Flock and Court- SoC

5

   
WYLAN

4 Days, 20 Hours Before THE KETTERDAM TRIAL

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   Wylan Van Eck was batting butterflies- actual living butterflies- from his strawberry blond curls as he entered the dim interior of the Crow Club just after 7 bells.

   He imagined he looked, frankly, ridiculous, swiping at the delicate creatures on the doorstep of the Barrel's most notorious club, like a boy who'd taken a wrong turn outside a children's storybook. The room was dark but well-kept, the furniture, worn yet polished, the floorboards soaked with the faint odour of drink and sin. At this hour, Wylan knew most of the drunks and gamblers had slithered off, the highs of last night tapering off in the early hours of the morning. He looked around the room; at the barkeep, who polished his crystal glasses, humming something off-key; at the handful of men trying their luck at poker, the brims of their hats pulled low; over in the corner, where an old regular nursed a glass of gin. Wylan felt their eyes on him, weighing him, assessing him. Even though he'd traded the more respectable wardrobe of a merchant for the plainclothes of a commoner, Wylan never failed to receive the impression that these folks knew what he was, knew where he came from. Let them believe me a pigeon, Wylan decided. Let them make the same assumptions his friends had once held.

   He strode past the glares, marching over to Kaz's booth with the confidence Jesper had coached him on years ago. Kaz didn't spare Wylan a glance as he slid in the seat across from him.

   "Where is she?" Wylan demanded.

   Kaz raised a brow, eyes still on his papers. What appeared to be a map was splayed in front of him on the table. "Look who has his sources."

   "It pays to be informed," Wylan quoted Kaz without thinking. It had been something the Barrel boss had told him a while back when he thought Wylan wasn't listening. Kaz's gaze finally met his, the slightest note of amusement dancing in his eyes- partly from his remark, he knew, but most likely in preparation for the job. Wylan knew Kaz lived for this stuff.

   "Inej is on her way. Show me the prototype for the sky bursts."

   "I call them fireworks," Wylan opened his leather-backed notebook, all business. The spine gave a reluctant crack, flipping to a page filled with his loopy sketches. Shit. Hurriedly, Wylan turned the page, but not before Kaz noticed the diagrams.

   "Political theory. You're having Veorre read to you about this nonsense again," Kaz accused pointedly. Wylan did not dodge the assumption. Kaz knew he was right- he always did. Wylan wasn't even surprised Kaz somehow remembered the name of his new hire.

  "I'm interested in it," Wylan said off-handily.

  "You're a Merchant, Wylan. I'm a Barrel Boss. We already control the city. Stop wasting your time and start focusing on things that matter," 

   It was a conversation he'd shared with Kaz on more than one occasion. Wylan was very well acquainted with the 'things that mattered' in this profession, and he wasn't at all enthused to address them at this time. He was more passionate about... other things.

   "Has Dayes agreed to close the deal?" Kaz studied his map one more.

    "He did last night. You were right about hosting that function, by the way. Dayes must have drunk all the ale in the cellar, but he folded like a deck of cards. Just as you said he would."

  "The man enjoys his festivities."

  "And his stories," Wylan recounted, "Dayes couldn't get over the last time he visited the manor three years ago. Said he was having dinner with my father and some other esteemed guests. You'll never believe what happened that night."