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For most of the year, the Zelver District of Ketterdam was orderly, respectable, and quietly bustling with citizens engaged in Ghezen's work, the business of trade.
This was the case every day of the year but the two days of Vruchtbaarfeest.
About two thirds of the denizens of the Zelver and Gelden districts had made their way to the Staves to indulge in a degree of decadence that would have been unbecoming at any other time of year. But during Vruchtbaarfeest, it was entirely appropriate. Ensuring a productive harvestby celebrating procreation and fertility was important, after all. It was practically a duty .
The other third were throwing the sort of wild house parties that would be recounted in scandalous anecdotes for months to come.
Jesper walked down Zelverstraat with Nina in the warm, fading light of dusk. He was not Kerch, and Novyi Zem celebrated its own festivals, but listening to the sounds of debauchery and laughter coming from houses as they passed, he couldn't help but feel that his duty to his adopted country was being neglected. Other parts of him were also being neglected. This, he reflected, was profoundly unfair. If he hadn't needed the money from this job...
A shriek of laughter and a strain of music floated down to them from an upstairs window as a balcony door closed behind a couple. Jesper glanced up in vague curiosity, noted that their clothes were already in disarray and their hands wandering, and looked away with a snort.
He straightened his stupid jacket. Kaz had made him dress in a respectable dark gray suit, the only concession to the holiday a tie in the bright pink and green that were the hallmarks of the festival. Jesper looked stunning in pink and green, and had argued in vain for any of the other options already in his wardrobe, but Kaz had produced this depressing specimen and insisted Jesper wear it "to blend in." Logically, Kaz was right. Barrel flash would draw suspicion in this part of town.
Illogically, Jesper longed for his cherry blossom brocade waistcoat and lime trousers.
Nina, beside him, was radiant as always in an emerald green dress that made her pale skin glow and brought out the chestnut of her hair. The dress was cut low in the bodice to display cleavage that would tempt a Saint. She got to look good, Jesper thought resentfully.
"Next corner," Nina told him quietly, nodding at the cross street ahead of them. "Game faces on."
Jesper immediately threw his arm around her waist and she leaned into him, giggling. He gave her hair a quick tousle and pulled his tie askew to complete the picture, and bent to whisper into her ear with a wicked grin.
"Ready to be publicly groped, darling?"
"If you pull my breasts out of this dress, I'll cut off the air to your lungs," Nina whispered back. "You have no idea how hard it was to get them into this dress. They'll never go back once they come out."
"Sounds like the opposite of a problem to me," he teased, and she smacked him playfully as they rounded the corner.
"I mean it, Antonio, you terrible man," she laughed, her voice not raised but in a tone that easily carried to the ears of the stadwatch guard on duty outside the De Waard townhouse. "If you weren't my husband…"
"Ah, but I am," Jesper countered. "You can't get rid of me now, my little sugar mouse."
"Antonio!" Nina protested as he backed her against the wall maybe ten feet from the guard, who made a manful attempt to ignore them. Jesper pressed kisses into her neck as she giggled and squirmed, then Nina let out a moan as if he had found a sensitive spot.
It was a good moan. If Jesper hadn't known it was fake, he'd have been distracted.
"I love the sounds you make for me," he murmured, pitching his voice just loud enough to be audible-- he hoped-- to the guard.
In response, Nina reached down and grabbed his ass, making him gasp in surprise and then laugh.
"Eager, are we?" he teased.
" So eager," she purred. "I can't wait to get you out of those trousers."
“I can’t wait to see what you do when you get me out of my trousers.”
“I can’t wait to do what I’m going to do when I get you out of your trousers.” Nina arched dramatically as Jesper, careful not to pull her bodice askew, cupped the breast on the side closest to the guard.
*
Kaz strolled down the street from the opposite direction that Nina and Jesper had come, inconspicuous in his customary mercher black, and tipped his hat to the guard as he passed.
“My darling octopus muffin,” Nina cooed to Jesper loudly– the signal for Inej, on the roof, to enter through the upstairs window, and for the next phase of the distraction to begin.
Even though it made no difference at all, Kaz regretted letting Nina choose the code phrase. Did being thieves and gangsters mean they couldn’t have even the slightest bit of dignity?
“I love the way you tear my clothes off and chew on my ears until they bleed,” Jesper declared loudly, and Kaz let out his breath in a silent, pained sigh, because no. No, apparently they could not.
At least it worked. The guard did a double take and Kaz could see his forehead wrinkle as he darted a startled and morbidly curious glance over at the embracing couple. In the moment when the guard’s attention was distracted entirely, Kaz quickly vaulted the low wall that separated the side of the house from the street. He slipped behind an ornamental bush, then slowly edged his way around the corner and towards the back of the house.
“I love how you fondle yourself when no one’s watching.”
“I love how you drink too much and take off your shoes and then forget where you put them.”
“I love how you lick ketchup off your fingers.”
Mercifully, their voices grew more distant as Kaz approached the scullery window. If this had been an actual mansion, there would have been a back way in for the servants, and the job would have been far simpler. However, these townhomes had been adapted from the row houses they’d once been to accommodate upper-middle-class families with ambitions of even greater wealth. All the little trappings of an expensive home had been added– decorative molding, soft carpets, proper ceramic tile roofs instead of tin or tarred wood. But they had not been built with quarters or entrances for servants, and were therefore, quite unintentionally, far more difficult to burglarize.
The stadwatch were paid to keep a close eye on these residences, and in such a quiet neighborhood, any departure from the ordinary routine would be noticed– except, of course, on the days of Vruchtbaarfeest, when propriety and routine was thrown out the window.
Kaz knew for certain that the residents of the home weren’t going to be present– a week earlier, an impeccably forged invitation had shown up in their mail. The Holbrokke party was famous in Ketterdam as the place to be for Vruchtbaarfeest if one could wrangle an invitation-- not only did they cater the best food and drinks, but the entertainments were just risque enough to suit the holiday without being inappropriate for unmarried young people to take part in. The De Waards had a twin son and daughter, about his own age, and ambitions of social climbing. There was no way they would refuse. They might even make connections profitable enough to console them for the loss of the contents of their safe.
The curtains parted to reveal Inej’s face, and a moment later, the scullery window opened from the inside. Kaz passed her his cane and hoisted himself in, ignoring the hand she offered him for balance and steadying himself on the edge of the window as he lowered his feet to the floor.
The safe was on the second story, and he let Inej lead the way.
Back in his childhood home that was only a memory, girls would be weaving crowns of flowers for their unbound hair and pouring offerings of cider on the earth for the festival. Everyone would gather around the bonfires later, when the stars came out, and pray for the flourishing of the crops.
Kaz harshly shut down the part of his imagination that insisted on conjuring up a laughing Inej with flowers in her hair and firelight glowing warm on her cheeks. They were in Ketterdam, where Vruchtbaarfeest meant drunkenness, fucking, and opportunities to profit from the festive carelessness of the upper class. And Inej was no blushing Kerch farm girl; given any choice in the matter, she would never have graced the Slat with her quiet presence or the rooftops with her footsteps. She was here for the same reason he was– the greed and cruelty of others, and a fierce ambition to take back what was owed them.
The safe in the upstairs parlor was heavy and solidly built. The lock was one of the experimental new Zemeni ones, fiendishly difficult to pick. The prospect made adrenaline rush through him as he pulled out his roll of picks, rakes, and hooks and laid them out. He crouched in front of the safe and got to work.
*
Inej sat silently on the sofa as Kaz worked– if she spoke for anything but the most urgent of warnings, he would snap at her for breaking his concentration. Instead, she watched the tools that wove between his gloved fingers as smoothly as a juggler’s clubs. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes shut to focus on the feeling of the lock under his tools and the faint click of the tumblers. There was a tension in his muscles and a slight flush of excitement on his pale cheeks.
She made herself look away. She’d seen him pick dozens of locks before. There was no reason to watch. This disgusting Kerch holiday had addled her wits, that was all.
Instead, she let her eyes wander around the room. It looked like a warm, well-loved home, neat but with little signs of being lived in: a book left on the table, a pair of carpet shoes beside the fire, and several baskets of seasonal fruits and festival delicacies. She ran her finger over a pillow embroidered with tulips and wondered what sort of people the De Waards were. She knew all too well the sort of darkness that could be concealed by a genial family man or a solemn, hardworking mercher– the twisted desires they only showed to those with no power to do anything but comply. But there were some men, even here in Kerch, who were honorable and kind. Inej had to believe that, or she'd go mad.
Kaz, who was cursing quietly at the lock with a mixture of frustration and delight, was not a kind or honorable man. He was objectively awful, a thief and murderer who believed in nothing but survival and followed no rules but his own. But she had been working for him for six months now, and he had never tried to lay a hand on her, not even under the guise of a friendly gesture. Nor had he gone back on his promise to her. He was despicable, yes, but he was not the sort of man she had learned to fear.
His curses had trailed off into silence and he was barely breathing now. Inej had the perverse thought that even if he went directly to the West Stave and bought the services of half a brothel, nothing he could do there would possibly be more explicitly self indulgent for him than opening this safe and stealing its contents.
There was certainly something very wrong with him, and there was something very wrong with her for wanting to watch him. Yet her eyes kept wandering back to his clever hands, the breadth of his shoulders, the bizarre haircut that looked as if he'd done it himself without a mirror.
Maybe it was her own recent past that left her fascinated at the idea of a man who did not need to invade, bruise, and soil a woman's body to find satisfaction.
There was a quiet click, and Kaz's eyes opened, hot with triumph. A grin spread over his face. He opened the safe door with a subtle flourish and Inej could not help but grin back at him and scramble to the floor to see what treasures would be inside.
Kaz immediately reached for the pile of papers, paging through them intently, then carefully tucking them in his coat. Inej, because unlike some people, she was not boring , pulled out a small velvet jeweler's bag and poured it out into her hand, admiring the sparkle of sapphires and emeralds. Kaz glanced over and raised an eyebrow at them appreciatively, then pulled out a small, inlaid box and opened it. Inej leaned over to see and he handed it to her.
It was an icon of Sankta Lizabeta, surrounded by long-thorned roses, a sweetly peaceful look on her face.
"Petrov workshop, 1730, possibly the work of Petrov himself." Kaz said quietly. "Two thousand Kruge at auction. The real crime here is how cheaply I'll have to sell it for. Saints are out of fashion these days."
Inej lightly touched her forehead in the traditional gesture of veneration. "The Ravkans call her the patroness of gardeners, but my mother told me that she makes all the flowers grow, and brings food forth from the wilds. She was my favorite saint as a child.” Inej let her eyes roam over the intricate brushwork, the way the light glanced off the petals and thorns and glinted in Lizabeta’s eyes. “She's beautiful."
There was a pause, and then, voice rasping, Kaz quietly said, "Yes. She is."
When she looked up from the icon to glance at him, he was already reaching back into the safe and pulling out kruge -- not the tall stacks of every thief's fantasy, but a small, reasonable amount for a prosperous family to keep around in case of emergencies. Kaz pocketed those as well, then rose to his feet, taking the jeweler’s bag and the box with the icon from Inej's hands.
"Now for the rest of the house," he said brusquely. "You take the jewelry and any fine lace or silk brocade clothing you can find. I'll look over the vases, the knick knacks, and the liquor cabinet for anything of value."
Inej nodded and stood as well, pulling off the rolls of plain brown paper she had tied to her back and handing one to him. It was a ridiculously simple trick. Someone carrying a mysterious, clanking sack attracted attention; someone carrying home neatly wrapped packages as if they'd just come from a store was unremarkable.
As Kaz made his way to examine the clock on the mantel, he paused suddenly, a wistful smile across his face. "Gevulde koeken," he murmured, snagging one of the cookies from the basket on the end table and biting into it. His eyes shut and for a moment, he looked like a different person entirely. Younger, somehow.
Inej turned away, feeling strangely as if she were intruding, and headed for the first bedroom. A moment later, Kaz followed her, still licking crumbs and almond paste from his fingers. He opened the desk drawer and rummaged through it quickly but efficiently as Inej raided the closet. She pulled out an expensive shawl and then found a deep gold scarf of real silk so lovely that she could not resist wrapping it around her head and neck, just for a moment. She left it on as she sorted through the rest of the closet’s contents. A pearl-faced pocket watch was still in the pocket of one of the coats, and Inej brought it and the shawl out to show to Kaz.
"Put them on the bed. I'll wrap them; you're still shit at wrapping," he said without turning around. He had found a hidden compartment in the desk and was going through its contents.
"Thanks," Inej said dryly. Kaz turned, a small book in one hand, and his eyes fixed on her.
"The scarf," he said, then cleared his throat and held out a hand for it. Inej's cheeks warmed slightly in embarrassment as she unwound it and handed it over to him.
"What did you find?" she asked, gesturing at the book. "Insider trading information?"
"I wish," Kaz muttered, laying their ill-gotten loot on the bed, setting the scarf aside, and making one neat package of the shawl and book, which he wrapped with deft hands. "Very detailed pornographic etchings. The classy stuff, from Shu Han."
Inej huffed scornfully. "Is that all you Kerch think about, sex and money?" she demanded. After a peek into the jewelry box on the vanity to confirm it had anything worth taking, she placed it on the bed as well for Kaz to wrap up.
"Vruchtbaarfeest isn't like this everywhere," Kaz said, tying off the twine and cutting it with his pocket knife, then beginning to wrap up the jewelry box. "Out in the country, it's about blessing the land, ensuring a rich harvest for the year. It's… celebrating new baby animals and praying for safe deliveries for pregnant women. It's not sexual." He paused. "I mean, married couples might try to conceive that night, and sweethearts give each other little gifts, things to make each other smile. But it's nothing like in Ketterdam."
"I didn't know you'd been to the country," she remarked, finding a brooch on the bedside table and putting it in the jewelry box.
"I've been to a lot of places."
Conscious of the fact that Jesper and Nina could only linger for so long outside, they worked quickly, going through each room and leaving behind anything not valuable enough or too bulky to carry. At the last moment, while Kaz was tucking silverware in his pockets, Inej returned to the parlor on impulse and wrapped one final package herself.
When they left, Kaz preceded her out the scullery window, then Inej passed him the parcels and his cane before following him out and closing the window behind them. Inej pulled a cap out of her pocket; combined with the loose cut of her jacket and breeches, she could pass for a boy to the casual observer. She took her half of the parcels and Kaz meticulously adjusted the angle of her hat and the fall of her jacket before nodding his approval. He tucked the rest of them under his arm and they paused at the corner of the house.
"Remember the day we were married?" Jesper was saying to Nina in saccharine tones. "You wore red velvet and my heart nearly stopped beating."
Inej rolled her eyes and gave the second signal-- a quiet meow, as if a cat had wandered by.
Now, they listened as Nina purred. “I don’t want to wait until we get home, Antonio.” Inej could almost hear her pouting. “Say you won’t make me wait.”
“Right here in the street?” Jesper managed to sound just the right combination of scandalized and excited.
“Right here,” Nina urged him.
“Hold on just a second there,” the guard exclaimed in a slightly strangled voice. “You can’t do that here!”
“You can’t stop us from honoring Ghezen!” Nina shouted defiantly.
Muffling laughter, Inej and Kaz slipped out and vaulted over the low wall while the guard confronted the couple, then headed away in different directions, just two skinny young men carrying holiday parcels home to their families. The guard was a few steps away from Nina and Jesper, his face red and indignant. Jesper’s hand was under Nina’s skirts, moving convincingly, and Nina was moaning loudly.
“Sir. Ma’am. Please go home!” the guard pleaded.
“You’d have me disappoint my beautiful wife by not giving her a son?” Jesper asked dramatically.
“Give her all the sons you like, just for Ghezen’s sake, don’t do it out here! This is a respectable neighborhood!”
“Are you calling me disreputable?” Nina demanded, pulling away from Jesper and stepping forward until she was nose to nose with the guard.
“I just–”
“Are you calling our marriage disreputable?”
“Ma’am–”
“Fine, then, we’ll get out of your stupid street! But don’t think I won’t be speaking to your commanding officer about this!” Inej could no longer see them in her peripheral vision, but Nina’s voice carried as she turned the corner. “A person used to be able to celebrate Vruchtbaarfeest properly in this city!
Inej allowed herself to dissolve into quiet giggles when she was sure that she was safely out of sight.
While only Nina and "Antonio" had been bold enough to actually try to couple in the residential district, things grew decidedly wilder as one grew closer to the Barrel. Groups of revelers roamed the streets, calling out cheerfully lascivious things to each other and those they passed. Inej wasn't morally opposed to drinking, but groups of intoxicated men yelling come-ons, even if they were yelling them indiscriminately at the butcher and the statue on the Kopel Square fountain as well, made her go small and cold inside.
At least she had somewhere to go tonight away from this chaos. A few of the other women among the Dregs were gathering around the Slat to eat butter cake and avoid the more obnoxious side of the celebrations. It would be safe there, companionable.
Another group passed, laughing merchers in Komedie Brute masks and capes, and Inej edged further into the shadows, pulling at her jacket so it hung even more loosely around her.
She paused. The shape of her pocket felt wrong.
Damn it, she thought, remembering suddenly how Kaz had carefully straightened her coat before they left. If he stole my wallet and left me a bunk biscuit again ‘to teach me to be more cautious’, I’m putting rotten eggs in his bed.
Instead of pulling it out in the street, she ducked into an alley, set down her packages on a dry area of the cobbles, and reached into her pocket with a sigh, already half-expecting what she was going to find.
She pulled it out and stared in wonder and confusion.
Kaz had indeed stolen her wallet.
He’d replaced it with Sankta Lizabeta’s icon, wrapped carefully in a gold silk scarf.
*
Kaz set down his packages on his desk and nodded curtly to the brightly made-up girl lounging seductively on his bed.
“I’m supposed to tell you Happy Vruchtbaarfeest from the rest of the Dregs,” she said a bit nervously, then began to unbutton her dress. Kaz sighed and held up a hand.
“Ah, yes, the Vruchtbaarfeest whore of the year. I won't be needing your services. I have other plans for the evening. Shut the door behind you on your way out, please."
“I’ve been paid for the whole night. Do you want me to get someone else? A boy, maybe, or–” she began.
“Last year they tried a boy. Fenna– your name is Fenna, isn’t it? You work the corner by the cloth factory?” Kaz hung up his hat and jacket on the rack and sat down behind his desk.
Her expression was guarded. “How'd you know that?”
“I make it my business to know everyone who works in Dregs territory. Fenna, you’ve been paid for the whole night already. The client is letting you keep the kruge and go back out there and earn more on the most lucrative night of the year. So why the hell are you still sitting there?”
Fenna shrugged, got to her feet and headed for the door, then glanced back at him over her shoulder.
“So it’s true what some of the other girls say, then? You don’t go with girls or boys?”
He began taking off his shoes. "People say a lot of things about me. Maybe you should listen to more of them and stay away." He resisted the urge to throw a shoe at her. It would be childish. "I don’t pay whores for anything but information, and my reasons for that are my own.”
She nodded, but she was still looking at him curiously. He hated this. Every year, he had to go through it, and every year as he grew into a man, it became more and more awkward.
“Get out before I change my mind, would you?" he snapped. "And next time someone tries to hire you to service a twisted son of a bitch like me, triple your rates.”
When the door closed behind her, he slowly and painfully stretched his bad leg, knuckling the knotted muscles roughly before pulling the documents out of his jacket and examining them.
They were nothing, really. Deeds to some small properties: a partial share in a silver mine north of the city, an empty lot in the Ravkan Quarter.
A farm in a small town near Lij.
He tucked the deeds safely in his own desk and began sorting through the packages. Inej had wrapped one of them when he wasn’t looking; it was beyond him how she could hit a man in the eye with a knife at thirty paces but couldn’t competently wrap a package. He unwrapped it to find a cloth bundle that, when opened, revealed a dozen gevulde koeken . One had broken, and the fragrance of its almond filling wafted up to him.
He stared at them for a long moment, then started to laugh.