Six of Crows (Six of Crows #1)(145)
Brekker ’s jaw set. “My shares in the Crow Club and Fifth Harbour.”
Rollins sat up straighter. “You’d sell your stake?”
“Yes. And for another hundred thousand I’ll throw in an original DeKappel.”
Rollins leaned back and pressed his fingers together. “It’s not enough, you know. Not to go to war with the Merchant Council.”
“It is for this crew.”
“This crew?” Rollins said with a snort. “I can’t believe you sorry lot were the ones to successfully raid the Ice Court.”
“Believe it.”
“Van Eck is going to put you in the ground.”
“Others have tried. Somehow I keep coming back from the dead.”
“I respect your drive, kid. And I understand. You want your money; you want the Wraith back; you want a bit of Van Eck’s hide—”
“No,” said Brekker, his voice part rasp, part growl. “When I come for Van Eck, I won’t just take what’s mine. I’ll carve his life hollow. I’ll burn his name from the ledger. There will be nothing left.”
Pekka Rollins couldn’t count the threats he’d heard, the men he’d killed, or the men he’d seen die, but the look in Brekker ’s eye still sent a chill slithering up his spine. Some wrathful thing in this boy was begging to get loose, and Rollins didn’t want to be around when it slipped its leash.
“Open the safe, Doughty.”
Rollins doled out the cash to Brekker, then had him write out a transfer order for his shares in the Crow Club and the goldmine that was Fifth Harbour. When he held out his hand to shake on the deal, Brekker ’s grip was knuckle-crushing.
“You don’t remember me at all, do you?” the boy asked.
“Should I?”
“Not just yet.” That black thing flickered behind Brekker ’s eyes.
“The deal is the deal,” said Rollins, eager to be done with this strange lot.
“The deal is the deal.”
When they’d gone, Rollins peered through the big glass window that overlooked the gambling floor of the Emerald Palace.
“An unexpectedly profitable end to the day, Doughty.”
Doughty grunted agreement, surveying the action taking place at the tables below – dice, cards, Makker ’s Wheel, fortunes won and lost, and a delicious slice of all of it came to Rollins.
“What’s with those gloves he wears?” the bruiser asked.
“A bit of theatre, I suspect. Who knows? Who cares?”
Rollins watched Brekker and his crew moving through the crowded gambling hall. They opened
the doors to the street, and for a brief moment, they were silhouetted against the lamplight in their masks and capes – a cripple trailed by a bunch of kids in costumes. Some gang. Brekker was a wily thief and tough enough, Pekka supposed, inventive, too. But unlike those poor stooges at the Ice Court, Van Eck would be ready for Brekker. The boy was going into a real battle. He didn’t stand a chance.
Rollins reached for his watch. It had to be about time for the dealers to change shifts, and he liked to supervise them himself.
“Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed a second later.
“What is it, boss?”
Rollins held up his watch chain. A turnip was hanging from the fob where his diamond-studded timepiece should have been. “That little bastard—” Then a thought came to him. He reached for his wallet. It was gone. So was his tie pin, the Kaelish coin pendant he wore for luck, and the gold buckles on his shoes. Rollins wondered if he should check the fillings in his teeth.
“He picked your pocket?” Doughty asked incredulously.
No one got one over on Pekka Rollins. No one dared. But Brekker had, and Rollins wondered if
that was just the beginning.
“Doughty,” he said, “I think we’d best say a prayer for Jan Van Eck.”
“You think Brekker can best him?”
“It’s a long shot, but if he’s not careful, I think that merch might walk himself right onto the gallows and let Brekker tighten the noose.” Rollins sighed. “We better hope Van Eck kills that boy.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise I’ll have to.”
Rollins straightened the knot of his pinless tie and headed down to the casino floor. The problem of Kaz Brekker could wait to be solved another day. Right now there was money to be made.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I have a degenerative condition called osteonecrosis. This basically translates to ‘bone death’, which sounds kind of gothy and romantic, but actually means that every step I take is painful and that I sometimes need to walk with a cane. It’s no coincidence I chose to create a protagonist struggling with similar symptoms, and I often felt that Kaz and I were limping along this road together. We wouldn’t have made it to ‘The End’ without a lot of wonderful people.
All the love to my crew of outcasts and troublemakers: Michi, Rachael, Sarah, Robyn, Josh, and especially Morgan, who gave this book its name and helped me finish it. Many thanks also to Jimmy, who dragged me off to Santa Barbara and smashed my writer ’s block just by being wonderful.
Bless Noa Wheeler for helping me solve this particular puzzle and for staying patient when I get prickly and bring out the whiteboard. I am deeply grateful to Jean Feiwel, Laura Godwin, Jon Yaged, Molly Brouillette, Elizabeth Fithian, Rich Deas, April Ward, and the countless people at Henry Holt and Macmillan Children’s who have helped bring the Grisha world to life and who let me continue to explore it with readers. Joanna Volpe at New Leaf: ‘Stalwart and true’ should definitely be on your résumé. I can face just about any challenge knowing you have my back. Thanks also to Pouya ‘he was a young’ Shahbazian, Kathleen Ortiz, Danielle Barthel, JaidaTemperly, and Jess Dallow. And a big thank you to Team Grisha in the UK: Fiona Kennedy, and the wonderful crew at Orion – most especially Nina Douglas, who is an extraordinary publicist, an excellent travelling companion, and a born Ravenclaw. Thank you to the readers, librarians, booksellers, BookTubers, and bloggers who celebrate stories all over the world.