Six of Crows (Six of Crows #1) - Leigh Bardugo Page 0,172
going to ally with you. Not against a merch. No one will. You’re not courting a little gang war, Brekker. You’ll have the stadwatch, the Kerch army, and its navy arrayed against you. They’ll burn the Slat to the ground with the old man in it, and they’ll take Fifth Harbor back, too.”
“I don’t expect you to fight beside me, Rollins.”
“Then what do you want? It’s yours. Within reason.”
“I need to get a message to the Ravkan capital. Fast.”
Rollins shrugged. “Easy enough.”
“And I need money.”
“Shocking. How much?”
“Two hundred thousand kruge.”
Rollins nearly choked on his laughter. “Anything else, Brekker? The Lantsov Emerald? A dragon who craps rainbows?”
“You have the money to spare, Rollins. And I saved your life.”
“Then you should have negotiated back in that cell. I’m not a bank, Brekker. And even if I were, given your current situation, I’d say you’re a pretty poor credit risk.”
“I don’t want a loan.”
“You want me to give you two hundred thousand kruge? And what do I get for this generous gesture?”
Brekker’s jaw set. “My shares in the Crow Club and Fifth Harbor.”
Rollins sat up straighter. “You’d sell your stake?”
“Yes. And for another hundred thousand I’ll throw in an original DeKappel.”
Rollins leaned back and pressed his fingers together. “It’s not enough, you know. Not to go to war with the Merchant Council.”
“It is for this crew.”
“This crew?” Rollins said with a snort. “I can’t believe you sorry lot were the ones to successfully raid the Ice Court.”
“Believe it.”
“Van Eck is going to put you in the ground.”
“Others have tried. Somehow I keep coming back from the dead.”
“I respect your drive, kid. And I understand. You want your money; you want the Wraith back; you want a bit of Van Eck’s hide—”
“No,” said Brekker, his voice part rasp, part growl. “When I come for Van Eck, I won’t just take what’s mine. I’ll carve his life hollow. I’ll burn his name from the ledger. There will be nothing left.”
Pekka Rollins couldn’t count the threats he’d heard, the men he’d killed, or the men he’d seen die, but the look in Brekker’s eye still sent a chill slithering up his spine. Some wrathful thing in this boy was begging to get loose, and Rollins didn’t want to be around when it slipped its leash.
“Open the safe, Doughty.”
Rollins doled out the cash to Brekker, then had him write out a transfer order for his shares in the Crow Club and the gold mine that was Fifth Harbor. When he held out his hand to shake on the deal, Brekker’s grip was knuckle-crushing.
“You don’t remember me at all, do you?” the boy asked.
“Should I?”
“Not just yet.” That black thing flickered behind Brekker’s eyes.
“The deal is the deal,” said Rollins, eager to be done with this strange lot.
“The deal is the deal.”
When they’d gone, Rollins peered through the big glass window that overlooked the gambling floor of the Emerald Palace.
“An unexpectedly profitable end to the day, Doughty.”
Doughty grunted agreement, surveying the action taking place at the tables below—dice, cards, Makker’s Wheel, fortunes won and lost, and a delicious slice of all of it came to Rollins.
“What’s with those gloves he wears?” the bruiser asked.
“A bit of theater, I suspect. Who knows? Who cares?”
Rollins watched Brekker and his crew moving through the crowded gambling hall. They opened the doors to the street, and for a brief moment, they were silhouetted against the lamplight in their masks and capes—a cripple trailed by a bunch of kids in costumes. Some gang. Brekker was a wily thief and tough enough, Pekka supposed, inventive, too. But unlike those poor stooges at the Ice Court, Van Eck would be ready for Brekker. The boy was going into a real battle. He didn’t stand a chance.
Rollins reached for his watch. It had to be about time for the dealers to change shifts, and he liked to supervise them himself.
“Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed a second later.
“What is it, boss?”
Rollins held up his watch chain. A turnip was hanging from the fob where his diamond-studded timepiece should have been. “That little bastard—” Then a thought came to him. He reached for his wallet. It was gone. So was his tie pin, the Kaelish coin pendant he wore for luck, and the gold buckles on his shoes. Rollins wondered if he should check the fillings in his teeth.
“He picked your pocket?” Doughty asked incredulously.
No one got one over on Pekka Rollins. No one dared. But Brekker had, and Rollins wondered if that was just the beginning.