She skittered backward over the landing and up the stairs. When she was halfway up, she cast a terrified glance back at Kaz. He raised one gloved finger to his lips.
When she was gone, Wylan slipped out from behind the door and followed Kaz down the steps. “How could you say something like that to her? She’s just a child.”
“We were all just children once.”
“But—”
“It was that or snap her neck and make it look like she fell down the stairs, Wylan. I think I showed remarkable restraint. Move.”
They picked their way past the rest of the dogs still flopped down in the hallway. “Incredible,” Kaz said. “They’d probably stay like that all night.” He blew on the whistle and they leapt up, ears pricked, ready to guard the house. When Smeet returned home, all would be as it should: hounds pacing the ground floor; office intact on the second floor; wife snoozing comfortably on the third floor, and daughter pretending to do the same.
Kaz checked the street and then waved Wylan outside, pausing only to lock the door behind them.
They hurried down the cobblestones. Wylan peered over his shoulder. He couldn’t quite believe they’d gotten away with it.
“Stop looking around like you think someone’s following you,” Kaz said. “And stop scurrying. You couldn’t look guiltier if you were performing the role of Thief Number Three in a penny play on East Stave. Next time walk normally. Try to look like you belong.”
“There isn’t going to be a next time.”
“Of course not. Keep your collar up.”
Wylan didn’t argue. Until Inej was safe, until they’d gotten the money they’d been promised, he couldn’t make any grand ultimatums. But there would be an end to this. There had to be, didn’t there?
Matthias gave a high birdcall from the other end of the street. Kaz glanced at his watch and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it wildly. “Right on time.”
They rounded the corner and slammed directly into Cornelis Smeet.
M atthias kept to the shadows, watching this strange play unfold.
Cornelis Smeet tipped, losing his footing, hat sliding from his nearly bald head. The boy who had run into him stepped forward, offering assistance.
The boy was Kaz, but he was not Kaz. His dark hair was mussed, his manner flustered. He kept his eyes averted, his chin tucked into his collar as if hopelessly embarrassed—a green youth, respectful of his elders. Wylan hovered behind him, shrunken so deeply into his coat Matthias thought he might actually disappear.
“Watch where you’re going!” Smeet huffed indignantly, resettling the hat on his head.
“Terribly sorry, sir,” Kaz said, brushing the shoulders of Smeet’s jacket. “Curse my clumsiness!” He bent to the cobblestones. “Oh dear, I think you dropped your wallet.”
“So I did!” Smeet said in surprise. “Thank you. Thank you very much.” Then, as Matthias watched in disbelief, Smeet opened his billfold and drew out a crisp five-kruge bill. “There you are, young man. Pays to be honest.”
Kaz kept his head down but somehow managed to convey humble appreciation as he murmured, “Too kind, sir. Too kind. May Ghezen be as generous.”
The portly lawyer went on his way, hat askew, humming a little tune, oblivious to the fact that he’d just run directly into the card dealer who had sat across from him for two hours in Club Cumulus. Smeet arrived at his door and pulled a chain from his shirt, then frantically patted his waistcoat, searching for his whistle.
“You didn’t put it on the chain?” asked Matthias as Kaz and Wylan joined him in the dark doorway. He knew such tricks were well within Kaz’s abilities.
“Didn’t bother.”
Smeet rooted around in his shirt, then fished out the whistle and unlocked the door, humming once more. Matthias could not fathom it. He’d kept his gaze trained on Kaz’s gloved hands as he’d fussed over Smeet, but even knowing that Kaz intended to return the whistle, Matthias hadn’t been able to detect the moment of deception. He was tempted to drag Smeet back and make Kaz perform the trick again.
Kaz neatened his hair with his fingers and handed the five kruge to Wylan. “Don’t spend it all in one place. Let’s move.”
Matthias ushered them along to the narrow side canal where he’d moored the rowboat. He tossed Kaz his cane, and they clambered down. Kaz had been wise not to allow himself the use of his walking stick this night. If someone noticed a boy with a crow’s head cane lurking around the offices of Cornelis Smeet at an unusual hour, if an offhand mention of that fact somehow reached Van Eck’s ears, all their work would be for nothing. To get Inej back, they would need surprise on their side, and the demjin was not the type to leave anything to chance.
“Well?” Matthias asked as the boat slid along the dark waters of the canal.
“Hold your tongue, Helvar. Words like to ride the water. Put yourself to use and help work the oars.”
Matthias fought the urge to snap his oars in half. Why was Kaz incapable of keeping a civil tongue? He gave orders as if he simply expected everyone to follow his commands, and he’d been twice as insufferable since Van Eck had taken Inej. But Matthias wanted to get back to Black Veil and Nina as fast as possible, so he did as he was bid, feeling his shoulders flex as the boat moved against the current.
He put his mind to keeping track of the landmarks they passed, trying to remember street and bridge names. Though Matthias studied a map of the city every night, he had found Ketterdam’s knots of alleys and canals nearly impossible to untangle. He’d always prided himself on a good sense of direction, but this city had defeated it, and he frequently found himself cursing whatever mad hand had thought it wise to raise a city from a swamp and then arrange it without order or logic.
Once they passed beneath Havenbridge, he was relieved to find his surroundings becoming familiar again. Kaz tipped his oars, steering them into the murky waters of Beggars’ Bend, where the canal widened, and guided them into the shallows of Black Veil Island. They tucked the boat behind the drooping limbs of a white willow and then picked their way up through the graves that dotted the steep bank.
Black Veil was an eerie place, a miniature city of white marble mausoleums, many carved into the shape of ships, their stone figureheads weeping as they cut across an invisible sea. Some bore the stamp of Ghezen’s Coins of Favor, others the three flying fishes of Kerch that Nina said indicated a member of the family had served in the government. A few were watched over by Ravkan Saints in flowing marble robes. There was no sign of Djel or his ash tree. Fjerdans would not want to be interred above the earth, where they could not take root.
Almost all the mausoleums had fallen into disrepair, and many were little more than piles of slumped rock overgrown with vines and clusters of spring flowers. Matthias had been horrified at the idea of using a cemetery as a safe house, no matter how long it had been abandoned. But of course, nothing was sacred to Kaz Brekker.
“Why don’t they use this place anymore?” Matthias had asked when they’d taken over a vast tomb at the island’s center as their hideout.
“Plague,” Kaz replied. “The first bad outbreak was more than a hundred years ago, and the Merchant Council prohibited burial within city limits. Now bodies have to be cremated.”