by Stephen Deas
Master Sy wrinkled his nose. He walked straight through the middle of the square to the other side. Suddenly Berren found himself standing on the threshold of the most magnificent building on the dockside, possibly the whole world, certainly the whole world as far as Berren had seen it. This, he knew, without even having to ask, was the fabled Captains’ Rest, the finest tavern in the city, grander even than Teacher Garrent’s moon temple. It called itself something different, a loggia, or some other fancy foreign word, but a tavern was what it was and everyone had heard of it.
Master Sy looked him up and down, straightening a fold in his clothes here, brushing away a fleck of dirt there. He spoke sternly: ‘Look around you, both of you. Everyone who comes in here has money, a lot more money than us. Watch the way they act, the way they dress. Listen to the way they talk. See if any of them strike you as unusual.’ He glowered at Berren. ‘And whatever you do, don’t steal anything.’ Then he smiled at Lilissa, took her arm again and led them to the door.
27
THE HARBOUR-MASTER
The entrance to the Captains’ Rest was a gaping archway that looked more like the portal to a castle or a temple. Two more snuffers stood on guard, these ones in fancy uniforms that matched the arms carved into the arch’s crest; they frowned at Berren as he followed his master. Beyond the arch lay another square yard, open to the sky and larger than the first. A wild variety of plants filled the place – scented and flowering bushes scattered around a handful of small trees. Several different ivies competed for domination of the walls. Paths wound around the yard, punctuated by little marble benches, barely large enough for two people to sit on at once. Berren saw at least a dozen colourful birds, perched in the trees and around the walls. A low hum of conversation filled the air. The effect made Berren think he’d walked into the exotic palace garden of some faraway kingdom.
‘Copied from the garden at the Watchman’s Arms,’ whispered Master Sy. ‘This is where sea captains and merchants come to make their business.’ Lilissa’s eyes darted from one thing to the next, wide with wonder.
‘It’s like a palace!’ said Berren.
Master Sy nodded. He pointed to their left. ‘Those are the private rooms and lodgings. Only guests are allowed inside there.’ He gestured ahead. ‘That leads to the grand hall. They won’t let us in there either. It’s where the Guild of Sea Captains and Traders meets. But over here…’ He turned right down a path, so crowded by greenery that it brushed Berren’s legs as he walked. ‘Anyone can come here. This is where the food halls are, and the baths, and… various other diversions.’
From the way he said it, Berren knew that diversions meant women. Over the time he’d been Master Sy’s apprentice, he’d noticed that the thief-taker became strangely clumsy and fumbling on the few times he spoke on the subject, particular when Lilissa was around. Berren, on the other hand, had grown up with Master Hatchet, near the bottom of Reeper Hill. He’d lived one door away from Club-Headed Jin’s whorehouse and he’d already seen about as much as there was to see. He’d begun to suspect that on this one subject, he might actually know more than his master.
He glanced at Lilissa again. Maybe he did know more than Master Sy, but he still didn’t know nearly as much as he would have liked.
The thief-taker led them out of the gardens onto a sheltered veranda and then into a wide hall. The delicious scents of food laced the air. Paintings and hangings lined the walls. Berren remembered that he was still ravenous.
‘Master? Did it used to be a palace?’ he asked.
‘No. But the Guild of Sea Captains and Traders has a lot of money, and the guild-master likes to think himself something of a king. Now remember what I said, boy, and be quiet. And guard your eyes, both of you.’
Berren still stared at everything he saw. Uniformed servants intercepted Master Sy, speaking in hushed whispers. Other men and women wandered through the hall, dressed in silks and satins laced with gold and silver and decked with jewels. Even in his wildest dreams, Berren had never imagined that so much wealth could exist. The ten emperors awarded to Master Sy, such an immense fortune not all that long ago, now seemed paltry. It might have bought a shirt, or perhaps a hat, for people like these. Might have.
He stayed close to his master, almost afraid of what would happen if he were to get lost. Everywhere he looked there was a new wonder. Even the air smelled of gold. No hint of rotting fish here, only the damp scents of flowers and incense and the occasional heady waft of Lilissa. She was wearing perfume, something that must have cost her more than a fishmonger’s son could ever afford. Maybe she’d bathed, too, in the marble public baths up near Deephaven Square.
He tried not to think about that, but it was impossible. He lost track of where they were. Thoughts raced inside his head, passing through each other, clouding out everything else. Lilissa. Perfume. Baths. Money. Master Sy.
He stopped, frozen for a second. Lilissa and Master Sy? No, it couldn’t be. Could it?
The servants led the way through a wide doorway – the handles on the doors were made of gold – and into a cosy dining hall. Perhaps half a dozen small tables stood around the room, all of them occupied. A buzz of voices filled the air. Berren could see at once that this room, and the people in it, were not as rich as the rest. It showed in their clothes. As for the hall, he could tell by the plainness of the wooden tables and chairs and the gaudiness of the curtains and the paintings on the walls. The servants left. Master Sy picked his way across to a table where a man sat on his own. The man was unusually fat, with rolls of flesh hanging from his neck and under his face. Berren disliked him at once. Fat meant rich.
‘Harbour-Master.’ Master Sy bowed to the man and then introduced Lilissa. ‘This is Lilissa. She’s ward to my brother Talon, who sailed into the city a few weeks ago on the Heraclian.’
The fat man didn’t get up. He nodded at Master Sy, but his eyes were all over Lilissa like a bad rash.
‘How delightful. And how did you find the Heraclian, my sweet?’ He didn’t even seem to notice that Berren was there. Berren’s dislike solidified into a knot of hate and anger and envy.
Lilissa curtseyed. She put on her shy look and stared at her shoes. Then she batted her eyelashes at the harbour-master. Berren clenched his fists. ‘She rode surprisingly low in the water, sir. But her cabins were comfortable and she took the seas well enough.’
It was obviously an answer they’d rehearsed. The harbour-master tried to smile, but to Berren it seemed more like a sneer. ‘And where is your guardian, pretty one?’
‘In Varr by now I hope, sir. He is here to see…’ She stared even harder at the floor. ‘I cannot say, sir.’
‘No need to explain, little bird. I understand. I know Syannis well, you see.’ The harbour-master licked his lips. Berren fidgeted. He had to stop himself from jumping on to the table and screaming: Fat old man! Keep your eyes off her! That she’d betrayed him to the thief-taker instead of hiding him and that he was supposed to be hating her for it, all that was long forgotten.
Master Sy pointed to Berren. ‘This is my apprentice, Berren. I’m showing him the places of the city that matter most. And of course the people.’ He turned to Berren. ‘Lady Lilissa, Berren, this is Harbour-Master Regis VenDormen, one of the most powerful men in this city.’
Their introductions complete, Master Sy sat down. Something in his manner made Berren realise that he wasn’t the only one who disliked the harbour-master.
The harbour-master immediately set his attention on Lilissa. He spoke to her slowly and carefully and with simple words, so he ended up sounding as though he was talking to a child. All the time he stared fixedly at Lilissa’s chest and Berren couldn’t do anything except fidget on his chair. He was trying to sound important, but his job didn’t sound that difficult. As far as Berren could tell, it came down to deciding where each ship should weigh anchor and when it would be allowed to load or unload its cargo. This sounded straightforward enough, something almost anyone could have done
; but just when Berren had felt unable to bite his tongue, Master Sy had elbowed him. When no one else was watching, Lilissa shot Berren a look, stuck out her tongue and made a disgusted face. Berren grinned, sighed with relief, and tried to make himself relax. He nodded and gave a soft gasp and tried to look suitably awed. The harbour-master smiled. Then he promptly seemed to forget that either Berren or Lilissa existed. For the rest of the evening, he and Master Sy talked animatedly about people and places and ships, and Berren was left to pick at his supper. He didn’t recognise the food he was eating, and it was far too rich. After a few mouthfuls, his stomach began to rumble. He cleaned his plate nevertheless. He didn’t dare not. He smiled at Lilissa and she smiled back, and that somehow made everything else worth it.
At some point, he dozed off. The food had long since ended, but a steady flow of wine came to the table and most of it found its way into the harbour-master. Berren was even given a glass of his own, heavily watered, and that had been around the time he’d fallen asleep. He woke up again with a start, horrified with himself. His head was throbbing again. The harbour-master and Master Sy were getting to their feet. Lilissa was still sitting bolt upright, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. There was a half-empty wine-glass in front of her. She stifled a yawn. When Berren cocked his head, she rolled her eyes.
‘It’s been a pleasure, as usual,’ the harbour-master was saying. His cheeks, which had been pasty white at the start of the evening, were now rosy.
‘Yes.’ Master Sy helped him up from the table. ‘Your company is appreciated, as usual.’ He smiled, although Berren could sense his tension. ‘I am, as always, grateful that you find time amid so many arduous responsibilities, for your friends.’
The harbour-master belched loudly.
‘There’s one other little thing I suppose I might mention, ’ Master Sy said.
The air changed. The harbour-master’s cheery smile fell away. His eyes turned cold and hard. The air seemed to crackle. Unconsciously, Berren sat up straighter and got ready to run. He knew that sort of look. Hatchet got it sometimes. The killing look, his boys had called it. Never mind the hiding you’d take later – when the master got that look, you ran.
‘Yes?’
‘Those pirates we were talking about a month back.’
‘Yes, the fishermen.’
‘Well, that’s the thing. I don’t think it’s them. You might cast your eyes over who comes and goes through the Sea Gate in the dead of night.’ The Sea Gate was at the bottom of Reeper Hill. In the dead of night, everyone came and went through it. ‘And who doesn’t. I’m fairly sure you won’t find any mudlarks using it, you see. And yet they wander your docks. It is a puzzle.’
‘I see.’ The harbour-master smiled and clasped the thief-taker’s shoulder, a gesture of friendship and affection. ‘Well, I dare say they come up and down the Avenue of Emperors like most honest folk, but when I see one, I shall ask him. One way or another, this piracy will be stopped. I commend your efforts, sir.’ He sounded like he meant it, too, but his eyes didn’t change. The killing look never shifted.
Master Sy made his farewells and scooped up Berren and Lilissa, sweeping them towards the doors. As soon as they were back in the gardens outside, he pulled Lilissa close. He whispered into her ear and pressed something into her hand. She stopped, looked shocked, and then Master Sy took her arm and pulled her on again. When they emerged into the Avenue of Emperors, he let go of her and grabbed hold of Berren instead.
‘I’m very sorry, Berren, but I’ve misjudged our friend the harbour-master, and badly so. There are men already following us. Take this.’ Now he pressed a small knife into Berren’s hand. ‘When they come for us, run, do you hear? Run as fast as you can. Look after Lilissa. If I don’t come back, tell Kol everything that happened tonight. Don’t trust him, just tell him. And then, no matter what he does, leave it be.’
Berren blinked, uncomprehending. ‘Wuh?’ He could feel the danger, though. He had a sixth sense for that sort of thing. You needed to, in Shipwrights, if you were going to survive. He glanced over his shoulder. Four hooded men had come out into the avenue after them. They were all armed. Snuffers. Master Sy gave Berren a hard shove in the back. He didn’t bother whispering any more.
‘Now, lad! Run!’
Whys could come later. When someone said run and there were snuffers on the street, Berren ran.
28
SOME LEARNING ABOUT SWORDS
Syannis watched Berren and Lilissa start to run up the Avenue of Emperors. Not fast enough. With a sigh, he turned to face the four swordsmen who’d come out of the Captain’s Rest. This wasn’t what he’d expected, not even half-guessed. VenDormen wasn’t supposed to do this, wasn’t supposed to be so bold, wasn’t supposed to even have any part of this. Gods! The Bloody Dag, in the end, hadn’t had a name to give. He’d come here fishing, looking to see what he might catch and he’d accidentally caught a shark.
Oh well. He drew his short sword and raised his guard. At least now I know who it is. Pity I couldn’t have somehow found that out a few hours earlier.
The Avenue of Emperors, even at night, was about the most public place in the city, short of the docks themselves. People were already stopping to watch – from a careful distance, of course – and the four swordsmen hadn’t even reached him yet. Syannis gritted his teeth. We should charge them. Sell tickets. A penny apiece. He took a few deep breaths. Four against one. Not good odds. Likely as not he was going to die. Lilissa and Berren would be safe, and that would be his legacy. Marvellous. Hardly a fitting end for someone who should have been a king.
There wasn’t any subtlety here. The four swordsmen drew their blades and started to spread out as they approached him. Their swords were long and curved. Cavalry swords. Half the snuffers in the city carried those, all left over from Khrozus’ army a generation ago. Fenris steel from Neja. The best in the empire. Held an edge like nothing else. Light and long and good for slashing. Fine weapon if you’re on a horse. Not so good on foot. Heh, and I have a nasty surprise waiting for you under my shirt.
But he couldn’t be having them surround him either. They were still half a dozen yards away when he ran at them. It wasn’t what they were expecting. Thought we’d circle each other for a while, eh? So you could come at me from all directions at once? I don’t think so. He launched himself towards the end of their line, at the one furthest out into the street. That one jumped back hastily into a high guard. At the last moment, Syannis ignored him completely and went for the one next to him. They all had their guards up but the switch earned him a moment of surprise. He stepped inside the man’s blade and drove his own short sword up into the man’s guts. One gone. Still three left. And I won’t fool them with that again. He kept moving, through them, wrenching his sword free. The man he’d stabbed groaned, fell over and lay still.
No time to think about that. Somehow he’d gone right through the middle of them and no one had been quick enough to land a blow on him. See. That’s what you get for carrying the wrong sword to a street-fight. His off-hand pulled a knife out of his belt. He spun around to face the three that were left. They were closer together now. Hesitant. Nervous. All good. He didn’t wait to see what they’d do next, but threw the knife straight at the one in the middle. It was supposed to take him in the neck, but his aim was a bit high and it caught the man in the head instead, glancing off his temple. The man shrieked and dropped his sword. There was a lot of blood. Good enough. With a bit of luck that’s an eyeball gone.
Which left two. They had quite a crowd now. Just as well the Avenue of Emperors is so wide, eh? Wouldn’t want to be stopping the traffic. Still, he took a moment to glance around for places to run. The docks’ militiamen could hardly ignore something like this, and the coins in their pockets came from the harbour-masters. There wasn’t much doubting which side they’d be on. Go on you two. You’ve seen your friends go down and I’m all out of tricks. Run away, damn you! He could hope. They didn’t look old enough to have actually fo
ught in the war. With a bit of luck they’d never actually fought anyone who might kill them. With a bit of luck they were all for show…
They launched themselves at him, both of them at once. They were good, too, in a schoolyard sort of way. Held their swords just so, good footwork, that sort of thing. Not a clue how a real fight actually worked though; what they ought to have done was danced out of his reach and pricked him to death. Presumably whatever sword-school had spawned them didn’t teach that sort of thing. While he’d been taught by Shalari, the best swords-woman in the small kingdoms, who’d probably killed pushing a hundred men on the battlefield and whose famous first rule of sword-fighting had always been don’t get stabbed.
He parried the first sword and deliberately left himself open to the second. The swordsman obligingly lunged and stabbed him in the chest. His sword bent and the impact hurt like a kick from a horse, but the thin ringmail vest under Syannis’ coat didn’t give. Syannis grinned at him. Time seemed to freeze for a moment.
‘Oops,’ he said. He could see the dismay in his enemy’s eyes. This was more like it. This is what we should have been doing years and years ago. This, not running away. He drove his own sword into the man’s throat and that was that.
Except it wasn’t. Blood sprayed straight at his face. He turned his head, screwed his eyes shut, jumped away from where the last swordsman had been, but for a moment he was blind. A moment too long. He felt a horrible stabbing pain in his armpit, just above the line of his mail. He gasped. That was deep. That was bad. Not his sword-arm though. Stabbed. By a cavalry sword. How utterly mortifying. He spun around, keeping his wounded arm close but not hugging it tight. Don’t let him see how bad it is. Never let them see how bad it is. He gripped his sword tight and set his face for murder. Sometimes when they cut you and you don’t go down, they run. Go on, run!
He bared his teeth and stepped slowly towards the last swordsman. ‘Go on!’ he screamed. ‘Stand and fight! I want to play!’