back a tiny bit of the power held over her. She still hadn’t found a way of escaping Van Houden, Van Verent, or the Wolverine, but with this one tiny, inconsequential secret, she breathed easier. And she questioned what she was doing following Kaz Brekker just a little more.

Kaz had joined the Dregs, and according to what the Wolverine had told her about Ketterdam gangs, they should be his family now.

Why was he sleeping in a damp, filthy canal with ghost people?

And what did the Wolverine, Van Houden and Van Verent want with him?

From all she had seen so far, he was just a teen-aged boy. He had no special connections, wealth, or power.

Some of the other targets they were given were more understandable. The owner of the Gilded Lily was perhaps some kind of competition with the Menagerie. The office clerk to the lawyer who had the Merchant Council as his most prestigious client might provide good information. There was one wife and one fiancée of a shipping mogul and councilman being followed. And there was the high society mystery man who might have all sorts of connections and secrets.

Kaz did not fit as a target of interest and she was hooked by the puzzle of it.

Her eyes popped open as her ears finally registered a strange whirring sound close by. A small dark shape, like a bird, hovered in the air just over the wall. She did not allow her body to react. She stopped breathing. A clicking sound and the black disk-like thing with whirring fan blades began drifting along the wall away from the tree. Her eyes were wide open now, and she scanned the room she had meant to watch closely. It appeared the same as it had. So this machine might not have appeared because of her, maybe. Maybe it was just usual security. In any case, she would be gone from here as soon as possible. She watched it spin and bob, following the wall and then up over the penthouse roof. As soon as it dipped out of sight, she slid slowly from the tree to the roof, and was gone.

Whatever that thing was, it was controlled by someone! She hated the idea that she might have been spotted and spied upon by whoever lived with the private pool and garden. She ran at top speed back to the route she should have been on for the evening: to the rooftop with a hidden vantage of Haskell’s Pawn Shop.

Adrenaline had sharpened her senses for the night. Hopefully she wouldn’t then be sitting for hours watching the pawn shop until she was bored stiff. Some nights all she had to report were the same cars in the same spaces, and the gross things men did just outside the back door. She shook her head at how stupid they were, pissing and vomiting over the same ground they would walk to get to their cars. Sometimes the boredom and vulgarity had her thinking it through, like why wouldn’t they use the bathroom in the building? Then she wanted to do anything else besides being bored enough to think about such things.

 All she knew about gang life was what she was watching with the Dregs, or more precisely, the Dregs with Kaz Brekker. He didn’t fit and she wondered what would give first, them or him.

When she watched them move in or out as a group, her attention was on him mostly and the others faded away. In her first surveillance report on the Dregs, the Wolverine had supplied some of the identifications of the members. Old man Haskell, though she supposed he wasn’t truly old, was the leader but when the group was all together, sullen obedient eyes followed Bastian and Kaz. Even Haskell took his nonverbal cues from his younger leaders for which car to join and who was to drive.

Bastian gave his cues with his physicality. He was first through the shop door either entering or leaving, he was first to open a car door, he always drove, and he gunned his car into the street. He engaged his soldiers with a cuff to their neck, or a punch to their arm.

Kaz gave his cues by withholding all signs. He did nothing, and yet everyone looked. He went through the door with his cane by his side, yet gripped for a full swing should it be needed. Maybe because of the cane, he was given the front passenger seat every time, which meant Haskell was in that same seat in Bastian’s car.  To her it spoke volumes about how Kaz took power. She wondered if the rest of them even realized that it was Kaz who was given the same position as their leader or if it was because of her distance from the outside that she could see it.

She loved this building for how easy it was to see where the cars were going from Haskell’s parking lot. The Wolverine had instructed her to place an X on the top of each car with thick, glow-in-the-dark tape. It helped to quickly identify the car she was tracking from above.

If the Dregs turned left, she was to run to the east side of the building and down the metal stairs, down into the street and run one block to a public parking deck where the Wolverine had directed them to chain lock one of their electric motorbikes, for long distance tracking. The one way road left of Haskell’s Pawn led to the freeway, adding distance and multiple exits to other portions of the city. They had done this only once, on a Friday afternoon. She had been lucky and not lost them nor been caught following. They had parked next to a Black Escalade in the street with a door magnet sign for a Real Estate office before a 3-story building that looked like an abandoned old hotel. The windows were boarded and covered in filth and graffiti. There were some shops still in operation but all of their windows had bars bolted over them, and weeds grew in the squares of soil left for trees or shrubs. The old hotel faced Fifth Harbor, and she could see that if restored, it would become the pinnacle of the area. Given that larger and larger ships were coming into Ketterdam, if the Dregs built this into their own casino night club, they would be on the stop for ships with large crews, where they otherwise would need to walk further into the Barrel. From the Escalade had come a man in a suit with a phone and a clipboard. Surprisingly, Kaz had been the first to offer his hand and introduce Haskell. Then they had all moved together to the chained and locked front door where Suit Man had opened it all up with a key and waved them into the entry ahead of him.

She had been waiting patiently out of sight of a window from the top floor of an abandoned wreck of an old granary, sitting beside equally old and abandoned railroad tracks. It looked like it had fed grain to shipping containers that rode the track to the docks, to be loaded to True Sea going ships.

She had gotten a view of them all again when they suddenly exited a stairway door onto the roof of the old hotel. The Suit Man had gestured to the vistas in all directions to Bastian and Haskell, the others had walked to the edges to look where they wished, but Kaz… he had taken a quick 360 look around and then walked to the parapet directly across from her building. She had sunk back even further into shadow, attempting to convince herself that he could not see her; it just felt like he could. He didn’t move casually like the others though, he stood still, looking intently at this upper window of the granary building. She wanted to flee, but felt the slightest movement would be detected. He paid no attention to the people behind him, just continued to stare. She tried to begin ujjayi breathing, but ended up holding her breath instead.

Finally someone called to him and he turned with them, heading back into the building. At the door, he had again looked back at the granary, and she was grateful for having rigidly remained still.

When the door closed behind him, she had left as fast as her feet could carry her. She had returned without waiting to follow them back and the Wolverine had not chastised her. In fact, for once he had seemed a bit more interested, saying that if the Dregs were considering purchasing that hotel and making it into something, it was genius. The Wolverine rarely showed personal interest so she had noted his comment.

She wasn’t writing any of this down, but she was beginning to collect information about the Wolverine. Really, how could she not? 

But beyond that one outing to the left, they mostly turned to the right and over a few blocks to the main drag, where most of the gangs had their clubs or headquarters, or hawkers leading folks along to “the best-kept secret places for gambling the Barrel had to offer.” This route was easy for her to traverse by rooftop and keep them within sight.

On these nights, the Dregs looked like the other gangs, hanging out together, drinking and gambling, making book, putting pressure on people who owed, and harassing other gang members. It seemed the most fun was when one or more started a fight and everyone jumped in. Except Haskell. She noticed he was the first to hide on the edge of the action. When bodies dropped, he’d pull phones and wallets, like a scavenger. Her lip had curled in disdain.

Bastian was a showboat fighter, beating his chest and picking an opponent by yelling taunts and lunging in their direction. The opponent was usually good to go with their own insults and it seemed the contest was to see who drew first blood. Once that had happened, it was a full melee of heavy fists and broken furniture or scenery. When they all were in a melee, heavy dark pipes, chains, knives, and a mallet or two came into play. It wasn’t that Kaz’s cane was different, but that he used it so well.

Once when things were serious, and the tide of thugs was looking to drown the Dregs, a gun appeared in Kaz’s hand and he shot into the air and then took aim at the big guy hunched over Bastian who was on the ground and barely able to respond. The big guy hadn’t stopped or noticed his pals backing away. And the second shot had entered and exited his head, leaving him to topple slowly to the side. His pals quickened their retreat and the Dregs had lifted Bastian up and suddenly she had been looking at an empty street, listening to sirens begin their wail from many streets away.

The consensus in the Situation Room was that the Dregs were returning to the streets from where they’d come, flexing their new muscle, and the new fire wasn’t coming from any old logs. That had been the night he’d walked to the canal and slept among the homeless.

Tonight Kaz walked away from their street fight with the Liddies alone, disappearing down a dark alley, unresponsive to the shouts of the other Dregs.

She alone had followed. She knew the length and endpoint of that alley and had rushed to the larger of the two buildings whose walls made the alley. On the rooftop, she had run on her toes with arms pumping fast, as his anger-fueled stride was twice hers and he’d taken the lead. Dropping into a crouch at the edge of the building to look down, she had only barely seen the slide of a black-clad figure into another alley across the street. He seemed headed in the direction of the park and the canal. It was a hunch she decided to follow as he was moving so quickly she might well lose him.

She leapt the gaps between the four row houses along her side of the street until she came to the one with the walking bridge on the second floor. She flew to the stairwell door of the rooftop parking lot, burst into the second floor walkway and took the bridge to the other building and walked down to street level. She tried to avoid the streets in the dark since she was small and grab-able, but she was betting on the very sharp knife she had just withdrawn from its sheath along her thigh, and her quickness to keep her safe.

She ran to get ahead of him and hide in the park. A tree in the middle of the wooded section near the path would let her see him enter the park, walk the path through the wood, and exit to the open space that bordered the canal. If she saw him taking that path, she could just verify that is where he went and she could call it quits on the night.

Entering the distinctive red Torii gate on the east side, she gripped the handles of her blades while she found her way off the softly lit pathways through the park. She remembered a zig-zag row of evergreens in the middle of the woods and moved as quickly as she could under the trees and around the decorative shrubs, enjoying the springy bounce of her feet against the mulched soil beneath.

Finally she found the perfect tree. She used her two knives as spikes into the trunk to get to the first branch, three times her height up the trunk. Once there it was a simple climb to a good vantage point. She slid her knives back into their sheaths and rested while she waited. Happy for the strong moon just over her shoulder, and seeing the reflection on the waves in the harbor. She slowed her breath, and watched both the red Torii gate and the ornate, pointed arch of the Golden Trinity gate. She had a park map from her last visit following Kaz through the park and had memorized the park's four gates, each facing the cardinal directions, all gifts from their larger allies in the world: the red, smooth-lined Torii gate from Shu Han, the intricate beauty of the Golden Trinity gate from Ravka, the beautifully ominous black metal gate with a sculpture of a reclining jaguar as its arch from Novyi Zem, and the wooden ship hull propped on poles from Fjerda.

Ignoring the moonlit garden space, she peered more intently into the shadows of the streets, buildings, and cars surrounding the two gates that Kaz was most likely to enter given the direction she had last seen him heading.

He should be here by now…unless she had run faster than she thought, and he had slowed for some reason.

She sighed at herself and her situation, letting the soft sound escape and mingle with the other susurration of foliage, breeze, and wind noises. And froze at a sudden scrape of sound nearby.

She knew that sound. It was the sound of something rubbing against bark. Her eyes darted along branches of her own tree and those nearby. A slight vibration then of the needles of a majestic branch in the next fir tree from hers. The one she had passed by since its first climbable branch was nearer to the ground and she preferred to be difficult to get to.

Because she was already situated, her eyes already adjusted to the dark, she saw a black-clad male figure climb and take perch on a branch of the neighboring tree. She saw reflected shards of light flow across shiny silky waves of dark hair. She frowned, irritated with this night. First a surveillance flying object and now her mark, way too close to her.

Thinking of him turning his head and possibly seeing her own hair shining in the moonlight, she slowly brought her fingers to her shoulders and carefully felt for the topmost fold of her hood. She slid it up and over her hair, pulling the edges beyond her forehead as far as it would go, hopefully shadowing her face too.

She thought about how he had come right here. She tried to think how he could have doubled back and followed her. But if he had followed her, then he wouldn’t just silently sit in the tree next to her, would he? What would that accomplish? He had something wrong with his leg so he couldn’t think he’d beat her to the ground and catch her as she ran.

Because of her training with the circus, her mind was already working out step-by-step how she could most efficiently exit the tree and the path by which she could most quickly exit the park. What if he had someone else here with him, to flush her out? What if she had fallen into his plan?

She quickly put the tree trunk between them and peeked around it to find the edges of him in the tree.

Then, a distinctively odd, harsh voice spoke: “Jesper, the overly dramatic bartender at the Treasure Chest, whom I suspect you already know, serves liquid shots with precision, but he’s even better shooting bullets. If he were sitting where I was, holding my gun as I am, one shot in the dark, through the trees, and your game of hide and seek would be done. Game over.”

Her mind began many thoughts at once. What did he expect her to do? Scream? That was laughable, who would hear or even care?

Silence spooled out into the woods. He knew she was here, and he was threatening her with a gun. He casually discussed his hope for precision in shooting her. She knew she didn’t want a gunshot wound. Her mind played a reel of herself falling to the ground in pain to be found by early morning walkers, being taken to a hospital or other authorities, explanations in her broken Kerch. Or, bleeding her way back to the hotel.

His voice broke the silence again, “Who do you work for?”

Somewhere within her came the desire to answer honestly. Following him, or any of them, had never been her choice or her fight. Tell him the truth and let him deal with it. She owed nothing good to those who had stolen and caged her. 

 “Van Verent and Van Houden,” she said.

She heard a rustle as though he had slightly adjusted to the direction of her voice, but he remained otherwise perched on the branch.

“Why?” he asked.

“That is my question also,” she replied. There was another silence. How would he pressure her for more? How did one prepare for a warning shot?

“You have an accent. Where are you from?” he questioned.

She had finally decided to move and as soon as she began, she knew she would escape.

“Elsewhere,” she snorted and heard an unexpected rumbled chuckle. Her turn to distract.

“Why would anyone want to spy on you?” she asked, turning it around on him since it was a question that also bothered her on a daily basis. She bent down to the next branch, carrying and releasing her body weight like a sloth pouring itself slowly down the trunk. She kept talking, “You are a teen boy in a gang. You are one of hundreds. You have no family, no power. What would anyone want with you?”

Because it was so quiet and because she was listening so intently to any sound she might be making, she heard his involuntary grunt. Ha! She was without a gun, and getting a knife to a target through the trees in the dark would be guesswork, but a shot to his ego had struck. Well, too bad. How did he think it felt to her to be caught spying?

“If you don’t know why you are out here following me, no wonder you’re not good at it,” he snapped.

Her hands gripped the bark tightly, the arch of her extended foot hardened, causing it to land flatly on the next branch. Her fluidity for a moment became a choppy cascade of individual movements.

What? How dare he? He couldn’t know of every time she had been following him, or he should be making his money and reputation in the film industry. Ah, but he didn’t know she hadn’t always been the one to follow him.

“I’m not the only one to follow you,” she said, hoping it gave him pause to know she wasn’t the only one.  She was now negotiating the second to last major branch of her escape.

What did interest them about Kaz? She had no idea but she could honestly answer for herself,

“Everything about you, no matter how small, is of interest.”

Another silence as she felt her way down to the last branch along the trunk. She knew she could make the drop with bent knees, land on her feet, and be able to run. She looked carefully as far as she could in all directions.

“There is no one else here besides us,” he said, the words now arriving from a much safer distance.

If he knew she was looking to run, there was no further need for stealth. She dropped to the bouncy, springy ground and recovered balance perfectly. She almost made a finishing flourish with her hands, but as this was her life in Ketterdam, she pulled her knives instead.

“What is your name?” he asked, and she paused to glance back up at him, his form still on the branch far above.

What did her name matter anymore? No one called her anything but Acolyte in the Ashram and Lynx in the Menagerie. Would she one day forget her own name?

She was surprised by a sudden need to say her name out loud, but bit it back. He didn’t deserve to know her name, this boy with a gun, musing about a precise shot.

“The Lynx,” she said. “They call me the Lynx.”

And then she was running, feet speeding as she went. 

Behind her, his voice, softened by distance and darkness, she heard clearly all the same.

“No. You are a Wraith.”

She’d stolen a notebook from a trusting and distracted student artist at the corner coffee shop. He’d gone to the counter to return his empty plate and mug and stood a while to talk. She had been exiting the restroom and seen a notebook to the side of the sketch pad one he was working in. Her hand splayed the top, and she had it flipped up under her jacket, and bound by the restriction of the waist of her pants, and her jacket fallen back over it, by the time she was passed his table and heading for the door. It was a small, dimly lit café and there were no mirrors or cameras. The owner tried hailing after her but she was gone.

She’d scavenged multiple plastic bags from the streets to wrap it in. She had stolen a black back pack, left unattended. Inside she had found money, a laptop, and what she really needed: some pens. She had been tempted to keep the laptop, but the consequences of being found with it somehow, by the authorities or any of the other spies, or even the Wolverine, had her dropping it into the nearest garbage bin. The rest she kept hidden for a very short while in the niche she herself had hidden in the night she had watched and followed the Wolverine to the Castle Hotel. 

On her next night out-and-back, she grabbed the backpack, shook off a small puddle of water from the evening rain, slid in one more item, and quickly began her route to the curious building to which she’d tracked Kaz more than once. She pondered what it was like as one of his friends, since they only saw him at times and places of his choosing. She was perhaps the only person who saw him in his in between spaces. And she was probably the only one mapping his every move, creating a web of locations. She had only spoken with him once, anonymously, and she might know more about him than anyone else.

Any place he came back to more than once was probably important in it for him, and as it was her job to discover what those important things were, she was setting up a spot.  

Damp and uncomfortable despite having chosen a path with as much cover as possible, she had arrived on the sidewalk and taken a moment under an overhang, just as a utility van had parked in front of the building and two men had climbed the stairs to the door. She had watched as a blond teen boy had readily opened the door as though waiting just inside for them, and heard the two men claim to be electricians responding to a job order. The boy had acknowledged that the building was currently empty and in need of electrical work that would support computers and wifi, and other things she hadn’t understood the meaning of. The boy claimed to be the manager for the company who owned the building and would escort them to where they would work. She hadn’t been the only one to scoff at the strangeness of that, but the two electricians had gone ahead with the work, caring more for the money than the mystery. Which left that part to her, beginning with who was this teen boy, who was the company, and why were electricians coming round for work after dark?

She’d gone down the street counting seven buildings all leaning within inches of each other. She’d walked a very narrow gap between two of them, arriving in the alley behind them. Few buildings in this area adhered to city regulations for metal stairway exits, but she found one and made her way to the rooftop and then made her way to the roof next to his.

She pulled out a neatly folded black tarp from the backpack and created a cocoon within it, with the backpack next to her. She turned on her phone flashlight and quickly made sure all of the tarp edges were tucked and accounted for, so that no light could be seen. It wasn’t exactly comfortable but it was better than having to be continually on guard from strangers discovering her, and she needed her location tag to identify her at one of her regular surveillance locations. This first session would take time.

From the back pack she withdrew the notebook and a pen, opened to a fresh page and wrote:

     A – Ashrams, HQ in Ravka, young girls,

     VH – Menagerie, sister, madam of escorts, Aux 3

     VV – Hotels, boss, uses escorts, young girls?

     W – Trainer, uses escorts/girls? has room Aux 2?, how hired?

Looking over the short list, she saw how little she knew and it made her more determined. She had no boss or deadline, she would find answers when she could, and that helped her swallow against the fear of being caught spying against them. These were the people who owned her and passed her around. Who owned and passed around the other girls being trained in the Menagerie of spies, one of whom they'd flung into sexual servitude for failing to be a good enough spy. She wanted out and just maybe, if she were brave enough to find their secrets, she would fling open the cage door for all of them.

Following the format of her reports to the Wolverine, she thought of questions as prompts for her next actions. She stared at the page, wrestling with a deluge of questions to find the right one for now. It was kind of a gift that her hands were cold and overly tight on the pen. It helped sharpen her focus on what she wrote.

     Why a Menagerie of Spies, when they could just feed the Escort business?

     Why was the Wolverine at the Castle Hotel?

It was a good start. She would need a cover story for her locator device at the Castle Hotel, but she would begin with watching the Wolverine as much as she could.

She flipped a number of pages and wrote:

     Kaz Brekker – target of A, or VH, or VV, or W or some combination of them, or all of them; Street orphan (family?), taken off streets by Specht (SpechtBox), Gym Rats (thieves, fights), good fighter despite leg injury, card shark (card counter?), faked death, new member of Dregs

     Locations – here she drew with some care a five-pointed shape, with each of the points labeled in relation to their distance from one another: SpechtBox, the storage tower building, Haskell’s Pawn Shop, the building she was currently seated next to, and the building out by Fifth Harbor he had taken the Dregs to tour. After some thought she made a star a distance up the page from her shape for the date night in the rich neighborhood, just in case it became important. Considering that, she also made a square inside the five-pointed shape outlining Kaz’s current territory as she knew it for the park he walked through to get to; here she made another star for what she labeled the Ghost Canal nearly perfectly diagonal across the city from the rich neighborhood. She decided to leave the Treasure Chest off of Kaz’s page and just consider it Anika’s location.

Once Kaz had begun with the Dregs, she had been directed to follow the slackening threads of Kaz’s pre-Dregs life since she could do so without much worry of being seen by him too often or at all. She had spent daylight hours walking in and out of cafés, shops, street carts, and other workout gyms, talking and questioning, in addition to her online searches. She summarized the information from those reports, and the list of those who lived and worked at SpechtBox grew to look like this:

     Others:

     Specht, owner of SpechtBox, ex-Navy, professional fighter and trainer, responsible for some of the best enforcers and bouncers in the Barrel, free of gang allegiance, adopts street kids, no rumors against him.

     Anika, no public school records, lives and works at SpechtBox, trains as fighter, a Gym Rat, works second job at Treasure Chest, walks to/from with bartender Jesper

     Jesper, a brief public school record showing him as a transfer from a high school in Novyi Zem, high school dropout, new bartender at Treasure Chest, lives at SpechtBox, posted the two pics of Kaz with the pretty girl with the gap toothed smile

     Keeg, no public school records, lives and works at SpechtBox, a Gym Rat, one of the guys in Jesper’s pic of Kaz and crew around table at Treasure Chest

     Dirix, same as Keeg

     Nina, new massage therapist at SpechtBox, hired by Specht just after Kaz had moved out

     Teen Boy Building Manager, lives alone at building where Kaz has visited, and now getting reno

     Haskell, Dregs boss, owner of pawn shop, recent trouble with his bookies and a bet fiasco

In the question portion of her official reports to the Wolverine, she had written:

     Find out more about his background?  

But she had mostly written it as a poke at her handlers that she had no idea why she was tracking Kaz Brekker and therefore was directionless.

For herself, she had plenty of questions.

     Did Specht know Kaz’s family? What happened to make him an orphan? Did he know any of the people at SpechtBox before living there? What happened to his leg?

     Why join the Dregs? Why did he sometimes choose to sleep with the ghostly homeless people? How did they know him?

     Were any of his friends a boyfriend or girlfriend?

     What drove a teen boy to work day and night? Why did he use a cane? Why did he rarely smile? Why did he dress so formally sometimes, with gloves?

     What were his plans? Who amongst A, VH, VV, or W had decided upon Kaz as a target, and why?

She gave a groan in exasperation and gently banged the back of her head against the short wall she sat against. She stared at the tightly woven threads of the tarp draped in folds over her face, listening to the soft patter of rain drops against it, thinking again of their conversation in the moonlit trees of the park. Suddenly she had more questions.

     Why does a boy who walks with a cane climb a tree to talk to the person spying on him?

     How did he get behind her that night and track her through the woods in the dark to a tree next to her?

     Why had she …

She slowly closed the notebook and reopened to the very last page. At the top she slowly wrote her own name.

     Inej – stolen, threatened, beaten, captive of the Ashram, shipped to Ketterdam, the Menagerie of Spies, can’t speak Kerch, spy or prostitute, locator ID under skin, good fighting with knives, Van Verent Hotel, access to phone and laptop but under surveillance, no personal items, no friends among the others

It was probably one of the craziest things she’d done but she went ahead and questioned herself:

     Why had she told Kaz the truth of who sent her?

     What did she hope he would do?

She shut the book on that thought and hurriedly packed it all back together. She would find a place to stash the backpack on this roof and check if the electrician van was still parked out front. If it was gone, she would break into the building now that she knew only one person was in residence and check out the interior for clues. If it was still there, she would head over to the Treasure Chest and maybe follow Anika and Jesper home, eavesdropping on their conversation. Jesper was a loud speaker, and she could record their conversation for translation of whatever she couldn’t understand.

Then she would head back to the hotel to sleep some hours if she could before getting up and running to the Castle Hotel to hopefully memorize the list of residents. She didn’t feel up to explaining why she had a picture of the list to the Wolverine should he look at the contents of her phone.

Chapter Text

Blood fell in thin stripes on top of the tight weave of his sleeve. His mouth twisted slightly, the only outward sign of the rage pushing his own blood beneath the sleeve.

Another fucking time-filler fight. It moved the needle of respect for the Dregs only the tiniest amount. The Gym Rats had done the same for themselves with far less on the line. And tonight of all nights when his left arm was screaming from the tattoo work he’d just got done. 

He walked away, done with all of it. He needed to not hear them breathe, or speak, for the next while.

He’d almost given in to the urge to land a few hard punishing blows on his own Dregs brothers undercover of the chaos of the fight. He suspected it was the story behind some of the pain of his own hard knocks from the side and behind.

It had been a long series of weeks, proving himself all-in as the new Dreg. He hadn’t offered an opinion or changed a single thing. He’d accepted everything. If there wasn’t enough coffee, he went without. If there wasn’t enough room around the table, he stood. If the car he was in filled with noxious vape, he didn’t roll down the window.

He took every test they marched him through and remained standing, staring down their assessing looks, some hopeful he'd fail. If he suspected them of consciously (or not) upping the ante on his initiation, he took it as a nod at their perception of his strength. Let them figure out (or not) that it was also a test of their ability to see the threat of his potential.

He’d won two victories out from under them. First, he’d gone to Mick as directed, the man they said would give him the official tattoo of the Dregs. He’d been told to sit and wait while Mick had finished a session. As he’d looked over the walls of designs, he’d also watched Mick’s teen son, Jake. The back and forth between them had been the typical I-brought-you-into-this-world-and-I-can-take-you-out father and the resentful subservient-for-now son relationship. Kaz had asked Jake how to blend three tattoos into one long design from deltoid to forearm, and found Jake’s designs to be bolder with stronger contrast lines. As they talked, after a quick look to make sure his father’s attention was elsewhere, Jake slid toward Kaz a redesign of Dregs cup and crow. Kaz grasped instantly the parallel between the new rebelling against the old. This new tattoo would be the new Dregs. Let the others have the older version; his crew would have the new. Without a word, Jake and Kaz had maneuvered Mick into leaving Kaz’s tattoo job to his son, and he’d never come back around to check. Now it was all under bandages, and then under his sleeves. It wasn’t like Kaz was going to invite the anyone to look at his arm.  

And finally, a couple of nights ago, Haskell had asked him to go for a drive, offered to give him a ride home. They had made jesting attempts at trying to find his home, but he’d just told them he was between places right now and when Haskell asked for an address, he’d named a street corner down in the old defunct area of Fifth Harbor. Haskell hadn’t grumbled for once about distance and gas, and when he’d pulled up to the curb across from the building Kaz had hopes for, he’d asked why they were there in an almost politely interested tone.

Kaz had grinned into the dark and begun his pitch for a Dreg’s casino, bar, and headquarters.  That he had heard the company that owned the building wanted to sell fast and cheap. That the harbors of Ketterdam were to overflowing and the city was unofficially using Fifth Harbor for the largest ships, which meant the largest crews passed through all of this dead space to get to places to stay and spend money. That yes, there would be risk in taking an equity loan on the Pawn Shop, but since the Barrel had grown up around it from the days when the Haskell family had first bought the place, it would be valued at nearly a million and that the new place, being the only option for miles, meant very good return on investment. Remembering how he had haggled with his Da, Kaz had built piles of money in Haskell’s mind.

Then he’d let him sit with it. Haskell was risk averse, and if his greed wasn’t bigger than his fear, well then Kaz figured he had a whole other problem on his hands, with a much different solution.

But time with his fantasies of money had paid off. Haskell had agreed to look the property over in the daylight. Kaz had stood strong on both legs for a moment, watching Haskell’s tail lights trace his exit. He’d set his first plan in motion, and without fuss. Kaz had then slipped into the building, noting how easy it was to enter from a few key spots, and walked through to the old lobby, dropping the cushions from a dusty sofa onto the equally dusty floor boards, and slept in peace for the first time in recent memory.

The next morning he showed up a half bell late to the morning shuffle around the coffee machine and found that he had read Haskell exactly right. Everyone was talking about the big new thing Haskell had going; that they were all going to look over a property Haskell was thinking of buying. Kaz had made sure he got a cup of coffee to hide his smirk. Being Haskell’s idea made he and Bastian equal as Lieutenants, and made Bastian accept easily what he would have otherwise fought.

But on the backside of it all was Kaz doing what it took for the long con. He’d gotten the man who played as the realtor; gotten him the Escalade for the day, the fake company magnet sign for the door, briefed him on what to say. He’d written the sales pitch for the area, how there were others looking to buy nearby and begin a revitalization of this portion of the city. He’d asked the questions during the tour that prompted the answers he wanted the others to hear.

Hook set, bait swallowed. And now he and Anika would finish pulling the whale to shore. Haskell taking a loan on his place gave Kaz the equity to begin making the old building into the money maker it would be.

But now that victory was so close, his body was about to give out.

He slowed his pace now he was out of range the yells to come back. Suddenly a part of him was finally registering every muscle ache he hadn’t had time to address. He was limping, he had a splitting headache, and when had he last eaten and had some water? Or a good cup of coffee? He needed new clothes, another night of actual sleep, and some hours away from the vapes, coughs, and armpits of his new family.

Was his shadow behind him or above him? It cost him, but he straightened up and lengthened his stride. He wasn’t sure that he was always being followed. Sometimes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and his senses went on alert for no apparent reason, but lately he would swear he wasn’t being followed. Another fucking thing that he needed to figure out, but had no time to devote to.

He stopped and pressed his back against a wall hidden in deep night shadow, and watched and waited. He neither felt nor saw anything of his shadow. He wanted to be among his own things, dressed in his own sleep wear at the FOB. But there was Pim, and he’d want to talk some. Without further thought, Kaz made his way to the park, thinking of the tree he had first climbed and the strong branch he had strapped his worldly goods to when he first came to Ketterdam.

There was a moon tonight and an unseasonably warm breeze. He could sit high above everything and be completely away from everyone.

The sound of his steps faded away as he walked on the soft earth edging the paved path. At just the right place, he stepped further in to the brush and walked without trouble to the trunk of his tree. The branch that had taken some work to reach when he was nine was now easy, and fortunately his way of life kept some muscle on him. He stood and listened to the quiet. No sound was out of the ordinary, but he felt the sensation begin on his neck. It had been a long time since he stood alone in the dark in woods, so maybe he was just on high alert from the difference from the city and street sounds. But he had grown up in such surroundings, and been alone in the dark in woods that had natural predators and hadn’t felt like this.

He took off his coat, folded it over the head of the cane, and leaned both against the trunk. He rounded it and began to climb with ease. It seemed his boyhood skill had been retained. He made some small noises with his hard soled shoes, but no one was out here listening and the night’s breeze created a soft rustling of needles and leaves all around. He found his sitting branch from before, still making a comfortable enough seat for the view of the harbor waters above the shorter canopy of deciduous trees. He took in a deep breath and let it out. He let himself feel the comfort of his younger years. Being hidden from Da and Jordie, winning the competition of not being found. He was still good at it. He tilted his head back as though lifting his face to the moon.

And felt seen. Without moving his head, he looked sharply around and saw a dark shadow, perched in the crook of a branch nearly the same height as his own in the next pine tree to his.

An animal? A street child like himself back in his first days, hiding in a tree hoping for safety at a distance from the hell of the Barrel streets at night? He slowly moved his hand to the handle of his gun and let it sit there. Whichever it was, no sound or quick movement had been made. It was pure luck and his heightened senses that let him see the shadow moving with such extreme care. It moved with the deliberate slowness of prey hoping to not trigger the hunting instinct of the predator.  

His mind understood it before his eyes could really see it, but he saw the shape of a floating shadow arm moving to pull a hood over a head. It triggered the hair on the back of his neck so strongly it felt like a hand had clamped down and caught him. For a moment he was back in debris of the farmyard, hurrying to collect and take care of things before dark. Adrenaline shot through him and he just knew. This was his shadow, and with those dimensions and quiet, it had to be the girl.  

She barely moved again, and suddenly there was just the trunk. This was no ordinary girl. But she was acting as though he had surprised her. Although how had she planned this meeting since he had not climbed this tree in years, and she was in the tree before him. Ah he got it. She had followed him through here when he had gone to sleep in the dry canal. Maybe she had been sitting in surveillance waiting for him to come through again.

And here he was in the tree next to her! He had surprised her and he would make the most of it. But she had to know of his limp and that she could outpace him getting out of the tree and the park. So first things first.  

 “Jesper, the overly dramatic bartender at the Treasure Chest, whom I suspect you already know, serves liquid shots with precision, but he’s even better shooting bullets. If he were sitting where I was, holding my gun as I am, one shot in the dark, through the trees, and your game of hide and seek would be done. Game over.”

Not exactly true since it was dark, she was protected by the trunk, and without a laser sight, pretty much an impossible shot, even perhaps for Jesper. Was she herself a good enough shot to know all of this? How would she react to the threat?

Nothing. But also no further movement. Obviously she needed time to think under pressure. She was even stupider if she thought he’d let her get out of this silently. 

He’d asked, “Who do you work for?”

Finally she spoke, “Van Verent and Van Houden.” A beautiful female voice, with the lilt of another language, one he wasn’t sure enough to name. The sounds looped and swung in different timing than his ear was accustomed to. It resonated in him and he leaned his head as though he’d hear more clearly what she would say next. So it took a beat longer than it should have for him to register that she had given names. But was she telling the truth, or handing out plausible lies to get out from under his threat?

And why was his shadow other than Kerch? Any street kid could be hired to follow someone for money. And so far, she was of few words. Was it her personality, or because she was a terrified spy caught out, or because the Kerch language was not her own?

“Why?” he’d asked.

“That is my question also,” she’d replied.

She questioned her orders? Her spying was not of her own motivation, and perhaps even contrary to it? She was a pawn of some sort. A mercenary one or an obligated one? Even a street kid knew that you never spoke names, even when threatened with death, because the truth did not set you free, it just reserved your death for a later time.

More. He needed more information and she as was strangely willing to tell…

He’d asked, “You have an accent. Where are you from?”

“Elsewhere,” she’d snorted and it surprised a soft huff of a laugh from him. She moved like water but was not spineless. That was satisfactory.  

She’d asked him, “Why would anyone want to spy on you?”

There were a thousand reasons. He just wanted hers. But before he could ask, she’d continued: “You are a teen boy in a gang. You are one of hundreds. You have no family, no power. What would anyone want with you?”

This from a spy who had given up names. This from a spy who had been caught spying. She was complaining that he was a boring target?

He bit back on the urge to tell her his theories. He could feel her moving down the tree.

“If you don’t know why you are out here following me, no wonder you’re not good at it,” he’d snapped.

Now she’d made a noise! It was a slight one but he’d heard it. So she didn’t like hearing him say she wasn’t good at what she was doing. Good to know.

 “I’m not the only one to follow you,” she’d said, and it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was. Then her voice, ever further below him, came again: “Everything about you, no matter how small, is of interest.”

He had been and still was busy with too many things. This situation needed more than cameras on rooftops and the spooky feel of being watched. It was past time for a spy of his own, chasing down his shadows and gathering information in return.

Certain that she was about to make her escape, he let himself turn and look down into the dark. Grateful for the ability to see well in low light, he saw her on the last big branch above the ground. She was paused before the drop, which would be a big one for his body, let alone one so small. How would she do it? What was she waiting for?

“There is no one else here besides us,” he’d said.

He heard her drop to the ground and no extra steps for regaining balance. She was like one of those trained gymnasts with such control. He imagined her making the finishing flourish with her hands like a professional in the world games. He heard the familiar slide of metal from leather. Was she coming to his tree? He needed her to speak and reveal her position.

“What is your name?” he’d asked.

Silence. Had she managed to move completely without sound? He couldn’t see her anymore, perhaps she had left. It seemed she could become invisible when she wanted.

She must be gone.

He turned back to the view with even more to think through.

But her voice came again, softly: “The Lynx,” she’d said. “They call me the Lynx.”

A lynx? A wild cat? No, he rejected it. With the right training, she’d be far more frightening than that.

“No,” he’d said, “You are a Wraith.”

He heard soft thuds of her feet, running swiftly away. He was right; he would not be able to chase her down.

The silence he’d come for finally descended. He put his gun to the holster and settled on the branch to look out across the other trees, and to the far distance of the moon shimmer on the water of the harbor.

He’d wanted to think, by himself, without having to pay the toll of explanations to anyone, like Anika if he’d gone to Specht’s, or Pim if he’d gone to the FOB, or feel the weight of apathy from those who lived in the canal. And he absolutely needed to be away from Bastion and Haskell and the current Dregs. Nearly six weeks of sitting next to their stinking bodies in enclosed spaces. Of listening to them talk. He understood the bragging, the constant sex talk, and the talk of big plans. He listened as they revealed all the ways by which he could leverage each of them into his own plans. Meanwhile, he fed them stories of his own fights and victories, of his own experience with girls. They assumed a lot and he let them.

And Haskell was still the beady-eyed coyote, greedy for another hen house run. Not realizing how fat and comfortable he’d become. That he was now the fat hen parading before the coyotes. Kaz had come along at the right time, before Bastian and crew had made their move. If Bastian was even half of how he acted, he had to have plans of being the next boss of the Dregs. Kaz just hoped he had the time to make a course correction.

In the fight with the Liddies tonight, the old voice had come to him, like a fly looking to land. Reminding him of his last fight with the Liddies, with dead bodies with blood from blows from his cane. That night he’d become the uncontested leader of the Gym Rats; tonight he’d been a soldier in the Dregs. The voice had sneered and he’d walked away, finally taking a break. 

And now, having met her, the Lynx, he had even more to consider.

He desperately needed his own spy. He could only do so much right now.

He needed someone he trusted, because in following her, they would be also following him. That limited his options to just himself, Anika, and Pim. Next, the person would need to be able to climb structures and jump gaps. And run very fast, most often in the dark. And since he had heard her pull a knife tonight, they would need to be good in a fight should they be surprised by her as he had been. That brought his options down to two: he and Anika. The two busiest people he knew.

It was long past time to put eyes on the Peacock and The Menagerie. It was time to take a look at the partnership of the Van Verent Hotel and the Peacock’s business. They’d been established long before Kaz came to Ketterdam, and it had to be assumed they had the bribes and leverages to stay in business without interference. Was it just those two or were there more entities aligned with them?

Why the need for a spy? He hadn’t forgotten his conversation with Annalisa the night she was murdered. When he had asked her about using Escort Service providers as spies, she had specifically mentioned that it was rumored that those activities happened at The Willow Switch and The Menagerie. She had talked about forced prostitution of children, and that the Peacock was one rumored to auction very young ‘escorts’ on the Dark Web. Since he’d had no way of beginning an Escort business himself at that time, he had filed what was useful for future and left it at that. He’d had no interest in being a social justice warrior; quite the opposite. He too wanted to be left alone to fleece happy shore leave crews and tourist pigeons without interference from the authorities. He was fine with live and let live.

But now he wondered. Could that be the case with her? Was she a stolen child escort being pressed into being a spy? Maybe there wasn’t any ulterior motive for having him spied upon. Perhaps he was chosen randomly as a target training dummy. Could it be that simple?

There were circles within circles. Now he was thinking of Van Braam, the Broker. Kaz hadn’t had a moment to look much further into him either. He wanted much, much more than internet searches. Van Braam Industries dealt with government military contracts, their cyber security would be the best of the best. He’d held off waiting for his own personal bunker, with machines and firewalls to make an attempt at the Van Braam networks.  

Which in turn reminded him of the top secret lists he had stolen by chance a couple months ago, one of which was of businesses by country that developed and sold military weaponry, supposedly legally. Van Braam Industries had been on it of course. There had been a schedule of potential auctions on the Dark Web, to be conducted around Harbor Day, which meant any time in the next couple of weeks. He had found potentially the online addresses for the auctions; he just needed to watch certain online chat to try to get a hint at timing and invitation.

He wanted to know what would be for sale and who would make the sale and the purchases. If there were military grade drones for sale, well then. He would be interested in how they were shipped! Cameras on top of buildings and within offices were great, but he needed more for his expanding interests and territory, because he didn’t have his own army of personnel like these conglomerates.

He did however, have the personnel for making things disappear from ships.

He rubbed his eyes and growled his frustration. He was already beyond exhausted and yet there was so much still to do. He was now the one going in circles. He was back to needing a spy.

What if…light sparked at the edges of his tired eyes at the thought: what if the easiest and best route to getting a spy was getting her to work for him?

She was perfectly placed to spy on the Peacock and Van Verent. He could feed her information for her reports, giving him a chance to manipulate what they ended up knowing about him, and  freeing her up to gather information on his own targets.

If he could make this work, it was the quickest solution. Did she have computer skills too? Language skills? Fight skills? His mind was making comparisons, trade-offs against trade-offs. Her tracking and shadowing skills were already better than anyone else he could think of, beyond himself. He could teach her the rest.

He was short on cash right now, but he had a couple schemes. If they were paying her, he would do better.

Fortunately it was her job to find him each day and pay close attention to everything he did. He’d have plenty of opportunity to talk with her again.

Chapter Text

He planned his entries and exits from the Van Verent Hotel to look casual and spontaneous. He left at different times, and took varied routes. Not that he truly felt anyone involved with Van Verent or the Peacock had the skills to follow him, but because his own training and skills were hardwired.

He’d insisted on a room on the same floor as the spies. A room whose door was hidden behind what looked to be an elevator shaft access door. He had the same camera feeds displayed in the suite as he suspected Van Verent also had.

He wanted to be the first authority on the scene should anything happen to the girls unexpectedly. He also hoped that being tucked away and quiet about his residency, he’d have few-to-none awkward scenes at his door. So far he’d parried one companionship offer from the Peacock with his commitment to the Ashram’s stated ideal of chastity. His lip curled at the memory of the Peacock’s expression when he’d looked her solemnly in the eyes and rattled off the lie. He had it on camera and had frozen the video and captured the picture. His job didn’t offer many opportunities for humor, and he’d enjoyed that one thoroughly. As an employee of Van Verent and Van Houden, he put himself daily into service of two sociopathic predators. A less mature version of himself wanted to paste their faces on each combat dummy and have a free day in the gym with the girls.

Tonight was the second time he’d walked a straight route to the Castle Hotel from the Van Verent. He knew it was a mistake, one he couldn’t do again. Everyone but the Lynx had returned hours before, and she seemed to exist in a subdued daze. Odds were that even if she had seen him, she wouldn’t disobey the rules of The Menagerie and follow him.  He knew, and those he truly worked for also knew, these girls had all been abused to some degree, repeatedly. He suspected where they came from and suspected the treatment they had endured. It was writ large in how they conducted themselves, how they sat arms across their bodies, legs pulled in; trying to look relaxed and casual while every part of them was in defense mode.

Some uttered an apology every few words, excusing themselves from existence. Others barely ate, as though they didn’t deserve to be fed. They needed a woman in his place, but it wouldn’t fly. Once they’d gotten a strong profile on the Peacock, they knew another woman working for Van Verent would have been the proverbial red cloth to the bull.

So he tried to keep the situation room free of all the things he’d learned about in his one class on safe interactions with victims, but it was especially difficult back when the Peacock was showing up at the table in the morning, talking shit about sexual exploitation training! Fuck, they didn’t need more training. He had only gotten through that conversation by focusing on her to the exclusion of the scared young faces around the table, each one trying desperately to have unreadable reactions.

His shoulder twitched and he shut those thoughts down as he finally reached and ascended the eight stone steps to the Castle doors. If he walked into the Vault anxious like a newbie, it would be noticed.

The Castle Hotel was an icon in this section of Ketterdam. It was owned by one of the oldest families, the Van Braam’s, although you wouldn’t see their name on display anywhere. Unlike the Van Verent, where VV was embossed, stitched, printed, and on plaques everywhere.

The hotel stood out with cream stone among the dark grey exteriors of the surrounding buildings. Any time the clouds broke and allowed a sunset across the city, the Castle Hotel gleamed in soft gold, orange and pink. It was only three stories up from street level, with a scrolled façade at the top behind which was a penthouse, the in town residence of Darden Van Braam. It was a lovely apartment with a pool and small surrounding garden, secured behind a stone garden wall.

It wasn’t a hotel for tourists as much as apartment living for the nomadic rich friends of the Van Braam family and businesses. The Wolverine had tried in his first few months of working for Van Braam to build a list of the clientele, but had been asked to stop. He wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t have been escorted all the way back from where he came had he been found continuing that line of inquiry. At least he hoped he would have been allowed to leave.

The formal entry to the hotel was built into the corner, facing the intersection. It was another unusual feature of the hotel. The ground to ceiling windows and door panels were all sheets of very thick tempered glass. Not many would think to guess, but the glass was truly transparent armor, a first line of defense against the unthinkable.

It was far too early for a doorman, and he was not expected, so he pushed the hand plate that would automatically open the doors. He heard the dull click of the lock subsiding.

He walked over to the ornate cream marble desk and stood directly on the mat before it, facing the gentleman in a dark grey suit, light grey shirt with silver tie and pocket silk, who had slid out from a hidden office behind a half wall.

“Good morning Sir,” said Graves, a lifelong employee of the Castle Hotel. His silver hair was cut close to his head, all things about him neat and trim. But he had the kindest brown eyes and sweetest smile. Along with his marksmanship with any gun, he was perfect as the concierge of the Castle Hotel.

“Good morning Graves,” he replied, keeping his chin up and his eyes on those of Graves. This was more than a routine greeting, this was an inspection. Multiple sensors, cameras, and assessments were happening in this moment. Nothing made him question his normalcy more than this moment of routine.

Graves’ eyes lowered to a screen tucked under the edge of the countertop, concealing results to only his perusal. Then he looked up and while grabbing a key card from a locked drawer, asked,

“Will you need anything special during your visit today, Sir?”

“No, thank you Graves, this is a brief visit.”

Graves nodded as he took the key card and made his way to the elevator. He stepped into a ridiculously large elevator, furnished with brocade wall paper, thick soft carpet, a sofa, side chair, occasional table with lamp, flower vase, beverage cart, and beautiful framed paintings of old world roses. The music was probably something famous from hundreds of years ago, but what he heard was a nice instrumental.

Van Braam was quite the aficionado of old world niceties. He often scheduled meetings in the elevator. Attendees to such meetings were charmed and delighted with the eccentricity, and typically unaware of their vulnerability to being trapped or to having the meeting summarily ended by the opening of the doors on the ground level.

He went ahead and sat in the nearest chair as he would be descending a number of levels below the kitchens, the laundry, the underground parking, and the upper of four levels of the command and control center of the secret work of Van Braam Industries.

The doors opened to a wide open space glowing with blue light from what could be a hundred desk and wall mounted screens. Individual stations were arranged in concentric circles with wide walking space between. In the very center of the room was one huge circular table with books and paper files in towering piles. These were rare reference materials that could not be digitized, for fear of being lost or stolen. Together, this was the brain and nerve center of their operations; this is where information from multiple external sources was processed and controlled. This morning it was calm, people looked over at the intrusion of a new person, but quickly returned to their work without much response. The equipment hummed, and he felt the shiver of static as he walked toward his desk, taking account of who was on shift. When an emergency or operation was underway, the room buzzed and repeated cycles of adrenaline made the room appear to shrink and swell. Boring was a good thing down here.

As he suspected, there was nothing on his desk. He saw Van Braam at his own desk at a center console. It was hard to gauge how he would take an unexpected interruption, but as he was here to ask questions, he’d brave it. He doubted Van Braam had gifted him  access to the files that would contain any answers.  

Van Braam was dressed in his field gear: dark gray utility pants with multiple zipper pockets, pant legs tucked into black leather and rubber soled boots tied up to mid calf,  a dark gray rolled neck long-sleeve shirt, a belt with compartments, a gun holster, and knife sheath. His short grey hair was covered with a thick black beanie. To his left wrist was strapped a custom made device that looked like a smart watch, but was far smarter than anything the average human could purchase. Van Braam was intimidating on all levels.

Van Braam noticed him noted him making his way through the other stations and leaned forward and made his screen go blank before he settled back into his chair, giving the Wolverine his full attention. He seemed politely curious and as usual remained silent letting others speak first.

The Wolverine pulled up a chair and said, “Good morning Sir, do you have a moment for a question or two?”

“My dear Tolya, of course. Shall we have some coffee first? You look like it would do you good.”

Why was Van Braam’s gracious hospitality always so nerve wracking? He was so natural with it, and it was beyond anything he’d grown up with. What should he answer? Was no ever an acceptable response to such nice manners?  Task him to dive into a multi-opponent fight, but for the love of all that is holy; do not ask him to make nice! He suspected Van Braam of knowing this was his reaction and deliberately doing it anyway.

He found himself nodding and agreeing to a cup of coffee. Van Braam tapped a button on the intercom and spoke to some distant staff person who seemed annoyingly happy to provide a couple cups of coffee in the early hours of the morning. Once that was settled, Van Braam asked,

“Well Tolya, how are things over at the Van Verent? I hope you are doing well despite the temporary reduction in your living situation.”

Tolya sighed, on the inside, where it was felt all the more. Of course Van Braam would politely take a slap at the inferiority of the Van Verent in comparison to the Castle.

“Sir, everything is going as expected per my last report except for two things, which is why I am here. I assume you have more eyes on the situation than mine. What happened to the Mare?”

“You may get by on inner fortitude alone, but I will need my coffee before that discussion. How are your students progressing?”

Damn. If Van Braam was deflecting, it wasn’t going to be good news. The dread that they had lost one had him reassessing his students for new potential threats, or anything that hadn’t been in his most recent report. But then, looking at Van Braam in his field gear, maybe he hadn’t had time to read the latest one.

He dropped his head into his hand, rubbing across his forehead in an attempt to relieve tension. “They are all so young it is hard not to psychoanalyze them. For anyone in the know, their damage is clearly on display. However…” he brought his head back up and met Van Braam’s attentive gaze, “they are all survivors in their own ways. I think only one, the Fawn, suffers from true psychopathy, but I’m no expert.”

“Not too surprising when one knows who her father is,” said Van Braam.

“You know who they are and where they come from?!” the Wolverine asked in a much louder voice, surprised and indignant at not having known this already.

Van Braam didn’t answer, moving his gaze to something over his shoulder. The coffee tray had arrived on quiet feet. Van Braam took the tray, thanked the deliverer, and distributed the coffees. After taking a deep swallow of liquid that was so heavily creamed it was beige from a delicate-handled cup, Van Braam replied,

“We know a little about some of them, and are still searching on others. You will not have access to that information for now. You will learn of them organically and we will compare what they say against what we find out. Also, in perfect honesty, I think it is best you treat this exclusion as a guard rail to becoming overly attached to perfect outcomes. We will do our best for them, but there is more at stake, and there are no guarantees of perfect outcomes.”

Van Braam looked at him steadily, assessing his reaction to these words. He realized he had just been kindly cautioned.

In his defense it was the fear that they had lost the Mare that was making him so…damn, he was going to have to use the word, making him so emotional. He was committed to the larger mission, he understood his role as the Wolverine, he knew things hung in a delicate balance and that sometimes in this vocation there would be sacrifices for the greater good. And he knew it wasn’t his job to decide those sacrifices. He trusted Van Braam and the rest of the team, but he was working with these girls, training them, in the same ways he had lived, worked, and trained with his own team members. Bonds were made in such work and living.

He continued to report, “The Fawn is disturbing to me and the others because instead of avoiding all sexual connotations or behaviors, her speech is full of sexual innuendo. When she gets a lack of reaction from any of us, she pushes even more. I find myself shutting her down so often it feels punishing, but she doesn’t change. I tried talking to her alone, and that was a huge mistake. She tried to sit in my lap, and brush her hands through my hair. I have to watch her closely. Not that my bosses would care if I took her up on her offers, but I am trying, for her sake, to keep her from being pulled into the Peacock’s Escort Services. Again, I don’t mean to go so far into psychology.”

“Tolya, you cannot restore them to who they were before whatever happened to them. Focus on what can be done right now. Does she have what it takes to be a spy until we can get them out, or is she likely to be moved to the lower floor?”

“She is the only one who misses the Ashram she came from. She says she wants to learn to be a spy and guard so she may return, so she is attentive to her training. She won’t get pulled out of training because of poor performance.”

Van Braam nodded.

“The Serpent is excellent in training because her own interests lie in endurance training, running, and competitive sports. She is fierce and can take a hit and recover quickly. She seems to enjoy the training. Again, she is not making friends, but that is probably more related to the situation perhaps than her personality. I’d say she would do well here on our team as an operative, if that is what she wanted if she were able to make a choice. She would NOT do well with the Peacock. If she is taken down there, she will incite her own murder, and take as many with her as she could.”

“Sounds like she would get along well with Tamar,” Van Braam commented.

The Wolverine gave a small huff of agreement, “Yes, they would get along fine as long as the Serpent could stand being second in everything.”

“The Fox is just too…innocent despite everything. She does everything with the least energy. This training is not her thing. If I could place her somewhere, it would be with a caring family with a large library and comfy sofa. She might fail at spying and she would diminish further if taken by the Peacock. Her situation is rather dire. I do what I can. She tries to be a friend to the others and I think they tolerate her because they recognize she is hanging by a thread.”

“I will ask for the search for her family to become the priority. Let me know if she goes missing even if only for a short time.”

He suspected whatever happened to the Mare was going to haunt his interactions with the others every day going forward. He continued,

 “The Leopard mentions family sometimes, it seems she had quite a few siblings. She speaks of them fondly and then gets sad. She misses them. She hasn’t made any friends amongst the others, well actually, none of them are becoming friends, but I guess that is to be expected. They are in tenuous circumstances and among strangers with whom they are in competition. It’s not like they can just get dressed up like teen girls and go out for a shopping day; another thing she says she misses about her previous life. If I was to place the Leopard into an operative scenario, I would ask her to become the indispensible friend of the target. She would do well pulling the target into unguarded conversations. But I haven’t seen signs of Van Verent or Van Houden planning out those kinds of operative tasks, so she may not ultimately be useful to them.”

“The Wolf is young but intense. She trains well and is a phenomenal long range shooter. She is a loner and rebuffs attempts at conversation. If I had to keep a target on visual lockdown with the option of assassination, I’d choose her. She’d be fine doing it all on her own and fine on taking down a target. She will be a powerful tool in their hands and I almost feel sorry for the enemies of Van Verent and the Peacock.”

Van Braam nodded and set his empty cup in its saucer. He returned to his relaxed listening pose and prompted,

“And now the Lynx.”

Why did it feel like Van Braam was finally hearing what he’d wanted to know from the start?

“Yes, the Lynx. Do you know anything about her time before?”

Van Braam just gave a slight smile and rotated his hand in a keep-talking gesture.

“She is the best of them in all areas of training. I asked her once if she was a trained dancer or gymnast because she approaches every new thing with efficient discipline and has an intuitive understanding of body positioning. She has incredible balance and is quick. She is my level or above with throwing of knives and I must concentrate when we choreograph knife fighting. She also has a knack for moving so quietly and fluidly, she seems to disappear and reappear in my field of view, even in daylight when I know she is nearby. I tease her that she must have an invisibility cloak of some sort. Her reports are detailed and she makes quick decisions that get results. She would be an excellent addition to any team of operatives. She has a target that takes more time since he is always in motion and rarely sleeps, but she doesn’t complain about her own lack of sleep because of it. She has a curiosity about her target that helps her stay engaged, that the others don’t seem to have. She doesn’t go out of her way to make friends among the others either, but she doesn’t actively set people away from her. She tends to sit next to the Wolf or the Fox if she has a choice. Actually now that I am thinking out loud, she doesn’t like for the Fawn to be anywhere near her.”

He paused with the realization he had been speaking with more energy than he had with the others. He felt a faint flush on his face. Van Braam had conveniently moved his focus to something on or near his screen. The silence became awkward and he searched for anything more he could say. But Van Braam rescued him.

“You reported that she speaks Suli and Ravkan, and is steadily stumbling her way to Kerch. It is most likely she was brought here from the Apparat’s primary ashram in Ravka, in the foothills of the Sikursk Mountain Range.”

“Our sources tell us the Apparat will be visiting Ketterdam soon. We do not have a firm date, and he never flies commercially. The situation with the girls could potentially become critical with his visit. If possible, pay close attention to the interactions of all three of our targets. We need to know more of how they have arranged their interests and what they are building toward. We need to know if there are undercurrents that could be manipulated in our favor.”

“And watch carefully your Lynx.”

“Yes, Sir.” He wanted to jump into action; head back to the Van Verent and check that no one was on their floor while he was gone. He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened his security camera app. If the cameras were unmolested, the hallways and situation room were all clear. The door had not been opened. Which was curious, what had kept Inej? Was she in trouble?

He switched to his locator app. According to her tag, she was very close to the Van Verent. She was finally coming home for some much needed sleep. He’d train with the others until she appeared in the gym.

“Those ID locators are proving very useful,” said Van Braam.

And that reminded him of what Van Braam had deflected.

“Did the tag help you find the Mare?” he asked.

Van Braam shook his head no.

“You can’t know all of the parts to this operation but with the chance of anyone else being pulled out of the training by the Peacock, or out of your supervision by Van Verent or the Apparat, I will tell you what you need to know about the Mare. I sent someone in as a client and had them request an escort that described her. His story was that he needed someone matching that description to give truth to his lie of having a girl friend he would introduce at a business dinner. He would then take her to our home for the rescued. He was told that he would be escorted by the Mare, but that he should take a seat in the bar and wait for her to join him, that it should be no longer than half a bell or so.”

“At a half bell, our agent watched as our cleaner crossed the lobby. They saw each other. She was met midway across the lobby by the Peacock’s guards in their astonishing teal silk suits. They escorted her upstairs to tend to the clean up and disposal of the Mare.”

“Next, he was joined by the Peacock herself, apologizing for a mix-up, and offering two or three others. He enacted a scene of drunkenness and apologized for not being able to go ahead with any good fun either and promised to return the next night.”

“Our cleaner brought the Mare's body back here and did an autopsy. We gave her a good burial. She came from the newer ashram deep in the countryside of Novyi Zem, as far north as Weddle. We couldn’t find that she had ever been reported missing by family. Rumor is that she was perhaps an unwanted pregnancy of someone in the Ashram.”

“No perfect outcomes, Tolya. We tried and we will continue. "

Tolya, frustrated, stood up. “I need to get back. I won’t come again until they are out from under these two sociopaths. Or unless you recall me of course.”

“Good. One last request if you would be so kind, keep the Lynx on Brekker. And introduce her to the concept of drones, how to use them and how to avoid them.”

If he asked why about either of those things, would he get an answer? Probably not. He nodded his acceptance of the directions, and planned a circuitous route back to the Van Verent.

Chapter Text

“See you next week, my dear.”

Avoiding the counselor’s eyes, she grabbed her weighty school bag from the floor and stood from the plush chair in the center of the space. The counselor turned and set her notepad and pen down before rising also.

Imogen’s anxiety spiked. After each mandated session the counselor would escort her the short distance to the office door and every time it made Imogen uncomfortable. Was the counselor waiting for the day Imogen would hug her in gratitude before she left? Imogen didn’t hug people unless she really wanted to and that wasn’t very often. She couldn’t remember the last time she hugged her own parents, or her school friends. Hell, she hadn’t even hugged Kaz. She turned and walked to the door, haunted by the rustle of the soft fabric layers the counselor wore for a job of sitting in a chair and listening to people.  

What was she supposed to say now? The silence was heavy as she turned the knob on the door. The counselor had spoken kindly, as she always did, but it just made Imogen’s resentment settle even deeper.  

She took in a breath and politely responded, “Yes, my mother’s Personal Assistant has set reminders for every appointment on our shared calendar app.”

Imogen shut the door on the woman and the mandated meetings, just another item on the ‘consequences of her actions’ list.

She hefted her bag over her shoulder and headed to the Tech Bay to pick up her phone.  School policy required all expensive electronics, especially intrusive and distracting smart phones, be secured during school hours in a huge room filled floor-to-ceiling with small lockers, which meant it was the most congested and populated areas of the school. Fortunately her new counselor sessions were considered an after-school activity and her footsteps echoed down nearly empty hallways. A moment to drift in her thoughts without worrying about her body language or facial expression.

The morning after the party night with Kaz,Dirix, and Keeg, she and the girls had come awake to the footsteps of the housekeeper down the stairs checking on them and letting them know that breakfast was ready.

They had all been in the same clothes as the night before and their faces had all the marks of cosmetics shifting overnight. The housekeeper had seen the alcohol bottles on the bar, and many more than three glasses left out. Her lips had tightened and she had given Imogen a severe frown. Imogen knew the woman’s observations would be shared with her mother in the first available moment after she returned from her weekend trip.

As soon as the housekeeper’s steps could be heard going up the stairs, Imogen had flown about the room collecting all evidence of the drinking. She noted that Kaz had washed some of the glasses and left them out to dry.

She put everything back into place and they had gone to breakfast where one of them had found the post of them all asleep in the theater room. The girls were riled and she played along as though she hadn’t planned most of it with Kaz. The girls were going to go to war against Dirix and Keeg, but Imogen convinced them that it was probably all due to Kaz. Then she’d “gotten him back” by posting the pic she had taken of him in her chair in her room.

When her parents had come home, and gotten the report from the housekeeper, her father had reviewed the video from the property security cameras. Then, he had invited her with a mocking gesture of congeniality into his inner sanctum, his office, and closed the door.

To look at her, would anyone suspect that she had so much experience at surviving interrogation by the Commander of the Stadwatch? He hadn’t let fatherly feelings get anywhere near his professionalism as he conducted it. She’d let the tears come and confessed all that could be, and certainly would be, checked by him. She had protected Kaz most by keeping silent on all that had happened between her and Kaz alone.

After the interrogation, she’d accompanied her father on a thorough sweep of the house. He had found a camera in the butler station and one in her closet. Her father had lost his shit. She’d listened to a scathing review of Kaz’s criminal tendencies. Strangely, nothing was found missing but that didn’t mean nothing was actually missing. After he had seen her post of Kaz sitting in bedroom chair, and after he had interviewed her friends, he had directed her to drop by his office before school. In the surrounds of his official role as Stadwatch Commander, he had re-interrogated her on the time she had spent giving Kaz a tour of the house. She had stuck to her original story in every detail. She had endured a long tense silence before he had leaned forward, balanced on his fore arms on the desk, and stared into her eyes beneath his bushy brows. Then he had delivered the list of consequences.

She’d been told to drop her ‘immature, potential failure’ friends immediately. Her parents had the school swap her schedule until she no longer had any classes with them. They had upgraded her phone, changed her number, and not let her transfer her Sim card. Her social media accounts were wiped and deleted.

Her mother had scheduled an appointment with the gynecologist and she had endured another professional interview. On the way home, Imogen had kept her eyes on the passing scenery and kept her silence as much as possible. Her mother was so painfully obvious with her unspoken worries and suspicions. She’d been tense and unpleasant on the way to the doctor’s office, and was all smiles and happy-happy talk on the return home. She went through the Starbuck’s drive-through as though she was offering a reward for Imogen’s virginity certificate. White chocolate lattes would forever hold the odd taste of shame and embarrassment.  

Another notice had come up on her phone: dress fittings. Good thing she was off the taste of sugary lattes anyway, as she would now be expected to diet stringently for the upcoming Debutante Ball.  Every Kerch family of social standing and wealth attended the event when their offspring arrived at their second to final year of High School. Prior to the night of the party, she had understood she would have a choice of escort.  But not now; now she was to go with Wylan Van Eck. Her mother had explained in detail how it had been arranged through friends who remembered an old relationship between grandparents, but Imogen had defaulted to not listening through that part. A petty resistance, but the invisible webs and maps her mother made of social connections didn’t excite Imogen in the same way they seemed to excite her mother. She heard the unspoken, but more important thing: her escort’s father was rich and successful, and that was the end of that. Imogen barely knew Wylan even though they attended the same school. He had never been in any of her classes. And frankly, she had stuck with the same friends since kindergarten and not paid much attention to others.

She looked him up in her school yearbooks. He looked a little precious, but attractive if you liked the type. The last couple of years he had been designated Best Artist in his class. Great. Her mother would make her study up on famous Ketterdam artists for conversation points.

Another notice crossed her phone: a lunch date a few weeks out, at the club, with Mr. Van Eck, his son, her grandmother and parents, and herself. She awaited the requisite appointment for the spa the day before the luncheon.

By clearing her life of friends and scheduling every moment, they had made her grateful for the tiniest snips of unstructured time and excited for any time outside of the house.

She began to float through her days. Life was experienced as something happening a few feet away from her and her only reaction so far was a huge cosmic shrug. Her whole world had shifted and she couldn’t care somehow. Even when she realized that no one around her had noticed her vacancy. They just accepted withdrawal as though it was the best of her.

What did that say about her parents, the staff, her teachers, fellow students, and the new therapist?

Did no one care at all?

Weeks had passed and no word from Kaz.

He’d said that night wasn’t the end of their brief…acquaintance. He’d said she would hear from him. To be fair though, how would anyone contact her now? Her father basically had her on home arrest.

On autopilot, she arrived at the Tech Bay and entered her passcode on the lock screen, flung open the door to grab her things and froze, blinking in shock at a thin laptop wrapped in a black Tshirt. Remembering the security cameras trained on the space, she restrained herself from looking around.

She grabbed everything out of her locker and found space in her shoulder bag. Her next class was a free. She headed for the open study room and sat herself down at a private cubby desk.  

She unwrapped the laptop, set it down, and turned it on. The desktop was deep black with just two icons perfectly placed in the center: one depicting a slightly open door with a wisp of dark fabric in the gap; the other a beer keg with a bright green glow on the verge of exploding. The door icon took her to an email client.

And look, there was one email message sitting in the Inbox.

[email protected]

To: [email protected]                                                                                                                              

Subject Line: Tutoring

Are you still looking for tutoring? If so, let’s begin with the geometry of international collaborations.

Fjerda > Ketterdam. Military > StadWatch. StadWatch > SpechtBox. SpechtBox > Ravkan Massage Therapist.

Future lessons provided in game.  

See you in the streets.

Her face was a scowl of puzzlement. Who was D1rtyH4ndz? Who was Lady Janus?

Her eyes read and re-read the references to the Stadwatch and SpechtBox. It was the thinnest of clues, but only Kaz knew she had been at SpechtBox and seen the Fjerdan military boys and the Ravkan fighter who claimed to also be a massage therapist.

It had to be Kaz.

Her cheeks turned red with silent anger. All these weeks suffering consequences and this is what she got? They had kissed! They had talked about real things! They had made plans!

First her parents and now Kaz, no one cared about her feelings.

Undoubtedly he had set a read receipt for when she opened his email. Did he expect a reply? Did she even want to reply?

She’d had weeks to think of her next step with Kaz. After the pictures, the discovery of the cameras he’d placed in the house, the recent snide comment by her father that Kaz was now rumored to be a part of a Barrel gang, did she want to continue anything with him?

What did she want to say?  She had weeks of fantasy conversations in her head. She’d wanted to scream at him for the pictures. She’d wanted his admiration and sympathy for enduring an interrogation by the Commander of the StadWatch. She’d wanted him to appear at her bedroom window and be flippant and romantic. She’d wanted another chance with that moment when she thought she’d found a good-looking, edgy, bad boy to flirt.

Now that he’d joined a gang, she understood why he had said they couldn’t be seen together. He had to have planned that all along.

She shook her head, minimized the email client and clicked the beer keg icon.  

The icon opened to a logon splash screen, preloaded with LadyJanus and a starred out password. She hit Play and it took her into a game lobby and sat her in the driver’s seat of a car, four other passenger seats available for a ride along. The dashboard told her how many were already in the game (0) and how long until she could enter the streets herself (0 chimes).

At the top was a banner that showed an icon of a woman’s head, with what looked to be one face forward and one face backward, identified as player LadyJanus. She clicked it and it opened to another beautiful character sketch. LadyJanus was a character with two sides, one eerily familiar with long blond hair, green eyes, manicured nails, elegant posture, in a long evening gown. Far better than the one her Mother had picked out for the upcoming Debutante Ball! Imogen stared into the caricature of her own face, surprised at the cold, impenetrable planes of her cheekbones and the slight downturn at the edges of her perfectly shaped lips. She wasn’t sure she should like it. She looked to the other side and frowned harder.

This side had wavy chestnut hair under a baseball cap set backwards. The darker color warmed the green of her eyes. She was smiling widely as though she’d just gotten away with something, her gap-toothed grin on full display. On each side of her smile was a faint dimple in her cheeks adding glee to her expression. This side of her was dressed in a green cotton tee, covered by a blue and cream baseball jacket, jeans, and blue and green Converse high tops. Her hands were in her pockets, and here the tall posture was confrontational. She peeked around the room for any stray eyes on her screen and tilted its angle to make sure she was the only one seeing it.

The background text said:

“Raised to be a power broker in the upper echelons of society, ever beautiful in tea cup scenarios, LadyJanus craved to wield power in ways not open to her. The disappointment split her in two. She now spends a portion of her time in the streets of the Barrel, looking for ways to influence both sides of the kruge. Her motto is “Two paths are better than one.” Two faces, two hearts, two minds; each carefully crafted for her two worlds.

One glitters pure from a distance, the other throws down with her gang in the streets. One uses Grisha magic, the other a semiautomatic weapon. She uses both magic and skills. She can be a back or front liner. After she attains Level 50, she can influence the decisions and actions of Barrel interlopers such as Revenue Renegades and Police Officers.”

It offered her the chance to choose a gang to join. She recognized each one from news reports and from her father. But as this was Kaz’s game, she opted for the Dregs and was given the rank of Foot Soldier. She grinned at the idea of the daughter of Commander Aten ranking up in a gang and really hoped she wouldn’t be awful at this game.

 She glanced at the time in the lower bar. She really didn’t have time for a tutorial right now. She clicked other icons and found a gallery of other characters in the game. She clicked on what she figured was a caricature of Kaz, a man dressed all in black, with a long duster swirling around behind him as he pivoted with one hand on a cane with a sinister crow head gleaming in silver, and his other gloved hand raised with a card in hand, ready to throw it. The gloves were drawn slightly larger than need be, and they caught the attention. He had a hat pulled low over his brow, but his dark eyes glistened out of the depth of shadow. His mouth was a line of opposing curves, with the far end turned up in a mocking flair. A black crow sat upon his left shoulder. She read the description:

“That door was locked, I swear!” Says anyone startled by the Bastard of the Barrel in their own home. Mastermind, thief, card shark, and fighter. Beware this thief if he is bearing gifts and don’t bet on every hand he deals. Be whatever you want, but not his enemy. Luck is finding a place in his crew; smart is doing what it takes to stay there. Magic dealer, a back line player who sets traps and deals damage with a flick of a card. Double damage when he sends his Crow after the card.”

She felt a flare of excitement. Why was Kaz always the most interesting person in the room, even when he wasn’t technically in the room?

She looked around the study room, at students with ear buds, hunched over their laptops. At the study room monitor looking at their phone. Everyone doing exactly what they were supposed to while she stood at a turning point.

To Kaz or not to Kaz, this was the question.

She gathered her things and headed back to the Tech Bay, feeling her feet hit the floor, the air on her face, the swing of her hair. She heard the swish of her bag as it gently rocked on her shoulder. She stashed the laptop and quickly headed out to the front of the school where her ride was waiting.

Belted into the back seat, the scenery speeding by, she began reciting the words, letting her thoughts wander, pause, consider…Fjerdan military in the Ketterdam StadWatch…the same boy from SpechtBox in her father’s office waiting area…the girl he had refused to fight in the ring.

Where to start?  Her father, of course.

Chapter Text

He just wasn’t a sneaky person.

He was too big. He was built and trained to burst down doors and take down criminals or be a strong deterrent. He couldn’t make himself disappear from notice.  

Standing near an exhaust vent in the men’s locker room of SpechtBox, awkwardly located above the furthermost toilet stall, requiring him to stay in it longer than socially acceptable, just to listen in on the conversation that drifted in garbled packets of sound? It was ridiculous.

He stood, arms crossed, back against the wall, directly under the vent. He heard the bang of the door as someone exited the locker room, and heard silence take over. Thank Djel.

Please let them say something about the next Scout Night. He was tired of sitting before the piercing gaze of Commander Aten in his office, giving him nothing. His controlled disappointment was like bitter lettuce in the only meal of a fasting day.

He placed his feet carefully on the toilet seat rim to boost himself closer to the grate. The sounds sharpened into words.

Specht: “Ani, I know you have contact with Kaz. Tell him we miss him around the ring.”

Anika made some sort of snorting sound: “Do you know how much we’ve saved on coffee since he moved out? Besides, I’m sure he’s getting plenty of practice now he’s in the Dregs.”

Specht: “As Dregs, he might be curious who is going after which jobs and who is doing the hiring.”

Anika: “I’ve been giving him heads up on Scout Nights. He just hasn’t made it.”

Specht: “Good. Invite the Jolly Giant too if you get a chance.”

Anika’s laughter, and a more distant sound, maybe an okay.

Damn it. He got himself down off the toilet and swiped the rim with paper to avoid obvious treads on the seat directly below the vent. Every action took too much time to think through.

All for nothing, really. The Commander already knew Brekker had joined the Dregs and hadn’t been around SpechtBox since. His reports on Keeg and Dirix had been met with little interest since all he could report was that they lived and worked at SpechtBox and kicked around the Barrel in the evenings like most other guys with nothing better to do. If they were doing anything illegal they had yet to be caught and it wasn’t anything they spoke about around gym users. Anika was busy to the point he wondered if she ever slept, and Specht appeared to be exactly what he claimed: a man who had left the Navy and settled into running a gym. His only secret side gig was collecting Barrel orphans.

Matthias felt at any moment the Commander would take him off this job, but instead he just kept asking more questions which forced Matthias to continue giving bland reports. No, he hadn’t seen the Commander’s daughter or friends at the gym. No, he didn’t see any back room meetings going down. No, he hadn’t seen any strange deliveries to the back door, no large amounts of cash, and no, he hadn’t heard anyone talk about distributing drugs or stolen goods. Of course his observations were limited to the hours the gym was open, and to stays that did not go beyond the bells of the average gym user.

In his last session the Commander had asked that he find out the date of the next Scout Night. Matthias didn’t understand why Aten was curious about Scout Night when it seemed it had been going on for years and the StadWatch had never shown interest before. And why would they since nothing illegal was actually happening? With no probable cause for a raid, it should be left alone; monitored at most.  But like the Jarl, Commander Aten never gave explanations, at least not since that first meeting in his office when he was trying to make Matthias feel for his situation as a father. Matthias had no idea what Aten planned to do once he knew the date of the next Scout Night.

 Leaving the bathroom stall, Matthias washed his hands out of habit, grabbed his bag, and exited into the hallway to the office only to find a tall female person leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, an echo of his own stance moments ago in the toilet stall. He blushed and tried to remember what sounds he had just been making.

He was used to living around men, not young women. His sister didn’t count.

He never went looking for Nina, she just appeared. So each time he saw her he startled and he took her in as though it were the first time he’d seen her. It did something to him and he didn’t like it. He huffed a breath of exasperation.

“What now?” he asked her in Fjerdan, having discovered that she spoke his language fluently. He resented that about her too, that she was the only person in his small world here in Ketterdam to do so. Every conversation in Ketterdam was a language lesson, and his only respite was with her, a Ravkan.

If she would stop being so annoying, he could ignore her. He would like to return to not knowing she existed.  Return to just a few weeks ago when he wasn’t being pushed into finding responses to outrageous statements or rude questions. She never gave him time to think; so he ended up saying unexpected things. And then he felt guilty for no logical reason! He hated it.

She tilted her head up at him, her braids sliding at the movement, her green eyes assessing his expression. Ducking her too-discerning gaze, he dropped his bag off his shoulder and began rummaging for his post-workout bottle, a protein powder and creatine mix. Only after resetting his bag, twisting the top, and taking his first pull from the bottle did he let his eyes return to hers. On this occasion, while he was blasting her in his thoughts for being too outspoken, she had elected to remain still and quiet. Of course she did, just to make him feel guilty for his thoughts. He quirked a brow at her.

In an unusually mild tone, she said, “I imagine that isn’t going to fill you up. I was waiting on you to see if you wanted to go get lunch together.”

Disbelief held him still for a moment. He imagined them walking down the hallway together and out the door. Were there lunch places in this part of Ketterdam? He couldn’t think of a single one. He typically ate in the police cafeteria, where he could depend on the food choices. He imagined taking her there. He’d never hear the end of it from the others, and all in Kerch, which would somehow make it worse.

She shrugged her shoulders beneath a soft green sweater that slid off on one side, displaying the purple strap of her sports bra. She pushed off the wall and began walking away. As he took in the back side of her figure in Fjerdan blue workout leggings and hightops, she said, “It was just an ask; no need to panic. I’d be practicing my Fjerdan and getting a lunch I was going to get anyway.”

He followed her down the hall, feeling guilty now for his slow response. He was here to get information; it was literally his job right now. He really shouldn’t refuse.

“Sorry,” he said, “but you surprised me. I mean, we don’t really know each other and I’m not used to girls asking me out.”

A low growl of frustration wafted back to him as she pushed through the door to the office entry. “There is so much wrong with that statement, I’m ignoring it in favor of getting to eat sooner. I just thought that like you, I’m a recent transplant to this island, and therefore don’t have lots of friends for casual lunch dates. Anyway, forget it. My mistake.” She pushed through the main door to the parking lot, disappearing from view.  

He quickened his steps to catch up and say yes, but heard Anika’s voice hailing him from her desk, holding him back.

He stopped at her office door and said, “Yes?” Although her blond coloring was more similar to Fjerdan girls, she too was nothing like the girls back home. Not like the women in his family or neighborhood, with her asymmetrical hair cut, and her unabashed confrontational style. But since she never flirted with him, or teased him, he didn’t get annoyed with her like he did with the one currently walking away.

She said, “Hold up a minute. Specht wants you to know that Scout Night is tomorrow night and you are welcome to join. We’ll need to know in advance if you will be there.”

Seriously? Just that easy? He really hadn’t needed to stand on a toilet to find out?

He quickly nodded at her. “Count me in. Tell him to put me wherever he needs me. I am happy to help out.”

She smiled and turned back to her desk. Then she said, “She usually walks down to the Take Two Deli at the corner. They are always so packed; they don’t usually allow tables for one.”

At the idea of Nina inviting strangers to sit and eat with her, he exited without further comment and walked out to the street but then hesitated, faced with trash bins, litter, broken down items strewn across weedy patches of space, and tired grey buildings. This section of the city took no pride in anything. It was worn and worthless, and yet people packed themselves into it all the same.

He didn’t understand these people and this city. But, still, they endured. He would give them that.

As for the Ravkan girl…like him, she didn’t belong here. Why was she here?

Now that he’d been invited to Scout Night, he was off the hook for trying to get that information from her. Going to lunch with her anyway would be his own choice and he would have to come up with the conversation.

He had too many memories of awkward conversations with the Jarl’s wife, with his mother’s sisters, his female cousins, with any woman really who wanted to talk about anything unrelated to what he knew: his military training, his ascetic lifestyle, and the lives and training of wolves. He was terrible with chit chat. He spoke when he actually had something to say, and if not, was happy to remain silent. If he joined her at the cafe, what would he say? No. He couldn’t do it.

He began walking back to the barracks, shrugging off the slight feeling of disappointment. And then it struck him how it would actually play out: Nina would undoubtedly do most of the talking. She would direct the conversation and fill in the silences.

He turned and walked back with swifter steps, a slight grin, and a fleeting hope that no one from SpechtBox had seen him do this crazy about face on the sidewalk.  

The cafe was busy and he took his place at the end of the line which ended one step inside the door. It was warm and the smells were wonderful. A chalked board listed the lunch special as beef vegetable stew, side salad, fresh baked rolls, and cinnamon rolls for dessert. The price was cheap; maybe he would order two. He looked over the simple dining room and crowded tables, and found her alone at a two-person table, looking right at him. He lifted his chin in her direction, while she grinned and motioned to the empty chair across from her.

So despite her walking away from SpechtBox without waiting for him, he had been forgiven. She was feisty but did not hold grudges. He decided to go and set his bag in the other chair and make it clear that it was taken before getting back in line. He paused for a moment at the chair without saying anything, just looking at her blowing softly across the steaming soup in her spoon. He waited for his theory to be proved right.

She lifted the spoon to her mouth, sliding it deftly within, her lips pressed together as she withdrew it, capturing everything with efficiency. Now his silence was coupled with a suspension of thought.

She peeped up at him through her lashes and he braced for some outrageous statement that would want him to walk back out again. Instead, she leaned to look around him to a young man clearing a nearby table.

“Jakob, could I ask you to bring us two, no three, more bowls of soup with rolls, and four cinnamon rolls please? I have cash.”

The young man, in worn jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, with wavy blond curls as a fringe to his knit hat, looked over with a piercing set of crystal blue eyes and nodded with a smile. He walked back through a door that probably led to the kitchen.

Matthias mentally rolled his eyes. Of course she knew the service people here by name. Of course the guy would respond happily to doing a little extra for her! And of course she ordered for Matthias without asking what he actually wanted.

He took the seat and made himself say thanks.

She grinned and took another full spoon of soup. He hurriedly looked down at the dulled surface of the red table top, to avoid staring again at how she ate, hoping his own food would arrive soon. In so doing, he missed the brief look of calculation that crossed her face before she said,

“Tell me again why a Fjerdan with difficulty speaking Kerch is doing an internship in Ketterdam.”

His gaze was back on hers in a flash. Had they ever spoken about his internship? He didn’t think so and certainly not about his reason.  Although Specht had surprised him during his fight level assessment by knowing that he was Druskelle and in Ketterdam for the Urban Training program. Maybe he had guessed from the military school look of him with his squad mates, or seen the name of the StadWatch school on his payment form. Maybe everyone was better at this spying game than he was.

He shrugged and said, “We’ve not spoken of my internship before.” As though that was the salient point in what she had asked.

She looked amused.

“If you are the best your country has in spies, then I can only suppose we are still at war because Ravka is prolonging for profit.”

“Profit?! You think this war is about making money? Why am I even asking? Of course you do! No, you silly woman, we are at war because of our rights and our honor!”

“Honor,” she said, in a flat tone. “There is nothing honorable with war.” She shook her head and sat back, abandoning her spoon to the depths of the bowl.

In his reply he had leant more than halfway over the small table top and was not about to give up an inch in delivering his next comment, that the real reason the war continued was because Ravka did not have the power to finish it, when Jakob appeared and began setting bowls and plates where he could, in the end having to hold a final plate of rolls in the air due to lack of space. Matthias reluctantly leaned back, feeling a bit of embarrassment at his behavior as he imagined it through the eyes of the waiter and those so close around them. Nina discretely offered Jakob a wad of money which he put into his pocket out of view of the staff behind the counter.

“How much?” Matthias asked her gruffly, the second the guy had left, unwilling to owe her for anything.

She frowned at him. “No matter. It is an honor to introduce you to good food.”

She was poking at him again; using the word honor in a silly way, trying to shame him for what he believed was good. He could not allow it to happen.

“Yes, it does matter! It matters more than you think it does. My father, the Jarl, my squad mates, every man I know would laugh at me letting you pay for my meal. I should be paying for us both. I understood that when I joined you.” He knew he was being forced into speaking of things that should not need to be said so directly, that in his country was of common understanding. She had to be pretending ignorance of tradition and custom just to rile him up. 

He watched her take a moment, looking thoughtful. Then she asked,

“You don’t see how that places the other person into owing thanks and gratitude? Of looking for other ways to balance the giving and the taking?”

Why was she flipping this around? Why take a good thing and try to make it into something devious? He tried to think of another way to explain what was clearly obvious, but she continued:

“How will you feel when I not only do NOT allow you to pay me back, but I add more and more to your debt, and I claim that I do it for honor’s sake?”

She was filling all of the silences just as he predicted. It was his fault if he didn’t like it; he should never have chased after her. He grabbed a roll and took a huge bite. He chewed and chewed, keeping up this unassailable reason for further silence.

She said, “I am an orphan among many, many other orphans of this war. I am here because of a favor of a friend of a friend, looking for a way to do more than just survive. When a country has been at war for years, there is no money for social safety nets. There are even fewer neighbors or friends with the money, space, or heart, to take on another kid. My choices were very few, and none were good. So sure, go ahead and claim that the war that took my parents, my protection, and my future, is being conducted for honor.”

He wanted to protest her accusation. He wanted to protest how she linked her misfortune to something his country had done when it was her own country’s fault for not protecting her. But sitting across from her at a small table in a hole-in-the-wall café in this poor section of Ketterdam, he couldn’t ignore the reality of her situation. Thinking of how he felt far from home for only a few weeks, the estrangement he felt from his family and friends who were all still living, who could be contacted and relied upon. He could see that his situation was an inconvenience while hers was truly life altering and perhaps beyond his understanding. Here came those strange feelings again.

He needed time to think. He said, “Let’s eat, and talk after.” She agreed and they both pulled their soup bowls closer and dug in. By the time they moved to their second bowls of soup, he felt the tension seep out of his posture.

His thoughts continued to work through what she had said and how he, a Druskell, the most patriotic of Fjerdans, felt about her accusations against his country. His thinking brought him to two realizations: he wasn’t a person who could articulate what the war was about over an unexpected lunch with a person from the opposing country; and he wasn’t a person who could ignore how he felt when Nina had said she had no one and few choices.

As he pulled the first of his cinnamon rolls to him, he resumed the conversation in a much quieter tone, “And how has Ketterdam been treating such an articulate, multilingual, trained Ravkan fighter?”

He was relieved to see her expression relax a little. She kept her eyes on the sweet her fork was delivering at a steady pace. She didn’t seem to chew so much as savor before swallowing. He couldn’t remember ever watching so attentively how someone ate. She enjoyed her food unashamedly. It was a mark in her favor that such a simple thing could make her so happy. It was beyond him to ignore her enjoyment of it and beyond him to not wish to provide her the meal. 

She accepted his peace offering and replied, “So far, so good. I have a job, a very affordable place to live, and Anika is sharing her adopted family with me. I can’t say this is where I will be next year, but at least I have some choices and a higher likelihood of opportunities.” She paused and then asked,

“How is Ketterdam treating you?”

“Honestly, I hate it here. I did not choose this training, it was chosen for me. It feels like a punishment since I was the only one in my squad chosen to remain behind.” He would not ruin this moment by saying he thought it was due to her. He searched for something positive to say. “I like training at SpechtBox. Specht is good in the ring and I’ve learned a few new things.” Their eyes met, and the moment felt fragile. He suddenly ran out of words. He was done.

He stood, saying, “I have to get back.”

She remained seated, tilting her head back to look up at him, with a soft expression he couldn’t interpret. She watched him pull money out of his wallet and stick it in his jacket pocket. She watched him heft his bag over his shoulder.

Before he could say goodbye she said,

“So will the Jolly Giant be joining us for Scout Night?”

It took him a moment to put it together. That he’d heard Specht ask Anika to invite someone he called the Jolly Giant to Scout Night, and that Anika had asked him to Scout Night just moments later. It took him another few seconds to come to the conclusion that it was most likely the girl in front of him who had given him that nickname.

He couldn’t help it; he laughed. No one had ever called him jolly. Now he easily interpreted her look: it was smug.

It had been a bit of a rough conversation but he had changed his mind. He didn’t want to return to the time he did not know of her existence. Yes, given who she was and that he would be leaving in a week or so, they couldn’t be anything but briefly met strangers to each other, but it seemed he did have a few more words,

“Well, it’s only fair to tell you that should I get paired in the ring with you again, I will do you the honor of treating you as a worthy opponent; be prepared to eat mat.”

She didn’t look worried, she looked gleeful.

He didn’t wait for her reply. He walked over to Jakob and handed him the cash from his pocket. The guy nodded and made it disappear with speed.

And Matthias did the same with his own irritated self. He’d now be spending the next round of bells trying to figure out how he really would treat her in the ring because without a doubt she would find a way to be paired with him.

Chapter Text

Nina stepped out of the café, brushing by a man in outdoor work gear holding it open and hopeful for a smile. She gave him one and slowly walked in the same direction as Matthias. She had the afternoon off and the weather was halfway decent.

Where Matthias turned his anger into stiff posture and clenched hands, she swayed with hers. He radiated intention, mission, and purpose as he strode down the street. If he wasn’t so tall and fit, his oblivion to others on the sidewalk would make him a constant mark for Barrel schemes.

She knew where he was likely headed and that her destination would take her down the same streets. But if he turned and saw her, what would he think? That she was chasing him? Stalking him? She wondered if he would even think to look? What did they teach the Druskelle beyond hand-to-hand combat?

An old jacked up V8 began cruising slowly down the street, near black tinted windows. She couldn’t immediately see how many were in the car, but the arms hanging out the windows, front and back, let her know they were Barrel hoods. They shouted at Matthias, and slowed to a crawl, but Matthias ignored them and for whatever reason, they didn’t back up and go after him. They were now heading her way. Only girl on the street. She kept walking but was quickly debating cutting across to SpechtBox parking lot. A handful of steps and she would have to make up her mind. Ah, they turned; the guys hanging out the windows facing her were giving gross kissy noises. Too early for trouble, but she took it as the warning it was.  

Unlike the boy ahead of her, she couldn’t drop her finely honed practice of situational surveillance, no matter her emotions. The idiot hadn’t looked back once; focused, as always, on getting where he was going and eating up the ground in great strides. Meanwhile she heard and identified the sounds of a day in the Barrel as the echoes stretched around and ricocheted off stone and glass facades of buildings that made up the narrow twisting corridors through which they each wove their way. She noted the make and colors of cars, those moving and those busted down left as barriers in street fights. She noted the open/closed signs of business. She noted the people, especially those unhappy with her brief gaze.

They knew she was one of Specht’s employees and that counted for some protection but she kept her chin up, her face smooth, and her walk steady.

Matthias was still striding along up ahead. She paused and turned her attention to a lamp post, checking the stickers, the graffiti, and the shreds of paper postings that had no defense against the fog and rains of Ketterdam. She made use of it all to look back behind her, letting a little time go by, watching the patterns fill in behind her. No one behind her had paused; no one was walking toward her. She looked up to the sky as though checking the weather. Nothing hovered. Satisfied, she continued down the street.

She wondered if Matthias even considered that his iron grip on his Fjerdan identity was simultaneously an iron wall to the Kerch. He was the lone wolf, separated from his pack. She gave a slight smirk, imagining him howling at the moon for his squad mates.

Now she was laughing to herself in public like a crazy person. A few years back, when she was under the training regime of General Nazyalensky, packed into the girls barracks of the Lantsov compound, bored out of her mind, she had started a group storytelling session with the first line: “I walked into the gym to find only one person, the model for Georgio Armani…” and the other girls had been delighted to continue it. Before it had devolved into a porn extravaganza with imaginative uses of the gym equipment, one of the increasingly nonsensical scenes had the model stripping off his shirt and howling at the moon. They’d all been a pile of giggles, letting off the stress of tough training days and the ever present fear of failure.

Had Matthias had any such laugh out loud moments with his Druskelle squad? Nah, they probably over-trained their abs so hard they couldn’t laugh for crying. Saints, it probably did hurt for him to laugh.

And Saints forbid he ever get a massage!

Her thoughts stopped as he turned at the corner to begin his way to the center of Ketterdam, where the StadWatch building sat around the main square. When she got to where he had turned, she used the building as a hunting blind, and watched him go. If he had glanced back, she wouldn’t be seen. Again, it was trained into her. It was hard to believe Druskelle training didn’t include such things also, but perhaps being so big, they didn’t waste time with subterfuge.

Interesting that he was here for Urban Policing. Interesting that he had been given an individual internship with the StadWatch. Interesting that he had weekly scheduled meetings with Commander Aten.

She crossed the intersection, letting Matthias go on his way without her shadow. She had a few more blocks to go before she too turned uptown. She was walking through Liddie territory now, which should be okay at this time of day, as long as there were not packs of stray dogs. The uglies were usually just getting up and hitting their drug of choice, not watching the street in the daylight. But just in case, Anika had noted one or two businesses she could dodge into if she needed. No, the real danger here was the randomly tossed used needles that could pierce the average shoe, and the very gross used condoms.  

Matthias was such a prude, how did he handle walking through the Barrel or going on patrols with the StadWatch? The man blushed at the idea of a sports massage!

It wasn’t just from her that he wouldn’t get massages. He also didn’t get appointments with the therapist at the StadWatch gym or at the sports massage place nearby. She knew this because the moment he had started working out at SpechtBox, she had begun stalking him. She had been deployed to SpechtBox and told to report on anything interesting. So she had done due diligence and looked for a part-time, on-call massage therapist position nearby the actual gym he should be using.

She’d been hired on the spot by the owner who was pregnant and wanted coverage of her clients until she could return to fulltime massage work. Nina had lucked out. The job had proved very useful as she conducted friendly interviews of her colleagues, looked over and memorized the appointments schedule, and listened to her clients on the table.

She had ended up with an older clientele of both men and women who worked on the StadWatch force. All she had had to do was mention to each that she knew a guy from Fjerda on an internship, and they'd start to talk. It seemed she wasn’t the only one wondering why Ketterdam was offering Urban Policing training to Fjerda and why the Commander had awarded an internship to one. There were plenty of Kerch families who would have been happy for the chance at such an internship! One of the men with a son about Matthias’ age grumbled about how little gratitude Matthias showed for having such an opportunity. Matthias didn’t talk much or make friends. They thought it a damned waste.

She arrived without incident at the corner with the beauty products shop. Nina shuddered to think how old and flammable were the chemicals in that small cube of space, filled to bursting with low-end hairspray, dyes, hair extensions, and latex items. Sure, maybe she was being silly, but as her mind kept telling her there was a non-zero chance of an explosion, she quickened her steps to avoid being obliterated by a beauty bomb.

This intersection was the furthest distance Nina would go alone. Beyond this was a section of canal and tumbled down buildings that even the StadWatch wouldn’t go through. If someone had a medical emergency, they had to hope someone would drag them to this corner to receive any kind of public assistance. She gave the streets in all directions a quick look, checked the clouds, and began walking uptown. 

Today was payday. She was intent on reaching the Mail Box Store before it closed. There would be an unaddressed yellow envelope stuffed with kruge and possibly a note. Although she had been assured the security camera had been broken and would remain so, she was fast with concealing an envelope in her clothes and with placing an envelope in the box when she had messages to send back. She had been given a phone but no phone numbers that accepted texts. Just one number had been preloaded under the Ravkan word for Uncle. It was to be used only for extraction. Once used, she would never be allowed back. 

Everything had gone as planned so far, but she’d been nervous of this first assignment outside of Ravka.  General Nazyalensky was not one to give reassurances to young recruits. The General had verified their full names against those on the clipboard carried by her assistant, and then called them by their last names thereafter. Nina figured they were lucky Nazyalensky hadn’t gone full robot and called them by some random letter and number combo!

The very day Nina had been deemed fully trained by the Lantsov program, she had been dropped off at the Os Alta International Airport and told to seat herself in the VIP Lounge and wait for a man called The Broker.

Nazyalensky had said The Broker had chosen her over any of the other graduates, that she would be challenged, and for Saints sake don’t fuck it up. There was no room for returned goods. Nina had come to the conclusion early in her training that hating Nazyalensky was a required survival skill. At that moment, she felt she’d honed it to perfection.  

She was a clever reader of environments, situations, people, and motivations. She paced people very well. She was multilingual not just because it would be valuable in her line of work but because she genuinely enjoyed people. Language was the scent trail of thought and thus, of mind and heart. She was good at discerning motivation.  

Also, she was tough and resilient. She had endured bad things in her early life before being selected for the Ravkan government program and she had known, from facing down death at age 5, that she had an iron will for her own survival. Yes, she was smart and had worked hard, but she knew what had made her top of her class was that inner iron will that said, if she was going down, she was taking the enemy down with her. You couldn’t train that into a recruit; they either had it, or they moved into other lines of work.  

She had one skill beyond all of that that she kept secret. She had a near miraculous skill of healing touch. She didn’t speak of it, or make any public displays of it, but her massage clients were getting more than they realized. It had been simple choosing massage therapy as one of her cover jobs.

With a large duffel bag sitting next to her booted feet, she had risen as the Broker had approached her in the Lounge in those first hours after midnight. For many hours the whole terminal had felt ghost-ridden with odd muffled sounds and deep silence. She had been sitting alone for quite some time so she could be excused for her imaginative take.

He looked just like his picture provided in her briefing documents by Nazyalensky. He appeared in a dark grey suit, a white shirt, and silver tie. His shoes were polished leather. His hair was white, but not from age. His face was pale but smooth, and his silvery eyes were strange. His expression was polite but otherwise indifferent, as though he had met many first time spies just so, and she too should consider it as nothing. He’d held out a hand in introduction and, surprised into remembering her manners, she had shaken hands with him like some strange meeting of diplomats as he said, “My apologies Ms Zenik. I was kept unexpectedly long in meetings and a late dinner.”

Her stomach had grumbled and he had smiled and said, “There will be plenty of snacks on the plane.”

The smile and the commiseration over her hunger had helped her stand up and take that first step away from Ravka. He had turned away without another word, without offering to carry her bag. She had blinked and then picked up her duffel and followed, realizing that by not introducing himself, he must know she had been briefed. Did he know what she had been told? Hell, had he provided the information himself? The information had seemed sparse, but Nazyalensky had said he was a trusted business partner of the Ravkan government.

His name was Darden Van Braam. He was the youngest son of a rich family of entrepreneurs who had been founding members of Ketterdam. The current generation consisted of a reclusive mother and sister who lived on the family estate and a brother named Eugene, who had left Ketterdam 18 years ago and hadn’t been seen in the city since, leaving Darden to run the business. He lived in the penthouse of the family owned hotel called The Castle. He was her new boss.

It had been just them, an attendant and a pilot, on the private flight from Ravka to Ketterdam and he had begged her pardon before moving into another compartment for some rest. She had shrugged and muttered something. She hadn’t been at her wittiest since it was her first flight and she was taking in all of the new details. Also, he had shown her the fully stocked galley, and facing so many delightful options, she’d only vaguely recalled the moment he left.

The custom shelves on one side of the compartment held a curious number of books for an airplane. She had a brief image of him chartering a plane to fly until he had finished his book. She looked over the titles and found there were travel and adventure books for every major city on every continent throughout the world. Interesting but she had already studied maps and online street views of Ketterdam and Kerch. The flight attendant came in and offered her assistance and Nina asked to be shown how to access the movies. After that, she waved the attendant off and toured the little galley. It wasn’t long before Nina was reclined in a cushy seat, enjoying hot cocoa, upscale chocolate bars (some tucked in her bag), and a lovely plate of charcuterie, and a buttery croissant.

She’d woken to the attendant asking if she needed to use the facilities before debarking. As she had fumbled with the seat belt, the Broker had come through the door looking refreshed, taken a seat for landing, and begun telling her of the family business, nearly word for word as she had read it in the briefing documents.

The sky was just turning pale in the East when they both stepped down onto the tarmac. The damp of the air hit her first, followed by the lift of strands of her hair from a cool salt sea wind. City lights blazed in a scatter shot pattern across the gray upon gray of the landscape, the gray and rain-heavy morning clouds reflecting the glow of Ketterdam. It had looked dark, mysterious, and a little exciting.

She was still blurry from her short nap in the plane, and had followed Van Braam down the empty corridor of the private terminal, her eyes scanning every advertising poster and video screen still turned on and broadcasting to empty seats. It was Kerch culture on display: clothes, faces, postures, and subliminal marketing subtexts. It seemed that if one wanted to sell something to a Kerch who could afford private planes, one used the simple elegance of truly beautiful women and the strength and power of broad-shouldered men in black suits. Both adorned in the fashion of quiet wealth, the kind not chosen by the hoi polloi, but a signal to those in the know. Van Braam was quite clearly one in the know. 

Once she had learned she was being sent here, she had studied up on it. There was no royalty here on the island of the Kerch. These people ruled from selected groups they called councils. Those councils were composed of successful wealthy businessmen who fiercely protected their trade economy with unwavering neutrality in all global political matters.

According to the briefing materials, no member of the Van Braam family had ever sat on the Merchant Council or Council of Tides. Yet, much of their wealth was established and still accrued today from cutting-edge military technology inventions and subsequent proprietary training.

She had read magazine articles, a few Ketterdam Times articles, and looked over their social media presence. The Van Braam family produced the stuff of modern thriller movies and the public was deeply interested in counterpoint to their reclusiveness, making their silence seem shady to some. This led content contributors to dig into every little thing as though there were many possible dramas among the family relationships, how they spent their money, which events were attended, which were not; why was Darden Van Braam the only one seen around Ketterdam; and why had he not married yet?

She had spent her first week in Ketterdam at the hotel in a beautifully appointed suite that overlooked the harbor. Each morning she was reported to the front desk, where she would talk with Graves, the concierge as he announced her arrival to Van Braam by phone. Graves fascinated Nina with his gracious implacability. His suits were similar in quality to Van Braam's and he was extremely knowledgeable and competent. Van Braam met her a the desk sometimes in a suit, sometimes in sports utility clothes like those issued to instructors at the Lantsov compound. Sometimes he wore a holstered gun and exuded controlled menace; sometimes he wore a silk tie and acted like the CEO. Nina found it all very interesting.

He confused her in the first few days by treating her as though she was his guest and on vacation. He introduced her to very fine dining, displaying an expertise in the cultivation of grapes and the production of wines, while she displayed an expertise in listening and enjoyed every glass he had poured for her to try. She had also enjoyed the beautiful variations of hybrid orchids he collected and displayed in the sun room of his penthouse. The controlled climate produced vibrant blooms juxtaposed against the often gray, cold, and stormy skies of Ketterdam and she had loved it so much she had suggested he set up a small dining table and chairs for a dining experience. He had surprised her at their next shared meal by escorting her to a set up in the room exactly as she had imagined it. 

Perhaps because he was at least twenty years older than her she had not felt romantically pursued. Saints knew she had tried over that first dinner, floating compliments and coyness across the silk finish of his antique formal dining table. She had watched him receive it all with amusement and deflect to interesting topics devoid of seductive content. He remained an amiable and intelligent conversationalist.

She had nearly pigeonholed him as only a figurehead when he had taken her down to the sub-basement bunker and given her a tour of the surveillance and command center and the research and development lab, introducing her to the agents and scientists that worked there. Everyone she met treated Van Braam with considerable respect and because it was him introducing her, they gave her an as yet unearned measure of respect also. As she stood by his side, shaking hands and memorizing names, she promised herself that if they proved to be what they seemed, she would strive to do her best for them.

 In size and scope, in 24-bell coverage, in equipment and machinery, it was beyond anything Nina had seen at the Lantsov compound which was purportedly the best Ravka had on offer. Although Nina admitted, she may not have seen all as a new recruit to intelligence operations. If they had anything the like of Van Braam Industries, it had been well beyond her security clearance level.

She was accustomed to being with teens and instructors in their 20s to 40s. Here some of the scientists were well into their 60s and some were emeritus professors in physics at Ketterdam University. They spoke vaguely about many things Nina couldn't always follow and they assured her that they would do many more things once they had built a second facility out in the Kerch countryside. There were limits to the kinds of testing they could do within Ketterdam city limits.

The surveillance team was divided into field ops and another group teasingly called the baby sitters. They talked about their work in nondescript terms, but Nina had no problem understanding the subtext of the equipment on their desks and the terms: logistics, strategy planning, data analysis, supply chain and remote surveillance. She was introduced as a new member of field ops and spent her last two days and most of a full night with them exclusively before her planned appearance at Scout Night at SpechtBox.

She’d been given the simplest directives. She was to become an employee of SpechtBox and develop relationships with the employees and their friends. She was to familiarize herself with their lives in the Barrel. She was to dump reports and collected digital data into what they called the Slop Bucket. They would judge what was tossed or kept.

Now it was a waiting game. Luckily she enjoyed SpechtBox and the acerbic wit of Anika. Anika was also Barrel born and a Gym Rat. She didn’t talk much about people unless she was defending them or correcting Nina’s assumptions. She grumbled about everyone and Nina recognized it as her love language. Anika sniped hardest at Kaz and Nina was still unsure what that meant.

Specht was a hard ass to those who needed it, a safety net for those who needed that, and a damn good fighter. He was the dad boss, but not uptight or heavy handed with it.

Anika and Nina called Dirix, Keeg, and Jesper the boys and treated them like cousins, one remove from completely off limits for sex. They saw too much of each other in the unattractive parts of living and nothing could fix that. Although…Nina did find Jesper’s excited energy, willingness to join in on spur of the moment ideas, his Novyi Zem accented Kerch, and his love of unique clothing and accessories to be seductive, especially after a few drinks. But…nothing yet had tipped either of them over into bed with each other. Nina was pretty sure she wouldn’t go there with Jesper since it would never be more than a casual thing and they both lived together in a dorm room situation.

Besides, her intuition told her that of her new friends and roommates, Matthias and Kaz were the most likely targets of Van Braam. If she needed to seduce one of them (and dear Saints, please not emo Kaz) to get the information they were looking for, then she should remain unattached. On that momentarily uplifting thought, she withdrew her keys; two flanges of strong steel, the only two keys she owned. One to lock her massage room door at SpechtBox and the other to open this mail box.  She had slid them on a ring that held an enameled, red Ravkan kefta with silver embossed embroidery patterns, a reminder of home; her land and her people. No matter where her jobs took her. No matter how many strong, blond, blue-eyed and irritating guys there might be from other countries!

She swapped the envelopes behind the shield of the open compartment door. She didn’t know how soon they would check for any messages from her, but for what it was worth, she had let them know about Scout Night. Van Braam had said she might see him there from time to time, but that they were to be strangers.

Out on the sidewalk once again, she hesitated. She could go further uptown, and cross over the square to the pub nearest the StadWatch headquarters. She could get a drink, see if she recognized any clients, start a conversation. Something was telling her to head back and stay close. Hunh, actually she could do both things: go to the Treasure Chest and have her drinks AND stay close to Anika and Jesper, and maybe get Dirix and Keeg to come along. Get them to gamble a bit and have some fun.

Or, even better, get them to join in on planning her time in the ring with Matthias.

Chapter Text

Maybe there’d been another electrical failure in this section of the city and the machine had started up after the electricity came back. Otherwise, why was he waking to the smell of coffee in his room? He blinked at the ceiling trying to figure out if he was only dreaming of waking up to coffee… or if his coffee maker had somehow spontaneously begun making coffee. He hadn’t cleaned out the grounds from yesterday, and maybe there had been a little left in the carafe. No, there would have to have been water left in the reservoir for that.

Saints it was early. His eyes were bleary, but as he was now awake, might as well go and see what was up with the coffee smell. He pushed the blankets back, put his feet down on the cold wood floor and launched himself into walking down the hallway to the kitchen, feeling the cool air on his bare chest.

The small kitchen window let in the dim, grey-blue glow of a cloudy morning, but it was enough to assault his sleep-smeared eyes. He protested with a rumble in his throat and rubbed his eyes. The smell of the coffee was strong and fresh. He opened his eyes again to find the pot almost full of hot dark coffee. A mug was set out on the counter next to the machine, as well as the old jam jar he used to keep ants from his small store of sugar. A plastic spoon was set next to the jar. Pim thought, in the stupid way of a mind without coffee, that someone had been here and made coffee. Then he realized, someone HAD been there and made coffee. There was only one person who came into his apartment without knocking.

He poured a cup and wandered over to the monitor that showed the camera feeds around the building. All were static except the basement. Pim squeezed his eyes shut and popped them open in hopes of seeing a little better.

The dim lighting showed the energetic movements of a tall dark-haired figure lifting pallets and stacking items against one wall. Hunh, there went his plans. Today was obviously a work day.

He downed his cup and refilled it before heading back to get dressed. Ten minutes later he walked back to the monitors to see that Kaz was at the back door of the alley where a delivery truck was parked with its back end open and filled with various boxes and items. He’d better hurry.

When he arrived downstairs he saw Kaz was pulling items from the truck just to get them indoors. Kaz took a look at him, lifted his chin in silent greeting, and returned to the truck for more. Pim joined in and they made short work of it. When done Kaz drew the sliding door down, secured it, and slapped the outside of the trailer. A beanie covered head leaned out of the driver window and a low voice said, “We good?” Kaz nodded and the truck engine roared and the truck disappeared from the alley.

Kaz motioned him in and closed and locked the door behind them. Then they were standing just an arm span away from each other in the quiet enclosed space. Pim faced the boy he hadn’t seen in at least two months. Upstairs on camera, Kaz had appeared to Pim as he always had, with his hair buzzed on the sides and longer strands slicked back; with his all-black athletic wear, tightly laced boxing shoes, and driving gloves. He was wearing a worn leather jacket with a hood that Pim had not seen on him before, but a new item of clothing wouldn’t make Pim feel as he did right now.

Pim felt wary.

He looked more closely at Kaz who, instead of a welcoming upward curl of his lips, was staring back with tight, straight-lipped containment. Kaz was taller and wider at the shoulders somehow and Pim wondered at how that could happen in such short time. Yeah, some guys seemed to grow like that. He saw stubble along Kaz’s sharp jaw line, and under his nose, darker shadows that outlined the sharp angles of his face. There was a slash through one eyebrow that was an actual scar, not just an artistic buzz through to look cool. A muscle twitched in Kaz’s cheek, and Pim realized he’d been staring too long in silence.

He almost stammered, “Thanks for the coffee. You want this in the basement then?”

Kaz propped open the door to the stairs, turned and stacked two heavy boxes on top of each other, and disappeared down the stairs in continued silence.  

As Pim hurried to grab another two boxes, he wondered, where was his friend? Where was the boy he had worked and joked with on dock jobs? Where were the computer buddy and brilliant game designer?

And, what was it like being in the Dregs, that there would be these changes?

All of that was pushed aside as soon as Kaz began speaking. Kaz had seen Pim and Anika’s to-do lists on the wall and fired questions at Pim about them. Once they finished bringing the items to the basement, Kaz told Pim to follow him and take notes if he needed. Pim saw that Kaz had returned to limping from the up and down of the stairs and Pim asked him to wait as he ran upstairs to his apartment to grab the clipboard Anika had jokingly given him. In the apartment, Pim sent a glance to lists on the wall and saw that the bastard had written more items in the margins! They had been so close to done!

Kaz was a tough boss. Why was Pim even doing this? Oh, yeah. Free rent, game design, and nothing better going. He repeated it like an anthem, in time with his steps back down the stairs.

Kaz leaned against the wall across from the doors of the elevator, his cane in hand. Pim knew better than to make note of its appearance or to offer to make things easier. Besides, of course Kaz would begin with the one main thing he hadn’t yet done anything about: the elevator.

Pim defended, “It’s still iffy. You told us to leave it alone for now and so we did.” One corner of Kaz’s mouth turned up and his eyes gleamed with amusement. Pim added, “Also, elevator repairs have to be inspected by an agent of city government and certified, and I wasn’t sure how you wanted to handle that.”

Kaz looked even more amused. “I sent you a link to the DIY Elevator Guy video. And leave the certification to me.” Pim grabbed his phone to look for the link he had apparently missed at some point while Kaz pushed off the wall and pressed the call button.   

Screeching and rumbling sounds began, and they felt slight vibrations of the door. It went on far longer than it should, but eventually they heard the elevator land on their floor. They stared at the door waiting to see if it would open. Finally it did, showing that the car was not completely flush with the floor, leaving a gap through which one could see the cables and cement shaft. The inside of the car was filthy and stank just as Pim remembered. Kaz pressed the call button again and the doors closed but there were no sounds of it moving. He turned to Pim and gave a quick glance to the clipboard. Pim noted that the link for the DIY Elevator Guy had only shown up during the time he had raced upstairs for the clipboard. He felt like they had exchanged attitudes, for he was certain his own brows were now lowered and his mouth was set. He dutifully wrote down: “Fix the damn elevator myself somehow.”

The moment his hand stopped writing, Kaz headed up the stairs, bypassing each floor until they arrived at the door to the attic. The wooden door had been replaced by a steel one which had then been outfitted with the specific series of locks Kaz had acquired from some private vendor he’d found online.

The building had three main floors of apartments, the last of which was the ground floor with a small office and building entry space, and a shotgun hallway front door to back door, which let out into the alley. And above those floors was an attic that was a fully open expanse bounded only by the perimeter of the outside walls. On one side of the open area was a big dormer window and directly opposite was a French door that gave access to a small rooftop alcove with space enough for a couple chairs and potted plants if one were inclined. The view was merely the rooftops of the other ramshackle buildings stacked in rows and divided by gray roads. The space had been used by resident smokers who would stand and have a quick smoke if they were unlucky to have adamant nonsmoking roommates. Pim had swept up the mountain of butts himself. Kaz had asked for a new door and frame, black-tinted, one-way windows, and a metal drill bit.

The attic had rough wooden flooring and grey walls and ceiling. Technically it was a finished space, but aesthetically it gave rustic farmhouse vibes. The lighting was minimal but Kaz hadn’t asked for additional fixtures or for extra electrical outlets as he had done in the basement. The empty space was grey walls, darker grey shadowed ceiling, with patches of alternating grey on the floor. It remained dusty as Pim was unsure what it would be used for or how soon and had let clean-up be a low priority.

However, Kaz was not displeased with the space and gave no further instructions for it. Pim followed him out and watched him secure the series of locks with the ease of a man who had already done it many times. They continued the tour.

Since the apartments were bare of furniture, Kaz checked on the basics. The walls, the floors, the old vent grates and such remained untouched, worn but still serviceable. Rather, he inspected the new window tinting, window locks, electrical outlets, and door locks. Pim reported that the water, heating and plumbing were working throughout the building.

On the way down the three flights of stairs, Kaz gave Pim instructions on where they would be mounting the routers and extenders. Kaz said one of the boxes they had just unloaded this morning would have them. Kaz also surveyed the stairs, rails, and landings on each floor as well as the old iron grates covering the air ducts and the lighting mounts on the walls or ceilings. As they descended to the ground floor again, Pim was feeling better than he had. It seemed a less-tense Kaz was as close as they were getting to his old self.

Standing finally in the shotgun hallway between the entrance and the exit to the alley, Kaz moved into the triangle of dark shadow under the stairs. He reached out and felt his way along the narrow strip of decorative wood that divided the wall from wainscoting to painted upper portion. Pim startled as a wood panel slid into a pocket and the first step of a set of narrow stairs appeared out of the darkness.

“Duuuude, what is that?”

“Our insurance policy against raids.”

Kaz stood on the first of the dark wooden stairs, and motioned for Pim to come through. It was as close as he’d been to Kaz all day and his wariness returned more strongly. It felt like a Truth-or-Dare question: Would you willingly follow Kaz into a secret, dark room alone?

Pim continued down the steps into pure darkness as Kaz touched something that made the door slide quietly back into place. Then Pim heard a click and saw the string Kaz had pulled to activate the single bulb light in the middle of the dark space.

How had he lived here most of his young life and not known this was here? He tried to calculate where this space existed in terms of the elevator and the basement. It looked like it had probably once been the access to the elevator shaft which was the grid structure with cables a little ways out from the stairs. The stairs descended to the level of the basement and onto the cement flooring before a wall that he was guessing held a similar secret pocket door. But if you turned away from that wall you could walk into an enclosed space large enough to house the elevator shaft and beyond it store lots of boxes. The configuration of shapes against the farthest wall suggested the peg boards and metal S hooks, wood work table and small jars of an old workshop.  

Kaz said, “During the days of the Merchant Council wars on profiteering, the original owner of this building had this space enclosed to hide contraband.”

“I’ve heard of that being done but only in those houses over by First and Second Harbor. This place seems too far for it.”

Kaz smirked. “The owner was smart. There’s a list of buildings that were raided during that time and their hidden spaces are on record. This building was never raided and this space remains a secret.”

He turned toward Pim in a swift unexpected movement and Pim involuntarily stepped back. The dim light made Kaz’s face into a hellish mask of fierce malice. Pim wasn’t even sure he was still breathing and he thought a bit crazily, I am going to die.

“You and I are the only two to know of this. No one else.” His eyes bored into Pim’s too long. 

Pim gave a sharp nod. Kaz looked back at what he was doing and Pim returned to breathing.

Kaz continued, “This is why you will be learning how to fix the elevator and I will get a forged certificate of inspection.”

Pim nodded again and crazily thought, well, at least I’ll be living long enough to fix the elevator! He was hesitant to think he had any special privilege being in Kaz’s confidence on this.

He asked, “Why not just learn to fix the elevator yourself, and keep the secret to yourself?”

Kaz said, “Sure, and when a raid happens when I’m away, we are back to no insurance policy. Any further questions?”

“Are we going to make any renovations here? Add locks of some sort? A camera?”

“What, so I can watch you work? No, the less traceable activity the better. And the doors already have sliders on this side that block gaining access from the other side.”

Pim nodded again but Kaz didn’t see it as he turned away to open the door into the basement. Pim followed and then turned to look back on the wall from which they had exited. It was the same bare stone material as the rest of the walls. The nearest wall of the stair well they had used to bring down the boxes must make up the far wall of the hidden space. Whoever had designed the enclosure had been a magician as no feature gave way a possible discrepancy of space between the floors above and this one.

Now back in the basement, they returned to work.

Kaz flipped the light switch to the rather sophisticated (if you asked him or Anika) indirect lighting solution they’d devised from scrapped metal gutters and rod lights. However, Kaz made no comment of said genius; he just moved into the space and began walking the perimeter, counting steps between the shiny new electrical outlets, stopping to see that they were each of the amperage he’d requested. He made no comment and Pim figured he may as well take this as silent approval and commendation for a job well done. Why not?

Now Kaz stood in the middle of the room, turning a full circle, taking it all in. He faced Pim and... well, the lighting was indirect, and Pim’s eyesight might not be the best, but he would swear he finally saw a smile bloom and fade.

“Let’s go. We’ve got a lot to do before our meeting tomorrow.”

 Pim tried to think of any vendor or service appointment set up for tomorrow and failed.

“Ummm, what meeting?”

“Just tell Anika there is to be a meeting.”

“Time? I ask because Scout Night is tonight and they’ll not want to get up too early.”

Kaz laughed a dark, taunting laugh.  

 “Set it for daybreak. No excuses.”

[Meanwhile, over at SpechtBox a little later that same morning

The hallway was still a little dim, but enough light cut through from the window of the office door for him to see. Specht let his steps fall heavily. This was going to be fun.

The girls had been up and drinking their first cups of coffee when he’d come in for his own. They had been bartering for who would open the door to the boys’ room and wake them up. Seemed that Kaz had finally called them all to a meeting over at Pim’s place tomorrow morning, which he heard them all calling the FOB.  This was the first ever called meeting and he could tell Anika was buzzed about it. He also noted Nina wasn’t invited. Knowing Kaz, this meant she was not yet, nor maybe ever would be, in the group.

He tried not to feel disappointment over how long it had been since Kaz had spoken to him, or come by the gym and worked out, or taken time in the ring. He’d heard a little about some of the skirmishes the Dregs had been pushing into with the other gangs and heard how people spoke with fear of being on the receiving end of Kaz Brekker in a fight. When he did see that boy again he’d ask if the Barrel was teaching him any new fight tricks. He couldn’t lose his status as neutral territory in the Barrel, but he let himself imagine the money he would make if he got Kaz to teach a street fighting course at SpechtBox. Formal training with street training, it was the goal of everyone who came through his doors. And to have it taught by Kaz as he built his reputation in the Dregs, well. He could imagine the bundle he would make.

His last thought before softly turning the knob of the door to the boys’ room and simultaneously slamming his heavy fist into the door for dramatic entry was that if Kaz still lived here, this situation would not be happening. Kaz and Anika both ruled in orderly fashion and expected everyone else to live accordingly. Neither one of them put up with sloppy shit. But Kaz had left and Anika had been kept very busy of late. The girl worked hard and he respected that, especially as she hadn’t dropped the ball on any of his business.

She also wasn’t a complainer, so the fact that she had been dragging her feet on opening the door to this room told him it was time to lower the boom on some unsuspecting slobs. He was a Navy man, he knew the importance of discipline and cleanliness and how to make a point that would be respected by lazy young men.

In theory, the door would have swung open and hit the wall with a satisfying bang. But there was so much debris on the floor behind the door, the whole effect was muffled. But this just prompted an even more satisfying roar of swearing from Specht that had the three blanketed figures startling up from their beds with astonished faces and then frowns of confusion.

None of their reactions mattered because the smell had gone up Specht’s nose and now he was truly mad. He flipped the light switch and flooded their wide pupils with bright light. The three figures cringed. Babies, he thought. Little babies.

He drew in a deep breath and roared: “What in Saints name do you think this is? A pig sty? You think this is YOUR room? This is MY room and it should NEVER look like this. This is FILTH. Is that a plate of desiccated chicken bones over there? SAINTS ALIVE. This stinks!”

The boys stared at him in shock. Jesper looked to shoot off his mouth, so Specht continued: “Don’t even fucking TRY to give me some lame excuse. Save your breath for getting the HELL out of bed and cleaning this PRONTO! You have exactly 45 minutes before I am back here with white gloves. MOVE IT! I’m going to be that bastard that drags his finger over the top of the door frame for dust!”

He turned to leave them to it, hearing their beds creak but thankfully no muttered back talk. Struck by another thought he turned back around and they all froze mid-movement, “And don’t think you can just take all of these clothes and put them in the laundry for later. You get them sorted and started and you FINISH THEM yourselves as you should.”

Now came three abashed responses of “Yes, sir.”

He returned to the break room to find Anika and Nina laughing with wicked grins and gleaming eyes. He pulled out his phone and set a timer for 45 minutes, looking back up to find both girls walking quickly to the door. He gave them a puzzled look.

“Ummm, before you go walking around with a white glove, we might need to take a look at our own room. Just a bit. And get our clothes in ahead of the avalanche about to fall on the laundry room.”

The door closed.

Specht leaned back, assessing. Good coffee, and a productive morning, all before opening hours. It was going to be a most excellent day.

Chapter Text

The head of security recognized her immediately as she signed in, listing her intention to visit her father in his office on the fourth floor, the time and the date. She took the visitor badge and dropped it over her head and ensured it was visible to anyone that she was a visitor, as though the security escort wasn’t enough of a sign. The Admin behind the counter made the call announcing her impending visit to her father’s Executive Assistant, Mrs. Perlmutter.

As the daughter of the Commander she was honored with escort to her father’s office by the Head of Security. As always he asked about her school subjects and her opinion of her school’s sports team’s chances against their upcoming challengers. Since it was always the same script, she knew the answers and it was calming in a way. Still, she was relieved to hear the ding of the elevator to the fourth floor. When the doors opened, the outer office doors that lead to the seating area and Mrs. Perlmutter’s desk stood open. Her escort hailed her and Mrs. Perlmutter waved in acknowledgement. He waved his permission for her to exit the elevator and told her to enjoy the rest of her day as the doors closed behind her.

Her smile was genuine for Mrs. Perlmutter. She was a permanent fixture in Imogen’s experience of visiting her father at work. And she was always kind to her and made her feel welcome. She rose from her desk and stepped around it saying,

“Well this is a happy surprise my dear!” enveloping Imogen in a hug.

Imogen felt some of the tension leave her in that moment, and she thought of the difference between this and her issue with hugging her mandated afterschool counselor. She knew real when she felt it.

She smiled as Mrs. Perlmutter quickly launched into an instructional greeting:

“You are lucky today! He will have some time for you after this current meeting is done, maybe 5-10 minutes. In fact, since no one was scheduled, I was going to take a break and drop by the desk of a friend on another floor. You won’t mind, will you, if I leave you to wait on your own? Like I said, it should only be a few more minutes.”

Imogen glanced at the firmly closed office doors and heard the murmur of masculine voices. And she remembered something from a previous visit, how Mrs. Perlmutter had requested that she sit very quietly as she was monitoring a conversation between her father and some adversarial person by use of a discretely hidden intercom system. Her much younger self had taken the farthest seat away and fallen into a book everyone was reading at school. Now, older and wilier, she smiled widely at Mrs. Perlmutter and said,

“No worries, Mrs. P, I’ll just take this chance to sit in the real seat of power and see what it feels like.”

Mrs. Perlmutter gave a soft laugh and told her to let phone calls ring through to the answering machine. Imogen assured her she would just sit and do her homework.

Imogen set out a textbook on the desktop and waited for just a moment after the elevator had descended with Mrs. Perlmutter before opening the side cabinet and pressing the switch to the hidden speaker.

“…I spoke with him yesterday and told him things were going well with your training. And here you are without an appointment. I hope this means you have something for me regarding the other task I gave you.”

“Yes sir, I do. The next Scout Night is tonight. I was invited to attend and assist in the ring in the place of Brekker.”

“Tonight.” Her father’s tone was thoughtful, yet pleased. “In the place of Brekker? So he won’t be there?”

“I can’t speak to that, just that I will replace him in the ring for demo fights.”

There was a silence, and Imogen imagined her father letting his hand rub over his jaw, as he did when thinking intently.

But the other man spoke before him, offering, “No one has been talking about it, but they haven’t had Brekker on the board as an available trainer since the last one I was at, nearly two months ago. I heard from one of the guys that works out there that he joined one of the harbor gangs called the Dregs.”

“Dregs? That’s an old gang. Strange choice.  What time does this all start?”

“I was told to arrive by the ninth bell, and I have no idea how long the list is or who else will be attending. I will of course give a full report tomorrow.”

“Good. Good. First thing in the morning then. Now if you will excuse me, I must attend to a few more things before calling it a day.” Her father was back in his jocular, hand-shaking business mode.

She heard the sound of movement over the speaker and took it as her cue to switch off the system, close the cabinet door softly, and lean forward over her book in the pose of a focused student.

Just in time, the doors opened and Matthias and her father stepped out into the seating area. Both saw her at the same time and both frowned. She smiled and said, “Surprise! There was a cancellation with my after-school thing so I thought I’d come see my very busy father.”

It was the same boy from Fjerda, the one Kaz was curious about. This visit was already a success, no matter what scolding she got. She could tell Kaz that he was a spy for her father into the workings of SpechtBox and Scout Night, himself and the gangs.

Why her father was leaning on a kid from Fjerda, who knew? Maybe she could work in a question about it, and hope his probable lie said something.

Her father had his jocular, social expression back in place and he said, “Wonderful, as it seems by the absence of Mrs. Perlmutter that I do not have an immediate obligation.” Besides me, she thought.

Her father looked to the young man who stood at least a head taller and began introductions.

“Matthias, may I present my daughter Imogen. Imogen, this is Matthias Helvar who took part in our new Urban Policing course with a group of other trainees from Fjerda, and who was awarded a follow-on internship for the remainder of the summer.”

She stood and held out her slim hand. The frowning giant looked first at her father before slowly and gently enfolding her hand for a brief shake.

That done, her father dismissed Matthias with: “I look forward to speaking with you tomorrow.”

The giant nodded and walked to the elevator. Her father didn’t move or speak until the elevator doors closed with Matthias within. Imogen asked, “Do interns from foreign entities not require escort?”

He huffed at her and motioned her to precede him into the office. He said, “If he veers in any direction other than straight out the side door to the barracks, he will be discovered, questioned, and escorted. Thanks for your concern.”

Crossing the sea of carpet in his office he briefly paused as though conflicted with some thought. It was a telling moment since usually he took her to the side of the room where a small table sat before a window that looked down on the plaza square. It was less formal and they usually shared a quick snack and beverage from the little pantry hidden within an ornate armoire cabinet. Something within her came alert with this hesitation. Was she so far gone with him that he would choose to lead her to the chair before his desk, and ensconce himself behind it?

It wasn’t a smooth recovery, but she was greatly relieved when he moved to the side table and told her to grab whatever she wanted from the cabinet, but that he didn’t need anything for himself.

They sat down together in the well worn routine she had rehearsed, and for which she was suddenly sharply grateful. He was her father after all. He inspired her. Their conflict wasn’t because she didn’t value him; rather it was because he didn’t value her desire to follow his career footsteps.

She gave him a puzzled look and began, in what she hoped was the tone of casual curiosity, with, “Why would Fjerda send young men here to learn Urban Policing? Don’t they have that type of training in their own country?”

He answered easily, “Oh I am sure they have some type, but certainly none with the same particulars since the Kerch are very different people than the Fjerdans. Hopefully we will send Kerch trainees to Fjerda one day.”

“Does he report to the Commander as an Intern?”

Her father ignored that and said,

“Why are you here today, Imogen?”

“What, I can’t just take the opportunity of a gap in my schedule to come see my father?”

He snorted, and began eating from her carefully peeled and sectioned tangelo. He always did that, not wanting the oils from the peel on his hands.

“You could come down from your room and see me in the evenings at home.”

She shrugged, “Or I could just randomly come see you as a surprise and not be interrogated for it.”

Now he laughed, “Me interrogate you? Ha! You have been interrogating me since you learned to speak!”

She smiled with genuine shared amusement. This visit was turning out successful on all fronts.

He continued, “I will admit, your decision to visit was a good one as I will not be home tonight until possibly very late.”

Nice of him to admit that she was right about him not being home in the evenings. She ventured to ask,

“Is something exciting going to happen then?”

Her father looked away from her, looked out the window over the city with its scudding clouds and flickering sunlight. He said, “Just an urban policing exercise, but one I want to supervise.”

There was a knock on the door just before it opened and Mrs. P looked in at them. She said, “Sorry to interrupt but I wanted to let you know I was back and were there any further instructions?”

Imogen wrapped up the peels and napkins into a ball for the trash bin and grabbed her backpack.

Within only a few short minutes, they had arranged for her transport back to the house and Mrs. P had called for her to be escorted down to the car.

Sitting in the back seat as the patrol woman called in to have her car taken out of call rotation for the next 20 minutes, Imogen was thoughtful. If she were the Commander, and had a person in her office telling her about a typically gangster-attended event, knew the time and place for certain, and had the chance to go after a person of great interest, she wouldn’t wait for a report tomorrow. She would raid the place and arrest everyone. But she replayed the brief conversation she had overheard and neither one of them had said that. She didn’t know enough to be certain. Her father wasn’t coming home tonight, possibly until very late, but that was nothing new.

The frustrating part was how little she could do either way. She didn’t dare call SpechtBox and risk being recorded giving warning. Her father knew her voice and if there was caller ID, he'd recognize any number from their house. And she didn’t know any personal numbers of any of the others that worked there. And again, she would not dare call and leave a caller ID on any of those phones either, if there was a raid and they were searched.

Then again, her father had to have good reason for such a raid. She didn’t want to let crime go unpunished, did she? She sighed and rested her head against the glass, watched the blur of things passing by. Everything was happening beyond her. She was powerless.

She was going to have to get her life back together. Win back her car at least.

Chapter Text

Chapter 38

Tonight Inej headed to Ketterdam Public Library’s main branch downtown before making her way to one of the many places she could begin tracking Kaz on his various night routes through the city. If the Wolverine mentioned the oddity of such a visit, she would claim she had needed the bathroom and to get warm. But what she really needed was information on The Castle Hotel, starting with its ownership; and for that she needed to use a computer that wouldn’t trace her every keystroke. The Castle Hotel didn’t look anything like the Van Verent Hotel, so if it was owned by the same man, it was some kind of secret. And if it wasn’t owned by Van Verent, then why did the Wolverine go there in the earliest hours of the morning? It was the edge of a mystery, sticking up and drawing attention. She had to peel it back.

She made her way to the two computer stations set in a small alcove for patrons to search and read scanned images of the pages of every edition of the Ketterdam Times newspaper. Thankfully both stations sat empty. She sat in the hard plastic seat and searched for The Castle Hotel.

She memorized the name Van Braam, the company, and the family members. Scanning the articles would have been so much simpler if there was a way to translate everything into her own language, but as it was, she had to open a translate window and feed it brief paragraphs and hope that she was getting the correct ideas. With an eye to the time, she made another search on just the company name and by sheer chance, translated a paragraph with the word redacted in it. That was interesting enough to make her go to the top of the article and make note of the date, about twenty years before, then she read what she could. There was some big event, a betrayal of the Merchant Council, that had included the Van Braam company. There had been deaths, arrests, and lots of pointing fingers.

The Wolverine was not Kerch. What kind of business would he have with The Castle Hotel? Did it have a floor like that of the Menagerie? Did he shun the Peacock and go elsewhere for sex? The Peacock and the Wolverine were distinctly antagonistic with each other despite the gloss of a business relationship. And why was that? Why did the Wolverine work with her? It all went back to Van Verent as the boss of them both. Van Verent scared her and she hoped never to be called to his office alone.

She figured she should already be on her way, but her fingers went ahead and keyed Van Verent into the search bar. Too many articles! She couldn’t hope to scan them fast enough. In a flash, she added Van Braam to the search, and a picture appeared, associated with the top article in the new results list. It was a color photo of a group of formally dressed people, in possibly a hotel ballroom, before a raised dais of flowers, a banner, and a podium. Some charitable event with Van Verent standing with two men much younger than him. All three stood like statues, staring directly into the camera, with smiles that hung on their faces long after the spirit of them had departed.

She scanned the caption lightning fast and found the names: Van Verent, and Darden and Eugene Van Braam. She looked back at the faces and tried to memorize as much as she could, envisioning what they might look like now, 20 years older.

Having spent entirely too much time, she left from an alarmed side exit, disabling the alarm mechanism to gave herself the practice.  

The air was cool still but one could see that light was lingering later and later into the evening. She loved all of the shades of blue in the sky, from late evening to deep night. If she ever had a house someday, she would paint every room a different shade of blue. Maybe clouds and blue sky on the ceilings. Maybe a wall of ocean waves flowing inward to a shore in her personal office. Nah, as long as she was dreaming, how about living on a small ship, where she could just step out on deck and see limitless sky, and ever-flowing water…

She made her way to the nearest Menagerie ebike, parked and locked, ready for use. She loved the speed and wind, the power she felt driving it, but she was coming to hate it too. The feeling of freedom made her shake with the desire to keep driving, faster and faster, out of Ketterdam, to the farthest end of the Isle of Kerch, and maybe just keep riding right out into the waves. Her mind didn’t get farther than that, since she didn’t know if there were other ports, other towns, any way off the island that didn’t include hiding in a crate surrounded by predatory men.

But the idea, the hope, that there could be a way, distracted her more and more lately. She wasn’t being treated as she had in the commune…yet. Sometimes, intent as she was on doing what she was told for fear of what kinds of punishment would be meted out by Van Verent and the Peacock, she had stretches of time now where her mind simply did not touch on what had happened to her. She focused exclusively on what she was doing each moment, keeping memories away.

And then she would fall asleep, and her guard relinquished duty. And just like that she was back in the dark hallways, carrying her bruised, battered, defeated self back to the sleeping room. Or she was back in the worship hall, crouched, hoping with sweat and tears that she would not feel a heavy hand on her head, signaling that she was once again one of the chosen for the night. Sometimes, she woke up, sat up, and was in the bathroom throwing up before she was fully conscious.

She wasn’t currently being abused, but every cell of her body recognized the outline of her continued subservience. She was not free. If someone wanted to harm her, there was no freedom to fight, no freedom of flight.

Arriving at the end of the street, two further over than the buildings that would be her starting place tonight, she killed the motor, drifted to the curb, and popped it over. She pushed the ebike quickly into the screen of some tall, decorative sidewalk shrubs, keeping an eye that the space was not already taken by street people. There was only one, and Inej recognized her as the old lady with one eye. She often sat and let the rest of her group go on without her. Inej assumed they all met back up somehow, but she had never tracked any of them. Honestly if she hadn’t watched Kaz go amongst them to sleep sometimes, and seen them accept him without aggression, she would perhaps have ignored them as she did other undesirable populations, like men leaving neighborhood bars at night. In fact, there were many more people here in Ketterdam she avoided being seen by than those she let see her.

She silently locked the ebike to a sturdy trunk out of sight beneath the low-lying branches, then slid her way to the far side. She was almost beyond the brush of the last limb against her arm when a low croaking voice said, “watch yer bike for kruge.” Inej could barely make out the woman sitting with her back to the cement edge of the sidewalk planter box. If she slid away and made no answer, would the woman do something to the bike? Did she care? Did she want to grab the bike and relocate?

She moved to within a few feet of the woman and just looked at her. She was covered in layers of clothing draped around, buttons plackets and zippers undone and flapping at crazy angles. She looked like a pile of dirty laundry that had unexpectedly taken human shape. Probably in daylight, those layers would be a riot of color, but in the deepening dark, that were shades of gray. Inej couldn’t make out her face in the gloom, but that suited her fine as it meant the woman couldn’t see her at all.

The woman cocked her head and muttered something in a disdainful, angry tone that Inej couldn’t make out.

Inej said, “And what will you say when they find you with money?”

A rumble of broken sounds came from the woman. Inej wasn’t sure if she was coughing, laughing, grumbling, or speaking. But the sounds then became deep drags of air that expelled as heavy, wet coughs. Inej pulled back another step, disturbed by the sound. This was a cough that her mama and aunties would treat with comfort, not healing. This broken heap of a woman, sitting on cement in the dark of a ruthless city, needed a hot tea. As the woman hawked up and spit out to the side of her what she could, Inej fished some coins she had out of her pocket and dropped them deliberately so the woman could find them by their noise. By the time the woman had found them, Inej was up the side of the bodega and ducked down out of sight, working her phone and her new toy from the compartment in her jacket.

She was actually excited about this part of tonight’s mission. The Wolverine had directed them in studying how not to be detected by IR digital cameras since they were so easy to get and use by most shops and the average person. First they had drawn maps of their usual territories, used the Grishaverse Sat app that showed street level views of roads, canals, buildings, and much to Inej’s satisfaction, the roof tops. They had canvassed their areas during the day looking for structures and objects where cameras could be placed.

Inej had been as thorough as possible and had extended her search area beyond that recommended by the Wolverine because she had met and spoken with her target. He knew he was being followed. She was betting he had cameras watching the cameras!

Tonight she had her advanced optics night vision ocular lens, an RF camera scanner, and new apps on her phone to help find IR cameras. This was Brekker, she would use all three.

Once they had built up their maps with all of their observations, the Wolverine had tasked them to place themselves mentally in the location of their target and set up a camera system set to find any spies.

After that, he had them exchange their maps with one another and test them by gauging surveillance distances, ambient light or other environmental interferences, and list the best ways to find a way to not be seen.

She had been accused by the others of making her map unrealistically complex; that no one was going to walk a rope between two buildings just to avoid walking perfectly dark, camouflaging alleyways. And she critiqued their surveillance systems by pointing out the lack of cameras aimed at second floor or higher spaces. In the end the Wolverine had announced in a quelling tone that the best surveillance system exercise was the one that allowed them to live another day. On that note, they’d gone back to work in grim silence.

She had no idea what resources a young, newly minted Dregs member had for purchasing or stealing hidden surveillance cameras. In hopes of living her way out of her current situation, after training that day, she had revisited her map and built it out with differing levels of equipment.

Tonight she was starting two streets out and working her way towards his building in perimeter rings. If she found a camera within the outermost ring, she would continue in a ring in the non-detection distance. Then she would drop to the street, move in one line of buildings, and head back to the roof, scanning then in both directions, to track what she suspected would be cameras watching cameras. Her own way of placing cameras had them pointed back at his building, on the logic that spies would be very careful in approach and less careful on exit. Thus, place the cameras to watch the exit routes.

She was certain Brekker was going to make all her work worth it.

A few bells later, she retrieved her ebike from a now deserted shrub bed, and headed to her next location with satisfaction. She could congratulate herself on preparing for a downright tricky system of surveillance. She could congratulate herself also on carefully dressing in all matte black, no buttons, no zippers, and black socks with rubber nub soles. She had been clocked by one camera, but by holding completely still for the short recording time, she had managed to go unseen.

She now knew the type of camera and the pattern of placement. He had put cameras in both directions. He had overlapped ranges in areas a normal person could be expected to walk. She snorted a laugh.

He had no clue about her circus and high-wire training. He had left wide thoroughfares for her. She wouldn’t even have to mess with his cameras to make a way through. It was agood a night , but it wasn’t over yet.

She would take this opportunity with the equipment and her outfit to go check around SpechtBox, Haskell’s Pawn, and if there were still time, that building in Fifth Harbor. Now that she knew what she was dealing with, these next assessments should go a little faster. In a way, if she ran into even thicker protective surveillance, she would find out what location was of most value to Brekker.

She took the ebike up to safer streets than the Barrel, and then would find a place to stash it and walk back down. It was a quiet ebike, but it placed her alone in the center of the streets, a moving target for those looking for anything to take down. She was better on foot in the shadows.

She turned the corner and headed toward the tallest building in Ketterdam, the Roost. Well its formal nickname was the Red Roost because of the color it reflected during summer sunsets. Its formal name was the International Exchange Center, known by businessmen across the Grishaverse for its strict adherence to the laws of value and protection of currency. But for those who saw it every day, it was called the Roost for the flocks of seabirds that would gather and lift off from perches at the top.  It drew the eye of those coming into port, those circling to land, and those driving through the city, who used it to mark where everything else lie in relation to it.

It was a bold challenge to Inej, standing within sight every time she looked out her window and every night from nearby rooftops. It bugged her that she didn’t have access to climbing gear and that she couldn’t spend too much time around it, for fear of being accused of doing side quests on her own. But she did give it some time as often as she could, learning the distances between features, the textures of its walls, window ledges, and where it sheltered the wind best. She had also, one late night, caught a door before it closed upon a staffer emptying bins, and found her way to an office a few stories below the top floor. It was on her mental clipboard to try and make her way to the top.

Tonight, through her visor, she saw red drapes hanging the length of two floors above street level. She gripped her handlebars too tightly as one part of her tried to focus and read the stylized lettering on the banners and another part of her already knew. There existed for her, one calm, safe moment of not understanding, before it all crashed together, and the ebike began sliding across the pavement. She was now two beings, a physical one who was reacting to the sliding ebike with her innate sense of balance and ballast, pulling the ebike back to the center of its treads, while her soul floated above and behind, debating ever returning to the physical one.

The banners announced to Ketterdam the arrival within one week, of a special appearance of The Apparat of the Ravkan Ashram of the Cult of the Sun Saint.

He was coming. He would be here. He would be at the hotel. He would be with the Peacock and Van Verent. He would come with an entourage. Others she hated and feared. The Wolverine would be nothing and no one against them. Her chest was heaving with  choppy breaths. That part of her, trained by her parents to perform with grace despite anxiety, immediately kicked in to slow her breathing.

She realized she was still driving, buildings made unrecognizable by blurred vision. Where was she? The ebike entered a big inner city square of large formal buildings. She was in the StadWatch plaza. Oh Saints, what was she thinking? She drove by the patrol cars parked at the curb and pulled into a nearby alley, shutting off the motor but holding the ebike upright, hands on the bars, feet braced, ready to go when she was ready. She just had to think a moment.

She looked at the façade of the StadWatch building, dramatically lit up from ground-based flood lights. Even late at night it stood at attention. If she’d been worried about being tracked by ID at the library, she’d better have the best reason ever for being tracked anywhere near a StadWatch building! What if she just ran for it? She bet the guards at the door would engage with her if she went running up to the doors begging for asylum, begging for justice. She just wasn’t sure of the outcome. She was a dark skinned foreigner. She spoke very basic Kerch with a strong foreign accent. Would they want to deal with her and her story? Or would they think of her as a troubled employee and call Van Verent to come get her?

The image of him or the Peacock coming down to StadWatch headquarters to hear how she had betrayed them with stories of kidnapping and mistreatment and spy training had her frantically releasing her helmet strap and lifting it up and off, turning her head to the side as her body spasmed and she heard the splash of the little that had been in her stomach fall against the pavement of the alley..

She imagined speeding out of Ketterdam to try to find a way out through the countryside, but imagined again her one attempt at reaching the spot where her tracker was embedded. It was impossible without the help of another person. Her eyes blurred again. Her hand drifted slowly to her hidden knife holster.

Was it time for the big exit? Should this be the moment of her final bow?

Her eyes closed tightly upon the image of her father and mother in this moment. Tears ran down her cheeks and fell in drops to shiny metal of the fuel tank below her. Their voices, always encouraging her to get up and try again; their hugs and their love. It was still here in this world, somewhere. If she held on, if she could make it through, would she see them again? 

She was still watching herself, that other part unconcerned with the tears. Floating out of reach. And another part, watching the floater. That last shard of herself spoke to all of them: your first attack against them begins with living to continue the fight. Her eyes cleared, and her hands clenched the bars. She shifted the ebike forward and gained her seat, starting the engine with a flick of her wrist. With all of her centered and balanced, she made her way to finish out her plans for the night.

She remembered in that moment the poster her father had in his little office space in the RV. It had always been there from her earliest memories, dark grey with silver etchings of the flow of time and stars. He had referred to it many times, usually in times of most stress. She had read it over and over as she grew, her understanding changing with her age, but always in terms of her family’s performances, in regards to the sometimes death-defying acts they practiced to amaze audiences.

Now she understood the whole of it for herself:

“I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.

Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear is gone, there will be nothing.

Only I will remain.”  [credit Frank Herbert, Dune, 1965]

Chapter Text

There had been an un-forecasted break in the weather today. A dramatic clearing of all clouds by mid-afternoon, and the air turned warm. People came outside and just stood looking around, taking in the gleam of things, without need of coats and gloves. The volume on polite greetings and chit chat rose above the usual soundtrack of machines, cars, compressors, bells, doors, and feet. There was an uptick to the general beat of activity in the streets. Like suddenly finding money in one’s pocket, the people of Ketterdam found themselves having a good day.

The feeling of a good time, of lucky chances, zinged from person to person, building and rising like a rogue wave, sending everyone into their Friday evening plans and weekend activities with reckless abandon.

Hours later, it was still in play as cars and trucks began parking in the lot at SpechtBox.

They’d made changes to how they let people in, moving the clutter that blocked the side door to the actual gym, and setting Dirix and Keeg and sometimes Anika at the door to check who was coming in, that no one was carrying hidden weapons in their gym bags, and collecting of phones for the locker. It was better this way with the increase in people who were coming to Scout Nights these days. No more walking them through the office spaces and giving access to the main hallway to the living quarters.

The first group to arrive included a couple regulars to the gym and one of the guys, who misinterpreted Anika’s no’s as maybes, decided it was a good time to tell her she was beautiful. Anika rolled her eyes while the rest of the regulars were grinning, as though this was the best entertainment around. Anika pulled open the gym door and shouted to Nina who was standing ready at the fight board to match and schedule tonight’s fighters, “Nina, put me in the ring with Ward!” She let the door slam shut and the guys went into an act of giving their last respects to Ward. The idiot was still grinning as though the upcoming bout was really going to be Anika flirting with him. She ignored him to collect phones from the next group, which she noted included a couple Liddies, a couple of whom she recognized from Gym Rat beat downs out in the streets. They saw her looking and threw their hands in the air, saying:

“Ay, we come in peace! Just looking for some tanks, like everyone else. Can’t do all the work ourselves, amiright?” While they jostled and laughed at their imagined hilarity, Anika’s eyes narrowed. They hadn’t called ahead and they hadn’t been invited. And who was the tall, older guy standing with them? She asked him,

“So who are you with Stupid 1 and Stupid 2?” The man’s belligerent expression did not change. He said,

“A smart person would know who I am.”

She knew that attitude and hated it (unless it was Kaz, and only then because she’d seen him back it up). It remained to be seen if this one would be able to do so. Maybe a new Lieutenant for the Liddies?

“Yeah, yeah,” Anika said, “We’ll figure you out in the ring.”

The guy didn’t respond but also did not drop his intent stare from Anika, handing his phone over in exchange for a key, with a deliberate attentiveness that gave her the creeps. Dirix looked through their bags, not finding anything worrisome. As they went through the door to the gym, Anika exchanged a raised brow with Dirix and Keeg. Keeg said,

“He’s the new Liddie,” and placing a dramatic hand on his heart, his eyes to the sky, he fell into disappointed parent mode and said, “They always start with such promise…”

That got a laugh as the next group approached. Anika noted that cars were still circling the lot to find places to park. Soon she peeled away and went to find Specht. He was doing his last minute prep walk around the gym and talking with Matthias who was following. She approached, saying, “Hey, it looks like we got more than our guest list.” She was edgy with anything that looked like a surprise. “And we got Liddies and Dime Lions in the mix.”  

But all Specht said was, “Ah, they must’ve heard we got the Jolly Giant in the ring tonight.”  Matthias made a strangled sound and turned a bit red while Specht’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement. Seeing that Anika was not amused, he offered, “I ain’t worried; it’s good for business.”

Still, Anika quickly reviewed the guest list in her mind and knowing there weren’t any big name clients attending tonight, said no more, promising to remain attentive. The gym filled to standing room only. Nina had filled in every spot on the schedule and reduced ring time for each pair. Anika smiled at seeing that despite the rework of the schedule, Nina still kept a place for her pairing with Matthias.

Anika went back to the entry door, standing guard over the phone locker cabinet. Nina remained near the schedule board. Jesper was leaning against the wall by the door to the locker rooms, main hallway, rooms and the office. He was talking with the Liddies, and she overheard car talk. She shook her head in bewilderment. Jesper was absolutely the only person who would willingly talk with his enemies and seem fine doing it.

Dirix was within sight of the locked back door. Matthias, Keeg and Specht were getting things sorted ringside for the first demo fight. Most everyone else was seated around the ring, bets being made here and there. Business as usual.

The new Liddie, who gave Nina the juvenile name of Big Willie for the fight board, sat in the last row of chairs that curved around the ring in the center of the gym, talking smack with the Dime Lions in the row ahead of him. Anika overheard the name Brekker and the Dregs, and listened to the guys talk down both. She was tempted to offer a bet to them that the new Dreg could beat all three of them anytime, anywhere. But why give them a heads up as to their inevitable future? Let them fuck around and find out. She smirked and felt the return of her earlier happy attitude.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Loud banging sounds, and the walls and light fixtures trembled. All three doors to the gym flew open and black garbed bodies holding military grade rifles poured into the space. Red laser sights cut left, right.

Shouted commands of “Freeze!” “Hands up!” “Hands behind your head!” “Down on the floor!” caused pandemonium as some grudgingly obeyed while others froze or ineffectively tried for an exit.

Anika’s frantic gaze found Specht, standing at attention alongside Matthias. Both had their hands interlaced behind their heads and were dropping slowly to the floor.  She heard Nina’s voice raised in defiance from across the room as Anika was abruptly shoved to the cement floor, her arms roughly pulled behind her. For the first time in her life, her hands were cuffed behind her. Fear-fueled rage bloomed in her gut. Tightly laced, black boots swung within inches of her face, as SWAT cops continued to sweep through the gym. The fuckers were automatons on adrenaline, and the place was loud with the sounds of chairs collapsing and falling to the floor as other guests were helped into position to be cuffed.

Anika heard Specht telling the StadWatch SWAT team that he was the owner and that he would like an explanation, that they could not conduct a search without a warrant. The uniform standing with his gun trained on Specht, told him to shut the fuck up.

Then the space between her and the others became clearer as the boots moved further into SpechtBox, out of the gym, down the hallway to the locker rooms, to the dorm rooms, to the office. She heard them bursting through doors and opening and closing everything they could. Fuck. They were searching like they had had some kind of tip. What were they expecting to find? What would they find unexpectedly? Anika was grinding her teeth and tasting blood.

Anika looked over at the Liddies and Dime Lions, a droplet of stress sweat running down her temple to the crease of her eye. It fell and stung, causing her eye to water. Great, they'd think she was crying. She blinked hard, trying to make out what the gang guys were doing. If one of them chose this moment to build their rep, and pulled a weapon...bullets would fly and someone in this room would feel it.

She knows, as does most everyone else, that their weapons search for Scout Night was minimal, relying on voluntary surrender of items as a token of compliance; there will be those with hidden weapons.

But it seems the good feeling of the early evening has prevailed. Barrel rats knew how to survive to fight another day. Everyone remained silent and surprisingly compliant before so many military grade guns. Nothing to do now but absorb the shock of SpechtBox being raided for the first time in its history.

Anika’s gaze returned to Specht and Matthias, both face down on the polished cement floor. Too much to process all at once, so it is only then that she realized Matthias has not been recognized or acknowledged by the StadWatch. He is one of them and yet he is down on the ground with a gun trained on him. What the fucking hell?

Boots clomped back into the room, and a voice full of smug victory said “Commander, we have found drugs in resale amounts. We are securing all monies and sources of information.”

Astonished that this raid is being led by the great and mighty, too well-connected-to-actually-endanger-himself, Commander of the StadWatch, Anika heard a low growl of anger from Specht. As she watched the Commander grab Specht’s cuffed hands to drag him to standing, her own body was suddenly lifted vertical and she scrambled to get her feet under her and moving in tandem with her own escort. She was force-marched, along with the rest, through the door to the parking lot where a big bus was parked out in the shadow soaked edge of the parking lot. They had anticipated an arrest of a large crowd did they? There is no doubt in her mind: this was planned.

-------------------------------

Two hours later, sitting on the cold floor, her back to the wall, she was only one person away now from being processed. She had been facing, in a similar line on the other side of the room, the clenched jaw and resolute expression of Specht. The only lightening of his expression had been at the release of his gym patrons. It had darkened again as each employee of SpechtBox was requested to take a piss test for drugs. She didn’t know what they did with the guys, but the woman officer who had escorted her to the toilet stall without a door, had stood staring directly at her, arms crossed. She’d got sat, cup lined up, and couldn’t do it against the stare. She’d sworn at the woman, telling her to give her a second. The woman had waited a long moment before rolling her eyes and turning on a spigot. It had been enough to complete the test but Anika would not forget this woman’s face or the name on her badge. If she ever found Fenna Morton alone in the Barrel…

Matthias hadn’t been placed in either line with the rest of them. They had hauled him off separately. She couldn’t get herself to stop thinking that he was a part of the raid somehow. He had snitch written all over him. She didn’t need to worry about him at all.

Since she had not seen Dirix, Keeg, or Jesper taken to the exit desk and given their personal items back, she figured they had been detained for the remainder of the night. Would they get their one call tonight or tomorrow? She didn’t have their lawyer’s number memorized. How had she failed to memorize it for just this moment? Her mind was going down rabbit holes and focusing on weeds. Specht would be the one to call his lawyer.

Oh great. Another thing. She was an underage youth living with a non-relative older male. It wasn’t illegal, but could the police force the issue of foster care? How much of their lives was totally fucked by this raid?

The woman who had stood over her drug test now told her to get up. She saw Specht being escorted back to an interview room at the same time. Strange that she should feel comfort in them both heading into questioning together. If her father had lived, how many times would she have already been through this? Would she have felt any comfort from seeing him across a room, felt they were in it together?

She was taken to the empty seat in front of an older officer seated before a laptop, with a Styrofoam cup of coffee to the side. He didn’t look up from his screen until she was seated and had been staring at his gray buzz cut, jowls, and red rubbery lips for far longer than she felt she deserved. His eyes though, were sharp. He looked her over and grunted in disdain.

“I knew your father. Sat across from me a couple times just like this. So let me guess, you’ve done nothing wrong and you don’t know nothing.” He smirked at the woman now standing behind her. She heard the woman give a laugh.

She knew enough not to answer anything but a direct question. She waited, staring just below his eyes, counting the broken blood vessels near his nose.

“What do you know about drugs at SpechtBox?”

She didn’t look in his eyes, and she didn’t speak.

He said, “Ohhhh, we have a tough one.”

Morton snorted, “Not really. She had to have the sink water on to give us a cup.”

Anika would no longer be waiting for a chance meeting with Fenna Morton. Anika would be planning it.

He resorted to asking her to verify her personal information and to give a summary of her job at SpechtBox. Then he told her she was being held overnight, on the Juvenile floor, until they had her drug test results. Those results would determine her length of stay. He’d then instructed that she could make one call to inform someone of her whereabouts. She’d snorted. The one person she would call was probably being asked to surrender his phone at this exact moment.

Morton took her to the temporary hold room on the Juvenile floor. The room was bare of all but narrow metal bunks bolted to the walls, with thin pads lining them. Two cameras in opposing corners would catch all activity. A narrow door in the back corner was the toilet. Anika hoped she didn’t need to go again before she got out. The best thing about the room was Nina, on a top bunk, sitting up with her back resting against the wall. It was an unsmiling version of Nina, one Anika would think twice before entering the ring with.  But here, in this very fucked up situation, Anika could admit to being grateful for Nina.  

Anika took the topmost bunk across from Nina. They stared at each other in silence, perched on the highest surfaces in the cell, and waited as Morton closed and secured the door.

They both looked to the cameras and then took in the tiny room with its grey-beige desperation and dim lighting. Nina shook her head. Anika leaned more heavily against the wall.

Neither of them would be sleeping and they both knew not to talk about SpechtBox, Scout Night, or the raid. Nina broke the silence with, “So tell me, what is summer like around here? What do the tourists like to do?”

Anika surprised herself with a huff of a laugh.  Well, she thought, someone was surely listening, why not make them listen to hours of absolutely nothing? She took in a relaxing breath and began to talk; going into excruciating detail about the weather, the best restaurants, the worst restaurants, the sports teams, the concerts in the Exchange, and the crazy clothes tourists wore in the steamy ocean air. Nina did her part by asking many questions.

All in all, it wasn’t the worst first visit to a Detention Center.

______________________________________

Over in the men’s section, Specht was allowed to call his lawyer. His lawyer, worth his fee and then some, answered despite the early hour of the morning.

The lawyer called Kaz, who similarly answered his phone in the early hours of the morning. The lawyer did not waste time with pleasantries or explanations, only read a particular phrase from the letter of instructions he had on file. The lawyer hung up and began preparing for an early morning arrival at the Detention Center.

Kaz knew what the phrase meant, having helped arrange the contingency plan that would now be put into play.  Kaz stopped his work at the FOB, dressed in his non-reflective black, and slipped into the remaining hours of dark. Contingency plans were only useful if executed immediately.

Chapter Text

The second biggest news to come out of the raid was that the owner and all of the employees of SpechtBox were drug free. Not a surprise to those who spent time at the gym and in the ring with them, but to outsiders who knew nothing of training to fight, or of building a body that could take blows as well as deliver them, there was disbelief that teens living in the Barrel would be drug free.

Unfortunately, a journalist with the Ketterdam Times had run with the story of the raid within an hour of their transfer from the bus and through the doors to the processing center. That brief moment when their faces were exposed to the hidden lens of the journalist’s camera, identities exposed, one by one. That first, breaking news story broadcast their faces across all social media with the headline StadWatch Raid Reveals Drug Trade Connections at Local Business. The article itself was peppered with the legal weasel words “allegedly,” “suspected,” and “no charges at this time” but the comments section was a raging conflagration of guesses by the time most in Ketterdam were drinking their morning coffee. If dealer-level amounts of street drugs had been found, then where had they come from? Why was a man of Specht’s age collecting underage street kids? Were child labor laws being broken? Were even more shady things going on? Were these children being groomed for sex trade? Why weren’t Health and Human Services officials involved? Shouldn’t they be in school? Why were such a group of gang affiliates meeting at night during non-business hours anyway? How could anyone claim this was above board? What was the profit margin of such a business? Was this a money laundering outfit? Was it actually a job saving raid by the Commander, being one of the biggest raids in the Barrel in the past dozen years?

So despite their drug-free status, when their items had been returned to them and they were awaiting the clearing of paperwork for their release, they were warned to stay away from the business property until given notice they could return. Standing a block away from the detention center, with sparse weekend traffic going by, they gathered, slouched and worn, to talk over their options.

Anika looked at her phone and discovered she had had a text from Kaz hours earlier, telling her that he still expected them all for a meeting at the FOB. She had burst out with a loud laugh at the insistence of business as usual, and the sudden release of tension had her smiling around at the rest of them. They waited for her to pass along the laugh. 

She told them, “Hey, Kaz says to not be late for the meeting this morning!”

They couldn’t help their own shouts of laughter, head shakes, and rolled eyes. Of course their first priority while abandoned on the sidewalk in smelly, rumpled clothes and stomachs growling with hunger, should be their timeliness to Kaz's meeting! They were all smiling somewhat, with postures a bit more relaxed as Anika ordered food to be delivered and Specht paid for them to all Uber to the FOB. The raid had changed so much so quickly, Specht was having a hard time knowing what to do beyond answering any calls from his lawyer, and checking in with Kaz on their contingency plans. It just made sense to join the meeting.

Specht sat up front with the driver, not saying much. He watched as they left the center of Ketterdam with its square cement planters and dark blue with white letter street signs. The hanging pots of greenery, the expensive cars gliding around them. He watched each turn made as they were carried downhill, past the refurbished business neighborhoods that made up the last swathe of city that looked cared for, across the jolt of old railway tracks used to carry imported goods from the harbors to inland purchasers. He watched as the driver slowed in response to the narrowing of the streets, lack of street signs, and lack of friendly expressions of those out in the open.  The voice of the car's Navsys continued with the directions unaware of the change in atmosphere. The driver was trying to be similarly calm, but had no natural talent for acting.

It was with obvious relief that the driver found their destination only a couple blocks from the tracks. It would be a short retrace back to the more comfortable side of Ketterdam. The driver’s display of unease made Specht feel all the more at home. As the driver pulled up to the curb, Specht exited quickly and turned away without a word. He may have been heavy handed with the door too, as the rest poured out onto the sidewalk in the early morning air. It was sea salt tang and the sour of garbage piles still awaiting pick up from city workers. They stood a moment, looking up at the building Kaz was making his own. Objectively it looked like every other building along this stretch of street, wearing erosion from wind and rain and lack of maintenance, and each window with a different treatment. These were the homes of those who had jobs in the Barrel. These were sought after spaces, despite being old and small and crowded. The FOB, as Kaz called it, stood like a quiet bruiser whose bulk beneath its clothes was truly all muscle.

Pim had been kept apprised of their ETA by Anika and so the door was pulled open and he waved them in with a silly butler bow as though they were visiting dignitaries. All the more ironic as they looked and smelled like they belonged out on the sidewalk with the garbage.

They followed Pim to a clean but empty room just off the main hallway. With no furniture, they once again found themselves with a choice of propping up a wall or sitting on the floor. Jesper grumbled out loud, but the rest busied themselves with taking whatever food Anika was handing out from the delivery bags. It was hot and plenty and there were boxes of brewed coffee. It was amazing how warm food and drink countered the usual complaints. Within minutes, through the partially open door and across the soft rumbles of tired commentary, came a familiar offbeat tread and accompanying thud of a walking stick.

Movement ceased and eyes swung to the door. Silence gathered and settled as Kaz pushed through the door and grabbed a cup of coffee. He limped to a section of wall as far from them as possible and slid to join them on the floor.

There was a shared moment of taking each other in. They saw a Kaz whose face did not change upon seeing them. It was a wall of unresponsiveness through which his dark eyes pierced them all similarly, without favor, without judgment, without anything approachable. Unconsciously they braced themselves more firmly against the wall support and waited on him to start. Anika thought, how is he so much older? Specht thought, it’s done, he’s become a gang member. Dirix and Keeg left their food on their plates to cross their arms over their chests, returning Kaz’s stare. Pim looked down at the floor boards, understanding the moment as he had gone through the same reintroduction just yesterday. Kaz was significantly different than he had been before he joined the Dregs and spent nearly two months with them.

Meanwhile, Kaz saw the fear they were trying to hide, but which was clearly evident in their braced shoulders and silence. They looked like street kids who had again been left by adults with nothing and nowhere to go.

Kaz scowled, pinching the dark circles under his eyes into shadow arrows mirroring his sharply angled brows. Anika thought, how? HOW can he be angry at THEM right now?

He said, narrowing his gaze at Specht, and passing the glare along to Dirix, Keeg and Anika in equal measure, “So. You let a couple of Liddies and Dime Lions get the drop on you? You let a newcomer plant drugs in your own bags, in your own business, in your own bedroom?” His voice, which had started out as a snarl, ended as a blade of sarcasm, cutting deep.

The room exploded with sounds of defensiveness, frustration, and very choice words. Kaz’s glare didn’t waver. He waited them out, until they quieted with the realization that they were spewing excuses Kaz wasn’t buying. He then said, looking again at Specht,

“You also invited a Fjerdan military police intern to Scout Night, thereby gifting the StadWatch with the specific date and time of Scout Night.”

With years of experience taking painful hits, Specht drew his arms across his chest, unknowingly mirroring the instinctive defensive stance of Dirix and Keeg, and glared back. But he did so with a sinking sense of shame.  Sure, they could protest, but they were Barrel folk and their acceptance of Matthias at barely more than face value was inexcusable.

“But don’t worry,” said Kaz, “he’s getting his own right now. Seems his bag picked up some of the same drugs. The Fjerdan government is probably fielding some uncomfortable calls this morning too.” His glare had become sharp-eyed amusement, and swept across the room, but no one was stupid enough to relax yet. They weren’t in the clear and he wasn’t done.

He returned to Specht. “You took us in, gave us a place out of the cold and wet, and fixed us up when we were sick. You gave us training and jobs. We owe you.”

Specht was vigorously shaking his head no, fierce with denial of it.

“Yes, we do. Maybe last night was long overdue, maybe it would have happened someday just because it’s the Barrel, but last night you lost whatever neutrality you were trying to hold, and will have to deal with the fall out. I wouldn’t blame you if you kicked every one of us out of your life right now.”

Specht was still shaking his head, but tiredly, as though trying to throw off multiple opponents. He glanced at the others, debating if he wanted to bring up the contingency plans in front of them. But before he spoke, Kaz continued,

“But I called this meeting before last night’s shit show to offer something else.”

Their focus intensified and their collective breath was held.

“Join me in the Dregs. Know that if anyone else ever tries anything again, you will strike back not just with your own fist, but with the fists, strength, and rage of your whole gang. Work with me and there will be a place for you here in the FOB.”

“You know me, and you see what I’ve got so far. Know that I have much bigger plans, and for those who join me, the rewards will be even greater.”

Everyone breathed and relaxed.

“I’m far too old to be brought into the Dregs,” Specht muttered, balling up the refuse of his meal.

“Old man, you’ve got far better skills than Haskell!” Kaz said. “You could kick the ass up one side and down the other of every other member of the current Dregs. You’d up our respect levels all through the Barrel.”

And now they were quiet, thinking of what they each might have to offer in trade, knowing a gang was something bigger than a circle of friends. There would be expectations and sworn oaths. There would be good pay outs and bitter consequences. For the rest of their lives. No one retired from the gangs, and there weren’t any rest homes catering to elderly has-beens. 

Kaz planted his cane to the floor and using incredible strength of arms and his good leg, hauled himself to standing. He was taller, grimmer, and distant, and clearly still the leader. Without a prompt, they all stood too, gathering their trash and putting it in the bag Anika offered around.

Kaz turned to Pim, “Go ahead and give them a tour of the rooms, then show each one to the basement door, one at a time.”

Anika snorted. “What, you aren’t giving the grand tour, Mr. Slum Lord?” A lot had already happened and now she was expected to accept a new home and a bigger family. She wanted an uplift, some laughs.

“No,” Kaz said, placing his cane before him and folding his hands over the top, posing like some big business kingpin triple his age, “the Slum Lord will be waiting to negotiate a contract with each of you after you’ve had time to consider the offer.”

There were grins from those who were relieved by Kaz joining Anika in lightening the mood, but also a few raised brows. Since when did a Barrel gang hand out contracts? Trust Kaz to add extra reins.

Pim began moving to the door and they all shuffled into a line behind him, like ducklings. As they walked by Kaz, some gave verbal yeses to joining the Dregs, working with Kaz, and living in the FOB.

Two had different answers. Specht, who said he’d join the Dregs, but would keep the gym and live there. And Nina, who said she wouldn’t miss the tour, but that she would need more time to think about it all and would stay with Specht in the meantime. She slipped through the door, leaving Specht alone with Kaz for the first time since the raid.

Specht remained leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. He asked, “You hear from Mr. Hess?”

Kaz nodded. “We can be grateful that the computer crimes division of the StadWatch needs their beauty sleep; everything was left in place for their arrival at 8 bells. Records were removed, records were planted. I left them a glossy image of upright business practices and no side interests. I broke connection with our backup server and erased all traces. And…” he paused, his signature smirk curling up and causing Specht to raise his brows in anticipation, “I dealt with one small detail we couldn’t have foreseen.”

Specht waited patiently, knowing it was something Kaz wanted to tell.

“Retrieving the drugs from the raid from the StadWatch Evidence Locker at the processing center, before they could transfer them to the Vault at headquarters. The Dregs will be returning the trick to the Liddies and Dime Lions.”

Specht's eyes gleamed with the spirit of retribution, but he had a doubt he wanted to test. “I thought while I was down on the floor, watching the Commander and his goons, that they might have been the ones to plant the drugs.”

Kaz’s eyelids dropped half way and he tilted his head, giving Specht an inspecting look. “Did you?” he said softly. And Specht understood without words, he was perhaps right in some way of suspecting the StadWatch.

Kaz turned to walk through the door, offering a final tidbit of information: “I have other, long-range plans for that insult.”

And that, thought Specht, was the biggest news to come out of the raid.