Six of Crows (Six of Crows #1)(47)

Maybe they’re already on board?  But even as she had the thought, her boot landed on something soft, and she stumbled.

She looked down. In the dim glow of the harbour gaslights, she saw Dirix, one of the Dregs who’d been meant to make the journey with them. There was a knife in his abdomen, and his eyes were glassy.

“Kaz!” she shouted.

But it was too late. The schooner exploded, knocking Inej off her feet and showering the docks in flame.



Jesper always felt better when people were shooting at him. It wasn’t that he liked the idea of dying (in fact, that potential outcome was a definite drawback), but if he was worrying about staying alive, he couldn’t be thinking about anything else. That sound – the swift, shocking report of gunfire –

called the scattered, irascible, permanently seeking part of his mind into focus like nothing else. It was better than being at the tables and waiting for the flop, better than standing at Makker ’s Wheel and seeing his number come up. He’d discovered it in his first fight on the Zemeni frontier. His father had been sweating, trembling, barely able to load his revolver. But Jesper had found his calling.

Now he braced his arms on the top of the crate where he’d taken cover and let loose with both barrels. His weapons were Zemeni-made revolvers that could fire six shots in rapid succession, unmatched by anything in Ketterdam. He felt them getting hot in his hands.

Kaz had warned them to anticipate competition, other teams bent on gaining the prize at any cost, but this was early in the job for things to be going so badly. They were surrounded, at least one man down, a burning ship at their backs. They’d lost their transportation to Fjerda, and if the shots raining down on them were any indication, they were seriously outnumbered. He supposed it could have been worse; they could have been on the boat when it exploded.

Jesper crouched down to reload and couldn’t quite believe the sight that met his eyes. Wylan Van Eck was actually curled up on the dock, his soft mercher ’s hands thrown over his head. Jesper heaved a sigh, lay down a few shots for cover and lunged out from behind the sweet security of his crate. He seized Wylan by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back to shelter.

Jesper gave him a little shake. “Pull it together, kid.”

“Not a kid,” Wylan mumbled, batting Jesper ’s hands away.

“Fine, you’re an elder statesman. Do you know how to shoot?”

Wylan nodded slowly. “Skeet.”

Jesper rolled his eyes. He snagged the rifle from his back and shoved it into Wylan’s chest. “Great.

This is just like shooting clay pigeons, but they make a different sound when you hit one.”

Jesper whirled, revolvers raised, as a shape sprang into his peripheral vision, but it was just Kaz.

“Head east to the next dock, board at berth twenty-two,” Kaz said.

“What’s at berth twenty-two?”

“The real Ferolind.”

“But—”

“The boat that blew was a decoy.”

“You knew?”

“No, I took precautions. It’s what I do, Jesper.”

“You could have told us we—”

“That would defeat the purpose of a decoy. Get moving.” Kaz glanced at Wylan, who stood there

cradling the rifle like an infant. “And make sure he gets to the ship in one piece.”

Jesper watched Kaz vanish back into the shadows, cane in one hand, pistol in the other. Even on one good leg, he was eerily spry.

Then Jesper gave Wylan another jostle. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

“Didn’t you hear what Kaz said? We need to make it to berth twenty-two.”

Wylan nodded dumbly. His eyes were dazed and wide enough to drink from.

“Just stay behind me and try not to get killed. Ready?”

Wylan shook his head.

“Then forget I asked.” He placed Wylan’s hand on the rifle’s grip. “Come on.”

Jesper laid down another series of shots, sketching a wild formation he hoped would disguise their location. One revolver empty, he lunged away from the crate and into the shadows. He half expected Wylan wouldn’t follow, but he could hear the merchling behind him, breathing hard, a low whistle in his lungs as they pounded towards the next stack of barrels.

Jesper hissed as a bullet whizzed by his cheek, close enough to leave a burn.

They threw themselves behind the barrels. From this vantage point, he saw Nina wedged into a space between two stacks of crates. She had her arms raised, and as one of their attackers moved into view, she clenched her fist. The boy crumpled to the ground, clutching his chest. She was at a disadvantage in this maze, though. Heartrenders needed to see their targets to bring them down.

Helvar was beside her with his back to the crate, his hands bound. A reasonable precaution, but the Fjerdan was valuable, and Jesper had a moment to wonder why Kaz had left him in such straits before he saw Nina produce a knife from her sleeve and slash through Helvar ’s bonds. She slapped a pistol into his hands. “Defend yourself,” she said with a growl, and then returned her focus to the fight.

Not smart, Jesper thought. Do not turn your back on an angry Fjerdan.  Helvar looked like he was seriously considering shooting her. Jesper lifted his revolver, prepared to bring the giant down. Then Helvar was standing next to Nina, aiming into the maze of crates beyond. Just like that they were fighting side by side. Had Kaz left Matthias bound with Nina deliberately? Jesper could never tell how much of what Kaz got away with was smarts and planning and how much was dumb luck.