Work Text:
He wakes slowly, with a skin-crawling sense of deja-vu. At first, all he recognises is the rough fibres of ropes around his wrists-ropes and not handcuffs, interesting. As he opens his eyes, orange lamplight floods his vision. He has to blink twice before his vision adjusts fully, and even then he still feels like the room is swaying, a slight bob up and down that leaves him uneasy. Saints, what the hell did they drug him with?
It’s only when his head clears more that he realises that no, it’s not the drug. The room is actually swaying. And he isn’t alone.
Three figures stand before him, each one is clad in a white shirt and roughspun trousers that indicates shipworkers. While the otthers wear shabby looking brown jakcets and waistcoats, the middle one stands proudly in a (hideous) purple frock coat and gold-rimmed hat, tilted at an angle that Kaz suspects is meant to signify a carefree spirit. Really all it shows is that one, he is in charge here and two, he can’t pull off a hat at that angle.
“Kaz Brekker,” the captain announces. Triumph lights up his face, like a cat that caught a particularly unruly mouse. “You’re not an easy man to find.”
“Perhaps for good reason,” he replies. His throat is tight, his voice heavy from whatever they drugged him with, but he won’t clear his throat. He lifts his head, raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “What business, gentlemen?”
“Don’t talk to us like we’re merchants, Brekker,” the captain says. “This ain’t the Barrel and believe it or not, you ain’t the prize.”
“No?” he asks. “You put a lot of work into grabbing me.”
The grin doesn’t waver, but even the little light can’t hide the annoyance flashing in his eyes. With a slow, deliberate pace he steps towards him, one hand on his belt and his tongue poking out. There’s a very, very strong smell of cheap liquor on him, but Kaz fights remains still. Even when the captain comes beside him and slowly squats and his knee brushes against Kaz’s.
Breathe, he reminds himself. In for eight, out for eight.
At least Wylan’s advice is finally being useful.
“You’re not the prize,” he says again, dark eyes flashing. He bares his teeth. “You’re the leverage. Rumour has it that one Captain Ghafa is quite enamoured with you.”
“Never heard of her.” His voice is steady, even, smooth as a sheet of steel. Inside is another story, but if the captain sees that they’re both done for. The match-strike he felt when he said Inej’s name is kept well-hidden.
“No?” he teases. His smile sharpens, and something unsettles inside Kaz. If this fool has touched Inej, he’ll cut off his limbs one by one to use as shark bait. “Then what’s this?”
Clumsily, the man pulls an envelope out of his pocket. He holds it before his eyes and Kaz’s heart contracts. His name, the Crow Club’s address, all written in Inej’s handwriting. Puzzle pieces fall into place now, and he curses.
He’d been expecting a letter from Inej for days now. He’d thought she was busy, or forgot, then began thinking she was hurt. And all that time it was in the hands of this bastard.
Shark bait is too good for him. Kaz will drain his blood and paint his sails with it.
“No idea.”
“My men intercepted this while tracking Ghafa. A messenger left her ship with it at the beginning of this week, after she’d docked in Weddle. It’s quite a sweet letter too.” He runs his finger along the edge. “She signs it ‘your Wraith’. Who knew the Captain had such a soft side?” He raises his eyebrows. “She’s pretty. You’re a lucky man.”
“More that can be said for you,” Kaz growls. The captain stiffens, but the bravado doesn’t fade.
“Easy lad,” he says. “It’s just business isn’t it? A trade-off. Ghafa comes here, agrees to back off my business, and she gets you back in one piece. Surely the Kerch can understand that .”
“What makes you think she’ll come?” he asks. “From what I understand, Captain Ghafa is incredibly sharp. Sharp enough to not believe the threats of a washed-up sailor long past his glory days.”
The man’s eyes narrow. His fist clenches and Kaz braces himself just before he swings. Pain explodes along his jaw, the contact makes his stomach roll.
Breathe, he reminds himself. In for eight, out for eight. The canal comes in flashes, but the flashes fade.
“Cocky little bastard,” he mumbles. “You think we didn’t think of that? We tied the note to something a bit personal.” He straightens his back, puffs out his chest. “Your walking stick is quite distinctive.”
Kaz freezes. Around the chair, his muscles tense. Some inner part of him starts to unravel, but he clamps it down, focuses on the task at hand.
Clearly, this man has a death wish. And Kaz is more than happy to fulfill it.
“Stop your glowering, boy,” he tells him. “You’ll get your cane, and see your girl, once Ghafa agrees to our terms.”
“And when she doesn’t?” Kaz asks. He’s not thrown by the idea of Inej not wanting to trade; her mission is sacred to her and it’s for good reason. “If she refuses to stop? What do you do then?”
The man flinches, no doubt shaken by Kaz’s counter. Men like this are no different from Barrel bosses or Ketterdam merchants; they believe they are untouchable, so they play their cards too early. And now he is scrambling, searching for his next threat.
“Then…” He grabs Kaz’s jaw. His fingers are filthy, the skin is cracked and cold. Kaz swallows the nausea rising within him, forces the black spots at bay. He looks at the ceiling, just present enough to hear his next threat.
“Then I start carving up that pretty face of yours. Then the neck. Then the chest. We’ll see how long her resolve lasts when you have a knife in her throat.”
He lets go and Kaz lets his head fall, just managing to stop himself from gasping. The captain chuckles one last time, low and throaty. Kaz thinks about how he’d like nothing more than to drive his cane right into the man’s eyesockets.
He’s not trying to escape. Which feels odd; indeed, the crew assigned to watch him are puzzled. He could get out of these ropes in seconds, easily overpower the trio of pigeons standing before him. Hell, he’d overpower the captain with absolute delight. But then he would be stuck in the middle of the ocean with next to no way of knowing where he is, how to get back to Ketterdam or how to catch up with Inej. Too many unknown variables to play. So, he will keep his cards close to his chest, stall for time, and believe that Inej is coming for him.
And in the meantime, well, screwing with the shipmates is very entertaining.
On his first full day in captivity, he unties and reties the ropes around his wrists, so many times that the crew quickly run out of knots. A boy suggests they should try chains instead and Kaz doesn’t respond, just grins, slowly, knowingly. They stick with ropes, tied with so many knots his fingers are likely purple.
They station two kids at his door and two on the outside-and they really are kids. The ‘out of our depth’ looks on their faces remind Kaz of Wylan when they raided the Ice Court, though he doubts they have the resilience Wylan does. As they bring him his food, one boy looks nervously to the door and back to Kaz, fingers fidgeting as he sets the plate down.
“They double-locked this door, right?” he asks.
“I broke someone out of Hellgate,” Kaz says nonchalantly, picking at the food. Unsalted cod. Delicious. “You think I can’t manage one measly door?”
And oh, the look on the boy’s face. It sustains him throughout the night. He simply raises an eyebrow at him and quietly pities the poor child because if he thinks Kaz is bad, he will be royally screwed when Inej comes.
He is two days into his captivity when boredom begins to descend. It’s sparing, but still makes itself known. He’s been tied to a chair in the exact same position for most of his time here-not counting those moments where the guards are asleep and he slips out of his bonds and takes a walk around the room to stretch himself. And while scaring the crew with just a smile is undoubtedly delightful, it is bound to go stale sooner or later.
Not to mention, boredom means there’s less to distract him from the pain in his leg.
Thankfully, the door opens in the evening and the captain enters, smirk on his face and note held in his fist.
“You’re in luck, Brekker,” he tells him. “The Wraith has agreed to a meeting. Her ship has been spotted on the horizon.”
“Has it now?” he asks. His voice is cool, his features steady. He will laugh about this in due time.
“She’ll be here in an hour or so,” he goes on. “And once she agrees to our terms, you will be free to go and-”
He is cut off. A loud scream pierces the air, and the captain freezes in place. Kaz allows himself a laugh, leans back as much as his restraints will allow.
The captain turns to him, eyes wide, face pale beneath his beard.
“What did you do, Brekker?”
“Me?” he asks. “I did nothing. I’ve been sat here for over 48 hours.” He shrugs. “However, did you know Inej Ghafa has a number of squallers in her employ? Ex-Grisha indentures who joined her crew since they had no home to go to.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know her.”
Kaz shrugs.
“I hear rumours.” The captain gives him one last, outraged look and then he’s sprinting up to the deck, so quickly that he forgets to close the door in his haste.
And now, Kaz is treated to the soothing, lovely sounds of the absolute carnage Inej and her crew are waging. Right above his head, someone is slammed into the ground, lifted and slammed again, a wet crack denoting some broken bones. Kaz winces. Meanwhile, the silence of his little cabin lets him hear the whooshing of blades, followed by a heavy groan as they find their target. Blows are traded, arrows fly. He even hears someone begging for mercy and above all, a confident and clear voice, barking orders as if she’d been born to do it.
And he can’t help it; there’s a faint glow of pride in his chest. Inej truly has earned her reputation.
Feet pound on the staircase outside. With a start, Kaz begins working on his restraints and Inej appears in the doorway just as the ropes drop. Crimson stains mar her trousers and her tunic, and her hair is coming loose from her braid. Her eyes are bright, chest heaving as she sheaths her knife. He rises to his feet, nods, pushes his hair from his face.
“You just can’t keep out of trouble, can you Kaz?”
Inej tosses him his cane and he catches it without breaking her stare. The relief is indescribable as he can finally take the weight off his bad leg. Inej comes closer, dark eyes flicking to his chair before moving back to him.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Well, the food was sub-par and undercooked and that chair was dreadfully uncomfortable,” he begins. “But other than that I’m fine.” Inej nods, though the words don’t seem to register. Her gaze roams over him, searching for a hidden bruise or a cut, a tell that he’s hiding something. He doesn’t blame her, of course, hiding pain is arguably what he does best.
“Inej.” Carefully, he takes her chin and tilts it so she meets his eyes. He presses his gloved thumb gently into the indent. “I’m okay.”
She breathes out, nods, smiles.
“All right,” she says. Her hand comes up over his wrist, her fingers on his pulse point and she squeezes it once. They take the small moment together, reveling in each other.
“Playing the damsel in distress suits you, Kaz.”
“Damsel?” he echoes. “I was biding my time.”
“Until I rescued you?” she teases. “You were so sure I would?”
“It was a calculated move.” Kaz offers her his arm and, blushing, she takes it, as if they’re a gentleman and a lady enjoying an afternoon stroll. “Where are we anyway?”
“Close to Shirftport,” she says. They begin ascending the stairs. “We could make a stop there if you want. There’s a really lovely little diner there I keep thinking I should take you to.”
As they appear on the deck, Inej’s hold on him tightens, her free hand solid against his back. He squints against the bright sun, blinding him for a minute after his days in darkness. But then he adjusts, and the sight that greets him is worth it. The deck is stained red, Inej’s crew stand over the crumpled and whimpering forms of the pirates that captured him. The captain is tied to the mast, stripped of his jacket and vest, a particularly formidable-looking girl holding a knife at his throat.
Inej and Kaz cross the ship together. Inej’s crew bow to her as she does, meanwhile the captain lets out a strained, high-pitched whine around his gag. His crew moan from their places on the floor.
Up close, Kaz sees the pulsing, dark slashes over his chest and across his face. The strokes are so fierce that they remind Kaz of an animal’s claws, only much more precise.
“Thanks Roisin, I’ll take it from here,” Inej says. She twirls the knife around her fingers, thoughtfully, her tongue poked out to the side of her mouth. “Now what do we do with you?”
“You could rip out his eyeball,” Kaz suggests.
“Oh but that’s your move.”
“I’d give it to you.”
The Captain whimpers again, louder this time. It sounds like he’s begging. Inej glares at him, the look just as deadly as her blades, and Kaz laughs. Whether she uses his move or not, he doesn’t mind. The Wraith is deadly enough on her own, more than a match for this sad excuse of a pirate.
“I have missed you, Inej,” he says. Inej squeezes Kaz’s arm, then drives her knife into the man’s neck.