THE RED RIGHT HAND ─ kaz brekker

𝘪𝘪. 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴

ii.  living saints 

ketterdam, kerch 

──ASTRID OFTEN WONDERED WHERE SHE MIGHT HAVE ENDED UP HAD THE QUEEN'S LADY PLAGUE NOT SWEPT THROUGH WHEN IT DID.  Would Jordie still be alive?  Would they have earned back the money that was conned right out of their hands?  Would they have grown up into the reputations that preceded them now,  or would they have forgotten that Jakob Hertzoon ever existed and went about their lives,  trying their best to survive?  She did her best not to dwell on the what ifs of the past, and the memories that were dredged up along with them. But  in some instances, it was inevitable.  

She always thought of Jordie when it rained, for it was raining the night that she met him, soaked through with the storm, shivering from the cold,  her nightgown singed at the edges. Even now, so many years later, she could  still recall the alarm and confusion on his face when he opened the door to the distant sound of his mother's reprimands. She remembered the even clearer horror on Mrs. Rietveld's  face when she came around the corner. 

There was hushed talk of a fire, a large fire at the Koning's farmhouse, while she sat on the living room floor with Kaz and Jordie, wearing a too big shirt in place of her singed and shoot stained nightgown. She hadn't come to terms with it then, but by now, there weren't any alternatives.  They told stories about that fire for years to come,  how no one knew how it started and how, despite the all consuming flames,  young Astrid managed to make it out alive. A miracle, they called it. The Saints watching down from above saved her, others proclaimed.  

Saints. 

Astrid scoffed and yanked open the doors to the Crow Club. Where were these benevolent Saints when she pulled Kaz out of the harbor? Where were these Saints when they were living on the streets? If there were Saints watching over them and listening to their prayers,  the slums of Ketterdam were ignored. The thought coiled up into a slow burning anger in her chest as she elbowed through the patrons at the bar in search of her friends. She found them at a table, one set apart from the main floor at the very back, partially over looking the tables, and took a seat at the edge of the booth.  

Jesper tilted his head to catch a glimpse at her. There was a mischievous grin on his lips. "Punctual as always, Astrid dearest." 

"I know you were so incredibly desperate to see me again, Jesper. I could feel your excitement from across the room," Astrid responded, kicking her feet up on the opposite side of the table. She nudged his foot with her own. "My apologies, but there are still jobs to do here, you know."

"Speaking of jobs," he said, "here's what I don't get."

Inej sighed through her nose. "We're going to be here all night."

"Rude." Jesper pulled his feet off the table and sat up straight, elbows leaned against the table. "Why haven't they tried going under it? Just dig a tunnel."

"Tried that. Over a century ago," Kaz answered. He rested his hands atop the head of his cane, an uneasy look teeming within his eyes. "Something, heard them digging."

Astrid grimaced. "That's horribly unsettling to think about." 

"It was made hundreds of years ago by that crazy Grisha--"