Wylan didn't think he would, so quickly, get used to waking up at an alarm in the middle of the night. On the contrary, he thought it would be difficult to wake up and leave his warm, comfy bed to sneak out into the cold streets of Ketterdam. Nevertheless, every time he walked out the back door trying not to make the slightest noise, every time the icy wind crept under his coat, every time he quickened his pace to avoid the most dangerous areas of the Barrel, every time he was out of the house without his father knowing, he felt alive again.
Even that night, it wasn't tough to face the alarm that demanded his attention. It was just two in the morning when the light flashed across his face, rousing him from sleep with a huge yawn. He still had the warm feeling from his dream a few seconds ago. It didn't happen often that he dreamt of pleasant things, so he tried to anchor himself to the image that flashed in his mind while he was turning off the alarm device he made himself.
Wylan's nocturnal appointments had to remain hidden, and a loud alarm would announce to the entire Van Eck residence, that the young gentleman was doing, who knows what, at such a late hour. A few months earlier, one of the professors at the University of Ketterdam, Professor Levi, had given him a new technology, created by the best Fabrikators of Ravka. It was a very thin glass bulb, with a tungsten metal wire inside which, once brought to incandescence, produced light. They called it a 'light bulb'.
Wylan didn't know why the professor had given him such a precious thing, it must have cost a fortune, but he supposed that Professor Levi was not interested in the monetary value of things. She always smiled at him, with her thin lips pursed by the signs of old age. She often invited him to stay after working hours, to show him her new discoveries, to read him the latest publications, or just to ask him how he was doing.
It all started because he wanted to go against his father. When he turned sixteen, Jan Van Eck decided that he would stop paying his son's private tutors, saying it would be a waste of their time and his money. In the beginning, it was a bad blow for Wylan, he spent the first few months playing his flute and crying in frustration, going to sleep every night with swollen eyes and calloused fingers. He felt deprived of dignity and knew that he didn't have a voice to defend himself against his father's judgment, as any argument would've been useless, his father wouldn't understand his point of view.
That was until one day, when Alys listened to the song he was writing. Wylan still remembers what his young stepmother said, and the proud expression she had when she looked at him: "Wylan, you really are a little genius".
In that moment Wylan understood, he didn't need to prove to his father that he was intelligent, because Jan Van Eck would never understand him. For Wylan, it was enough that just one person believed in him, himself.
So he took control of his own life, he convinced Gerta, the older and the most forgiving maid, the one who gave him chocolate during his childhood when no one was looking, to sneak him out one morning. Direction: University District. Purpose: to spend the morning crashing one lesson after another to find out if he was really as stupid as his father liked to tell him.
He soon discovered that his father was indeed, very wrong. Not only was he not hopeless, but on the contrary, everything he heard in class seemed quite simple to him: chemistry, physics, algebra, biology, everything was logical and neat before his eyes, it didn't run away from his sight like written words.
But Wylan was greedy, he wasn't satisfied with going to a couple of lesson and living the rest of his life recluse and happy that he proved his father wrong, he wanted to continue to learn. He continued to attend every class he could, finding one pretext after another to get out of the house.
Then one day, at the end of the organic chemistry lesson, Professor Levi stopped him before he could leave the classroom: "Forgive me, young man. Can I steal you for a minute? I have a question for you" Wylan still remembered the terror, he felt in front of the lecturer.
"I'd really like to know why my best student isn't, in fact, a student of mine." The pause that followed the woman's words was torturous for Wylan. "You are not enrolled in this University."
"No" he confirmed softly. In his mind, he pictured his father's reaction now that he had been exposed, his anxiety eating him alive.
"I was wondering why a young boy, who is not a student at our institution would spend all his days excelling in my subject. What's your name?"
"Wylan… Hendricks" he instinctively lied. "I… I'm sorry, I… I just wanted to learn. I'm sorry I went into your classroom illegally."
"I understand, but why? Mr. Hendricks, pardon the insolence, but can't you afford the tuition?" Wylan responded with a slight shake of his head, "This is not an excuse anyway. We have scholarships that we gladly offer to capable students like you."
"I know, but I… I'm not in a position to give my personal details". At least that wasn't a lie: it was true that he couldn't give them his real name and he certainly couldn't give the fake one, they would find out there was no Wylan Hendricks.
"I see" the professor concluded. Wylan was ready to kiss his college days goodbye, he figured he at least enjoyed it while it lasted.
"Excuse me" he said to take his leave with the tears already moistening his eyes.
"Wait, Mr. Hendricks" the professor called him one last time before he left.
"Would you be interested in a job?"
That was how Wylan started working as a janitor at the University of Ketterdam, a job where the teachers turned a blind eye, every time they found him with broom in hand, in a corner of the classroom, more intent on listening to the lecture than sweeping up the floor.
There weren't many kind people in Ketterdam, but Professor Levi had been kind to him and Wylan would never forget that. He accepted all her kindness: he had learned a lot from her and had put her gifts to good use. With the light bulb he builded his silent alarm device to not warn anyone in the house of his nocturnal affairs, while with the prototype of the phonograph she showed him, he had managed to create a small automatic tape recorder, on which he had recorded himself playing the flute, to make everyone believe that he was at home practicing music. Thanks to the combination of these two things, he could sneak out of the house at any time of day or night, mainly to go and sell his home-made bombs in the Barrel, the most dangerous area of the city.
Scary, sure. But the pay isn't bad at all. And you need the money too much to bother asking what the hell all those explosives are for. Wylan repeated to himself that night too.
That night the wet air from the canals shaked him to the bones, and the sky of Ketterdam appeared grayish even in the dark. Wylan pulled his coat tighter and tried to warm himself up with the memory of that night's dream. The clear blue sky of Novyi Zem, the hot sun on the fields of jurda and the Zemeni boy from his childhood, with the same bold smile, fading away the color from the petals with just the touch of his fingers. If Wylan concentrated enough, he could still remember the exact shade of gray in his eyes. Wylan couldn't help but smile, remembering that satisfied grin on his face, every time the boy amazed him with his powers. He often thought of him, especially about the way that boy, always moving, always smiling, was a bit like the jurda flowers he liked to play with: pretty like the orange flowers and overexcited like the stimulant substance they actually are.
Wylan knew that their first encounter would be etched into his brain forever. He was just eight years old, his father had taken him to Novyi Zem saying that the fresh air would be good for his lungs, but it didn't take long for Wylan to understand that it was just an excuse not to have him around. It had been a few days since the move and Wylan was exploring the house's garden. He had never seen such colorful butterflies, so he started following them. He tried to capture all the movements of the wings, so frantic and delicate at the same time. One of the most beautiful ones landed on a flower, and Wylan tried to approach it silently, trying not to scare it, when a voice from above called him: "Hey!"
Above the branches of a tree tall, enough to surpass the hedge that separates the Van Eck property from the outside, he saw a Zemeni boy who looked his own age. The boy said something Wylan didn't understand.
"Sorry, I don't understand you" he tried to answer anyway.
"Do you speak Kerch?" he asked with a bright smile and Wylan nodded, "Me too! At home we speak Kerch and Zemeni, and I also know a bit of Kaelish".
"That's so many languages" Wylan observed as he watched the kid swing on that branch, as if falling from there wasn't dangerous at all.
"My ma' says I learn fast. My da' is not so good, he has a strange accent when he speaks Zemeni with ma', but I still understand what he says. Ma' is Zemeni and da' is Kaelish. I am both."
Wylan didn't know what to say. Not only was he stunned because he was having a conversation with a boy on the top of a tree, but he was also never used to having a conversation with another kid. He had always been around adults, where the only thing he could do was shut up, and the only words allowed were 'please' and 'thank you'. Luckily it seemed that the other boy had enough energy for both of them, he went from one sentence to another without catching a breath.
"What is your name? My name's Jesper. Jesper Fahey. It's spelled J-E-S-P-E-R F-A-H-E-Y. But I won't tell you my middle name cuz you'll make fun of me".
"I am Wylan Van Eck."
"And how do you spell it?"
"I don't know." Wylan admitted, a little ashamed.
"Okay. Do you want to come and play? I'll show you a place where I always find cicada shells. They are super gross." Wylan was surprised at how quickly Jesper had already moved on to the next topic, like it wasn't a big deal that an 8 years old didn't know how to spell his own name, but he was also grateful.
"The shells? You mean the exoskeletons?"
"The exowhat? No, the thing that is really gross, the one that sticks to the trees. My da' says they take it off because it's too hot in the summer".
"I don't think that's the reason. They outgrow their own skin and molt."
"Who cares? Do you wanna come or not?"
"I can not go out".
"Why?"
"My father doesn't want me to leave the house."
"Why?"
"I don't know, he didn't tell me."
"So you can't go out?"
"No."
"Okay, I'll come then." Jesper didn't give Wylan a moment to react, he immediately threw himself off the branch, falling into the garden next to Wylan.
"Are you hurt?" Wylan immediately ran to him.
"Just a scratch." Jesper replied, showing his scraped knee with a few pebbles still in the skin. "But I can fix it in no time" and with a quick gesture of the hand, all the debris disappeared from the wound, leaving it clean, even if still bleeding.
"How did you do it?" Wylan couldn't stop staring at what Jesper just did.
"I am zowa. Ma' is also zowa and can do a lot of crazy things. But she says she'll teach me to do everything she knows."
"What does zowa mean?"
"I think that in Kerch it means something like 'blessed'. Ma' says that in other countries they call us 'grisha'. Want to see what I can do with sticks? Ma' showed me how to attach them together. Let's collect all the sticks we can find and I'll show you". Then he took his hand and dragged him throughout the garden looking for sticks and twigs to play with. Wylan had completely forgotten about the butterflies.
Wylan released a nostalgic sigh, he tried to imagine the scent of summer in Novyi Zem inside his nose and not the smell of alcohol and smoke from the Barrel. Then he knocked on a small hidden door at the back of the Crow Club: three quick knocks, a small pause, two more quick knocks. He waited another second before opening the door and scurrying into the dark room.
"You're late, Hendricks." Kaz Brekker didn't even look up from the papers he was reading. He knew that he didn't need to glare at him to be intimidating.
"I'm sorry." Wylan whispered as he walked over to the desk. He hastily set down all the materials he brought with him. Explosives of all kinds, various smoke bombs, even some light bombs yet to be tested on the battlefield.
"I don't need you to be sorry, I need you to be on time." Kaz slid an envelope across the table. Wylan knew that inside of it, he would find his payment, and not a single written letter, like all the other times he had been there. Yet he found him cruel, Dirty Hands, even if unknowingly, managed to point straight to his weakness.
"When's the next work?" Wylan couldn't wait to leave.
"You will hear from the Wraith" he replied, nodding to the Suli girl sitting gracefully on the window behind him. Wylan only noticed her at that exact moment. It wasn't the first time he'd been surprised by her ability to remain hidden, but the Wraith's ability continued to amaze him.
"Thank you." he quickly grabbed the envelope and turned to the door. "Good night" he greeted them both, but only the girl answered him with a slight smile, Brekker had already returned to pay all his attention to his affairs.
The way back to Geldstraat always felt longer than the one he took to go to the Barrel. Yet it was the same, Wylan knew that. Under his coat he was clutching the envelope with the money. As soon as he got home he would hide it in its usual place, under a floorboard that he had managed to lift high enough to hide everything he owned: which wasn't much.
However, it would become a much more impressive amount once he bought the shares of the Shu naval company that imported tea he heard about it from his father and some of his colleagues on the Merchants' Council months ago. The men in suits had spent the evening smoking cigars, drinking brandy and questioning how and why this small company was still alive in an already saturated market like Shu Han's tea market. Most of them stated that that new company would have been a useless investment and that it would not bear the competition for so long. But what Wylan knew and all those wealthy merchants didn't suspect, was that this company didn't just export tea, but it also specialised in supplying the Barrel with opiates and hallucinogenic substances. A very popular merchandise for that area of the city.
He continued walking and repeated to himself all the things he had to do the next morning: wake up at five; go silently into the music room and set the timer to start playing his flute recording at nine o'clock; run to the University District and spend the next four hours cleaning the classrooms and bathrooms of the Faculty of Medicine and Pharmaceutical Chemistry; ask Professor Levi for some advice to improve his light bomb formula without making her understand that he was producing and selling illegal weapons; stock up on all materials needed for the next delivery for the Dregs; go to the bank to invest about a third of his savings; finally, come home by noon sharp to attend the daily luncheon with his father at which he would be told that he would never be able to do anything in his life except blow his stupid flute.
Wylan took a deep breath, he had almost arrived at the Van Eck residence. He was really tired, but he couldn't rest. In fact, he had to move quickly, he didn't have much time. Within three weeks his father would announce that he was going to Belendt to study music, he would accept the news enthusiastically, and then bribe whoever his father hired to get rid of him on such a predictable pretext.
Wylan had always, and desperately wanted his father to stop underestimating him, to realize he wasn't an idiot. But then he eavesdropped on him, preparing the plan to kill his own son. After that Wylan realised that it wasn't a bad thing that his father was so blind toward his intelligence. It was much easier to survive if Jan Van Eck kept believing that his son was too stupid to defend himself.