Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo Page A

arrival in Ketterdam falling away. He felt free, dangerous, like lightning rolling over the prairie. “Trust me, Da.”
    â€œAll right, boy. All right.”
    Jesper was pretty sure he could hear an unspoken for now . He saw Wylan brace himself. The merchling was still so new to all this. Hopefully Jesper wouldn’t get everyone killed.
    â€œOne, two…” He started firing on three . Leaping into the courtyard, he rolled for cover behind the fountain. He’d gone in blind, but he picked out the shapes on the roof quickly, aiming by instinct, sensing movement and firing before he could think his way clear of a good shot. He didn’t need to kill anyone, he just needed to scare the hell out of them and buy Wylan and his father time.
    A bullet struck the fountain’s central statue, the book in the scholar’s hand exploding into fragments of stone. Whatever ammunition they were using, they weren’t messing around.
    Jesper reloaded and popped up from behind the fountain, shooting.
    â€œAll Saints ,” he shouted as pain tore through his shoulder. He really hated being shot. He shrank back behind the stone lip. He flexed his hand, testing the damage to his arm. Just a scratch, but it hurt like hell, and he was bleeding all over his new tweed jacket. “This is why it doesn’t pay to try to look respectable,” he muttered. Above him, he could see the silhouettes on the roof moving. Any minute, they were going to circle around the other side of the fountain and he’d be done for.
    â€œJesper!” Wylan’s voice. Damn it. He was supposed to get clear. “Jesper, at your two o’clock.”
    Jesper looked up and something was arcing through the sky. Without thinking, he aimed and fired. The air exploded.
    â€œGet in the water!” Wylan shouted.
    Jesper dove into the fountain, and a second later the air sizzled with light. When Jesper poked his soaked head out of the water, he saw that every exposed surface of the courtyard and its gardens was pocked with holes, tendrils of smoke rising from the tiny craters. Whoever was up on the roof was screaming. Just what kind of bomb had Wylan let loose?
    He hoped Matthias and Kaz had found cover, but there was no time to stew on it. He bolted for the doorway beneath the pencil-chewing demon. Wylan and his father were waiting inside. They slammed the door shut.
    â€œHelp me,” said Jesper. “We need to barricade the entrance.”
    The man behind the desk wore gray scholar’s robes. His nostrils were flared so wide in effrontery that Jesper feared being sucked up one of them. “Young man—”
    Jesper pointed his gun at the scholar’s chest. “Move.”
    â€œJesper!” his father said.
    â€œDon’t worry, Da. People point guns at each other all the time in Ketterdam. It’s basically a handshake.”
    â€œIs that true?” his father asked as the scholar grudgingly moved aside and they shoved the heavy desk in front of the door.
    â€œAbsolutely,” said Wylan.
    â€œCertainly not ,” said the scholar.
    Jesper waved them on. “Depends on the neighborhood. Let’s go.”
    They pelted down the main aisle of the reading room between long tables lit by lamps with curving necks. Students huddled against the wall and under their chairs, probably thinking they were all about to die.
    â€œNothing to worry about, everyone!” Jesper called. “Just a little target practice in the courtyard.”
    â€œThis way,” said Wylan, ushering them through a door covered in elaborate scrollwork.
    â€œOh, you mustn’t,” said the scholar rushing after them, robes flapping. “Not the rare books room!”
    â€œDo you want to shake hands again?” Jesper asked, then added, “I promise we won’t shoot anything we don’t have to.” He gave his father a gentle shove. “Up the stairs.”
    â€œJesper?” said a