Work Text:
“Ghezen, what a fucking mess!” Wylan looked exhausted, but Kieran caught Jesper smiling – she knew he found it infinitely amusing when Wylan complained about the Merchant Council.
“Rough day?” the Zemeni asked, seating himself in their gondel.
“Rough month.” Wylan threw himself onto the seat and aggressively nestled against Jesper’s side. “I could swear someone is plotting to turn the whole Merchant Council against each other.” Noa, the boatman, pushed away from the dock and began poling them down the canal.
“I’ll save these for a bit later, then,” Kieran said, putting the bank reports she and Jesper had obtained during Wylan’s meeting back into her leather satchel. Seeing Wylan’s concerned look, she added, “No bad news, but you look like you could use a few minutes’ rest.”
Wylan closed his eyes and squeezed her hand gratefully. The rest of the ride back to the Geldstraat mansion was spent in companionable silence.
***
Wylan tossed his jacket over the back of the couch and sat down heavily. They never returned to his office after Merchant Council meetings, instead opting to crash on the parlour’s plush armchairs and go over the day’s affairs as lazily as possible. Kieran pulled out the bank reports and set them on the low table, dangerously close to the coffee and cookies on which they were bound to spend much more time focusing. Wylan took out the notebook in which he wrote his sums, but stopped halfway to check his watch:
“Wait, Kieran, are you sure you want to stay for this? I don’t want to keep you too late.”
Kieran waved away his concerns with a smile, reminded once again of why, after ten years on the job, Wylan was the one of the most stable and well-respected merchants in Kerch: he was kind and he kept his word (and he actually paid his employees a decent salary). The Merchant Council might not like him, but his captains, his sailors, and his clerks did, and that was worth so much more. In the six years since Kieran had started working for him, Wylan had never gotten angry with her, had been understanding when she needed to cut back on her hours to spend more time with her wife and their young son. He was the only merch in the city anyone actually wanted to work for.
Kieran was halfway through her recitation of the reports when there was a knock at the parlour door and the butler poked his head in.
“Mr. Van Eck, there are two guests wanting to see you, by the names of Mr. Brekker and Ms. Ghafa.” Kieran started, not having expected to hear the names of a criminal mastermind and a terrifying pirate in this context. Surely it was just a coincidence: there must be more than two people in Ketterdam by those names. Wylan and Jesper, on the other hand, did not seem alarmed at all. Wylan simply gestured to the butler to see them in and raised an eyebrow in Jesper’s direction:
“Were we expecting them?” Jesper shook his head.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Pleasant surprise, in that case.” Jesper smiled wryly:
“Knowing Kaz, he probably just needs something from us.”
“Hold on,” Kieran interrupted, unable to contain her confusion and alarm any longer, “do you mean Kaz as in the Kaz Brekker?”
“The very same,” Jesper confirmed, “don’t worry, he promised never to start any fights in this house.”
“For whatever that’s worth,” Wylan added, seemingly unconcerned with having just told his butler to show Ketterdam’s most dangerous criminal into his parlour. Kieran trusted them enough to stay in the room and see how the situation played out, but she remained on edge.
The dull thud of a cane on the carpeted floor of the hallway preceded the opening of the parlour door. Kieran wasn’t entirely certain she wasn’t stuck in some strange dream: Kaz Brekker matched his legendary description exactly, all pale skin and dark suit, gloved hand curled atop his crow-headed cane. By his side was a petite Suli woman in a blue jacket embroidered with gold, her hair pulled back in a simple braid – this could only be the notorious Wraith. Light on her feet, she hurried to the centre of the room where Jesper and Wylan enveloped her in a hug, all three grinning widely. She kissed them both on the cheek:
“Oh, I’ve missed you two.” Wylan squeezed her hand.
“It’s so good to see you again.”
Jesper extricated himself from the embrace to greet her companion:
“Kaz.” It was somewhere between formal and casual, coldness and joy. They shook hands.
“Jesper. Wylan.” Kaz spoke in a low rasp.
“Come in, sit down,” Wylan said, “have some coffee. Kaz, Inej, this is my accountant and good friend Kieran Otten. Kieran, Kaz Brekker and Inej Ghafa.”
Still in a daze, Kieran shook their hands. Wylan, Jesper, and their guests settled into the familiar conversation pattern of old friends catching up, asking about mutual acquaintances and past travels (that is to say, Wylan, Jesper, and Inej chatted cheerfully while Kaz brooded in his chair). During a lull in the dialogue, Kieran finally found her voice:
“So, how did you all meet?”
Wylan smiled and took a sip of his coffee:
“How much time do you have?”