mother was right. Even in his new uniform, he still looked like a baby.
Gently, he brushed his finger along his upper lip. If only his mustache
would come in. It definitely felt thicker than yesterday.
He’d been a guard in the stadwatch less than six weeks, and it
wasn’t nearly as exciting as he’d hoped. He thought he’d be running
down thieves in the Barrel or patrolling the harbors, getting first look
at cargo coming in on the docks. But ever since the assassination of
that ambassador at the town hall, the Merchant Council had been
grumbling about security, so where was he? Stuck walking in circles
at some lucky mercher’s house. Not just any mercher, though.
Councilman Hoede was about as high placed in Ketterdam
government as a man could be. The kind of man who could make a
career.
Joost adjusted the set of his coat and rifle, then patted the
weighted baton at his hip. Maybe Hoede would take a liking to him.
Sharp-eyed and quick with the cudgel, Hoede would say. That fellow
deserves a promotion.
“Sergeant Joost Van Poel,” he whispered, savoring the sound of
the words. “Captain Joost Van Poel.”
“Stop gawking at yourself.”
Joost whirled, cheeks going hot as Henk and Rutger strode into
the side garden. They were both older, bigger, and broader of
shoulder than Joost, and they were house guards, private servants
of Councilman Hoede. That meant they wore his pale green livery,
carried fancy rifles from Novyi Zem, and never let Joost forget he
was a lowly grunt from the city watch.
“Petting that bit of fuzz isn’t going to make it grow any faster,”
Rutger said with a loud laugh.
Joost tried to summon some dignity. “I need to finish my rounds.”
Rutger elbowed Henk. “That means he’s going to go stick his
head in the Grisha workshop to get a look at his girl.”
“Oh, Anya, won’t you use your Grisha magic to make my
mustache grow?” Henk mocked.
