lessons. Kaz was just glad he didn’t live next door.
“That’s good work,” Kaz said when Pim had finished. He hadn’t thought Pim had much talent for gathering intelligence.
“Roeder put together the report,” Pim said. “Think he’s gunning for a place as your new spider.”
“I don’t need a new spider,” said Kaz.
Pim shrugged. “Wraith’s been scarce. People talk.”
Kaz dismissed Anika and Pim and sat for a long moment in the quiet office. He’d barely slept in the past few weeks. He’d been waiting nearly half his life for this moment to become a reality, and he was afraid that if he let himself sleep, it might all vanish. Pekka Rollins had fled the city and hadn’t returned. Word was he’d holed up with his son in a country house surrounded by armed men at all times. Between the quarantines at the Emerald Palace, the Kaelish Prince, and the Sweet Shop, and the fact that he wasn’t around to put things to rights, Pekka Rollins’ businesses were on the brink of collapse. There was even talk of mutiny within the Dime Lions. Their boss was gone, and the deal he’d made with Van Eck had made them look no better than a rich man’s henchmen. They might as well be stadwatch .
Brick by brick. Eventually, Rollins would dig himself out of the rubble. Kaz would have to be ready.
A knock sounded at the door. The one problem with being on the ground floor was that people were a lot more likely to bother you.
“Letter came,” Anika said, and tossed it on his desk. “Looks like you’re keeping fast company, Brekker,” she said with a sly smile.
Kaz let his glance at the door do the talking. He wasn’t interested in watching Anika bat her yellow lashes.
“Right,” she said, and vanished, closing the door behind her.
Kaz held the letter up to the light. The seal was pale blue wax, marked with a golden double eagle. He slit open the envelope, read the letter’s contents, and burned both. Then he wrote a note of his own and sealed it in black wax.
Kaz knew Inej had been staying at Wylan’s house. Occasionally, he’d find a scrawled note on his desk—some bit of information about Pekka or the doings at the Stadhall—and he’d know she’d been here in his office. He slipped on his coat, took up his hat and cane, and tucked the paper into his pocket. He could have sent a messenger, but he wanted to deliver this note himself.
Kaz strode past Anika and Pim on the way out of the Slat. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he said, “and I better not still see you podges wasting your time here.”
“Hardly anyone at the club,” said Pim. “Tourists are too scared of the plague.”
“Go to the rooming houses where all the frightened pigeons are waiting out the panic. Show them you’re in the pink of health. Make sure they know you just had a fine time playing Three Man Bramble at the Crow Club. If that doesn’t work, get your asses to the harbors and drum up some pigeons from the workers on the boats.”
“I just came off a shift,” protested Pim.
Kaz settled his hat on his head and ran a thumb over the brim. “Didn’t ask.”
He cut east through the city. He was tempted to take a detour, just to see for himself how things were proceeding on West Stave. Between the Shu attack and the plague outbreak, the pleasure houses were practically deserted. Several streets had been barricaded to enforce the quarantine surrounding the Sweet Shop and the Menagerie. Rumor had it Heleen Van Houden wasn’t going to make her rent that month. A pity.
There were no browboats operating, so he had to make the journey up to the financial district on foot. As he wended his way along a small, deserted canal, he saw a thick mist rising off the water. Only a few steps later, it was so dense he could barely see. The mist clung to his coat, wet and heavy, thoroughly out of place on a warm spring day. Kaz paused on the low bridge that spanned the canal, waiting, cane at the ready. A moment later, three hooded figures emerged to his left. Three more appeared to his right, their blue cloaks moving sinuously through the air, though there was no breeze. That much Kaz had gotten right, but their masks weren’t made of mist. Instead, the real Council of Tides—or a very convincing set of pretenders—wore