Chapter Text
When Wylan woke in an alley, he knew three things for sure; his name, his music, and a song someone used to sing. He didn’t know who he was, much less how he’d gotten there. He couldn’t even remember his last name.
Okay, he told himself, Breathe, Wylan. Wylan. That’s your name. You have a bag. You can find out where you are.
Easier said than done. He looked around at a dingy alleyway that smelled of old cigarettes and things he didn’t want to know. A few feet away from him, rats scuttled around on the ground while fighting over scraps of food, and he could hear shouts and cries in the background. Not somewhere I would want to be, he noted. He was tucked safely behind a garbage can but something told him he would not be safe for long. Not in the Barrel.
The Barrel.
The name came to him in a flash. The Barrel! Progress. He at least was sure of where he was. The bad news was that it was home to gangs and thieves, cutthroats and murderers, and other unsavory sorts of people. Wylan wasn’t safe. He needed to get out of here—and find somewhere to sleep—fast.
Shuffling further behind the garbage bin, he took note of his inventory. A satchel. Music sheets, papers he couldn’t read, and a flute? Okay…he knew he couldn’t read and maybe he was…a musician? Flautist? Not much money though, the only thing he found was spare change. He checked his pockets. Nothing—except…wait, a blank piece of paper? It was crumpled and had clearly dried after being wet.
Wet…come to think of it, he was shivering and cold. His clothes were damp and his hair was dripping slightly. The thought of water made him shiver for a whole set of different reasons. Was that how he got here, then? Had he fallen off some sort of boat? Didn’t explain how he got here, though. Wait a moment. His family. He had one, he was sure. Where were they? Were they worried for him? They had to be searching for him.
He remembered a song…a lullaby…being sung to him by a ginger woman (his mother?). A young blonde girl who had to be his older sister. She looked pregnant , despite her young age, so maybe she was engaged? And…his father. A blue eyed fellow with the same eyes as him. He didn’t know why, but his stomach churned at the thought of him. He pushed those feelings away. He had to be worried about him. He had to. With a sigh, he stepped out from his safe little nook. Time to face the world.
__
One week and two days later
Wylan got up from the bug-infested bed in his lodgings. His back was sore and his throat was swollen, but he had a job at the tannery, and that was what mattered. He made just enough to pay for rent with a little on the side to make sure hewouldn’t starve.
It’s just for now, he promised. Until he could find his family again. However long that took. They would wait though…right?
He shrugged the thoughts off and grabbed his coat, throwing his satchel on his shoulder. The door slammed shut on his way out. His neighbors wouldn’t mind, they had been far louder last night. Ghezen knew why the walls had to be this thin.
He set out, walking across the busy streets of Ketterdam, careful not to get his bag stolen and checking his pockets for his change. When he arrived at the tannery, a large broken down building, he took his place at the tanks.
“Hendriks!” A voice barked.
“Yes?” He sighed, wiping his hands on his pants.
“You’re slacking. Don’t work so slowly, or I’ll take it out of your pay. Ghezen blesses only the hard working.” if his sharp glare could kill a man, Wylan would be dead and buried. He turned back to the other workers, metal rod at the ready. He went back to his work. It was going to be a long day.
—
After hours of bone aching labor, Wylan finally packed up his things and left the tannery. He wove his way through the streets and alleys, walking towards his room. Okay, he thought , things I remember…my name is Wylan. I’m in the barrel. I play the flute. The name Hendriks (My last name?) is important to me. I can’t read. I fell off a boat. The tune of a song I can play on my flute. I’m good at chemistry.
The entirety of the song (and his real last name) were two things he was sure he needed. Many of what he remembered was unsure, though some things, like the fact that he couldn’t read was a flaw and shame, were definite. He was about to take a turn when—CRASH!
He slammed into a lanky, Zemeni boy around his age. He was in an eyesore of an outfit, as if a clown and several pirates had died, and his lips were the most perfect he’d ever seen. Wylan shook his head. He was staring.
“Watch where you’re going!” He snapped, picking up his things.
“Me? You’re the one whose head was up in the clouds!” The boy exclaimed, crossing his arms.
Wylan ignored him and searched frantically for his coins. He needed those. “Did you steal something?” He glared up at him, staring at his grey eyes.
“No!” He scowled. “You’re not from around here, are you? The way you were checking your pockets, I’m surprised you weren’t robbed within the second you stepped in the Barrel, kid.”
“Were you following me?” Wylan shot back, ignoring the insult.
“No! Well, yes, but—ugh! Just come with me, I’ll explain everything” He dragged his hand over his face.
“Hang on. You think I’ll come with you after that?” He snorted. “No.”
“Please? I swear, it’s just a business deal. My boss asked me to follow you and give you this.” He held out a paper, which Wylan took reluctantly. He couldn’t read it.
“I don’t need you or your boss.” Wylan turned to walk away when, “Ten kruge! Ten kruge just for coming and if you meet him. You need it, don’t you?”
He froze. He did in fact need the money. But was it worth the gamble? Worth going with this strange boy? Worth his life? Yes, he decided, I need this.
“I’m coming.” He said, steeling himself.
The boy grinned,”Got a name, newbie?”
“Wylan.” He fidgeted with the edges of his sleeves.
“Nice to meet you, Wylan. I’m Jesper Fahey, part of the dregs. You’ll probably regret this.” Jesper smiled. Wylan wondered exactly what they had gotten themself into.
—
Kaz Brekker tapped his gloved fingers on his desk. “Hello, Wylan.”
They were in a dimly lit room, in a place called the slat, meeting with the notorious Dirtyhands of the barrel. However Wylan’s life led to this, he almost didn’t want to know. The seventeen year old boy was holding a cane with a silver crow at the handle, dressed in a black ensemble that matched those the Merchers wore. He tapped his foot nervously and introduced himself.
“What the hell do you want from me?” He demanded. The infuriating boy only raised an eyebrow.
“C’mon, Kaz.” Wylan jumped. He’d forgotten Jesper was still in the room. “Just tell him why he’s here, don’t tell me you had me running all over the barrel watching him for nothing.”
“I have a…business proposition for you.” Kaz stated, “I’ve heard of your work at the tannery. Your ideas to improve the vats, the chemicals, and everything else. It just so happens we have an empty spot. We’re missing a demo man.”
He stared at Wylan until he caught on.
“A gang? You want me to join a gang?” He exclaimed. “You’re out of your mind, Brekker.”
“Ghezen no. Not anything so definite yet, at least. Maybe in time. The only thing I want are a few bombs. A few explosives every so often. The occasional distraction.” Kaz fiddled with a coin while he talked, and Wylan thought he would make a wonderful magician in another world. “It would pay very well.”
Wylan hesitated. He needed the means not to starve and to search for his family but…Kaz was a gang member. Was he really doing this? Accepting help from a notorious criminal? (Yes, he was. But what other choice did he have?)
“Alright. You have a deal” He stuck his hand out and nodded curtly. Instead of reaching out, Kaz only smiled. Suddenly, Jesper grabbed Wylan and pinned him to the table, gun pressed against his head.
“Now, before you accept…I need to know. What’s your last name? Your real one, Hendriks.” Wylan decided that Kaz was as insane as the stories said.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He spat.
Kaz only tsked. “Now, now, Wylan. I need to know, how am I sure you aren’t a part of the stadwatch?”
“You followed me! You’re the ones who brought me here!” They replied incredulously.
“Answer the question.” He said.
“Fine. I don’t know. Happy?” Wylan glared up at him.
“No. Who is your family? Last name?” Kaz repeated.
“I. Don’t. Know.” Wylan wondered when this little game would end and when he would end up shot.
For half a second, something a little like surprise flashed in Kaz’s eyes. “You’re not lying.”
“Yeah, excellent observation. Why would I lie anyway? Those questions are exactly what I’m trying to answer.” He said.
Kaz was silent for a moment as he regarded him. “Come work with me, and I can help you. I have spiders everywhere. The Wraith works with us. If anyone will find them, it’ll be her.”
They blinked up at Kaz. What?
“I need three bombs by Monday. Two destructive enough to take down a building, one smoke bomb. Release him, Jesper. Give him money for supplies.” He exited the room without a word, as Jesper and Wylan stared at him in disbelief.
“What—?”
“That’s Kaz for you, sunshine.”
—
“So”, Jesper started as they made their way towards Wylan’s room,“You don’t know your family? Nothing?”
They shook their head. “Not even how I got to the barrel.”
“Damn.” He fidgeted nervously “Don’t worry, we’ll find them. Inej will help, too.”
“Inej?”
“Ah, you know her as the Wraith.”
“And what about you, Fahey?”
“Me? I’m the dregs’ very own sharpshooter, risk taker, heart stealer, and looks of the whole thing.”
Wylan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Whatever you say, Jesper.”
Soon, they reached his room and Jesper handed him a wad of bills. Supplies money and the ten kruge he was owed.
“This is seven kruge short.” They said, looking up.
“Sure you didn’t miscount?” He countered, not quite meeting Wylan’s eyes.
They sighed. “That money was important. Supplies don’t come cheap.”
“Look, I’ll get you the money by Sunday just…let’s not say anything ‘bout this to Kaz, yeah Hendriks?”
“Whatever”, Wylan replied, “I won’t tell but don’t blame me if he finds out. If he gets mad, I told you so.
Jesper winced, and they would feel bad, if he hadn’t been holding them against the table mere hours earlier.
“Good night, Jesper.”
“Night, Wylan.”
—
Meanwhile, in a mansion in Ketterdam…
“You’re sure he doesn’t know who he is?” The man with blond hair and cruel eyes said.
“Positive, sir.” Came the reply from a beefy man, arms crossed.
“If he gets too close to the truth…you know what to do.”
”Yes, sir.”