Kaz had ignored the sobs coming out of Inej's room after her first kill. And Kaz being Kaz offers comfort in his own way – days later, so no one could possibly accuse him of caring. The line about Kaz having done a shoddy job teaching Inej how to pick locks made me think of what their time together may have looked like in the beginning and I was especially curious to explore when and under what circumstances he may have taken his gloves off in front of her for the first time.
I also had some thoughts about Inej's Kerch reading lessons, and how her habit of sitting on Kaz's window sill may have begun. Idk, man. I really hope you like it and would love some constructive criticism.
Also, shout out to The Lock Picking Lawyer on YouTube, who was a great resource for all things locks.
How To Pick Locks With Kaz Brekker – An Introduction
Kaz had been avoiding her, Inej was certain of it. She was also certain it was because of the disaster of a job a few days ago. There had been no malice to his absence, he had not been punishing her, she was certain of that, too; he simply wasn't the type to console. At first, she'd been glad to be left alone and come to terms with what she'd done – what she'd been forced to do. But at some point the guilt and desolation of having made her first kill, had threatened to drag her under. Just when she'd been about to force an encounter with him, she'd found the folded note on her pillow.
Three simple words, wirtten in Kaz's scrawl:
Dawn. My Office.
"Come in."
The voice behind the door spoke before Inej had a chance to knock. Tentatively, she turned the handle and stepped inside.
"Shut the door," Kaz said, without looking at her, as he was making his way to the makeshift desk that took up most of the room. His limp was more pronounced than usual, his bad leg still stiff from sleep.
Dawn had begun to brighten the horizon, the light filtered through the window in rays, smoothing the sharp edges of his face. He was dressed in a clean cut black suit, but his hair, usually neatly combed back, was tousled as if he had just rolled out of bed. It made him look younger; more human rather than the intangible myth that existed in people's minds. Noticing her gaze, he ran a gloved hand over his head and smoothed it down.
Inej still stood by the door, feeling awkward, unsure of what to expect. She'd been to his office many times in the past few months, picking up assignments or delivering messages and most notably for her reading lessons, but this felt different somehow.
Kaz took a seat behind the desk and raised a questioning brow at her. Right, she headed toward the ragged chair across from him and noticed the precariously stacked ledgers that usually littered the desk had been replaced by various locks. Some were large and heavy looking, others small and dainty. Some had wheels with neatly spaced numbers engraved around them, others still had a glass casing, revealing the mechanism on the inside. A lesson on how to pick locks, then.
"Let's start with this," he said, not wasting time as usual. He picked up a small golden cylinder fitted with bolts and springs, and held it between his gloved thumb and forefinger. "This is a basic locking mechanism. The correct key, will move each these upward until these small gaps align, which allows the core to turn," he said, pointing at the three bolts on top. "No one worth his coin, will put something valuable behind one of these, but it's a good place to start." He mounted the cylinder on a vice, so the bolts and springs were facing her and picked up two metal bars.
"For now, this one," he held up the bar with a sharp bent at one side, "is going to allow us to turn the core once we've moved each bolt into place." He then proceeded to take the other smaller bar, this one curled at the end and inserted it, moving it up and down gently. His gloves obscured her view of exactly how he grasped the tools in his hands, but she saw the small bolts lift in time with his movements and heard tree distinct clicks, before he turned the core with the other bar.
"Depending on the circumstance, you won't always be able to hear the bolts clicking, so you'll need to focus on the small differences in resistance, when you move this second rod. Here," he lay the lock picks in front of her.
Inej had started her training as Kaz's spider the day he had brought her from the Menagerie. He had selected one of the younger bruisers in the dregs to teach her how to win fights against much larger opponents. He was a large fellow, aptly called Big Bolliger, with a humorous, gentle nature – as gentle as was possible in a place like the barrel, anyway. It made physical contact easier, during sparring, though she still sometimes vanished into herself when she felt his heavy arms wrapping around her suddenly too tight body. She didn't see much of Kaz during the day, he always seemed to be on the move, undoubtedly finding new ways to fill his pockets. But he always showed up at eight bells to give her lessons on reading Kerch. He showed up bruised and bloodied on more than one occasion, but he'd showed up nevertheless. They didn't speak much, instead he had her trace individual letters, while he flipped trough the ledgers on his desk.
Sometimes he would read to her, while she tracked the words on her own sheet, circling any new word and later writing or sounding them out. She was surprised to find that the same rock-salt rasp that spewed threats of violence with ease, was also well-suited for reading tales of witches and clever foxes. Neither his intonation, nor his face betrayed any sort of sentiment, yet listening to his steady voice, always made her wonder. What was his upbringing like? Was there ever someone that read to him? Had he known love, like she had, before the barrel had twisted and hardened his heart like it did hers? She knew better than to ask.
Other times, when she was lucky, she would glance up from her worksheet and find him leaned back in his chair, staring out the window, his eyes fixed to a distant point, while she could practically hear the wheels in his head spinning. Scheming face Jesper had dubbed it, but Kaz never made her privy to his thoughts. In those moments, she allowed her gaze to linger, studying the sharp edges of his face, his dark eyes, his lips, knowing that he was too preoccupied to reprimand her for slacking off her work. He had told her the very first time they'd met that he had no comfort to offer, but at some point she had realized that she did feel comfortable around him. He was a liar and a thief, who didn't shy away from violence, but as strange as it might sound, he was honest about what he was and knowing precisely what to expect from him, put her at ease.
Now, Kaz cleared his throat. "Let's move on" he said, when Inej had mastered putting the bolts into place in mere seconds. There was an edge to his voice, like he dreaded what came next, though Inej couldn't figure out why.
"If we move to advanced mechanisms, the first pick we insert does not only allow us to rotate the core, but is actually crucial for giving us the necessary feedback to know if what we are doing with the second pick is working." Inej noticed a musicle in his jaw starting to twitch. He selected two proper padlocks, holding them so the keyholes faced her.
"Depending on the lock you can still insert the first pick at the bottom, like we did before, but you'll notice this leaves far less space to maneuver your second pick, which is why I prefer to feel for tension at the top." He practically huffed out that last part. Inej grew more and more concerned, his discomfort sparking over to her like a flame. What was wrong with him?
Kaz set down two of the locks, removed the cylinder and slowly mounted the remaining lock on the vice. For a moment they sat, silence stretching.
"What's wrong?" Inej asked, confused.
"Nothing at all," he bit out and then, to her complete shock, began pulling of his gloves. Slowly, deliberately, as if stripping off each finger caused him pain. Inej had, of course, heard the frightened whispers about Dirtyhands and what may be hidden beneath his gloves. And though she had witnessed that the fear sweeping across a room by the mere mention of Kaz Brekker's name was more than justified, she'd never believed there was any truth to those absurd rumors. Still, she was almost disappointed at the sight of nothing but slender fingers, clipped nails and a faint scar trailing across his knuckle.
Inej caught a slight tremble before he balled his hands into fists. He looked ill, as though removing these gloves had cost him dearly and still, she couldn't see what was causing his reaction. He seemed oddly vulnerable without his gloves, and the sudden impulse to make him feel better, startled her into speaking the first words that popped into her head.
"To be honest, I really expected worse," she tried for humor.
"Is that so?" He replied, still tense.
She lowered her voice to a mocking whisper, echoing the words spoken up and down the barrel.
"'...Brekker's hands are twisted into claws, I tells you' and 'they're permanently stained with blood under there', I meanhonestly, how do people even come up with this stuff?"
His lips quirked at that, like he was about to let her in on an old joke, and some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders.
"My first gloves were made of cheap leather and bled dye, whenever they got wet. They did leave a reddish stain for a while. I didn't bother correcting people when they made their assumptions. You'll come to realize that playing on peoples fears will serve you well."
Before she could respond, he'd reached for the picks in front him, face serious again. "This time, hold them like this," he held the thin metal rods between his bare fingers. "It feels a bit awkward at first, but this way, you'll get better feedback on how the bolts move and when exactly they click into place."
Kaz demonstrated how to determine the best angle to approach a lock and pointed out even the slightest differences from the other locks. Truly in his element, his previous anxiety seemed to disappear and Inej came to the realization that she too was getting used to the sight of his bare hands. He described the feel he was aiming for in as much detail as possible, as he deftly maneuvered the tools, "close your eyes if you have trouble feeling the tension."
Finally, he placed the picks in front of her and let her have at it. Despite her small victory over the first lock, the picks still felt awkward in her hands and even fell out of her grip at one point. He showed her where to place her fingers, being careful not to touch her, and gave an approving nod as her movements grew more confident.
As the hours progressed, so did her weariness. Inej hadn't properly slept in days and her mind kept drifting towards the look of surprise as the man in front of her collapsed and the red pudle blooming out of him like some sort of twisted flower. If Inej had not killed this man, he would have killed her, she knew this. And if she were asked to go back to this moment, she would make that choice again. She had gotten a second chance at life, and she was determined to actually live it. But, the guilt of having ended the live of another weighed on her, anyway. The scenes from that night added to the tally of nightmares that threatened to overcome her in the quiet moments just before sleep claimed her.
"I think I need a break" Inej said, when she could keep the thoughts of death no longer at bay. Kaz nodded, but remained silent, opting for a scrutinizing gaze instead.
Not able to withstand it, Inej got up and slowly started pacing the small room until eventually she stopped by the window. She opened it, startling a couple of crows into taking flight.
The lull of midday started to set in. She had heard the city grow quieter as fewer and fewer people dressed in cloaks and masks wandered the streets and the last of the drunks staggered arm in arm to their night camps. The merchers and visitors hurried to return to the respectable roles they had cast off under the guise of anonymity. Shop owners began sweeping their storefronts, and even the stadtwatch officials remembered their positions and once again invoked their authority after having betrayed it so easily for a quick tumble or a gamble.
"How do you make peace with the evil you've done?" She hadn't meant to ask the question aloud, had half a mind to brush it off, feeling suddenly nervous – an echo of the fear that had been instilled in her during her time at the Menagerie. She had learned to keep her troubles to herself lest Tante Heleen punished her for "being ungrateful."The only forms of commiseration among the young girls had been limited to rueful, knowing smiles or comparing their bruises in bouts of morbid humor. But she was free now, was she not? If not free enough to take her fate into her own hands, then at least free to speak her mind without fearing the end of a whip or the kick of a gilded boot.
She turned around and pulled herself up to the narrow window sill, finding comfort in the familiar act of balancing. She met Kaz's dark gaze, expectant.
"In the barrel, you're either the pigeon or the butcher and I have no intention of being anyone's dinner. You do what you have to do to survive and that's that." The answer came fast, as if he was reading from a script. She felt herself deflate a bit. She hadn't been looking for absolution, from this sin – she knew better than to turn to Kaz for such matters – but for a way to cope. A way to carry on.
She examined his face, trying to see through his pragmatism. He leaned back in his chair, reluctant understanding tugging at his face. And then, as if he couldn't bear her scrutinizing gaze either, he stood up. He limped around the desk, leaned against it, allowing his bad leg to stretch.
When he spoke again, Inej found the slightest crack in the impenetrable steel wall that usually surrounded him. A brief glimpse of the boy behind.
"There's no point hoping for peace. Just like there is no reverting back to who you were before the Menagerie. It's too late for that." His unyielding words were contrasted by the barest glimmer of warmth with which he said them. "All you can do is keep going, as far and fast you can. And just maybe the ghosts of your past won't be able to catch up."
She paused, surprised by his honesty, and mulled over his words. Is this why he is always on the move, going from one job to the next? Why he never rests? Before today, she'd started to wonder whether human inanities such as sleep were beneath him.
"Sounds incredibly exhausting," she said finally. "What happens when you run out of breath?" The corner of his lips curled into a mocking smile, "Maybe then you can ask one of your saints to pull you along."
For a moment, Inej thought he'd say more. But that was not the way of the boy before her. Still, she felt a bit lighter, sat up a little straighter, relieved to know that she was not walking this dark path entirely alone.
But before she had a chance to properly categorize this new facet to Kaz Brekker, he had smothered the faint glow of warmth that had lit up her insides and patched the crack in his steel wall. He reached for his gloves, as he walked back to his chair, and pulled them on in a fluid motion. The last of his armor put back in place.
"Back to work," he said.