Warlock's shadow ta-2

by Stephen Deas

  ‘A hundred!’ Berren felt himself go cold. ‘That’s enough to …’

  ‘Quite.’ Master Sy put a finger to his lips and dropped to a crouch. ‘Enough to buy a really good sword. Now, do you see that each door has a coat of arms over it?’

  Berren nodded, not daring to speak.

  ‘Those are the coats of arms of the merchant houses. They shelter behind the Emperor’s swords. But that one there …’ Master Sy pointed to a dark corner of the square. ‘Through that arch and down the end of another alley is the House of Records itself. Down there you’ll find the arms of the Overlord of Deepwater. Do you think you can get there without anyone seeing you?’

  Berren nodded again.

  ‘Take the keys. One of them will fit the lock. I’ll keep these snuffers busy. Best if you don’t let them see you. Once you’re in the alley it should be dark enough, but you need to be quiet, lad. Stay close to the door when you’re inside. Stay quiet and wait for me. I won’t be long.’

  ‘But won’t they see you, master?’

  ‘Why yes, I think they will.’ He bared his teeth. ‘Got to make sure the Headsman finds out what I’m up to somehow, eh lad? But best if they think it’s only me. Just in case.’

  ‘But the guards on the gate! They already saw me!’

  The thief-taker shook his head. ‘Imagine you’re the Headsman. Imagine you have the choice of bribing a few of the Emperor’s men or a few snuffers. Which would you choose?’ The answer to that was obvious — snuffers were swords for hire and people paid them for their eyes all the time. The Emperor’s soldiers, they were a different matter.

  Master Sy smiled. ‘Exactly. He won’t even think of it. Now: once we’re inside, you keep quiet and you keep out of the way. Someone will come, one of the Headsman’s henchmen. They’ll bring snuffers of their own and I don’t know how many. Whatever you see tonight, you keep it to yourself. If anything happens to me, you tell Kol and no one else, no matter what it is or what happens or who asks you. Got that?’

  Berren nodded. This was the sort of thing Master Hatchet might once have told him to do, only with vastly more ambition. He set his sights on the door. In his head, he worked his way back to where he stood, darting from shadow to shadow. Another thrill of excitement shuddered inside him — this was more like thieving than thief-taking, and it was the most fun he’d had in … Probably since he’d stolen away on that boat to Siltside.

  He took one last careful look at the snuffers guarding the various doorways. They looked bored and sleepy. None of them were alert or on the lookout. Then he moved, slipping around the fringes of the lamplight, careful to stay in the shadows, closer and closer until he reached the darkness of the alley. No one stopped him. No one shouted after him. He heard Master Sy talking to a snuffer somewhere and then he slipped down the alley. It was short, just leading to another door that was almost lost in the night. He looked up at the coat of arms above him — a dark triangle on a pale field. In the starlight, he couldn’t see the eagle but he didn’t need to. These weren’t simply the arms of the city Overlord, they were the arms of the Emperor himself! He fingered the golden token around his neck and smiled. Would the prince who’d given it to him approve? Probably not, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

  His fingers felt around the edges of the door until they found the lock. As quickly as he could, he went through the keys until he found the one that fitted. Then he opened the door and slipped inside, tip-toeing quickly, room to room, checking to be sure he was alone. There were two large downstairs rooms at the front, four small ones on the first floor, four more on the second. They were all empty. A single passage led into the back of the house, pitch black stone walls lined with strong heavy doors. Each one carried a coat of arms. Berren traced them with his fingers. He could picture them — the symbols of the city merchant houses. The doors were all locked. He wondered whether to try some more of the keys, then thought better of it.

  A moment later, Master Sy was at the door. He was limping again.

  ‘Well done!’ he said. Berren swelled with pride. ‘Good work.’

  ‘I looked. There’s no one else here. Didn’t see much though. Just lots of paper.’

  ‘With writing on. Yes. I hope after tonight you’ll see why I wanted you to learn letters.’ The thief-taker was whispering even though the house was empty. He quietly closed the door behind him. Berren was trembling with excitement.

  ‘What now, master? Are we here to take something?’

  ‘Secrets, that’s what we’re after. One of those snuffers couldn’t wait to run off as soon as he saw me. He’ll go to the Two Cranes. How long to get there, do you reckon, at a run?’

  ‘Five minutes, maybe?’

  ‘And then he’s going to look for the Headsman, but we already know the Headsman isn’t there, so that’ll slow him down a bit. Say another couple of minutes and then another five for the Headsman’s snuffers to get here.’ The thief-taker stretched and massaged his knee. ‘Might as well take a quick look at whatever there is for us to see while we’re waiting.’ He strode into the first of the downstairs rooms, the biggest in the house, with a large table and a dozen chairs laid around it.

  ‘We’re going to wait for them?’ Berren gulped.

  ‘Don’t know how else we’re going to find out which strongbox is the right one, and even if we did find it on our own, I doubt we’ve got the keys to that.’ Master Sy picked up a piece of paper and a quill. ‘Here, make yourself useful. I want you to search for something.’ He wrote some letters down and gave Berren the paper. ‘If you see anything with this name, you bring it to me.’ Berren looked at the paper and screwed up his eyes in concentration. Radek of Kalda. ‘And make a mess. When the harbour-masters come in tomorrow, I want them to know that someone was here, even if they don’t know who it was.’

  ‘But they’ll know that from the guards!’

  The thief-taker smiled nastily. ‘Yes, lad. They will.’

  They moved from room to room. Master Sy tore open drawers and scattered papers across the floor. Berren followed. After a few minutes, the thief-taker stopped.

  ‘Give me the keys,’ he snapped. Berren tossed them to him. He paused, listening out but there was nothing to hear. ‘Go upstairs. Hide. Stay there and stay out of sight. I’ll be down the back. And listen: you hear anyone come in, you don’t move a muscle, lad. You leave the rest to me.’ Master Sy vanished into the darkness. Berren heard the keys jingle for a few seconds after he was gone, then nothing. He crept up the stairs and set about searching for a good place to hide, but in the dark, everywhere seemed as good as everywhere else. Idly, he picked up a few papers that lay on a desk. They came in different types, he realised, after he’d tried to read a few. Some of them even had the Emperor’s seal on the bottom! There were lists of which ships were in the harbour. For each ship, there were lists of what cargo the ship had brought and what cargo it was taking away. He had to go to a window and hold the papers up to the moonlight to even read them at all. It was hard work and it took so much of his attention that he almost didn’t hear the door at the front of the house open.

  ‘We should get the watch,’ murmured a voice from downstairs. Berren froze. Gods! That was quick! He crept to a corner by the windows where he could hide in a little alcove behind an old heavy desk.

  ‘Oh no. If he’s here, I don’t want the watch being around.’

  Berren crouched down and huddled back as deep into the shadows as he could go.

  ‘Just him, right? Him and maybe his boy.’

  ‘Right bloody mess he’s made, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ snapped a new voice. Berren stifled a gasp. Was that the man with the cane and the grating laugh? Could that be right? There couldn’t be many voices like that in Deephaven, not in the whole world! But they’d seen him leaving the Two Cranes! He wasn’t supposed to be here! ‘I don’t give a fox’s beard about all this crap. He’s been here and if we’re lucky then he’s still here and you can do what I pay y
ou for.’ There was some shuffling and then the creak of footfalls on the stairs. ‘You! Go on! Check upstairs! You! You come with me. I want to see if he’s found the strongbox.’

  Strongbox? Berren’s ears pricked up.

  The door to the room where Berren was hiding eased silently open. Berren crouched down, pressing himself even further back into the shadows. The man with the cane had snuffers with him and all Berren had was his stupid wooden waster. His heart beat faster, climbing up his throat. He could run, that’s what he could do. He could run for the door and away like the wind. His legs tensed …

  The thief-taker slipped into the room and eased the door shut behind him. Berren caught a glimpse of him in the frail light that filtered in through the windows. The feet on the stairs reached the top. In silence, Master Sy crept behind the door. He opened his coat and drew the stubby sword he carried.

  ‘Who’s here?’ called the snuffer at the top of the stairs. ‘I know there’s someone here. I can smell you. Show yourself or it’ll be the worse for you.’

  Master Sy took a tiny step closer to the door.

  ‘The watch is on its way. Show yourself now!’ The voice dropped. ‘Look, I don’t care what it is between you and them foreigners. We can come to some arrangement. I’ll say you were already gone. But, by Khrozus, if you don’t show yourselves right now, I’m going to kill you.’

  Berren’s heart jumped. He’d seen these snuffers and knew how they were armed, with long curved cavalry swords left over from the civil war or with short straight blades like Master Sy. The ones he’d seen with the Headsman had worn padded jackets, maybe even lined with mail …

  He looked towards the door but Master Sy hadn’t moved. He was still standing motionless, his sword held at the ready.

  ‘No one down here,’ shouted a voice from downstairs. Berren heard a second pair of boots climbing the stairs. ‘Someone’s been in the room but they didn’t find the box. I say he’s already been and gone.’

  ‘Well someone’s up here,’ said the first snuffer. He must have been right outside the door. ‘I can feel it.’

  ‘I still say we should go out and get the Emperor’s men.’

  ‘And how do we explain what we’re doing here, eh? Khrozus! What a festival of shit this is!’

  ‘Kelm’s Teeth! Look at this mess.’

  ‘If he’s here then you’re going to find him,’ bellowed the man with the cane. ‘You find him right now and you kill him. If he’s gone then you still find him and you still kill him. You dogs clear about that? The Headsman’s going to have a fit.’

  Footfalls sounded on the hall outside. Berren saw Master Sy ready his sword. He was holding it in front of his face now, the blade horizontal, pointing at the door. His other hand reached out …

  18

  THE FACE OF THE ENEMY

  The door flew open. For a moment it blocked Berren’s sight. Master Sy disappeared from view. The door began to swing to. Outside in the hall, two shouts and one clash of steel rang out. Then there was silence.

  The door stopped, half-open. Something was in the way, stopping it from fully closing. Berren hardly dared to breathe. And then he heard his name. It was Master Sy’s voice, a low whisper.

  ‘Berren?’

  Berren went to the door and pulled it open again. What stopped it from closing was a pair of boots. One of the snuffers was lying there, flat on his back. The thief-taker’s sword had ripped his throat out and there was blood everywhere. Berren gawped in awe. He wished he’d been standing somewhere else when the door had flown open so he could have seen what Master Sy had done.

  Out in the hall, by the top of the stairs, a second snuffer lay still. Master Sy was standing over him.

  ‘Come here.’

  Berren ran over. The second soldier had his throat slit open as well.

  ‘You want me to teach you to fight?’ whispered the thief-taker.

  Berren nodded, almost salivating at the prospect.

  ‘Then take a long look, because this is how it ends.’ He ran down the stairs, favouring his good leg, leaving Berren behind to stare at the bodies and wonder.

  When Berren was done staring at the bodies, he ran his hands through their pockets and helped himself to their purses. He’d been right about the jackets and they had good boots and good clothes too, and if he’d been with Master Hatchet there was no question: he’d have stripped both the snuffers of as much as he could carry.

  There was a shout from below, another clash of steel and a strangled cry: ‘You? You’re dead!’ That was the man with the cane. Whatever Master Sy’s reply, it was too quiet to reach up the stairs. Berren took a sword from one of the snuffers. The usual old cavalry swords were too long for Berren’s arms, but this … this was perfect. A sword like Master Sy’s. The man’s belt was too big and he couldn’t get the scabbard free, but he didn’t care. Simply holding a real steel blade made him feel six feet taller. Made him feel like he was a man, not a boy any more.

  Another yell came from below and another clash of blades. Berren bounded down. In the gloom of the hallway he saw the man with the cane, his back to the front door. He had a sword, but his hand was shaking. Between him and Berren stood Master Sy, his long coat hanging loose. He had a sword too and his was as steady as a rock. Two more snuffers lay slumped in the passageway, dead or well on their way.

  ‘No, no.’ The man with the cane was shaking his head. ‘No!’ He looked from side to side as though some miracle might save his life. He reached one hand behind him, fumbling for the door. Master Sy took a step forward; the man skittered sideways.

  ‘Deephaven is a long way from Kalda. What does the Headsman want here? What does Radek want?’

  ‘We should have killed you in Forgenver.’ The man was almost crying with frustration and fear and rage.

  Quick as a snake, Master Sy lunged. The man with the cane darted back for the door. He turned the first blow away but he wasn’t quick enough for the second. Master Sy’s blade caught his hand, cutting it in two. The man’s sword, three of his fingers and a ragged piece of flesh fell to the floor. The man screamed.

  ‘Age making you slow is it?’ growled Master Sy. ‘I remember you. Radek’s Weasel, we used to call you. Made you the Headsman’s nose-picker did he? Never did your own dirty work if I remember, but you were quick. Not so quick now, eh?’

  The man fell to his knees. He clutched his ruined hand. Blood ran steadily down his shirt. He was weeping now.

  ‘The temple. What business has the Headsman got with priests? Why does he keep bringing them here?’

  Priests? Berren suddenly forgot about his new sword. Priests? Master Sy hadn’t said anything about priests or temples. Did he mean his temple?

  ‘Nothing! I don’t know anything about that! He doesn’t tell us!’

  ‘That’s very hard to believe. Very hard to believe.’

  ‘It’s true!’ The man’s voice grew shrill. ‘But he’s been to see the grey wizard too! They got their own thing going. I can tell you all-’

  ‘You’re a liar!’ Berren couldn’t see Master Sy’s face, couldn’t see much of anything in the gloom of the hall, but he heard the rage biting into every word. The thief-taker took a step forward and raised his sword.

  ‘Don’t! Don’t!’ The man’s cane lay on the floor near Berren’s feet. It gleamed golden in the moonlight. ‘There’s things you don’t know. It’s all different now. Listen to me! Gold! Sackfuls of it. Plenty enough to share. You could be a part of it!’

  ‘With you?’ A high-pitched tone of disbelief crept into the thief-taker’s voice. ‘Be a part of something with you and the Headsman and Radek? After what they did?’

  ‘Listen, damn you! You kill me, your life won’t be worth shit.’ He glanced at Berren. ‘You kill me, you’re dead, prince. Dead. Both of you are dead.’

  The thief-taker leaned forwards and spat in the man’s face. ‘Even now you can’t help but show yourself for the turd that floats to the top of the sewer.’ He drew his sword back
, ready to strike. ‘Besides, you said I was dead already.’

  ‘Radek knows you’re here! The Headsman already sent word! Kill me and you’re a dead man! But listen to me! It’s the black powder. Everything’s changed!’

  ‘Not for me!’ The thief-taker screamed something else, something that sounded like a name but was so contorted with fury that it came out as an animal sound. Then he drove the short blade of his sword down through the soft flesh between the man’s neck and his collar bone, with all his strength behind it. The Weasel lurched, gurgled, rolled his eyes and then fell forward, the weight of him tearing the sword out of Master Sy’s hand.

  ‘Boy,’ he hissed without looking round, ‘go find somewhere else to be.’

  Berren backed away and crept up the stairs to the dead snuffers. For something to do he finished taking the sword-belt off the lanky one and put it on. He fumbled his sword back into its scabbard. Then he stood, imagining how he looked. The belt was definitely too big and the scabbard dragged on the floor however he tried to wear it. He could still take the sword, though, couldn’t he? No one else needed it.

  Slowly, he drew it out of its scabbard again. This turned out to be a lot harder than it looked.

  ‘You want to start with something lighter,’ said Master Sy from the top of the stairs. He was leaning against the wall, watching. ‘It’s too heavy for you,’ he said.

  ‘Can I keep it?’

  He could see the answer in Master Sy’s face at once. There were a hundred good reasons why he shouldn’t.

  ‘I’ll grow,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll get stronger.’

  And then, to his surprise, Master Sy nodded. ‘Maybe you can trade it for one you can actually hold.’

  ‘They said something about a strongbox.’ He kept seeing the man with the cane die, kept hearing what he’d said. It wasn’t that it troubled him. Rather, it had thrilled him just as the time he’d seen Master Sy kill three men in an alley over a purse that had turned out to be filled with nothing but rusty iron and a few pennies. But priests? Black powder? A grey wizard? What did it all mean?