Chapter Text
Fifteen months after Matthias Helvar dies and both Nina Zenik and Inej Ghafa leave for their own adventures of justice, a man is killed.
The night is warm and uncomfortably humid. His windows are open, the curtains rolling in the early evening wind that serves to cool his room. The glow of an orange sunset peaks over the roofs of Ketterdam and the light shafts into his room and onto the desk where he is hunched over, pouring over sheets.
He is so absorbed in the contents of those papers, he barely notices it when the light disappears. It takes him a moment or so to notice the absence of the dying sun’s warmth on his back.
He turns around, a complaint on the tip of his tongue but the figure he sees makes him freeze. A silver, pearl handled revolver is pointed at his chest, pinpointed right over his heart. The figure is tall, clad in white and silent.
A gunshot rings out.
The next morning, a body is found, blood stains a white shirt like an angry splotch of calligraphy whilst the single pearl handled revolver lies on his chest.
Jesper Fahey wakes up the next morning knowing that something is wrong and he is unequivocally fucked.
Normally, he would wake up to Wylan’s beautiful sleeping face next to his own and the quiet of the Van Eck estate, however this morning, Wylan is already awake, dressed and sitting on the bed, looking at him. He can hear yelling outside and none of it sounds all too good.
“Wy, darling, what’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up straight as he lifts a hand to brush a stray red curl away from his partner’s eyes. Wylan’s gaze softens and he leans into the sharpshooter’s touch.
Wylan sounds nothing but exhausted as he speaks “I think I should be the one asking you that”
Jesper can feel alarm bells ringing in his head, that grow increasingly louder as with the yells outside. Wary blue eyes watch Jesper with an intensity and calculatory gaze to rival that of Kaz Brekker, but they aren’t fearful; more confused than anything.
Jesper stands up and walks over to the window. From the window you can see Ketterdam and her ports, the city itself stretching into the horizon. The morning sun rises behind the house and so reflects on the city where the dark water glimmers, and the roofs of houses reflect dawn’s light. A familiar and welcome sight to the sharpshooter.
But below their window, there are hordes and masses of people, yelling. Members of the stadwatch seem to form a protective barrier to prevent them from running inside but they are clearly overwhelmed as the line has been pushed back so the officers are lined against the walls of the house.
Jesper isn’t quite sure what expression he is making or should be making, but regardless, he has a single thought going through his head that saints , it’s too early for this.
But then apparently someone sees his face at the window and there are fingers pointing, more yells then Jesper has to duck as someone throws a brick towards him. He dodges it with wide eyes, watching how it smashes through the window and then is followed en masse by more objects; bricks, knives, stones, rotten food.
He would say something snarky but he’s just woken up so all he can do is look at his boyfriend with wide confused eyes.
Wylan has stood up from the bed and is still watching Jesper, his gaze occasionally falling towards the onslaught of objects through their window.
“C’mon” He holds a hand out to Jesper who takes it gladly and the two make their way downstairs. His free hands trail the bannister of age-old oak, the feeling of the worn wood under his fingers tells him; this isn’t a dream.
As they walk downstairs, Jesper achingly aware of how Wylan’s hand tightens almost imperceptibly around his own so Jesper can now feel the calluses in his hands, and small raised pads of skin from the flute.
Then, Wylan speaks.
“Jesper, they think you killed a man”
Jesper blinks “Well, that doesn’t narrow it down, sweetheart” but the pet name doesn’t do anything to lighten the mood like he hoped and instead Wylan turns to Jesper, now holding both of the taller man’s hands as he looks with imploring desperation at Jesper.
“Jesper, they think you killed Erik Ibsen”
“Oh. I guess that explains the brick”
Erik Ibsen was a well liked member of the Merchant Councillor, or as well liked as a Councillor could be. Not much was known about him before he became a Councillor and if one was to investigate it, it would appear that Erik Ibsen appeared out of nowhere. A mildly striking figure, he wasn’t puny but nor was he built of muscle the way Matthias was. Blond hair dirtied from the smog of Ketterdam and cropped at the sides, much like Kaz. Jesper wasn’t quite sure what Ibsen actually did but he supposes it doesn’t matter all too much, because he’s now dead .
“Look- I... '' Wylan hesitates and a confliction weighs heavily on him. He believes and he knows that Jesper didn’t kill the Counciler but he couldn’t deny there was a period of time the previous night he wasn’t with his boyfriend. Jesper knows this as well and also recognises how Wylan needs to check.
Despite the small stab of betrayal that he berates himself for - it's instintual, he tells himself; Jesper quickly placates and comforts Wylan “I know, it's okay, you have every right to ask, but regardless I didn’t kill him.”
But still, Wylan continues “Jesper, they found one of your guns there”
“But I have both of them?” The sharpshooter asks, confusion clear as day on his face
“I’ll think you find you don’t”
The two turn around to see a member of the stadwatch approaching them from further down the corridor, alongside three armed bodyguards. Jesper’s eyes flick down to the man’s lapel where badges clink with each of his heavy steps.
A high ranking officer, Jesper notes with a single raised eyebrow. Granted it was a Counciler who’s murder he was being framed for, but this just seems excessive. Something also hung darkly in the back of Jesper’s mind regarding the hordes of people outside. It wasn’t right that this many people would be this enraged by a single Counciler’s murder, nor would it warrant that much anger - the Merchant’s Council weren’t adored by many.
It just didn’t sit right. Like an annoying fly buzzing around in the back of Jesper’s brain; present but overshadowed by the fact he had been framed for murder.
Wylan introduces the two with a quiet murmur; something that reminds Jesper that Wylan was obviously up before he was, sorting whatever was going on out. A rush of gratitude went through him and he hoped Wylan knew of his thankfulness. He tipped his head in a cordial acknowledgement of the officer.
Jesper clears his throat, speaking calmly and evenly. No need to add doubt and confusion to the equation.
“Officer, I have them right here, last time I used them was two days ago and that was light practice in the garden.”
The officer gives him a critical look, scoffs and turns to the clipboard in his hands.
“It says here you have been out of Ketterdam and Kerch for nine months in the past year. Where, is unknown.”
Curiosity rears its head in Jesper, whilst also trepidation coats his next words. It’s not like what he was doing for nine months was wrong but it wouldn’t be favoured by the council. He decides to play safe and not deny this. He just won’t mention where. It's not particularly like withholding that information will be benefiting the officer in the slightest.
“Yes, I have”
Jesper’s little …. trip was not the type of thing he was willingly going to share with anyone. The only people who knew of it were Wylan and apparently the Stadwatch despite his best attempts to hide it. He had arrived back three months ago after leaving three months after Matthias’ death.
The stadwatch officer hums, watching Jesper with beady but sharp eyes and in response Jesper meets his gaze firmly but not so intense that it appears antagonising. Something similar to the way Inej could look at people; like she saw right through you and knew everything you ever did, yet without judgement. Of course, he would never truly gain her level of wisdom and that depth of understanding in her eyes, but the sentiment was there. A stab of longing shot through him as he thought of Inej, but he shook it off in favour of leading the officer to the cabinet where he kept his guns.
Jesper initially didn’t want to keep them there, he didn’t feel himself without them, but some part of him that wanted to start anew with Wylan conceded and kept the revolvers under lock and key. And for good reason too; the first time Wylan’s mother saw him with them, she freaked out and it took her hours to calm down.
It was almost as if the world itself held its breath with trepidation as he pulled the key out of his pocket, and unlocked the cabinet. His heart plummeted at the sight.
A single pearl-handled revolver lay innocently on textbooks.
Jesper felt as if he had been punched in the stomach and he looked wide-eyed at his single revolver; his thoughts running wild. Behind him, he could hear Wylan gasp and how the officer scoffed, a scratching of pen on paper but both were soon lost to the white noise ringing in Jesper’s ears.
Someone had stolen Jesper’s revolver. He was being framed for this. And they had stolen his revolver .
Jesper was loath to admit how his first thought fell to Kaz; he really was the most incredible thief he knew and was completely able to break into the Van Eck estate and steal something without anyone realising. After all, he had done it before.
“Jesper Fahey you are under arrest for the murder of Counciler Ibsen”
Jesper is achingly aware of how he is still in his pyjamas. Wylan, bless him, has pushed and pushed to get Jesper a trial but Jesper knows his fate is sealed even before they open the doors to the court. This trial is but a show trial and done only to appease the young Van Eck. If anything, they will just debate his punishment, though he knows it will probably be death.
Jesper is just glad that they don’t know he’s Grisha; if they did, being Grisha, foreign and a murderer would spell immediate death for him. Or a fate much worse than death. Nina and her indenture flickers briefly to mind and he shoves those images down.
That's not even counting any previous crimes he had committed and his involvement in the Dregs.
But still he sits there, passive and neutral, unmoving, other than his hands fisting tightly in the soft cotton material of the stained, striped grey and dark blue pyjamas. He waits and waits, keeping his eyes on Wylan, trying his best to somehow project some emotion of ‘i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you-’ because he knows this trial will not end well. Jesper certainly isn’t Kaz Brekker (don’t go there, don’t go there) but he isn’t stupid.
But, quicker than Jesper thought it would, the judge stands up, Jesper’s fate on the tip of his tongue and he is a snake, poised ready to strike with venom dripping from fangs. The court is almost held in a bated breath, the humid air of Ketterdam hangs heavy with a thick tension that suffocates and entwines all. Jesper almost can’t breathe, his breaths now shallow.
“Jesper Fahey, you are subject to execution for your murder of Counciler Erik Ibsen”
Immediately, the court and crowd goes wild (with elation, he notes) and roughly three thoughts flashed through Jesper’s head.
Wylan-
He looks at his boyfriend who’s eyes are narrowed, tears pooling in his eyes and his expression is livid.
They won’t let him see Jesper before his execution. That privilege won’t be given to him.
So he mouths “I love you” and watches with something clenching his heart, how Wylan falters, tears down his cheeks as the guards pull him out of the court.
Erik Ibsen was clearly more important than he led on. Something else was going on. And Jesper was being framed for it.
It was probably personal then, he thinks. Going to all the trouble to steal his gun and apparently steal some papers clearly indicated that the actual murder had something to gain by both framing Jesper and killing Ibsen.
But Jesper had nothing against the man. Well, nothing of this scale . So it wasn’t plausible that the actual murderer wanted Jesper to suffer the most; it was more likely that it was two birds with one stone
However, it was true that Jesper had met Ibsen before. And he may have threatened him.
He assaulted Inej, what was he meant to do?? Let it slide?? Jesper almost scoffs with this thought. No one hurt Inej Ghafa and got away with it.
(some cynical part of him thinks; this is his karma. this is what he gets for his failures. this is what he gets for inej, kaz, wylan, nina, matthias, his dad)
He’s shoved into a dark, dingy cell with nothing but the rats, his thoughts and the stench of Ketterdam’s sewers to keep him company. Cell bars line the road to death, pillars down the street and his failures in life swarm him, haunting him like the ghost he is about to become.
(maybe, in the glow of Ketterdam’s skyline, he can see his mother, waiting)
In stained pyjamas, Jesper stands in front of the whole of Ketterdam. In the late afternoon, he can see dark clouds in the south whilst the sun sets in front of him. It seems fitting, though he isn’t quite sure why. He has been pushed and forcefully shoved up to the execution stand, the cobbled town centre now packed with people awaiting his death like wolves, hungry to feast upon something, though there will be no body for them.
Whilst there is something in him, desperate for this not to be the end, another part - a much larger part he is almost ashamed to realise - is glad. He’s relieved and oh so tired .
This part of him doesn’t deny his sadness and utter despair for Wylan. He can see him in the crowd and keeps his eyes trained on his boyfriend, his gaze steady and consistent. Wylan’s eyes are red and this makes him painfully aware that he hasn’t cried and that he’s going to be leaving him and he didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye-
His heart clenched tightly, his breathing stutters but not from the barrage of assaulting objects thrown his way. The stadwatch does barely anything from keeping them away from him; a brick has already bruised and scraped his cheek that he wasn’t quite able to dodge whilst he’s stained from previous attacks from the whole day. He’s covered in the stained juices of rotten fruit and blood drips from his cheek. He must make quite a sight.
It’s almost laughable to think, in one day he has been sentenced to death.
One day.
Ketterdam’s legal system takes months, if not years to go through and he’s broken all records today. Again, that annoying buzz of a fly is back, the one that itches his brain and whines and whines non-stop that something isn’t right
Ibsen was definitely up to something; there was no way his murder would have this much outrage if there wasn’t something behind the man.
Jesper distantly wonders if someone will tell Inej and Nina of his death. What about Kaz? Surely he knew by now. The whole of Ketterdam seemed to be gathered awaiting his execution. It’s not like executions were illegal, but they were rare . But they happened enough that even Jesper could remember the last one. It was a short while after he first arrived in Ketterdam, still wide-eyed and bushy-tailed as a student.
He almost scoffs with the thought of how much has changed and is hit with how much he doesn’t mind his death. He really tries to shake this last thought out of his mind.
Ah, well, if he’s going to die it might as well be in the heart of his beloved Ketterdam.
He’s still looking at Wylan with an intensity to rival the sun and he mouths ‘i love you’ which Wylan returns. His thoughts are surprisingly steady despite the disorder around him.
As he is pushed up onto the execution stand, the hanging rope lightly bashing his head as he stands on the trapdoor, the jeering grows ever louder. The crowd jostles, more is thrown at him and he winces, his knee buckling as a brick slams into his side. He stumbles to his knees and pants. No one moves to help him up and as he stands they somehow get louder and louder-
He can’t see Wylan anymore.
(a part of him thinks, he could fight back, he could use what he had learned but he knows if he does that, they will destroy him and they will hurt Wylan so he doesn’t and instead keeps his head bowed)
But the crowd is still jeering, booing and throwing objects at him. A councillor then steps out and the throwing stops momentarily, the shouts turning more to cheers.
He holds a hand up for silence and the crowd follows suit immediately. Jesper can now hear distant streets of people, dogs barking and the birds cawing. If he closes his eyes he can pretend he is in the Slat with Inej and Kaz, or in his home with Wylan in the early hours of a weekend morning and the sun filtering in through partially closed blinds, his boyfriend safely in his arms.
“People of Ketterdam” The man’s voice is strong, firm and commanding “We are gathered here today, to witness the justice of a man killed”
The crowd started cheering again, mixed with some jeers and boos that Jesper knows are for him. The man holds his hand up, and yet again, they fall silent, like obedient dogs.
“Jesper Fahey is sentenced to execution by hanging for the murder of our good Counciler Ibsen”
Immediately the crowd is yelling again as Jesper is manhandled properly over the trapdoor, the executioner is behind him, reaching up to grab the noose. Jesper keeps his head bowed but his eyes flick up occasionally to find Wylan in the crowd but his red hair has disappeared within the jostling crowd. Jesper keeps his head down, and his grey eyes search the wooden planks below him.
For what, he isn’t sure.
As the executioner begins to put the noose over Jesper’s head, the thick rope hovering over his head like some damned halo, he hears something. Everyone hears it. The crowd slows their jostling and moving, stopping to part the river of people. The yells slowly diminish into the humid air that clings to all, like smoke or the heaviness of alcohol.
And then Jesper hears it.
A distinct clicking.
A clicking that was in a certain rhythm of only one person. The way the click holds, just a little longer every five but is still as sharp and snappish as the rest. The crowd begins to speak in hushed whispers and Jesper catches little snippets
“It’s him”
“He’s worse in person”
“Why is he here?”
“I would recognise that gait anywhere”
“It’s him-”
As the crowd continue to speak in hushed whispers, still parted for this mysterious newcomer, Jesper musters the last of his strength to look up.
His grey eyes widen at the sight in front of him
“Stop the execution.” Kaz Brekker says, standing there in all of his glory, like Sankt Alina and the Fold parting around her hands, glowing with a halo of golden light.
He’s there- , Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel himself and Jesper doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He ignores how his heart leaps up in hope but equally how a hollow pit swallows his chest. He knows that look in Kaz’s eye; it betrays nothing of his intents but yet Jesper can still read him and there is some small form of apology in Kaz’s eyes; he knows this isn’t good.
His next words prove Jesper right and has the whole congregation in chaos.
“Jesper Fahey is a Fabrikator who needs to be punished accordingly.”
And all hell breaks loose.
The crowd begins to swarm towards him, people are running and screaming everywhere. Mostly towards Jesper though there are many running away from him. Jesper hopes Wylan has had the sense to get out of here before he’s hurt. That would hurt Jesper more than any indenture, knowing that Wylan had suffered.
Because of Kaz, he thinks darkly and distantly as he is mostly panicked, with people rushing at him with their faces painted in murderous scowls, twisted in an ugly contortion of humanities potential of pure evil and hatred.
He stumbles backwards, the noose is forgotten above his head, most of the executioner’s around him have either run at him, beating him with barefists or ran away, eyes wide in terror. Jesper’s involvement with the Dregs was well known, and many people knew he was formidable and could be ruthless. His status as Grisha had only cemented that.
With the crowds swarming around him, running in chaos and in the overload of fabrics brushing against each other, the pounding of feet, Jesper feels like passing out and he pales, his hands reaching out almost as if they are looking for something to hold but he recoils sharply as someone sends a punch to where his head once was.
People shove him roughly and he falls to the floor, his knees scraping painfully against cobbled tiles. When was he pushed to the street? But there’s no time to think about that because people are kicking him, ruthlessly and forcefully and Jesper’s body feels on fire, his ribs aching and crying. He knows this will leave one hell of a bruise.
If he survives, he thinks dryly.
Between the retractions of each kick, he stubbornly tries to get up because he is Jesper fucking Fahey and despite everything, he is going down swinging or not at all.
With his knees buckling under his weight and the force of each kick, punch and slap, Jesper finally gets up, a dangerous feral fire in his eyes. Though they are clearly clouded with pain and exhaustion that wins over the anger and he sways dangerously. With one sharp movement from someone, somewhere, he feels a sickening pop and crunch in his shoulder and he takes all he can to not shriek in pain, instead biting down on an already bloody lip to muffle his pain. All he can think is, get away, get away, get away-
So he stumbles backwards, and the crowd turns on him, locked onto his every move as they advance with roaring yells of hatred. Jesper can hear slurs in between some of the shouts and he can’t even focus on that as he desperately fights against them.
Then, suddenly, someone grabs his wrist from behind him and pulls, yanking on him tightly.
“Come on- ”
The voice is laced with a subtle desperation and panic and something about the intonation is oh so familiar that Jesper does relax momentarily and allows himself to be pulled along, away from the crowds as he and his mysterious rescuer run away.
The two escape quickly, despite the grievous bruises and injuries (he’s sure he’s cracked a rib because that should not be hurting like that, and his shoulder is probably dislocated as should not be hanging like that). They weave in and out of cobbled streets, with barely a second to parse where they’re going, a clicking following their movements like a shadow. Part of Jesper’s addled mind knows where he is and recognises how his saviour also knows this. He can taste the salt of the sea vaguely on his bloodied tongue and through the smoke and smog of Ketterdam
Yet the crowd - Jesper should really start calling it a mob - perseveres and follows behind them, close on their tails. As they weave in and out of streets towards the docks and port, the people they run into become sparser, having most of Ketterdam on their tail anyway.
As the mob grows ever closer, the dark figure that pulls Jesper along in front of him by the wrist makes a split second decision and ducks the two off into a side alley whilst the mob roars by, unaware that their prey has evaded them.
The two figures pant in the alley, Jesper crouches against the darkened brick walls, clutching at his bruised and scraped sides, wincing as each breath sends fire through his chest. He heaves in smoggy air, rotten with the stench of waste. Sweat drips from his forehead, both from the exertion of running and his plight to remain upright.
“Well…” the figure opposite him pants “Fancy seeing you here”
Jesper looks up into the dark eyes of Kaz Brekker.