- Wylan -

This was insanity. What respectable Mercher trudged through the evening muck of Ketterdam's neighbourhood of sin? The Barrel was alive tonight, music and hedonism. Powdered women of the night passed him by with smiles that only worked on the drunk and witless. Wylan swallowed his revulsion as a pair of well-rounded women pressed towards him, their tawdry dresses and furs stained with the dirt of the streets.

"You look like you could use a good time," the larger of the two ran her tongue across her yellow-ish teeth, "The Prince's Bounty has fair ladies for a fair drink like you."

"No thank you Madam," Wylan pulled himself free of her gloved claws touching his hat in desperate attempt to ward off any hard feelings. But the endeavour was pointless as her partner spat profanity at his quickening stride. Taking a deep breath he adjusted his mask as was custom for men of his position. The Komedie Brute hid his true identity from more than just shame. He may not have made much of a name in the dank streets of the Barrel during his brief contract with the Dregs. But all knew him as one of Kaz Brekker's old crew - and that alone made him a tantalising target to the right minded.

He slipped down the alley he knew would have him before the Crow Club. The building was alive with the same vibrant allure of golden dreams and fair prospects. The Dregs were in full tonight, the muscle at the doors nodded to him without a slightest inclination of recognition. Good, my disguise is working.

Licking his lips he trailed about the bright rooms, the dealers calling stakes, the waitresses supplying the already well-liquoured patrons, cigar smoke hazing reality and fantasy in the colours of the gambling den. Wylan didn't understand why he was so wired tonight, why the laughter and cheers set him on edge. Why he couldn't keep his breath shallow of the stench. Why he felt as if at any moment he would fall through a trap door and never rise again.

His eyes roved over the card tables seeking that familiar profile he thought had slunk back into old habits. It was why Wylan was here and not at home, warm and watching his mother paint as he tinkered with gadget models. The Van Eck trade had been a stable prosperity, but times were changing and so he had taken to following the latest in innovations churning from Shu and Ravka - steam powered ships. The idea was in its infancy, so much had to be modified from the very wood the ships had been wrought. Wylan had wrapped himself in the plans of late - it wasn't until tonight that his friend's reoccurring absence had set off warning alarms.

Jesper had been fidgety, bored even. There was a hunger that flared in his friend's eyes that reminded Wylan of the impossible boy's former life. One of reckless abandonment, guns and cards. He had been fingering a deck for several weeks now, playing an easy game of craps with Wylan's mother Marya. How he'd got his hands on a deck Wylan was still to understand. The mansion had been deliberately purged of anything that would tempt Jesper's taste for that old high. Like a drug, Jesper had to be sapped slowly of the taste, a task Wylan had underestimated ruefully. He had lost track of his friend's whereabouts, he had slipped from the house without a note, slipping back in the early morning ruffled and suspicious. Now, Wylan had to find him. He'd been gone for three days with a messenger arriving that morning to tell him not to worry and that he'd be back soon.

"Ya gonna have a game or ghost around like a spy?" gruffed a Dreg looking Wylan up and down with a set grimace of distrust.

Wylan huffed a nervous apology making sure steps to the bar shaking the man's suspicion from him. Jesper wasn't here - well that was hardly surprising. Kaz had made a pact to keep the man from any of his establishments - and Jesper was hardly an inconspicuous creature. Ordering something dark, Wylan glanced about noting that the rough Dreg was keeping tab on him. Sighing he turned back to his drink, there had to be over a dozen gambling dens he knew of, and quite a few more that he didn't. And what about the floating games that popped up even in the Lid. There was no shortage of temptation that could lead the tainted man astray.

Wylan's gaze caught sight of a group of Dregs skirting the perimeter of the gambling floor, a familiar figure heading them with his hitched gait the result of a bad leg. The crow cane head a dull silver in the smoky hall.

Kaz Brekker was in. But not for long it seemed as he paused by his gambling house manager. A quick word and the small group of five were out the premise without a backwards glance. Draining the glass of the wretched liquor Wylan trailed them taking a wide berth of the bouncer. In the cold once more Wylan ditched behind an alley pulling his disguise over his head - it was too conspicous and he needed Kaz to recognise him...even if he wasn't pleased to know him for it.

Following the cane was easy until the sound disappeared and the night engulfed the Barrel's warm lights for the cold shadows stilted against the damp wet buildings of the lower end of Ketterdam. The Harbour clung stale in the air, the stirrings of the autumn storms pressing a thick chill against his exposed skin. Where was he? He couldn't class the streets, all the same he followed the narrow laneway keeping his ears trained for the tell-tale cane or at least a break of sound in the unusual silence. Finally, a gasp, voices splinttered the night the sound of a beating none-the-less. Crouching low Wylan pressed himself into a set of water barrels squinting into the night where the voices floated from.

"I told ya, they never tell me nothing!"

"We both know that's far from true. Perhaps you need Lock here to soften you up a bit more," Kaz's gravel tone was almost amused as his unfortunate victim squeaked a protest that found the sympathy of Lock's hard fist. After another round of 'softening' Kaz repeated his demand,

"Now, Hooper was it? I'm not going to ask again. Where is that canal rat leader of yours - Alfy - and where have you smuggled my scrub?"

"Ain't smuggled nothing Mister Brekker, you gotta believe me. I ain't stupid enough to hold score with you."

"I'm starting to think you believe me a patient man Hooper," Kaz growled. A yelp of pain seared the night and Wylan flinched - Dirtyhands was out tonight...was spying on him a smart move?

"Fifth Harbour..." the man called Hooper wailed, "Alfy has a game on tonight...on his boat...All Bets, please, please I know nothing else!"

"I'm sure that's about as true as those worthless brass rings on your fingers Hooper," Kaz seemed satisfied nonetheless, "Lock, take our new friend to the warehouse. See if you can't get something more credible out of his gutter mouth."

"Aye Boss," Lock gruffed as the man's pleads were lost to a wad of cloth.

"Roeder, Anika looks like you have some sniffing to do around Fifth Harbour," Kaz ordered his cane taking pace towards Wylan's hide. Swallowing the boy shrunk into the shadows as best he could. Kaz's grunts agreeing, disappearing the opposite direction. The cane came to a stop behind Wylan's water drum.

"I'm not fond of spies lurking in the dark, and you one of the worst I've seen Mister Van Eck," the cane knocked against the drum forcing a shame faced Wylan to gather himself to his feet. Kaz Brekker's cold dark eyes assessed him with indifference.

"...Hullo Kaz...sorry," he spoke awkwardly feeling all the more a child under the man's gaze.

The Barrel Boss waited with a raised brow, Rotty behind him smirking at the pathetic shuffle the boy was dancing. Heaving a sigh Wylan met the man's eyes, "I need your help. I think Jesper's in trouble."