The Six of Crows Duology (The Six of Crows, #1-2)

by Leigh Bardugo

“Just tell her she’s got skin like moonlight,” his friend Pieter had said. “Girls love that.”

His mother was right. Even in his new uniform, he still looked like a baby. Gently, he brushed his finger along his upper lip. If only his moustache would come in. It definitely felt thicker than yesterday.

Retvenko was a Squaller, older than the other Grisha indentures, his hair shot through with silver. There were rumours he’d fought for the losing side in Ravka’s civil war and had fled to Kerch after the fighting.

Even if he’d had the courage to get into a fight with a Squaller, it would be like brawling with an expensive vase. The Grisha weren’t just servants; they were Hoede’s treasured possessions.

Jurda was nothing to fear, a stimulant everyone in the stadwatch chewed to stay awake on late watches.

His mind tried to deny it, but he knew what he’d just seen. Anya had commanded the sergeant to shoot the glass. She’d made him do it. But that couldn’t be. Grisha Corporalki specialised in the human body. They could stop your heart, slow your breathing, snap your bones. They couldn’t get inside your head.

Street law dictated that for a parley of this kind each lieutenant be seconded by two of his foot soldiers and that they all be unarmed. Parley. The word felt like a deception – strangely prim, an antique. No matter what street law decreed, this night smelled like violence.

Inej heard the name the Dregs preferred for her whispered among their ranks – the Wraith. “Geels

She knew how she sounded – stern, fussy, like an old crone making dire pronouncements from her porch. She didn’t like it, but she also knew she was right. Besides, old women must know something, or they wouldn’t live to gather wrinkles and yell from their front steps.

she was the Wraith – the only law that applied to her was gravity, and some days she defied that, too.

If Kaz was gone, would I stay? Or would I skip out on my debt? Take my chances with Per Haskell’s enforcers? If she didn’t move faster, she might well find out.

“Nineteen Burstraat,” Kaz said. Geels had been shifting slightly from foot to foot; now he went very still. “That’s your girl’s address, isn’t it, Geels?” Geels swallowed. “Don’t have a girl.” “Oh yes, you do,” crooned Kaz.

Geels looked at Kaz as if he was finally seeing him for the first time. The boy he’d been talking to had been cocky, reckless, easily amused, but not frightening – not really. Now the monster was here, dead-eyed and unafraid. Kaz Brekker was gone, and Dirtyhands had come to see the rough work done.

You can do it. Pull the trigger. We can all go down together. They can take our bodies out to the Reaper’s Barge for burning, like all paupers go.

If you couldn’t walk by yourself through Ketterdam after dark, then you might as well just hang a sign that read ‘soft’ around your neck and lie down for a beating.

When he’d officially become a member of the Dregs, he’d been twelve and the gang had been a laughing stock, street kids and washed-up cadgers running shell games and penny-poor cons out of a run-down house in the worst part of the Barrel. But he hadn’t needed a great gang, just one he could make great – one that needed him.

But when she wanted to, Inej had a way of making you feel her silence. It tugged at your edges.

Kaz gave an irritated shake of his head. To say he trusted Inej would be stretching the point, but he could admit to himself that he’d come to rely on her. It had been a gut decision to pay off her indenture with the Menagerie, and it had cost the Dregs sorely. Per Haskell had needed convincing, but Inej was one of the best investments Kaz had ever made.

and he was fairly sure that was a real DeKappel. One of those demure oil portraits of a lady with a book open in her lap and a lamb lying at her feet.

Matthias would be atoning for the mistakes he’d made in this life long into the next one, but he’d always believed that despite his crimes and failings, there was a core of decency inside him that could never be breached. And yet, he felt sure that if he had to spend another hour with Alys Van Eck, he might murder her just for the sake of a little quiet.

Always hit where the mark isn’t looking. It was sound thinking, Matthias could admit—military thinking, in fact. When you were outgunned and outmanned, you sought the less defended targets.

“She’s just a pregnant girl—” “Getting pregnant isn’t actually a special talent. Ask any luckless girl in the Barrel.”

Alys’ lower lip began to wobble like a plate about to break. “Sing,” Matthias blurted, “by all means, sing.” And then the real nightmare began. It wasn’t that Alys was so bad, she just never stopped.

He only wished she’d separate herself from Kaz Brekker. The girl deserved better.

He thought again about simply killing Van Eck. Patience, he reminded himself. He’d practiced it early and often. Patience would bring all his enemies to their knees in time. Patience and the money he intended to take off this merch scum.

“I suppose,” said Alys. “But it’s the money that’s important. I’ve never really seen the point in princes.” Well, no one would ever doubt this girl was Kerch born and raised. “Alys, I’m shocked to find you and I are in agreement.”

You want the secret to jurda parem, and I want my money. The deal is the deal.” “I don’t have thirty million kruge to part with.” “Isn’t that a shame? I’m sure someone else does.”

He shook his head. Something was wrong. He’d planned a friendly riot, not a mass disaster, and Wylan wasn’t the type to miscalculate so gravely. Someone else had come to make trouble on West Stave, someone who didn’t mind doing more than a little damage.

Jesper felt grateful for the uproar surrounding them. But even as he had the thought, one of the Shu men sniffed the air, a deep inhale. In horror, Jesper watched him turn slowly and lock eyes on them.

Jesper’s existence had been a string of close calls and near disasters, but he’d never been so sure he was running for his life.

“What did you say to Van Eck on the bridge?” Kaz asked at last. “When we were making the trade?” “You will see me once more, but only once.” “More Suli proverbs?” “A promise to myself. And Van Eck.”

“They have more Fabrikators in captivity,” said Kuwei. “They’re the easiest to capture,” Matthias put in, ignoring Nina’s sour look. “Until recently, they received little combat training, and without parem their powers are poorly suited to battle.”

“I don’t like speculation,” said Matthias. “Of course you don’t. You like things you can see. Like piles of snow and benevolent tree gods.”

“He’ll be charged with violating a contract and attempting to interfere with the market,” said Kaz. “There is no greater crime according to Kerch law. The sentences are the same as for murder. He could hang.”

Angry as he is, tonight Van Eck is going to eat a fine dinner and fall off to a fitful sleep in his soft merch bed. Those stadwatch grunts will rest their weary heads until they get to the next shift, wondering if maybe they’ll earn a little overtime. But we don’t stop. The clock is ticking. We can rest when we’re rich. Agreed?” Another round of nods.

“Everything is a negotiation with you, Brekker. You probably bartered your way out of the womb.

“Inej,” Jesper whispered. She leaned forward, peering at Wylan. “Is that scheming face?” “Possibly.” Wylan seemed to snap back to reality. “It is not. But … but I do think I have an idea.”

Kaz didn’t hear Inej approach, he just knew when she was there, standing beside the broken columns of a white marble mausoleum.

The Slat wasn’t much, but Kaz had converted it from a leaky squat to a place you could sleep off a bender or lie low from the law without freezing your ass off in the winter or being bled by fleas in the summer. The Slat was his, no matter what Per Haskell thought.

Kaz could admit he had a fondness for the old man. He’d given Kaz a place to begin and a roof over his head—even if Kaz had been the one to make sure it didn’t leak.

“This is my gang, Brekker. She doesn’t belong to you.” “She doesn’t belong to anyone,” Kaz said, feeling the singe of that angry white flame.

“Get out of my way, boy. I’m late for my game.” “Hope the cards are hot.” Kaz moved aside. “But you may want these.” He held out his hand. Six bullets lay in his gloved palm. “In case of a tussle.” Haskell whisked the pistol from his pocket and flipped open the barrel. It was empty. “You little—” Then Haskell barked a laugh and plucked the bullets from Kaz’s hand, shaking his head. “You’ve got the devil’s own blood in you, boy. Go get my money.”

The Church of Barter was built on the plan of Ghezen’s hand, the vast cathedral located in the palm, with five stubby naves radiating along the four fingers and thumb, each fingertip terminating in a stack of chapels.

Waiting was the part of the criminal life so many people got wrong. They wanted to act instead of hold fast and gather information.

If you didn’t like the weather, you didn’t rush into the storm—you waited until it changed. You found a way to keep from getting wet.

The silence between them was dark water. He could not cross it. He couldn’t walk the line between the decency she deserved and the violence this path demanded. If he tried, it might get them both killed. He could only be who he truly was—a boy who had no comfort to offer. So he would give her what he could.

“Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When I couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” Dirtyhands would not.

“Zoya used to say that fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.”

If she ignored the narrow Kerch buildings with their gabled roofs, she could almost pretend she was home. A dangerous illusion. There was no safety to be had on these streets.

But I’ve never seen an actor who knows how to properly hold his sword.” Nina snorted a laugh. “What?” Matthias said, perplexed. “Nothing. Really. Nothing.” She’d educate Matthias on innuendo another time.