𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑨 | 𝒌.𝒃.

02

• { SMEET'S HOME } •

A BARE SECOND LATER, KAZ pressed down on the handle and the door swung open. Immediately, Wylan heard the patter of paws, claws on hard wood, low snarls, as Smeet's pack of hounds rushed the door, white teeth flashing, growls rumbling deep in their chests. Before they could realize someone other than their master had come to call, Kaz pushed Smeet's whistle between his lips and blew. Nina had managed to slip it from the chain the lawyer always wore around his neck, then tucked it beneath an empty oyster shell for Wylan to whisk into the kitchen.

There was no sound from the whistle — at least not one that Wylan could hear. The dogs skittered to a halt, bumping into one another in a confused tangle.

Kaz blew again, lips pursing in time with the pattern of a new command. The dogs quieted and flopped to the floor with a disgruntled whine. One even rolled over on its back.

"Now why can't people be this easily trained?" Kaz murmured as he crouched to oblige the dog with a belly rub, black-gloved fingers smoothing the short fur. "Close the door behind you."

Wylan did and stood with his back pressed to it, keeping a wary eye on the pile of slavering hounds. The whole house smelled of dog — damp fur, oily hides, warm breath moist with the stink of raw meat.

"Not fond of animals?"

"I like dogs," Wylan said. "Just not when they're the size of bears."

Kaz hummed. "I prefer strays, myself."

The real puzzle of Smeet's house had been the bloodthirsty hounds, finding a way to handle them that wouldn't leave their plan exposed. In the end, the best plan was the one they were enacting now. Kaz had arranged for a private parlor in the Cumulus, calling in the return of a favor from times when the Siren had performed on short notice, delighting the crowds and bringing in business. Anything for a friend of the Siren, they'd said.

Nina had caressed the whistle from beneath Smeet's shirt. Inej had obtained the whistle commands from Smeet's missing clerk, who Wylan knew would never return from his holiday. Piece by piece, their plan had fallen into place.

Now Wylan watched Kaz give the drooling dog a scratch behind the ears and rise. "Let's go. Watch your feet."

They sidestepped the pile of dogs in the hall and made their way quietly up the stairs. The layout of Smeet's house was familiar to Wylan. Most businesses in the city followed the same plan: a kitchen and public rooms for meeting with clients on the ground floor, offices and storage on the second floor, sleeping rooms for the family on the third floor.

"Not even locked," Kaz murmured as they entered Smeet's office. "Those hounds have made him lazy."

Kaz closed the door and lit a lamp, turning the flame down low.

The office had three small desks arranged by the window to take advantage of the natural light, one for Smeet and two for his clerks. There were shelves that ran from floor to ceiling, lined with ledgers and boxes full of documents, each carefully labeled with what Wylan assumed were the names of clients and companies.

"So many pigeons," Kaz said, eyes scanning the boxes. "Naten Boreg, that sad little skiv Karl Dryden. Smeet represents half the Merchant Council."

Including Wylan's father. Smeet had served as Jan Van Eck's attorney and property manager for as long as Wylan could remember.

"Where do we start?" Wylan whispered.

Kaz pulled a fat ledger from the shelves. "First we make sure your father has no new acquisitions under his name. Then we search under your stepmother's name, and yours."