Crooked Kingdom (16 page)

He knew he asked Nina too often, but as they disembarked near East Stave, Matthias couldn't stop himself from saying, “How do you feel?”

“Quite well,” she said dismissively, adjusting her veil. She was dressed in the glittering blue finery of the Lost Bride, the same costume she'd been wearing the night she and the other members of the Dregs had appeared in his cell. “Tell me,
drüskelle
, have you ever actually been to this part of the Barrel?”

“I didn't have much opportunity for sightseeing while I was in Hellgate,” Matthias said. “And I wouldn't have come here anyway.”

“Of course not. This many people having fun in one place might have shocked the Fjerdan right out of you.”

“Nina,” Matthias said quietly as they made their way to the furrier. He didn't want to push, but he needed to know. “When we went after Smeet, you used a wig and cosmetics. Why didn't you tailor yourself?”

She shrugged. “It was easier and faster.”

Matthias was silent, unsure of whether to press her further.

They passed a cheese shop, and Nina sighed. “How can I walk by a window full of wheels of cheese and feel nothing? I don't even know myself anymore.” She paused, then said, “I tried to tailor myself. Something feels off. Different. I only managed the circles under my eyes, and it took every bit of my focus.”

“But you were never a gifted Tailor.”

“Manners, Fjerdan.”

“Nina.”

“This was different. It wasn't just challenging, it was painful. It's hard to explain.”

“What about compelling behaviors?” Matthias asked. “The way you did at the Ice Court when you used the
parem
.”

“I don't think it's possible anymore.”

“Have you tried?”

“Not exactly.”

“Try it on me.”

“Matthias, we have work to do.”

“Try it.”

“I'm not going to go rattling around in your head when we don't know what might happen.”

“Nina—”

“Fine,” she said in exasperation. “Come here.”

They had nearly reached East Stave and the crowds of revelers had grown thicker. Nina pulled him into an alley between two buildings. She lifted his mask and her own veil; then slowly, she placed a hand on either side of his face. Her fingers slid into his hair and Matthias' focus shattered. It felt like she was touching him everywhere.

She looked into his eyes. “Well?”

“I don't feel anything,” he said. His voice sounded embarrassingly hoarse.

She arched a brow. “Nothing?”

“What did you try to make me do?”

“I'm trying to compel you to kiss me.”

“That's foolish.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I always want to kiss you,” he admitted.

“Then how come you never do?”

“Nina, you just went through a terrible ordeal—”

“I did. That's true. You know what would help? A lot of kissing. We haven't been alone since we were aboard the
Ferolind
.”

“You mean when you almost died?” said Matthias. Someone had to remember the gravity of this situation.

“I prefer to think of the good times. Like when you held my hair as I was vomiting into a bucket.”

“Stop trying to make me laugh.”

“But I like your laugh.”

“Nina, this is not the time to flirt.”

“I need to catch you off your guard, otherwise you're too busy protecting me and asking me if I'm okay.”

“Is it wrong to worry?”

“No, it's wrong to treat me like I might break apart at any moment. I'm not that fine or that fragile.” She shoved his mask down none too gently, yanked her veil back in place, and strode past him out of the alley, across the street to a shop with a golden badger over the door.

He followed. He knew he'd said the wrong thing, but he had no idea what the right thing was. A little bell rang as they entered the shop.

“How can this place be open at such hours?” he murmured. “Who wants to buy a coat in the dead of night?”

“Tourists.”

And in fact, a few people were browsing the stacks of furs and pelts. Matthias followed Nina to the counter.

“We're picking up an order,” Nina said to the bespectacled clerk.

“The name?”

“Judit Coenen.”

“Ah!” the clerk said, consulting a ledger. “Golden lynx and black bear, paid in full. Just a moment.” He vanished into the back room and emerged a minute later, struggling beneath the weight of two huge parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. “Do you need help getting these to—”

“We're fine.” Matthias hefted the packages with little effort. The people of this city needed more fresh air and exercise.

“But it may rain. At least let me—”

“We're fine,” Matthias growled, and the clerk took a step backward.

“Ignore him,” Nina said. “He needs a nap. Thank you so much for your help.”

The clerk smiled weakly and they were on their way.

“You know you're terrible at this, right?” Nina asked once they were on the street and entering East Stave.

“At lies and deception?”

“At being polite.”

Matthias considered. “I didn't mean to be rude.”

“Just let me do the talking.”

“Nina—”

“No names from here on out.”

She was vexed with him. He could hear it in her voice, and he didn't think it was because he'd been short with the clerk. They paused only so that Matthias could exchange his Madman's costume for one of the many Mister Crimson ensembles folded into the packages from the furrier. Matthias wasn't sure if the clerk had known what was stuffed in the brown-paper wrapping, if the costumes had been made in the shop, or if the Golden Badger was just some kind of drop spot. Kaz had mysterious connections throughout Ketterdam, and only he knew the truth of their workings.

Once Matthias found a large enough red cloak and placed the red-and-white lacquered mask over his face, Nina handed him a bag of silver coins.

Matthias bounced the bag once in his palm, and the coins gave a cheerful jingle. “They aren't real, are they?”

“Of course not. But no one ever knows if the coins are real. That's part of the fun. Let's practice.”

“Practice?”

“Mother, Father, pay the rent!” Nina said in a singsong voice.

Matthias stared at her. “Is it possible you're running a fever?”

Nina shoved her veil up onto her head so he could experience the full force of her glare. “It's from the Komedie Brute. When Mister Crimson comes onstage, the audience shouts—”

“Mother, Father, pay the rent,” Matthias finished.

“Exactly. Then you say, ‘I can't, my dear, the money's spent,' and you toss a handful of coins into the crowd.”

“Why?”

“The same reason everyone hisses at the Madman and throws flowers at the Scarab Queen. It's tradition. Tourists don't always get it, but the Kerch do. So tonight, if someone yells, ‘Mother, Father, pay the rent…'”

“I can't, my dear, the money's spent,” Matthias intoned gloomily, casting a handful of coins into the air.

“You have to do it with more enthusiasm,” Nina urged. “It's supposed to be fun.”

“I feel foolish.”

“It's good to feel foolish sometimes, Fjerdan.”

“You only say that because you have no shame.”

To his surprise, instead of offering a sharp retort, she went silent and remained that way until they took up their first position in front of a gambling parlor on the Lid, joining the musicians and buskers, only a few doors down from Club Cumulus. Then it was as if someone had flipped a switch in Nina.

“Come one, come all to the Crimson Cutlass!” she declared. “You there, sir. You're too skinny for your own good. What would you think of a little free food and a flagon of wine? And you, miss, now you look like you know how to have a bit of fun.…”

Nina lured tourists to them one by one as if she'd been born to it, offering free food and drink and handing out costumes and flyers. When one of the bouncers from the gambling parlor emerged to see what they were up to, they moved along, heading south and west, continuing to give away the two hundred costumes and masks Kaz had procured. When people asked what it was all about, Nina claimed it was a promotion for a new gambling hall called the Crimson Cutlass.

As Nina had predicted, occasionally someone would spot Matthias' costume and shriek, “Mother, Father, pay the rent!”

Dutifully, Matthias replied, doing his best to sound jolly. If the tourists and revelers found his performance lacking, no one said so, possibly distracted by the showers of silver coins.

By the time they reached West Stave, the stacks of costumes were gone and the sun was rising. He caught a brief flash from the roof of the Ammbers Hotel—Jesper signaling with his mirror.

Matthias escorted Nina up to the room reserved for Judit Coenen on the third floor of the hotel. Just as Kaz had said, the balcony had a perfect view of the wide expanse of Goedmedbridge and the waters of West Stave, bordered on both sides by hotels and pleasure houses.

“What does that mean?” Matthias asked. “Goedmedbridge?”

“Good maiden bridge.”

“Why is it called that?”

Nina leaned against the doorway and said, “Well, the story is that when a woman found out her husband had fallen in love with a girl from West Stave and planned to leave her, she came to the bridge and, rather than live without him, hurled herself into the canal.”

“Over a man with so little honor?”

“You'd never be tempted? All the fruits and flesh of West Stave before you?”

“Would you throw yourself off a bridge for a man who was?”

“I wouldn't throw myself off a bridge for the king of Ravka.”

“It's a terrible story,” said Matthias.

“I doubt it's true. It's just what happens when you let men name the bridges.”

“You should rest,” he said. “I can wake you when it's time.”

“I'm not tired, and I don't need to be told how to do my job.”

“You're angry.”

“Or told how I feel. Get to your post, Matthias. You're looking a little ragged around those gilded edges too.”

Her voice was cold, her spine straight. The memory of the dream came at him so hard he could almost feel the bite of the wind, the snow lashing his cheeks in stinging gusts. His throat burned, scraped raw as he shouted Nina's name. He wanted to tell her to be careful. He wanted to ask her what was wrong.

“No mourners,” he murmured.

“No funerals,” she replied, her eyes trained on the bridge.

Matthias left quietly, descended the stairs, and crossed over the canal via the wide expanse of Goedmedbridge. He looked up at the balcony of the Ammbers Hotel but saw no sign of Nina. That was good. If he couldn't see her from the bridge, then Van Eck wouldn't be able to either. A few stone steps took him down to a dock where a flower seller was poling his barge full of blossoms into place in the rosy wash of morning light. Matthias exchanged a brief word with the man as he tended to his tulips and daffodils, noting the marks Wylan had chalked above the waterline on both sides of the canal. They were ready.

He made his way up the stairs of the Emporium Komedie, surrounded on all sides by masks and veils and glittering capes. Every floor had a different theme, offering fantasies of all kinds. He was horrified to see a rack of
drüskelle
costumes. Still, it was a good place to avoid notice.

He hurried to the roof and signaled to Jesper with his mirror. They were all in position now. Just before noon, Wylan would descend to wait in the canal-side café that always drew a noisy collection of street performers—musicians, mimes, jugglers—busking for tourist money. For now, the boy lay on his side, tucked beneath the stone ledge of the roof and dozing lightly. Matthias' rifle lay bundled in oilcloth beside Wylan, and he'd set out a whole string of fireworks, their fuses curled like mice tails.

Matthias settled his back against the ledge and shut his eyes, floating in and out of consciousness. He was used to these long stretches with little sleep from his time with the
drüskelle
. He would wake when he needed to. But now, he marched across the ice, the wind howling in his ears. Even the Ravkans had a name for that wind,
Gruzeburya
, the brute, a killing wind. It came from the north, a storm that engulfed everything in its path. Soldiers died mere steps from their tents, lost in the whiteness, their cries for help eaten by the faceless cold. Nina was out there. He knew it and he had no way to reach her. He screamed her name again and again, feeling his feet going numb in his boots, the ice seeping through his clothes. He strained to hear an answer, but his ears were full of the roar of the storm and somewhere, in the distance, the howl of wolves. She would die on the ice. She would die alone and it would be his fault.

He woke, gasping. The sun was high in the sky. Wylan stood above him, shaking him gently. “It's almost time.” Matthias nodded and rose, rolling his shoulders, feeling the warm spring air of Ketterdam around him. It felt alien in his lungs. “Are you all right?” Wylan asked tentatively, but apparently Matthias' glower was answer enough. “You're great,” Wylan said, and hurried down the stairs.

Matthias consulted the cheap brass watch Kaz had acquired for him. Almost twelve bells. He hoped Nina had rested more easily than he had. He flashed his mirror once at her balcony and felt a surge of relief when a bright light flashed back to him. He signaled to Jesper, then leaned over the roof's ledge to wait.

Matthias knew Kaz had chosen West Stave for its anonymity and its crowds. Already its denizens had started to come awake again after the previous evening's revels. The servants who tended to the needs of their various houses were doing their shopping, accepting shipments of wine and fruit for the next night's activities. Tourists who had just arrived in the city were strolling down both sides of the canal, pointing to the elaborately decorated signs that marked each house, some famous, some notorious. He could see a many-petaled rose fashioned in white wrought iron and gilded with silver. The House of the White Rose. Nina had worked there for nearly a year. He'd never questioned her about her time there. He had no right to. She had stayed in the city to help him, and she could do as she wished. And yet he'd been unable to keep from imagining her there, the curves of her body laid bare, green eyes heavy-lidded, cream-colored petals caught in the dark waves of her hair. There were nights when he imagined her beckoning him closer, others when it was someone else she welcomed in the dark, and he'd lie awake, wondering if it would be jealousy or desire that drove him mad first. He tore his eyes from the sign and pulled a long glass from his pocket, forcing himself to scan the rest of the Stave.