Crooked Kingdom (The Six of Crows Duology #2) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,185

could never be brought back. But Pekka Rollins could learn the helplessness they’d known.

“Well, it’s your bad luck that it was you,” he bit out. “Yours and your son’s.”

“I think you’re bluffing.”

Kaz smiled. “I buried your son,” he crooned, savoring the words. “I buried him alive, six feet beneath the earth in a field of rocky soil. I could hear him crying the whole time, begging for his father. Papa, Papa. I’ve never heard a sweeter sound.”

“Kaz—” said Inej, her face pale. This she would not forgive him.

Rollins bulled toward him, grabbed him by his lapels, and slammed him against the chapel wall. Kaz let him. Rollins was sweating like a moist plum, his face livid with desperation and terror. Kaz drank it in. He wanted to remember every moment of this.

“Tell me where he is, Brekker.” He smashed Kaz’s head against the wall again. “Tell me.”

“It’s a simple trade, Rollins. Just speak my brother’s name and your son lives.”

“Brekker—”

“Tell me my brother’s name,” Kaz repeated. “How about another hint? You invited us to a house on Zelverstraat. Your wife played the piano. Her name was Margit. There was a silver dog and you called your daughter Saskia. She wore a red ribbon in her braid. You see? I remember. I remember all of it. It’s easy.”

Rollins released him, paced the chapel, ran his hands through his thinning hair.

“Two boys,” he said frantically, searching for the memory. He whirled on Kaz, pointing. “I remember. Two boys from Lij. You had a piddling little fortune. Your brother fancied himself a trader, wanted to be a merch and get rich like every other nub who steps off a browboat in the Barrel.”

“That’s right. Two more fools for you to cozy. Now tell me his name.”

“Kaz and …” Rollins clasped his hands on top of his head. Back and forth he crossed the chapel, back and forth, breathing heavily, as if he’d run the length of the city. “Kaz and …” He turned back to Kaz. “I can make you rich, Brekker.”

“I can make myself rich.”

“I can give you the Barrel, influence you’ve never dreamed of. Whatever you want.”

“Bring my brother back from the dead.”

“He was a fool and you know it! He was like any other mark, thinking he was smarter than the system, looking to make quick coin. You can’t fleece an honest man, Brekker. You know that!”

Greed is my lever. Pekka Rollins had taught him that lesson, and he was right. They’d been fools. Maybe one day Kaz could forgive Jordie for not being the perfect brother he held in his heart. Maybe he could even absolve himself for being the kind of gullible, trusting boy who believed someone might simply want to be kind. But for Rollins there would be no reprieve.

“You tell me where he is, Brekker,” Rollins roared in his face. “You tell me where my son is!”

“Say my brother’s name. Speak it like they do in the magic shows on East Stave—like an incantation. You want your boy? What right does your son have to his precious, coddled life? How is he different from me or my brother?”

“I don’t know your brother’s name. I don’t know! I don’t remember! I was making my name. I was making a little scrub. I thought you two would have a rough week and head home to the country.”

“No, you didn’t. You never gave us another thought.”

“Please, Kaz,” whispered Inej. “Don’t do this. Don’t be this.”

Rollins groaned. “I am begging you—”

“Are you?”

“You son of a bitch.”

Kaz consulted his watch. “All this time talking while your boy is lost in the dark.”

Pekka glanced at his men. He rubbed his hands over his face. Then slowly, his movements heavy, as if he had to fight every muscle of his body to do it, Rollins went to his knees.

Kaz saw the Dime Lions shake their heads. Weakness never earned respect in the Barrel, no matter how good the cause.

“I am begging you, Brekker. He’s all I have. Let me go to him. Let me save him.”

Kaz looked at Pekka Rollins, Jakob Hertzoon, kneeling before him at last, eyes wet with tears, pain carved into the lines of his flushed face. Brick by brick.

It was a start.

“Your son is in the southernmost corner of Tarmakker’s Field, two miles west of Appelbroek. I’ve marked the plot with a black flag. If you leave now, you should get to him in plenty of time.”

Pekka lurched to his feet and began calling orders. “Send ahead to the