Up in his office, Inej was already waiting, leaning against the wall. She shared a glance with Kaz, as if asking if she should stay. He gave a single nod. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate you calling me up here,” Jesper said as he stepped inside, “but I’m guessing it’s not to have a nice cup of tea?” 

Kaz sank down in his desk-chair. An almost imperceptible sigh slipped from his lips as he stretched his leg out and he caught Inej sending him a worried glance from the side but ignored her. This wasn’t the time for pity. 

“It happened again.” 

The vault had been empty. Nothing. Not even a trace of someone else having been there, but all that Kaz had wanted had been gone. 

Jesper whistled through his teeth. “What’s that now? The third time?” 

“How?” Inej asked. 

Kaz folded his hand together. That was the thing—he didn’t know how. Someone had been thwarting his plans and he could not for the life of him figure out how they did it. Or why. Why they only picked some of the hardest jobs while there were easier and more profitable undertakings they could have chosen. 

There was a pattern, Kaz was sure, but clouded by his vexation he couldn’t see it. The gambling den on East Stave. The store in the Exchange. The vault in the councilman’s office. Something was connecting those three workings but he didn’t know what. 

“We have to take different measures,” he said, ignoring Inej’ question. “Somehow, someone is aware of our plans and keeps beating us to them.” 

Jesper frowned. “Any idea who? That’d make shooting them a little easier.” 

“No one will be shooting anyone.” But at Jesper’s pout Kaz added, “Yet.” 

Hands already resting on his guns, Jesper flashed a smile. Then he turned grave. “Do you think it’s Rollins?” 

Kaz bit back the red haze of anger. “No,” he said. “No one would do this so silently unless they had something to hide. If Rollins had done this, the whole Barrel would’ve known. Besides, the Exchange job would be stealing from his own pocket. A whole lot of trouble for nothing.” 

“He’s too lazy for that,” Inej added. 

“So who then?” Jesper asked. 

“Yes, who then?” Kaz pulled out a map and let his finger wander down the streets of Ketterdam. “That’s what we’ll find out.” 

No one outsmarted the Bastard of Barrel, and they sure as hell wouldn’t attempt it from the shadows. If whoever was hindering him didn’t want to show their face, he’d put the spotlight on them himself. 

Inej and Jesper shared a glance. 

“Scheming face?” 

Inej nodded, stepping closer to the desk. “Most definitely.” 

Kaz gave his bad leg a stretch and rolled his shoulders. There’d be time to rest later. “Let’s set a trap, shall we?” 

-o-o-o-o-o-

You hid your face in the collar of your coat as a group of workers passed you. One of the men laughed loudly and you shrunk together even more, pulling your hat closer over your face. The men walked past you without taking notice, but you didn’t dare to breathe out until you’d turned the corner.

Between the constant stadwatch patrols and the dark, solid storehouses, the Warehouse District wasn’t exactly one of your favourite parts of the city. That it was the best secured place in Ketterdam also didn’t work in its favour. Not when you were there to steal something. 

At exactly eleven bells you turned into the street that served your destination. You glanced around, but there was only silent nighttime around you, and took your hat off. Keeping your hands in your pockets, feeling the lockpicks in one hand and the small handgun in the other, you walked until you reached the door under the third street light. 

Everything had almost been ridiculously easy. The man that had boasted about the cheque he’d gotten from his latest shipment had almost been too loud. When you’d checked whether the shipment was real it had almost gone too smoothly. And the street was almost too empty, too silent, too dark. 

But you needed the money and with the way you figured the man had earned it, it wouldn’t be too much of a loss if he never got to spend it. Honest work didn’t exist in Ketterdam and you really did not want to go back to living on the street. 

At the door, you dropped to your knees and let the lockpicks slip into your hands. If anyone were to walk by you could pretend the ties of your shoes had come loose, but the lock clicked before you’d seen anyone. After one last glance at the dark street, you slipped inside. 

The storehouse was no different from any of the other ones in the Warehouse District. You entered an entrance hall that was shielded from the vast space of the warehouse by wooden panels. On your left there was a table and some benches for the workers and in the darkness you could make out a discarded coat and a stack of newspapers. 

The silence of the warehouse gave you chills, but you shook them off. You were here for a simple thing and you’d be out quickly. It was easy, just like stealing those authenticity papers on the jurda shipment at the Exchange had been. 

But all sense of confidence left you as you saw the faint light coming from the office up in the corner of the storehouse. In a single move you had pulled the gun from your pocket and felt the dagger slip from your sleeve to your palm. 

You should turn around and leave—that was the sensible thing. But when had you ever been sensible?

Slowly you walked through the stockpiles, keeping your footsteps as soundless as possible. You could hear nothing, no voices, no movement, but the light shouldn’t be burning. The most fortuitous explanation would be that someone had left it on, but you’d learned the hard way that luck was only for those who could afford it. And, considering you were here to steal money, you clearly weren’t one of those.

At the bottom of the stairwell up to the office you halted and listened. There still was no sound. You crept up the stairs, glancing over your shoulder once you were halfway. From up there you could see the entire hall of the storehouse, but it was empty. 

You went on and at the top, you nudged open the door with your elbow, keeping both the gun and knife ready in your hands. The door opened with a squeak. 

There, on the desk in the middle of the office, stood a single lantern, illuminating the entire room. The rest was empty. With a relieved sigh, you stepped inside, lowering your weapons. 

“Wrong choice, darling.” 

The door closed. 

You spun around. 

There was a flash of silver before something hard hit your head and you went down. 

-o-o-o-o-o-

It was a trap. 

Of course it was. You should have realised that, but you’d been on a winning streak lately and you’d overestimated your own abilities. A little confidence had never hurt anyone, but this shouldn’t have happened. You couldn’t afford missteps. 

Your head hurt so much that you couldn’t open your eyes just yet. The pain spread from your left temple and it came in waves. 

Upon trying to move you found your wrist stuck in ropes and you tried not to panic. Apart from the pain in your head, you seemed unharmed and you tried to take relief from the fact that whoever had bound you at least hadn’t killed you. Yet. 

What if they had found you? Had they come for you like they had all those years ago?

Your breaths grew ragged and your chest felt like it was the part of your body bound with ropes. There was something acidic in the back of your throat, the sense burning behind your eyes. Your heart was pounding, sending the blood through your veins in wavering shocks. 

You needed to open your eyes. You needed to breathe. You needed to get loose. You needed out. 

Between your fits of panic you heard a door open and behind your eyelids you noticed the faint hue of light. In a reflex you opened your eyes and then quickly turned your head away. 

The room you were in was dark, but in the weak light you could see a stone floor and heaps of what you presumed was cotton. You told yourself to breathe. 

One step at a time. Eyes, breath, wrists. 

Once you had gathered your breath, your panic stilled. Instead, resolve filled you. You had seen worse situations, had lived through more danger—you could get out of this. And perhaps, you thought as you slightly lifted your gaze and caught two pairs of feet and the tip of a cane, there was even something to gain. 

It was time people paid their debts.

Eyes, breath, wrists. You took one final deep breath and looked up. The pain in your head was distracting but you bit it back. There was no time for weakness. As soon as your eyes landed on the person standing in front of you, you grinned. 

“Well, well, well. Kaz Brekker, as I live and breathe. To what do I owe the pleasure of being kidnapped by the Barrel’s bastard?” 

Kaz Brekker didn’t move a muscle as he stared at you. “Councilman Frederiksen recently lost his opal-inlaid family crest. It has disappeared from his vault, along with documents proclaiming his investment in the business of another esteemed councilman. Slootmaekers, I believe his name is.” He blinked. “Whoever has stolen the crest seems to have disappeared with it. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” 

Brekker’s dark glare was piercing and you felt a shiver run down your spine. Out of all people that could have come for you, he was the last one you’d expected. But it did bring forth a fortunate opportunity. 

Maybe luck hadn’t given up on you after all.

“I’m afraid not.” 

“No, of course not. Let me try again. Maybe this will ring a bell: A week ago, a shipment of jurda came in from Novyi Zem. Quality stuff, rumoured to have been handpicked and to last longer than any other kind on the market right now.” 

You pursed your lips. “Sounds like a pricey investment.” 

“It was one. You can imagine the investor’s fury when he found out someone had stolen the papers declaring the jurda’s authenticity. Without those, not only did the jurda lose its value, so did the investor his credibility. Almost as if the thief had wanted that to happen. You do not, by any chance, know something of it, do you?” 

“Can’t say I do. But it sounds like an impressive job.” 

“I must admit that it was.” He flexed his gloved fingers on the head of his cane and you saw he was narrowing the edge of his composure. “Allow me to try one more time. Mr. Jim Albert. Ever heard that name before?” 

You froze. “What about him?” 

“Hm.” A ghost of a smile passed Kaz Brekker’s face. “He disappeared three weeks ago, right before he was supposed to meet new investors. I’d know, because I was one of them. We waited two hours but he never showed. The next day his body was found in his gambling den’s backalley.” 

The game was over and you had lost. You knew and so did Brekker. He tilted his head to the side and looked at you. “I suppose you don’t know anything about that either?” 

You started to laugh, simply because you didn’t know what else to do. 

“Very clever. The crest and jurda I would have left unclaimed easily, but” —you let your laugh die out— “Albert’s death is mine. And if you want an apology for your failed investment, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.” 

Kaz raised an eyebrow. “I never expected it to pay off anyway, but I admit it would have liked some power after his bankruptcy. No, keep your apologies to yourself—I was curious as to why.” 

“I was trying to find a new hobby. Spice things up?” 

The person next to Brekker barked a laugh and you moved your gaze. “You’ve brought your loyal companion, I see.” You flashed a smile. “Jesper Fahey. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, although the circumstances under which would not have been my first choice.” 

“You know me?” Jesper asked. 

“I do my homework.” You looked around, silently noticing that you hadn’t left the Warehouse District, judging by the cotton storehouse around you. “So, now you know I stole the crest and documents, and I killed Albert. What do you want?” 

“I want to know why.” Brekker took one step closer. “You have cost me time and money, so you better make it worth it. Who do you work for?” 

“Work for?” you scoffed. 

“The Razorgulls? Black Tips? Did Geels hire you? Or is it Rollins?” 

The anger got to you before you could stop it. You surged forward with a snarl. If your hands hadn’t been bound, you were sure Brekker would have been a heap against the wall now. 

“How dare you? How dare you suggest I work for that lowlife asshole?” You heard the soft click of a gun being loaded and when you looked aside you found Jesper’s gun pointed at your face. You turned back to Kaz. “Choose your words better next time, Brekker, or even that poor cane of yours won’t be able to help you walk anymore.” 

You sunk back in the chair, fingers clutched around the rope on your wrists. Jesper lowered his gun. 

“So not Rollins,” he said. “Noted. Kaz?” 

This one was staring down at you with a strange, dark expression on his face. It lasted for a second, then it cleared and he was back.

“I work for no one,” you said, trying to keep your voice from trembling. “It’s just me.” 

“Why those jobs? Where did you get the information?” 

“Word is all around, you just have to listen to the right things.” You gestured around with your head. “Of course, not everything pays off.” 

“That doesn’t answer the question.” 

“You asked two questions at the same time, that makes it rather hard to answer.” 

Kaz squeezed his eyes. “Why did you kill Albert before the meeting?” 

“Albert gambled off children in his club,” you said. Upon seeing Jesper’s shocked face and even Kaz’ shadow of disgust, you added, “Yes, quite the secret, isn’t it? He deserved the ending he got. They say death is like falling asleep, but I made sure Albert got haunted by some nightmares first.” You shook your head. “If I had known there’d be money to be earned with his death, I would’ve chosen a different time, but I do not regret killing him.” 

In the back of your head you could still hear his screams and your own hysterical laughter. Cruel, but you weren’t lying. Albert had thrown you into this life so it was only fair he got what he deserved. 

“I see. And the jurda job?” 

“It was an easy one,” you shrugged. “Anyone in their right mind would have done it. You tried too, but I suppose you don’t care to tell me why?” 

Brekker stroked a hand over the lapel of his coat. “Same reason as you, no doubt. What about Frederiksen?”

You huffed. “Do you expect me to reveal all my secrets, Brekker?” When he said nothing and just kept watching expectantly, you turned to Jesper. “Is he always this relentless?” 

“You learn to deal with it,” Jesper said, giving you a light grin. 

“I doubt that.” You looked at Kaz. “The crest is worth a lot. Of course there are easier ways to get money, but where’s the fun in that? Getting into the mansion wasn’t the problem but the vault was a puzzle. Took me three nights to figure it out, but I guess there are worse ways to spend your evenings.” You felt the rope in your hands. “Like being bound to a chair.” 

“And the documents?” 

“They were… a lucky surprise.” You thought of the papers under your mattress, the effort they had cost you to get to them, and the rage which with you had almost torn them apart. Even after all those years, that name still did that to you. “A nice way to stir things up.” 

Jesper laughed. “I like her, Kaz.” 

You smiled at him. That was one. But with just Jesper’s support you wouldn’t get far. 

“So,” you said, tilting your chair back. “What more do you want to know?”

Brekker stared at you for a minute and you had the strange feeling he could see through your act. “One more thing.” 

“Let me guess: Why tonight?” You shrugged. “A girl’s gotta eat, not? I hate to admit that you had me fooled so easily, but you did.” 

“No.” Kaz pointed with his cane to you. “I want to know why you are still here when you have freed yourself from the rope minutes ago.” 

Eyes, breath, wrists. You held out your unbound hands in front of you. Then you looked up; Jesper was staring at you with an impressed look on his face but Kaz seemed unfazed. 

“The same reason you haven’t killed me yet, if I judge correctly.” You crossed your arms and leaned back. “You’re interested. So am I. We could work together.” 

Brekker said nothing but you could see on his face that you’d guessed right. You truly hadn’t wanted to ruin his jobs, it had been a coincidence. And now he knew, perhaps there was a chance here. An opportunity to finally get your revenge. 

“We could still kill you,” Jesper offered, but there was a smirk on his face. 

Brekker wasn’t so merry. “One wrong move and it’s over,” he said. Then he nodded, “What do you have?” 

You straightened, the excitement of a new job filling you with that familiar tingle, and grinned. Time to get to work. “Oh, it’s got it all. Money. Danger. Fun.” 

Revenge. 

Once, you had vowed to bring them all down, to never rest until you saw their bodies lowered into the ground. For years you had been nurturing your rage, preparing for this moment, when you would see them fall one by one. 

You would come for them as they had come for you. 

- - - - - - -

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