Crooked Kingdom (The Six of Crows Duology #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,147

true? And after all, Kaz had gone to great lengths to prove he was capable of anything.

“You were seen on Goedmedbridge with the mercher’s wife,” insisted Per Haskell.

“His wife, not his son. His wife who is home safe, beside her thieving husband, knitting booties and talking to her birds. Think for a minute, Haskell. What possible use could I have for a merch’s brat?”

“Bribery, ransom—”

“I crossed Van Eck because he crossed me and now he’s using the city’s henchmen and Pekka Rollins and all of you to even the score. It’s that simple.”

“I didn’t ask for this trouble, boy. Didn’t ask for it and don’t want it.”

“You wanted everything else I’ve brought to your door, Haskell. You’d still be running the same penny-poor cons and drinking watered-down whiskey if it wasn’t for me. These walls would be falling down around your head. You’ve taken every bit of money and luck I’ve handed you. You ate up the profits from Fifth Harbor and the Crow Club like it was your due, let me do your fighting and your dirty work.” His gaze tracked slowly over the Dregs below. “You all benefited. You reaped the rewards. But first chance you get, you’re ready to cozy up to Pekka Rollins for the pleasure of fitting me for a noose.” Another uneasy rustle from the onlookers. “But I’m not angry.”

There had to be twenty Dregs looking up at Kaz, all of them armed, and yet Inej could have sworn she sensed their relief. Then she understood—the fight was just the opening act. They knew Kaz was tough. They didn’t need him to prove it. This was about what Kaz needed. To attempt a coup against Per Haskell, he would have had to seek out the Dregs individually, wasting time and risking capture on the streets of the Barrel. Now he had an audience, and Per Haskell had been happy to welcome one and all—a bit of entertainment, the dramatic end of Kaz Brekker, the Humbling of Dirtyhands. But this was no cheap comedy. It was a bloody rite, and Per Haskell had let the congregation gather, never realizing that the real performance had yet to begin. Kaz stood upon his pulpit, wounded, bruised, and ready to preach.

“I’m not angry,” Kaz said again. “Not about that. But you know what makes me mad? What really gets me riled? Seeing a crow taking orders from a Dime Lion. Watching you parade around after Pekka Rollins like it’s something to be proud of. One of the deadliest gangs in the Barrel bending like a bunch of new lilies.”

“Rollins has power, boy,” said Per Haskell. “Resources. Lecture me when you’ve been around a few more years. It’s my job to protect this gang, and that’s what I did. I kept them safe from your recklessness.”

“You think you’re safe because you rolled over for Pekka Rollins? You think he’ll be happy to honor this truce? That he won’t get hungry for what you’ve got? Does that sound like Pekka Rollins to you?”

“Hell no,” said Anika.

“Who do you want standing in that doorway when the lion gets hungry? A crow? Or a washed-up rooster who squawks and struts, then sides with a Dime Lion and some dirty merch against one of his own?”

From above, Inej could see the people nearest Per Haskell leaning slightly away from him now. A few were taking long looks at him, at the feather in his hat, at the walking sticks in his hands—Kaz’s cane that they’d seen wielded with such bloody precision and the fake crow cane Haskell had contrived to mock him.

“In the Barrel, we don’t trade in safety,” Kaz said, the abraded burn of his voice carrying over the crowd. “There’s only strength and weakness. You don’t ask for respect. You earn it.” You don’t ask for forgiveness. You earn it. He’d stolen her line. She almost smiled. “I’m not your friend,” he said. “I’m not your father. I’m not going to offer you whiskey or clap you on the back and call you son. But I’ll keep money in our coffers. I’ll keep our enemies scared enough that they’ll scurry when they see that tattoo on your arm. So who do you want in that doorway when Pekka Rollins comes to call?”

The silence swelled, a tick feeding on the prospect of violence.

“Well?” Per Haskell blustered, thrusting his chest out. “Answer him. You want your rightful leader or some jumped-up cripple who can’t even walk straight?”

“I may not walk straight,” said Kaz.