Elara had thought that Djerholm would look like Ketterdam. With Ketterdam's smoky gray skies, and ships of every kind bustling through the murky waters. Djerholm's harbor was crowded with ships, but its tidy streets were marched through the water in orderly fashion. Their houses were painted in bright, fun, colors which Elara thought put Ketterdam's to shame. Even their warehouses were painted in such cheerful colors, contrasting against the wild white land surrounding them all.
Elara had always envisioned the Ice Court in her mind on certain occasions. Though, seeing it in person was an entirely different story. She had always thought it would contain fire, or overall look much more terrifying and dark than what stood before her. But what lay on the inside, would more than match her description of what she once had expected it to look like.
Inej tugged on her sleeve lightly, pulling her as Kaz steered them towards a run-down tavern they had found.
"Here?" Jesper complained, peering into the dank main room. The whole place stank of garlic and fish, making Elara scrunch up her face in disgust.
Kaz just gave a significant glance upward and said, "Terrace."
"What's a gestinge?" Inej wondered.
"It means 'paradise,'" said Matthias. Even he looked skeptical.
Nina helped secure them a table on the tavern's rooftop terrace. It was mainly empty, the weather still too cold to attract many patrons. Or maybe they'd been scared away by the food — which looked too similar to Nina's cooking, much to Elara's disgust as the girl could not cook for the life of her.
Jesper looked down at his plate and complained. "Kaz, if you want me dead, I prefer a bullet to poison."
Nina scrunched her nose. "When I don't want to eat, you know there's a problem."
"We're here for the view, not the food." Kaz replied.
There was no coffee available, so they had to order tea and little glasses of brannvin that burned going down but helped to keep them warm as a wind picked up, stirring the silvery ribbons tied to the ash boughs lining the street below.
"We're going to start looking inconspicuous soon," said Nina. "This isn't the kind of place people like to linger."
"Maybe they don't have anyone to take to jail," suggested Wylan.
"There's always someone to take to jail." Kaz replied, then bobbed his chin toward the road. "Look."
A boxy wagon was rolling to a stop at the guardhouse. Elara noticed its roof and high sides were covered in black canvas, and it was drawn by four stout horses. The door at the back was heavy iron, bolted, and padlocked.
Kaz reached into his coat pocket. "Here," he said and handed Jesper a slender book with an elaborate cover.
"Are we going to read to each other?" Jesper asked.
"I do love a good book —" Elara started.
"Just flip it open to the back." Kaz interrupted. Elara rolled her eyes.
Jesper opened the book and peered at the last page, puzzled. "So?"
"Hold it up so we don't have to look at your ugly face."
"My face has character. Besides — oh!"
"An excellent read, isn't it?"
"Who knew I had a taste for literature?"
Jesper passed it to Wylan, who took it tentatively. "What does it say?"
"Just look," said Jesper.
Wylan frowned and held it up, then he grinned. "Where did you get this?"
"It's called a backless book," said Kaz as Inej took the volume and held it up for her and Elara to look at. The pages were full of ordinary sermons, but the ornate back cover hid two lenses that acted as a long glass. From Elara's point of view, she could see a close view of the gatehouse and the wagon parked in front of it.
"Four guards," Elara noted, just as Helvar had said. Two were stationed on each side of the gatehouse, and one of them was chatting with the driver of the prison wagon, who had handed him a packet of documents.
"They're the first line of defense," said Helvar. "They'll check paperwork and confirm identities, flag anyone they think requires closer scrutiny. By this time tomorrow the line going through the gates will be full of Hringkalla guests and backed up all the way to the gorge."
"By then we'll be inside," Kaz said.
"How often do the wagons run?" asked Jesper.
"It depends," said Helvar. "Usually in the morning. Sometimes in the afternoon. But I can't imagine they'll want prisoners arriving at the same time as guests."
"Then we have to be on the early wagon," Kaz said.
"Saints," Inej said as she looked through the book once more.
"Hooded, chained, and shackled?" said Jesper. "You're sure we can't go in as entertainers? I hear Wylan really kills it on the flute."
"We go in as we are," said Kaz, "as criminals."
Nina peered through the lenses of the book. "They're doing a headcount."
Matthias nodded. "If procedure hasn't changed, they'll do a quick headcount at the first checkpoint, then a second count at the next checkpoint, where they'll search the interior and undercarriage for any contraband."
"The driver is going to notice six more prisoners when he opens the door." Nina commented.
"If only I'd thought of that," Kaz said drily. "I can tell you've never picket a pocket."
"And I can tell you've never given enough thought to your haircut."
Elara held in a laugh as Kaz frowned. He ran a self-conscious hand along the side of his head, "There's nothing wrong with my haircut that can't be fixed by four million kruge."
Personally, Elara didn't think there was anything wrong with his haircut. But she wasn't about to say it out loud, either.
Jesper cocked his head to one side, "we're going to use a bunk biscuit, aren't we?"
"Exactly."
"I don't know that word, bunkbiscuit," said Matthias, running the syllables together.
Nina gave Kaz a sour look. "Neither do I. We're not as streetwise as you, Dirtyhands."
"Nor will you ever be," Kaz said easily. "Remember our friend Mark?" Wylan winced as Elara held back a cackle. "Let's say the mark is a tourist walking through the Barrel. He's heard it's a good place to get rolled, so he keeps patting his wallet, making sure it's still there, congratulating himself on just how alert and cautious he's being. Of course every time he pats his back pocket or the front of his coat, what is he doing? He's telling every thief on the Stave exactly where he keeps his scrub."
"Saints," grumbled Nina. "I've probably done that."
"Everyone does," said Inej.
Jesper raised a brow. "Not everyone."
"That's because you never have anything in your wallet." Nina shot back.
"Mean."
"Factual."
"Facts are for the unimaginative," Jesper replied with a dismissive wave.
"Now, a bad thief," continued Kaz. "One who doesn't know his way around, just makes the grab and tries to run for it. Good way to get pinched by the stadwatch. But a proper thief — like myself — nabs the wallet and puts something else in its place."
"A biscuit?"
"Bunk biscuit is just a name. It can be a rock, a bar of soap, even an old roll if it's the right size. A proper thief can tell the weight of a wallet just by the way it changes the hang of a man's coat. He makes the switch, and the poor mark keeps tapping his pocket, happy as can be. It's not until he tries to pay for an omelet or lay his stake at a table that he realizes he's been done for a sucker. By then the thief is someplace safe, counting up his scrub."
Wylan shifted slightly. "Duping innocent people isn't something to be proud of."
"It is if you do it well." Kaz gave a nod to the prison wagon, now rumbling its way up the road toward the Ice Court and the second checkpoint. "We're going to be the biscuit."
"Hold on," said Nina. "The door locks on the outside. How do we get in and get the door locked again?"
"That's only a problem if you don't know a proper thief. Leave the locks to me."
Jesper stretched out his legs. "So we have to unlock, unchain, and incapacitate six prisoners, take their places, and somehow get the wagon sealed tight again without the guards or the other prisoners being the wiser?"
"That's right."
"Any other impossible feats you'd like us to accomplish?"
The barest smile flickered over Kaz's lips. "I'll make you a list."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧
They were all sat in a bakery, nursing mugs of hot chocolate as they awaited Nina to get back. The sweet smell of freshly baked bread brought Elara a sense of comfort. It reminded her of Ketterdam, Cecilia and Oliver.
She missed Oliver's incessant pestering, and Cecilia lightly slapping her with a rag, reminding her to wipe the counter. They were both the closest thing she had to family, ( besides the crows, ) and Cecilia often reminded her of her mother.
Elara noted that Matthias' hot cocoa lay untouched, slowly cooling as his eyes remained glued to the window. She wanted to speak to him, though didn't know exactly how. Lucky for her, they had something in common.
"I know how you feel," Elara began, Matthias glanced at her confusedly — they hadn't had a conversation yet, the both of them alone.
He glanced down at his mug, she continued. "I haven't seen my home in a long time." And it was true, she had spent almost two years in Ketterdam — leaving the Little Palace and leaving the very place she had grown up in, along with her family.
Kaz turned away and began chatting with Jesper. He seemed to do that whenever she mentioned going back to Ravka.
She decided to change the topic. "Are you worried about Nina being out there?"
"No."
"Nina's very good at this you know, she's a natural actress."
"I'm aware." He said grimly. "She can be anything to anyone."
"I like her best when she's Nina."
"And who is that?"
"I suppose we know her better than anyone else,"
He crossed his huge arms. "She's brave," he said grudgingly.
"And funny,"
"Foolish. Every last thing needn't be a joke."
"And she's a horrible singer,"
"The worst."
They both laughed.
"So then why do you keep looking around for her?"
"I am not." Matthias protested. Elara had to laugh at his facial expression. "Nina is everything you say. It's too much."
As if right on cue, the bell above the bakery door jingled, and Nina walked in — Matthias's eyes shooting straights towards her, his posture visibly relaxing. Elara glanced towards Matthias, saying an 'i was saying?' through eye contact. He rolled his eyes.
"Someone needs to start feeding me sweet rolls immediately."
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