Kaz flipped open another sheaf of documents. “I knew exactly how long this would take. What was your mother’s family name?”
“There’s nothing in her name.”
“Humor me.”
“Hendriks.”
Kaz walked to the shelves and selected another ledger. “When did she die?”
“When I was eight.” Wylan picked up the pen again. “My father got worse after she was gone.” At least that was how Wylan remembered it. The months after his mother’s death were a blur of sadness and silence. “He wouldn’t let me go to her funeral. I don’t even know where she’s buried. Why do you guys say that, anyway? No mourners, no funerals? Why not just say good luck or be safe?”
“We like to keep our expectations low.” Kaz’s gloved finger trailed down a column of numbers and stopped. His eyes moved back and forth between the two ledgers, then he snapped the leather covers shut. “Let’s go.”
“Did you find something?”
Kaz nodded once. “I know where she is.”
Wylan didn’t think he imagined the tension in the rasp of Kaz’s voice. Kaz never yelled the way Wylan’s father did, but Wylan had learned to listen for that low note, that bit of black harmony that crept into Kaz’s tone when things were about to get dangerous. He’d heard it after the fight at the docks when Inej lay bleeding from Oomen’s knife, then when Kaz had learned it was Pekka Rollins who had tried to ambush them, again when they’d been double-crossed by Wylan’s father. He’d heard it loud and clear atop the lighthouse as the clerk screamed for his life.
Wylan watched as Kaz set the room to rights. He moved an envelope a little more to the left, pulled a drawer on the largest file cabinet out a bit farther, pushed the chair back just so. When he was done he scanned the room, then plucked the pen from Wylan’s hands and set it carefully in its place on the desk.
“A proper thief is like a proper poison, merchling. He leaves no trace.” Kaz blew the lamp out. “Your father much for charity?”
“No. He tithes to Ghezen, but he says charity robs men of the chance at honest labor.”
“Well, he’s been making donations to the Church of Saint Hilde for the last eight years. If you want to pay your respects to your mother, that’s probably the place to start.”
Wylan stared at Kaz dumbly in the shadowy room. He’d never heard of the Church of Saint Hilde. And he’d never known Dirtyhands to share any bit of information that wouldn’t serve him. “What—”
“If Nina and Jesper did their jobs right, Smeet will be home soon. We can’t be here when he gets back or the whole plan goes to hell. Come on.”
Wylan felt like he’d been bashed over the head with a ledger and then told to just forget about it.
Kaz cracked opened the door. They both stopped short.
Over Kaz’s shoulder, Wylan saw a little girl standing on the landing, leaning on the neck of one of the massive gray dogs. She had to be about five, her toes barely visible beneath the hem of her flannel nightgown.
“Oh Ghezen,” Wylan whispered.
Kaz stepped out into the hall, pulling the door nearly shut behind him. Wylan hesitated in the darkened office, unsure of what he should do, terrified of what Kaz might do.
The girl looked up at Kaz with big eyes, then removed her thumb from her mouth. “Do you work for my da?”
“No.”
The memory came at Wylan again. I’m a good man. They’d ambushed the clerk coming out of the Menagerie and hauled him to the top of the lighthouse. Kaz had held him by his ankles and the clerk had wet himself, screaming and begging for mercy before he’d finally given up Smeet’s whistle commands. Kaz had been about to reel him back up when the clerk had started offering things: money, bank account numbers for Smeet’s clients, and then—I’ve got information on one of the girls at the Menagerie, the Zemeni.
Kaz had paused. What do you have on her?
Wylan had heard it then, that low, dangerous note of warning. But the clerk didn’t know Kaz, didn’t recognize the change in the rough scrape of his voice. He thought he’d found a wedge, something Kaz wanted.
One of her clients is giving her expensive gifts. She’s keeping the money. You know what the Peacock did to the last girl she caught holding out on her?
I do , Kaz said, his eyes glinting like the edge of a straight razor. Tante Heleen beat her to death.
Kaz— Wylan had attempted, but the clerk kept talking.
Right there in the parlor. This girl knows she’s cooked if I tell. She sees me for free just so I keep my mouth shut. Sneaks me in. She’ll do the same for you, your friends. What ever you like.
If Tante Heleen found out, she’d kill your Zemeni , said Kaz. She’d make an example of her to the other girls.
Yes , the clerk gasped eagerly. She’ll do anything you want, everything.
Slowly, Kaz began to let the man’s legs slide through his grasp. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Knowing someone holds your life in his hands.
The clerk’s voice rose another octave as he realized his mistake. She’s just a working girl , he screamed. She knows the score! I’m a good man. I’m a good man!
There are no good men in Ketterdam , Kaz said. The climate doesn’t agree with them. And then he’d simply let go.
Wylan shuddered. Through the crack in the door, he saw Kaz squat down so he could look the little girl in the eye. “What’s this big fellow’s name?” Kaz said, laying a hand on the dog’s wrinkled neck.
“This is Maestro Spots.”
“Is that so?”
“He has a very fine howl. Da lets me name all the puppies.”
“Is Maestro Spots your favorite?” asked Kaz.
She appeared to think, then shook her head. “I like Duke Addam Von Silverhaunch best, then Fuzzmuzzle, then Maestro Spots.”
“That’s good to know, Hanna.”
Her mouth opened into a little O. “How do you know my name?”
“I know all children’s names.”
“You do?”
“Oh, yes. Albert who lives next door and Gertrude on Ammberstraat. I live under their beds and in the backs of the closets.”
“I knew it,” the girl breathed, fear and triumph in her voice. “Mama said there was nothing there, but I knew it.” She cocked her head to one side. “You don’t look like a monster.”
“I’ll tell you a secret, Hanna. The really bad monsters never look like monsters.”
Now the little girl’s lip trembled. “Did you come to eat me? Da says monsters eat children who don’t go to bed when they’re told.”
“They do. But I won’t. Not tonight. If you do two things for me.” His voice was calm, almost hypnotic. It had the coarse rasp of an over-rosined bow. “First, you must crawl into bed. And second, you must never tell anyone you’ve seen us, especially your da.” He leaned forward and gave Hanna’s braid a playful tug. “Because if you do, I’ll slit your mother’s throat and then your father’s, and then I’ll cut out the hearts of all these sweet slobbering hounds. I shall save Duke Silverhaunch for last so that you will know it’s all your fault.” The little girl’s face was as white as the lace on the neck of her nightgown, her eyes wide and bright as new moons. “Do you understand?” She nodded frantically, chin wobbling. “Now, now, no tears. Monsters see tears and it only whets their appetites. Off to bed with you, and take that useless Maestro Spots along too.”