Page 53 of Crooked Kingdom (Dregs 2)
When Kaz had broken into the house to steal the DeKappel, he’d been surprised by the office’s plush trappings. He’d expected severe mercher restraint, but the woodwork was heavily ornamented with swags of laurel leaves; a chair the size of a throne, upholstered in crimson velvet, loomed over the wide, glossy desk.
“Behind the painting,” Wylan whispered, gesturing to a portrait of one of the Van Eck ancestors.
“Which member of your hallowed line is that supposed to be?”
“Martin Van Eck, my great-great-grandfather. He was a ship’s captain, the first to land at Eames Chin and navigate the river inland. He brought back a shipload of spices and used the profits to buy a second ship—that’s what my father told me, anyway. That was the start of the Van Eck fortune.”
“And we’ll be the end of it.” Kaz shook out a bonelight, and the green glow filled the room. “Quite a resemblance,” he said, glancing at the gaunt face, the high brow, and stern blue eyes.
Wylan shrugged. “Except for the red hair, I always took after my father. And his father and all the Van Ecks. Well, until now.”
They each took a side of the painting and lifted it from the wall.
“Look at you,” Kaz crooned as Van Eck’s safe came into view. Safe didn’t even seem like the right word. It was more like a vault, a steel door set into a wall that had itself been reinforced with more steel. The lock on it was Kerch-made but like nothing Kaz had ever seen before, a series of tumblers that could be reset with a random combination of numbers every day. Impossible to crack in less than an hour. But if you couldn’t open a door, you just had to make a new one.
The sound of raised voices filtered up from the floor below. The merchers were finding something to disagree about. Kaz wouldn’t have minded a chance to eavesdrop on that conversation. “Let’s go,” he said. “The clock is ticking.”
Wylan removed two jars from his satchel. On their own, they were nothing special, but if Wylan was right, once they were combined, the resulting compound would burn through everything except the balsa glass container.
Wylan took a deep breath and held the jars away from his body. “Stay back,” he said, and poured the contents of one jar into the other. Nothing happened.
“Well?” Kaz said.
“Move, please.”
Wylan took a balsa glass pipette and drew out a small amount of liquid, letting it trickle down the front of the safe’s steel door. Instantly, the metal began to dissolve, giving off a noisy crackle that seemed uncomfortably loud in the small room. A sharp metallic smell filled the air, and both Kaz and Wylan covered their faces with their sleeves.
“Trouble in a bottle,” Kaz marveled.
Wylan worked steadily, carefully transferring the auric acid from the jar onto the steel, the hole in the safe door growing steadily larger.
“Pick up the pace,” Kaz said, eyeing his watch.
“If I spill a single drop of this, it will burn straight through the floor onto my father’s dinner guests.”
“Take your time.”
The acid consumed the metal in rapid bursts, burning quickly and only gradually tapering off. Hopefully, it wouldn’t eat through too much of the wall after they left. He didn’t mind the idea of the office collapsing on Van Eck and his guests, but not before the night’s business was complete.
After what felt like a lifetime, the hole was big enough to reach through. Kaz shone the bonelight inside and saw a ledger, stacks of kruge, and a little velvet bag. Kaz drew the bag from the safe, wincing when his arm made contact with the edge of the hole. The steel was still hot enough to singe.
He shook the contents of the bag into his leather-clad palm: a fat gold ring with an engraving of a red laurel and Van Eck’s initials.
He tucked the ring into his pocket, then grabbed a couple of stacks of kruge and handed one over to Wylan.
Kaz almost laughed at the expression on Wylan’s face. “Does this bother you, merchling?”
“I don’t enjoy feeling like a thief.”
“After everything he’s done?”
“Yes.”
“So much for righteous. You do realize we’re stealing your money?”
“Jesper said the same thing, but I’m sure my father wrote me out of his will as soon as Alys became pregnant.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re any less entitled to it.”
“I don’t want it. I just don’t want him to have it.”
“What a luxury to turn your back on luxury.” Kaz shoved the kruge into his pockets.
“How would I run an empire?” Wylan said, tossing the pipette into the safe to smolder. “I can’t read a ledger or a bill of lading. I can’t write a purchase order. My father is wrong about a lot of things, but he’s right about that. I’d be a laughingstock.”
“So pay someone to do that work for you.”
“Would you?” asked Wylan, his chin jutting forward. “Trust someone with that knowledge, with a secret that could destroy you?”
Yes, thought Kaz without hesitation. There’s one person I would trust. One person I know would never use my weaknesses against me.
He thumbed quickly through the ledger and said, “When people see a cripple walking down the street, leaning on his cane, what do they feel?” Wylan looked away. People always did when Kaz talked about his limp, as if he didn’t know what he was or how the world saw him. “They feel pity. Now, what do they think when they see me coming?”
Wylan’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “They think they’d better cross the street.”
Kaz tossed the ledger back in the safe. “You’re not weak because you can’t read. You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. You’re letting shame decide who you are. Help me with the painting.”
