Page 55 of Six of Crows (Dregs 1)
Wylan coughed. Flirting with him might actually be more fun than annoying him, but it was a close call.
“Does Nina know you’re Grisha?”
“No and she’s not finding out. I don’t need lectures about joining the Second Army and the glorious Ravkan cause.”
“Do it again,” Kaz interrupted. “And hurry.”
Jesper repeated his effort on another bar.
“If this was the plan, what was the point to trying to smuggle in those lockpicks?” Wylan asked.
Kaz folded his arms. “Ever hear about the dying man whose medik told him he’d been miraculously cured? He danced into the street and was trampled to death by a horse. You have to let the mark feel like he’s won. Were the guards studying Matthias and wondering if he looked familiar? Were they looking for trouble when Jesper went into the showers with paraffin sloughing off his arms? No, they were too busy congratulating themselves on catching me. They thought they’d neutralized the threat.”
When Jesper finished, Kaz took the two slender lockpicks between his fingers. It was strange to see him work without his gloves, but in moments, the lock clicked open, and they were free. Once they were out, Kaz used his picks to lock the door behind them.
“You know your assignments,” he whispered. “Wylan and I will get Nina and Inej out. Jesper, you and Matthias—”
“I know,
nab as much rope as we can find.”
“Be in the basement by the half chime.”
They split. The wheels were in motion.
According to Wylan’s plans, the stables were adjacent to the gatehouse courtyard, so they would have to backtrack through the holding area. In theory, this section of the prison was only supposed to be active when prisoners were being processed in or out, but they still had to be careful. It would only take one wayward guard to ruin their plans. The scariest part was traversing the walkway through the glass enclosure, a long, brightly lit stretch that left them completely exposed. There was nothing to do but cross their fingers and make a run for it. Then they headed down the stairs and to the left of the chamber where that poor old Grisha amplifier had tested him. Jesper suppressed a shudder. Even though paraffin on his arms always worked at the gambling dens, his heart had still been hammering as he faced her. She’d been thin as a husk and as empty. That was what happened to Grisha who got found in the wrong place at the wrong time—a life sentence of slavery or worse.
When Jesper pushed open the door to the stables, he felt some small thing inside him relax. The smell of the hay, the shift of animals in their stalls, the nickering of the horses brought back memories of Novyi Zem. In Ketterdam, the canals rendered most coaches and wagons unnecessary. Horses were a luxury, an indulgence to show that you had the space to keep them and the wealth to care for them. He hadn’t realized how much he missed simply being around animals.
But there was no time for nostalgia or to stop and stroke a velvety nose. He strode past the stalls and into the tack room. Matthias hoisted a massive coil of rope over each shoulder. He looked surprised when Jesper managed two as well.
“Grew up on a farm,” Jesper explained.
“You don’t look it.”
“Sure, I’m skinny,” he said as they hurried back through the stables, “but I stay drier in the rain.”
“How?”
“Less falls on me.”
“Are all of Kaz’s associates as strange as this crew?” Matthias asked.
“Oh, you should meet the rest of the Dregs. They make us look like Fjerdans.”
They passed through the showers and, instead of continuing to the holding area, turned down a tight flight of stairs and the long dark hall that led to the basement. They were under the main prison now, five stories of cellblock, prisoners, and guards stacked on top of them.
Jesper had expected the rest of the crew to be collecting demo supplies in the big laundry room already. But all he saw were giant tin tubs, long tables for folding, and clothes left to dry overnight on racks taller than he was.
They found Wylan and Inej in the refuse room. It was smaller than the laundry and stank of garbage. Two big rolling bins full of discarded clothes were pushed against one wall, waiting to be burnt. Jesper felt the heat emanating from the incinerator as soon as they entered.
“We have a problem,” Wylan said.
“How bad?” Jesper asked, dumping his coils of rope on the floor.
Inej gestured to a pair of big metal doors set into what looked like a giant chimney that jutted out from the wall and stretched all the way up to the ceiling. “I think they ran the incinerator this afternoon.”
“You said they ran it in the mornings,” he said to Matthias.
“They used to.”
When Jesper grabbed the doors’ leather-covered handles and pulled them open, he was hit by a blast of searing air. It carried the black and acrid smell of coal—and something else, a chemical smell, maybe something they added to make the fires burn hotter. It wasn’t unpleasant. This was where all the refuse from the prisons was disposed of—kitchen leavings, buckets of human filth, the clothing stripped from prisoners, but whatever the Fjerdans had added to the fuel burned hot enough to sear any foulness away. He leaned in, already beginning to sweat. Far below, he saw the incinerator coals, banked but still pulsing with an angry red glow.
“Wylan, give me a shirt from one of the bins,” Jesper said.
He tore off one of the sleeves and tossed it into the shaft. It fell soundlessly, caught flame midair, and had begun to burn away to nothing before it ever had the chance to reach the coals.
He shut the doors and tossed the remnants of the shirt back in the bin. “Well, demo is out,” he said. “We can’t take explosives in there. Can you still make the climb?” he asked Inej.
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“What does Kaz say? Where is Kaz? And where’s Nina?”
“Kaz doesn’t know about the incinerator yet,” said Inej. “He and Nina went to search the upper cells.”
Matthias’ glower went dark as a rain-heavy sky ready to split. “Jesper and I were supposed to go with Nina.”
“Kaz didn’t want to wait.”
“We were on time,” said Matthias angrily. “What is he up to?”
Jesper wondered the same thing. “He’s going to limp up and down all those flights of stairs, dodging patrols?”
“I may have tried to point that out to him,” Inej said. “Always surprising, remember?”
“Like a hive of bees. I really hope we’re not all about to get stung.”
“Inej,” Wylan called from one of the rolling bins. “These are our clothes.”
He reached in and, one after the other, pulled out Inej’s little leather slippers.
Her face broke into a dazzling smile. Finally, a bit of luck. Kaz didn’t have his cane. Jesper didn’t have his guns. And Inej didn’t have her knives. But at least she had those magic slippers.
“What do you say, Wraith? Can you make the climb?”
“I can.”
Jesper took the shoes from Wylan. “If I didn’t think these might be crawling with disease, I would kiss them and then you.”
24
NINA
Nina trailed Kaz up the stairs. Flight upon steep flight of stone and flickering gaslight. She watched him closely. He was setting a good pace, but his gait was stiff. Why had he insisted on being the one to make this climb? It couldn’t be a question of time, so maybe it was what Kaz always intended. Maybe he’d meant to keep some bit of information from Matthias. Or he was just determined to keep them all guessing.
They paused at every landing, listening for patrols. The prison was full of sounds, and it was hard not to jump at every one of them—voices floating down the stairwell, the metallic clang of doors opening and closing. Nina thought of the violent chaos of Hellgate, bribes changing hands, blood staining the sand, a world away from this sterile place. The Fjerdans could certainly be counted on to keep things orderly.
On their way up the fourth flight, voices and boot steps suddenly burst into the stairwell. Hurriedly, Nina and Kaz backtracked to the third-floor landing and slipped through the door leading to the cells. The prisoner in the cell nearest to them started to shout. Nina quickly raised a hand and squeezed his airway shut. He stared at her, eyes bulging, clawing at his neck. She dropped his pulse, sending him into unconsciousness as she released the pressure on his larynx, allowing him to breathe. They needed him quiet, not dead.
The noises grew as the guards clambered down the stairs, loud Fjerdan reverberating off the walls. Nina held her breath, watching the door, hands ready. Kaz had no weapon, but he’d dropped into a fighting stance, waiting to see if the door would crash open. Instead, the guards continued on past the landing, down to the next floor.
When the sounds had faded, Kaz signaled to her, and they slipped back out the door, closing it as silently as possible behind them, and continued their ascent.
Seven bells struck as they reached the top floor. One hour had passed since they’d knocked out the prisoners in the holding area. They had forty-five minutes to search the high-security cells, meet back at the landing, and get to the basement. Kaz gestured for her to take the corridor on the left while he took the right.
The door creaked loudly as Nina stepped inside. The lanterns were spaced far apart here, and the shadows between them looked dee
p enough to fall into. She told herself to be grateful for the cover, but she couldn’t deny it was eerie. The cells were different, too, with doors of solid steel instead of iron bars. A viewing grate was lodged into each of them at eye level. Well, eye level for a Fjerdan. Nina was tall, but she still had to stand on tiptoe to peek into them.
Most of the prisoners were asleep or resting, curled into corners or flat on their backs with an arm thrown over their eyes to block out the dim lamplight that filtered through the grate. Others sat propped against the walls, staring listlessly at nothing. Occasionally she found someone pacing back and forth and had to step away quickly. None of them were Shu.
“Ajor?” one called after her in Fjerdan. She ignored him and moved on, heart thudding.
What if Bo Yul-Bayur really was in these cells? She knew it was unlikely, and yet … she could kill him in his cell, put him in a deep, painless sleep, and simply stop his heart. She’d tell Kaz she hadn’t found him. And what if Kaz located Bo Yul-Bayur? She might have to wait until they were out of the Ice Court to find a solution, but she could at least count on Matthias to help her. What a strange, grim bargain they’d struck.
But as she worked her way back and forth along the corridors, the tiny hope that the scientist might be there withered away to nothing. One more row of cells, she thought, then back down to the basement with nothing to show for it. Except when she entered the final corridor, she saw it was shorter than the others. Where there should have been more cells there was a steel door, bright light shining beneath it.
A flutter of unease passed through her as she approached, but she made herself push the door open. She had to squint against the brightness. The light was harsh—as clear as daylight but with none of its warmth—and she couldn’t locate its source. She heard the door whooshing closed behind her. At the last moment she whirled and grabbed it by the edge. Something told her this door would need a key to unlock it from the inside. She looked for anything she might use to prop it open, and had to settle for tearing off a piece from the bottom of her prison trousers and stuffing it in the lock.
This place felt wrong. The walls, floor, and ceiling were a white so clean it hurt to look at. Half of one wall was made up of panels of smooth, perfect glass. Fabrikator made. Just like the glass enclosure surrounding that vile display of weaponry. No Fjerdan craftsman could make surfaces so pristine. Grisha power had been used to create this glass, she felt sure of it. There were rogue Grisha who served no country and who might consider hiring themselves out to the Fjerdan government. But would they survive such a commission? Slave labor seemed more likely.
