Different, yet so similar

Wylan was holding the old letter in his hands, the paper was wrinkled and crumpled at the edges. When he'd decided to run away from home and agreed to work full-time for Kaz Brekker, he knew he couldn't bring many things with him.

The first thing was his flute. Obviously he could never leave it behind, also because he needed it to play the part of the good son ready to embark for the famous music school in which his merciful father, despite all his lackings, had secured him a place.

The second thing was also part of his plan to escape his father's threat, even if he wished it weren't. After his mother died, everything she owned disappeared from the house. Wylan hadn't even wanted to ask his father what happened to all of Marya's paintings, brushes, clothes, jewels. Perhaps, deep down, Wylan wanted to believe that Jan Van Eck genuinely grieved over the loss of his wife and that he got rid of her possessions to not suffer too much from her absence. It was less painful to imagine that his father might actually have loved his mother, that Jan Van Eck was actually capable of loving someone. Even if the same thing didn't apply to his defective son.

When Wylan returned from Novyi Zem, he found the mansion completely different from how he had left it. No matter how much he searched for a clue that Marya actually lived there, the only thing he could find was a brooch. A gold mounted cameo representing Sankta Maradi. His mother told him the story of the saint: Maradi was a Zemeni woman, protector of the love of two young fishermen, Duli and Baya. The lovers belonged to two rival families, theirs was an impossible love, the only way they could meet was on Maradi's dock. However, when Baya's parents discovered that they intended to escape together, they destroyed the girl's ship. The two lovers looked for each other in the stormy waters and it was only thanks to Maradi, who lit up the night sky with her grisha power, if they found each other again.

Wylan loved that brooch, even though his mother told him countless times not to play with it, he would sneak it out of her jewelry box and keep it under his pillow. He liked to look at the delicate lines of the saint's face and her soft curls resting over her shoulders. That was where he found the brooch, still in his room after all those years. Saints know how, it had ended up under the bed, like it was waiting for Wylan to lay eyes on it once again.

On the morning of his departure for Belendt, Wylan stuffed the brooch into his pocket, he brought it with him in case the money wasn't enough to bribe the two assassins hired by his father. He had prayed to Sankta Maradi not to be separated from the last thing left to represent his mother's love. But prayers, as he had often noticed during his short life, are rarely useful. And so, to save his life, he had given up Marya's brooch.

The third thing, once again, was purely functional to his escape plan. A change of clothes, which were humble enough not to be recognizable through the streets of the Barrel. Immediately after having convinced the two henchmen to silence, he hid in an alley and put on the clothes in which he showed up at the door of the Crows Club shortly after.

However, the last two things he had brought with him were purely sentimental and of no practical use.

First, a rather elegant set of nibs, fountain pens and various drawing materials; one of the few gestures of affection that he had received from his father. It was difficult to give up the illusion that perhaps, deep down, for a brief moment, Jan Van Eck had loved him. Even if the writing set was probably just a cruel joke to mock him.

And second, a letter that he had never opened. The only thing he was able to recognize was his own name, written in a lively and frenetic handwriting, exactly like its sender.

They met again. Jesper, the boy on top of the tree. His first friend, perhaps the only real one he'd ever had in his entire life. He could never have imagined meeting him again like that, completely different, yet so similar to his memory that he recognized him instantly. And how could he not? He had portrayed those perfectly shaped lips so many times, the gray eyes always narrowed into a smile and the long, elegant neck. Wylan had known him as the outgoing farm boy who dragged him to play and made him laugh. Now he was introduced to a grown man, the sharpshooter playboy at Brekker's service that Wylan had already heard of on the streets of the East and West Stave.

How many years had it been since the last time they spoke? Ten, if his calculations were correct. And, as it turns out, a decade was just the right amount of time to erase him from Jesper's memory. Wylan couldn't stop thinking about how much Jesper had meant to him and how, obviously, he hadn't meant anything to Jesper.

The thin paper of the letter felt incredibly heavy in Wylan's hands. He felt the same weight on his chest, which made it difficult for him to breathe. He never opened it. What was the point of trying? The only thing he knew was that one day he had found the letter on the same gate from which he escaped with his friend to go play. From that moment on, Jesper never visited again. And, after some time, Wylan returned to Ketterdam at his father's order.

Wylan wasn't sure what to do now that Jesper was back in his life. Should he remind him of their past? Or maybe it was better not to bring it up? After all Jesper decided to stop coming to see him, he probably didn't want to see him anymore. Maybe he had come to hate him, just like his father before. And then the fact that he didn't remember him could only be a chance to start all over again, to pretend that he wasn't the boring little boy from Novyi Zem. That was the opportunity to no longer be Wylan, but to be Hendriks.

"Good morning, merchling." Jesper's voice took Wylan by surprise; he immediately hid the letter in his pocket, praying the Zemeni didn't notice.

"The girls have already gone to buy some stuff for the trip. Are you ready to go or does His Majesty need more time?" Jesper was fidgeting with one of the rolls of kruge that Kaz gave him the night before.

Wylan rolled his eyes. "You're the one who's late, I was waiting for you", he threw his bag over his shoulder and walked briskly out of the laboratory.

"You're the one who needs an escort, it would be much quicker if I didn't have to check on Mister 'I'm-too-easy-to-rob'". Jesper's legs were so long that in a couple of steps he had already reached him.

"Strong words from someone who needs a nanny." Wylan teased back and laughed when Jesper made a hurt look. "You still have all the kruge, don't you?" Jesper replied with a wink. Wylan tried to smile, but what he felt was only apprehension. Jesper had always been impulsive, even as a child, he didn't think, he acted. But discovering that he had developed a full-blown gambling addiction was just painful.

"So, now that it's just the two of us, Jesper was looking at him with the flippant look Wylan had seen so many times before. "Why the hell did you leave Geldstraat for… well, this?" Jesper asked with a sweeping gesture of his arm pointing to the sad show that was the streets of the Barrel. A beggar was stealing from a drunk man passed out near the canal, a homeless woman was digging through a rubbish bin for something to eat, a bouncer was trying to move a dead rat away from the entrance to his club.

"I have my reasons," Wylan replied, avoiding Jesper's gaze, but the sharpshooter seemed to have no intention of letting go.

"They must be really good. What happened? Any scandal? Daddy kicked you out of the house because he caught you in bed with a tutor?"

"Ah, I wish I was that interesting. But no scandals, I'm sorry" Wylan shrugged hoping that Jesper would be satisfied and stop asking questions.

"I don't buy it, merchling. It's always like that. The ones that look the most innocent are always hiding some juicy secrets. Some of them may not even use their own name. Can you believe it, Hendriks?" Jesper vehemently marked his fake name. Wylan stiffened.

"You heard my conversation with Kaz."

"You weren't exactly whispering."

"Why are you talking about this? Do you want to know my real name?"

"I'm just curious. I've never even heard of Van Eck having a son."

"That doesn't surprise me," Wylan's laugh was anything but happy. Jesper looked at him puzzled, but he didn't add anything. He really didn't want to talk about how much his father had worked to make everyone forget about him. Even when the members of the Council were guests in the mansion, he was expected to remain aloof, silent. Sometimes they didn't even realize he was in the room until one of the servants addressed him.

"Okay, I get that you don't want to tell me anything. But what about just one little thing?"'

"Okay, I'll give you one question," Wylan sighed in exasperation.

"And will you answer truthfully?"

"Even if I promised you, how would you know I'm not lying?"

"Your face is too clean to tell lies."

"I don't know whether to take it as a compliment or an insult."

Jesper laughed and Wylan felt warm. It was the same warmth he felt ten years ago every time he heard that sound, but he didn't really remember until now. Once again he asked himself: how could everything be so different and yet so similar?

"It depends, perhaps in the beautiful salons of high society it is a compliment, here in the Stave it is just useless. There's no point in being honest."

"I think I'll have to get used to it. So, the question?"

"Well, let me think about it." Jesper tapped his chin with his forefinger as if he were trying to control the waves of thoughts rushing through his head. "Surely you won't tell me your real name, let alone why you left home… So tell me why 'Hendriks'".

"Why 'Hendriks'?" Wylan repeated startled.

"Yes, why did you choose 'Hendriks'? You could have chosen any other name when you stopped being a Van Eck. Why did you choose this one?"

"It was… my mother's maiden name." The words slipped out of his mouth like a whisper. He hadn't spoken to anyone about his mother in years and it was only now that he realized it. Marya, although she was always at the center of his thoughts, was no longer present in any of his conversations. The realization shocked him.

"I see. It's a great choice." Jesper smiled at him, but this time it wasn't his usual cocky expression. His gray eyes looked melancholy and the corners of his mouth were slightly turned up. It was a soft smile, but also a little forced. Wylan wondered if Jesper felt sorry for him, if that was his way of comforting him. He felt a little pathetic.

"Thank you," he found himself answering.

"Nice, now I'm satisfied" Jesper had already returned to show his usual brash behavior, he patted his shoulder as if to end the conversation. "Where do we go?"

"I have to go to the University District."

"What the hell do you have to do in the University District?"

"Let's say… My supplier is there".

"I thought the Barrel was the crooked part of Ketterdam. Maybe there's something wrong in the water." Wylan laughed softly. Perhaps the problem of that city really was in the water. If he had been a real student, he could have written a thesis about it. He wondered if Professor Levi would have approved.

"First of all, we'll stop buying my bullets and gun stuff, then I'll take you to the University." Wylan nodded in response and followed him as best he could, trying to keep up with the rhythm of those long legs.

It was only a matter of a few minutes. Wylan had only to enter the back door of the Faculty of Science and Technology and run straight to the storage of the department. He told Jesper that it wouldn't take him long and that they would meet again at the entrance to the district; Jesper had agreed without asking any questions. Which was strange, knowing him, but right now it was useful. Wylan absolutely couldn't let him find out how much he knew that place and why, he would only ask more questions that Wylan couldn't nor wanted to answer.

Wylan arrived at the back of the building, the door had been left open by the janitors who came out for a smoke. It was not allowed to light flames in the building because of the chemicals in the air. Wylan quickly squeezed into the building and ran up to the storage. For now everything had gone smoothly as planned, he thanked all saints for not bumping into anyone in the corridors. The storage was also empty, luckily he could easily search for all the materials he needed. During his studies he had memorized the entire periodic table, remembered perfectly the most effective nitro derivatives and had written down the exact order in which the substances were stored in the University storage, so he did not need to read any labels. He had already begun to arrange some vials in the bag, when a voice behind him made him jump in fright.

"Mr. Hendriks, you haven't shown up for work in days. And now I catch you stealing?" Professor Levi watched him sternly from the doorway. Wylan couldn't make a sound. That woman, despite the look of a harmless old lady, was able to terrify him.

"Let me see what you've got". The Professor took a step forward and Wylan instinctively drew back. He had planned an escape, in case someone found him out and he needed to flee, but he hadn't anticipated that he would have to use it against her, of all people.

"Professor, I… Please let me go," Wylan pleaded while with one hand he was reaching for the vial hidden in his sleeve.

"Hendriks, don't make me call security. Leave what you have taken and get out of here."

"I can't, I'm sorry." And it was true. Wylan was really sorry when he threw the vial on the ground and quickly turned up the collar to not breathe the smoke that had come out of it. He saw his mentor inhaling the narcotic gas with a stunned expression and passing out. Wylan managed to catch her before she hit the ground, he set her on the floor as best he could. Now he really had to leave, he took the last things he needed and left in a hurry. He avoided looking at the body of the Professor and continued running.

Jesper was waiting for him with his back leaning against a lamppost, making a coin jump between his thumb and forefinger.

"You took your time. And why do you smell like that?" He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"I had a setback. Come on, let's go, we're late" Wylan tried to cut it short, he didn't want to tell Jesper about knocking out the only person in all of Ketterdam who believed in him.

"The story of my life." Jesper shrugged and followed briskly after him.

The road back to the lab was much quieter than Wylan expected. Jesper didn't say a word the whole way, all he did was glance furtively down every alley. It seemed they were both too absorbed in their own thoughts to talk. Wylan still felt the panic in his guts making his legs move in quick, nervous jerks. He couldn't get the teacher's disappointed and embittered expression out of his head. As he walked through the door to the lab he thought: This was the easy part, wait till you get to the Ice Court.

He soon arranged everything he had recovered on the work table, then collapsed on the sofa with a huge sigh. Jesper moved around the room placing his belongings in the bag he would leave with that same night. Wylan saw him go back to the door and bend down to pick something up from the floor. When the Zemeni straightened up he was holding a letter in his hands. Wylan immediately got up and reached in his pocket, but his letter was still there where he'd left it. Jesper looked at him.

"Daddy has been looking for you," he said, showing Wylan the envelope. Wylan recognized the Council of Tides crest, even from a distance. On the edge of the envelope a stiff and angular handwriting read, probably, 'Jan Van Eck'.

His father had found out. Not only did he know that his son was alive, but he also knew where he was at that moment. This surely complicated his escape plan.