Six of Crows: Cloaked in Shadow

Chapter 20 - Jesper

It was far too cold.

That was the first thing that crossed Jesper's mind as he found himself staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, fingers tangled in crisp white linen and mind fogged with sleep. He couldn't remember waking up, but it was undoubtably the icy temperature that had woken him. Ghezen, he thought, shivering, and pulled the duvet up to his chin. It never got this cold in Novyi Zem. He supposed he should have gotten used to it by now, but the Ketterdam weather still found new ways to appall him.

Clumsily, he fumbled under the covers for the warmth of his merchling's body.

His fingers closed on nothing but cooling bedsheets.

Suddenly, Jesper found himself very awake. He untangled his legs from his duvet and slid out of bed, hissing as the sharp cold bit into his naked skin. Snatching a pair of pants from a drawer and a dressing gown from a coat peg, he stumbled out of the room, half hopping as he struggled to put his pants on and walk at the same time. For once, he was glad of the thickness of the Van Eck mansion's carpets – his ungainly lumbering made nothing but faint thuds on the thick plush.

But if something happened two floors down, the nasty half of his mind reminded him, no-one would be able to hear you scream.

Oh, shut up, he thought irritably. Things like that only happened in the lurid murder mysteries he often caught Kaz reading. ("Purely research," the dark haired boy had assured him.) And if he was rather on edge as he went down the three flights of stairs and his hands twitched towards the place where his revolvers would have been more than once, who would know?

Jesper stepped off the staircase and into the corridor. Dark eyes scanned it for any sign of Wylan. During the day, it was just the same as the rest of the mansion - slightly vain in its decorations, but tastefully painted in red and gold - but now in the darkness, it seemed almost stretched. He couldn't see the end of it, lost to the heavy blackness.

And was that movement, a darting skein of shadow curling around where he knew the door was?

(He couldn't see any door.)

The absence of his pistols made his heart beat faster. His throat was suddenly very dry.

Probably just Kaz doing what Kaz does. Or Inej. Or someone else.

(Or something else.)

Shut up.

Jesper straightened up, squaring his shoulders. He wasn't scared of the dark. (But what about the things in it?) It was Inej. Of course it was Inej.

A sharp clang made him jump with a hissed curse. A pair of tongs propped up against the fireplace had slipped and fallen. Breathe, Jesper. He crept to the tongs and picked them up. The cool metal was reassuringly solid in his hands. God, Wylan, where are you?

He moved forwards, treading more lightly now, each movement careful and each foot precisely placed. He wasn't the best in their crew at moving silently – how could he be, when they had the Wraith? – but he was fairly good, though he had never really had to use that skill in Ketterdam. This city was all about gaudy colours and flashy displays of wealth, the gonophs plucking and preening and showing off tail feathers so they didn't have to fight to prove their status. All cockerels, the lot of them – nothing but pretty plumage and loud voices. He remembered when he first came to the Barrel, how he'd wondered how Kaz survived amongst these strutting showbirds. Because Kaz was a crow, sleek and black and predatory and nothing like the rest of them. Different enough to stand out, and Jesper had thought the best way of living in the city was to blend in so you wouldn't come to any unsavoury attention. But Kaz was tough enough to be able to take the abuse and to make his monochromatic dress sense yet another aspect of the 'Dirtyhands' façade he created for himself.