𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

03

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L E T ' S H O P E T H E Y N E V E R L E A R N
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"THE BURSTRAAT IS ON FIRE! The Dregs don't have no water!" was the cheer that greeted Kaz and Feta as they crossed through the eastern arch of the Exchange.

"I can't believe he just turned tail!" jeered Rotty, a stout, older man with mischievous eyes. He was one of Feta's favorites in the Dregs, always a pleasure to have hanging around the bar of the Crow Club. Kaz watched as Rotty slung a triumphant arm over Feta's shoulders as she came within his reach. "He had a loaded pistol in his hand!"

"I know, I was there!" Feta said with equal enthusiasm. She laughed as Rotty shoved her shoulder.

"Tell us what you had on the guard!" Dirix begged.

"Can't be the usual stuff," Rotty mused.

"I heard about a guy in Sloken who liked to roll around in apple syrup and then get two—" Feta wasn't sure who spoke, too occupied being dizzyingly traded from one arm around her shoulder to the next pat on her back in congratulations of her survival — a delicate thing like her must have had to cash in all her miracles and favors with Saints to survive Kaz's dirty work, right? — until finally she came to a stop against Jesper's side.

"My lady," Jesper hummed, as he offered Feta her knife by its handle. She grasped it eagerly, clutching it close to her front.

"I'm not talking," Kaz said, addressing his jittery gang. "Holst could prove useful in the future."

The frantic serration of their laughter revealed the anticipation of a fight still lingered, but Kaz suspected it involved the fact that no one was uttering Big Bolliger's name. It was likely they'd been shaken by his betrayal, particularly the way Kaz had dealt with it. He could sense their collective fear that came with putting themselves in Big Bolliger's place, the terrifying reality of what lying to Dirtyhands meant.

Kaz sent two of the Dregs to watch over Big Bol, confident they wouldn't be assisting the poor lug in making it out of the city. Otherwise, the rest were free to wander to the Slat or the Crow Club, subdue their worry with drink after drink, spread word of tonight's events if only to further slice his name into Ketterdam's image. While Kaz wanted nothing more than a glass or two of the whiskey in his desk at the Crow Club, he had other business to attend to.

"Hold on! Kaz—"

And there was Feta, getting in his way. She was smiling up at him, shaking her head to try and convince the breeze to take her hair out of her cheery, trustworthy face that looked utterly satisfied with the parley. Jesper, looming over her shoulder, wasn't sharing the girl's unerring amusement for once. In fact he seemed hesitant, a cautious sulk creeping over his features. It didn't suit him, but Kaz knew the boy's good spirits would return after a few drinks and a few good hands.

Meanwhile, Feta was still sparkling underneath his nose. Her good spirits, on the other hand, were relentless, and they already made her more trouble than she was worth. "What is it, Cadner?"

"You had me for a second there," she said with a laugh doused in relief. "Really thought you were going to let Geels take a shot at you!"

Kaz sniffed, recalling his step that brought him into the barrel of Geels' pistol. "Geels was shaking so bad I wouldn't have been surprised if he managed to miss."

"Yes," Jesper said, "and then he could have put a bullet in Feta. Excellent back up plan, Kaz."

Feta shot Jesper a look, clearly having exchanged their reservations about the risks of the parley in the short time they'd been huddled together. Normally, Kaz would have brought Jesper down a peg for suggesting he would have let Feta get shot, seeded the boy with the doubt that Kaz might believe he was dirty too. But tonight had gone well and Kaz was feeling...Saints, he almost felt hopeful.