Kaz Brekker wiped the putty from his face and ran a gloved hand through his dark hair. “Didn’t you know, General Nazyalensky? Thrills are what all these pigeons come to the Barrel for.”

Zoya looked like she wanted to send the thief to a soggy death in one of the canals, but Nikolai had to laugh. “Mister Brekker. I should have known.”

“Yes,” Kaz said. “You should have. But I can see you have plenty to distract you these days.”

He could have meant the war. He could have meant any number of things, but the slight quirk of Kaz’s brow made Nikolai feel as if he was standing naked on the Stave with his heart’s desires tattooed in capital letters on his chest. He was grateful when Brekker turned his attention back to Zoya.

“For the record, General Nazyalensky, Kerch is a country without mercy or law, but it is at least a place where a man might make something of himself without noble blood or magic in his veins.”

“The Grisha do not practice ‘magic,’” Zoya said with disdain. “It is the Small Science. And it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“Better to get fat on information than starve on good manners. Shall we?”

The doormen came to attention as Kaz led Zoya and Nikolai beneath the widespread wings of the crow and into the club. He directed them to a discreet door set off to the side of the gambling floor, guarded by two heavyset men.

“Why the charade?” asked Zoya. “Or do you just like the opportunity to dress up?”

“I like to know what I’m dealing with, and I like to know just how desperate the situation is. I could sit across a table from you and hear the polished pitch you no doubt practiced on your journey, or I could get the straight facts right from your lips.”

They passed through a card room. Kaz unlocked another door, and they entered a tunnel barely high enough to stand in, dimly lit by the green tinge of phosphorescent bonelight. A few minutes later, the floor began to slope downward slightly and the air turned cool and damp.

“We’re passing beneath the canals, aren’t we?” asked Nikolai, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “When did you build this tunnel?”

“When I needed to. You want to go after the titanium the Kerch army has stockpiled at Rentveer.”

How did Brekker get his information? They’d shared no details of the proposed mission, only requested an opportunity to meet and negotiate. “We do.”

“That’s a fortified military base on one of the roughest sections of the Kerch coastline. It’s unreachable by sea without divine intervention and impossible to approach by air without being shot down. There’s only one road in or out, and it’s heavily guarded. All that adds up to an almost guaranteed chance of capture. I have a long list of enemies who would like nothing better than to catch me at something illegal and throw me in Hellgate.”

“So you’ve left off criminal enterprise?” Zoya asked skeptically.

“I know which chances to take. Why should I take this one?”

“Because you like a challenge?” suggested Nikolai.

“You have confused me with some other thief.”

“I don’t think so,” said Nikolai. “I have something you want. Safety for the Wraith.”

He didn’t miss the slight bobble in Brekker’s step.

“Speak,” said Kaz.

“It is my understanding that a certain ship, captained by a young Suli woman and flying under no country’s banner, has thrown the human trade in and out of Ketterdam into upheaval. I particularly liked the tale of the two slavers she left slathered in tar and crow feathers at the entrance to the Stadhall. I do admire her theatrics, though the Merchant Council was less impressed, perhaps due to the note pinned to the captain’s chest that read, ‘Gert Van Verent’s new mansion was paid for in bodies.’ It made for quite the story in the papers, and Mister Verent—a former member of the Council in good standing—is now under investigation.”

“He isn’t.”

“No?”

“He was found guilty and sentenced to two years in Hellgate. His political rivals have already carved up his fortune.”

“How swift is Kerch justice when there’s money to be made,” Nikolai marveled. “The captain and her ship are known only as the Wraith, but I have it on good authority that this mysterious Suli woman is Inej Ghafa.”

“Never heard of her.”

“No?” Nikolai feigned shock. “That surprises me, given her association with the Dregs and her considerable talent for puncturing people with all the zeal of a nearsighted auntie trying to embroider a quilt. But it may be for the best that you have no personal connection.”

“Is that so?”

They had stopped at a huge iron door with an elaborate locking mechanism.

“Have you heard of the izmars’ya?” Nikolai asked.

“My Ravkan is rusty.”

Even if that were true, Nikolai had no doubt Brekker knew exactly what the izmars’ya could do. But if he wanted to play, they would play.

“They’re submersible warships that travel beneath the sea. They can attack any vessel unseen, and are almost impossible to evade. Some very powerful people in Kerch possess this technology. If the Wraith’s enemies convince the Kerch government to use these weapons against her, the Wraith and her crew could be blown from the water at any time.”

“A dire situation for her, no doubt.” Kaz’s voice was even, but Nikolai saw the way his gloved hand gripped the silver crow’s head of his cane. “And perhaps for the person who invented such a menace.”

The threat was obvious.

“No doubt. But it so happens that when this technology was granted to the Kerch, the very wise king of Ravka—have you met him? Unusual for someone to be so smart and so good-looking—had the hulls of the izmars’ya imbued with bits of rhodium, so that with the help of a Fabrikator and a certain device in his keeping, a ship could receive early warning of any submersible within a three-mile radius and take evasive maneuvers. If said ship was so inclined.”

“An early warning system.”

“Precisely.”

Brekker reached for the handle of the door. “And you have this clever invention in your possession?”

“Not on my person,” said Nikolai. “I know better than to fill my pockets with valuable merchandise around a thief known as Dirtyhands. But the device is well within reach.”