by Stephen Deas
‘He fell,’ he said, and then slowly and carefully went through everything that had happened, trying to put it all together in his head as he did, as if that might bring some sense to it. When he was done, he was no better off than when he started.
‘Velgian?’ Kol rubbed his face, struggling with disbelief. Berren nodded. He could see quite clearly now how the poet thief-taker must have been the man in the scent garden. Everything about him was right, right size, not the best swordsman, moved the right way, everything. But why? Why would he do it? Even Kol seemed bemused.
‘For a purse filled with the Emperor’s head like he said, I suppose.’ Kol took a deep breath and frowned as though he still didn’t really believe it. He gave Berren a strange look. ‘There are ways to get to the truth, even now,’ he said. ‘Does he have any family to claim the body?’
They looked at each other. As far as Berren knew, Velgian had come to Deephaven from somewhere far to the east. He’d come alone, and if you believed his boasts in The Eight, he’d had a string of lovers as long as your arm. But in the end he always struck Berren as a lonely man. ‘I don’t think so. Don’t you know?’
Kol shrugged. ‘You thief-takers keep yourselves to yourselves. If he had anyone, he never spoke of them to me. Right then. You’re not going anywhere for the next few weeks are you, Berren? No, let me say it another way – you stay where I can see you. You and Syannis both. Now I’m going to have to go and haul some of my men out of their cups, which isn’t going to please any of us. So he’d better still be here when I come back.’
‘He was trying to say something when he fell. Something about the witch-doctor.’
A dark look crossed Kol’s face. ‘Was he now? Well like I said, there’s people in this city who can do something about that. If they can be persuaded.’
He went away and came back half an hour later with a pair of militia-men and a handcart. They lifted Velgian into it and wheeled him away. Kol watched them go.
‘Something I need to talk about with your master. Got some news for him about what’s keeping him at the Two Cranes. So I’ll be staying around for a bit.’ He gave Berren another odd look, sort of angry and sad at the same time. ‘None of your business what it is unless he says otherwise though. If I were you, I’d piss off to bed and get some sleep.’ He settled into Master Sy’s chair. ‘Yeh, that’s what I’d do if I were you, and I’d quietly forget that any of this ever happened. Velgian, eh? Poor bastard. Your master’s right. Meddle with the affairs of kings, look what happens.’
It was only as Berren huddled under his blanket on his mattress of straw that he realised Kol hadn’t been talking about Master Velgian at the end.
16
KEYS
On the last Moon-Day of the month of Floods, Master Sy was waiting for him when he came home. Velgian was long gone, forgotten, it seemed, by everyone except Berren. Kol was back to his tight-lipped self and the thief-taker remained wrapped in his own plots and schemes. Today, as Berren came in from another week at the temple, Master Sy was sitting at his little table with two enormous dried spiced sausages sat on plates in front of him and a loaf of bread between them.
‘Monks working you hard as ever?’ He was smiling. Berren nodded. The aches and pains weren’t as bad as they’d been when he’d started but he was still exhausted when he came home.
‘It’s the same every day, though. Just the same things, over and over and over again. And still with a waster.’ When was someone going to let him hold a real sword, that’s what he wanted to know. When he was old and grey and shaky and could barely even pick it up any more? He sat down, picked up one of the sausages and sniffed at it. A Mirrormere Hot, stuffed with pork and a vicious mix of spices. His favourite. He grinned and cocked his head.
Master Sy smiled. ‘Tuck in.’
Cured pork didn’t come cheap in a city that lived largely off fish. Berren smiled back. ‘You want something.’
‘Monks teaching you anything useful yet?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose.’ He didn’t dare say anything else, not to Master Sy. Tasahre might not be what he’d been hoping for, but he’d learned enough from the thief-taker over these last two years to know how lucky he was and when to keep his mouth shut.
‘Treating your teacher with respect, I hope.’
‘Of course, master.’ He didn’t have much choice in that, either. Tasahre could probably kick him right through the temple walls if she wanted to. Or worse, she could simply stop teaching him. Yeh, and she gave him shivers when she did that thing of standing right up against him to get the angles in his arms and legs right. But it was best not to think about that.
‘Seen anything odd?’
Berren shook his head. ‘At the temple? Not much. They’re a bit here and there. They go off into the city sometimes but I don’t know what they get up to.’ He bit off the end of his sausage and started to chew; then he raised an eyebrow. ‘They’re a bit like you, master.’ His mouth was starting to tingle with the heat of the spices. He tore off a lump of bread. ‘So has Kol found someone to conjure up Master Velgian’s spirit and ask him why he did it yet?’
‘Speak of the dead with respect, lad.’ The thief-taker watched Berren for a while, chewing on his sausage. The whole inside of Berren’s mouth was burning nicely now. ‘Good one is it?’
Berren nodded, reaching for the jug of goat’s milk.
‘I can tell. You’re bright red and sweating.’ The thief-taker sniffed and took a bite of his own. He stood up and walked to the door. ‘Abyss-Day tomorrow. No lessons. You said you wanted to be a part of what I’m doing, well tonight there’s more than watching and waiting to be done. You got enough strength to do some thief-taking?’
‘Yeh! ’Course!’
‘Right, come on then.’ The thief-taker got up. ‘Bring your sausage with you.’
Berren stuffed his cheeks with a last mouthful of bread and hurried into the yard outside. He chased after Master Sy along the dim twilight of alleys and passageways that wound down the hill into The Maze. ‘Master, how much would it cost to have a sword of my own?’
The thief-taker threw back his head and laughed. ‘Berren, you have no idea what you’re asking. I couldn’t afford steel for you even if I wanted to, not until your sword-monk friends have pissed off the city princes enough to get themselves thrown out and we’re back to having paid work. Even a bad sword costs more than most men will ever see.’ He looked up at the sky. Stars twinkled down between tufts of cloud. ‘Dry tonight, I reckon.’
Berren was looking at Master Sy’s short steel sword, trying not to feel envious. ‘Was just asking. I’ll start saving my crowns then.’
‘You need emperors for a good sword, lad, and several of them. Still, maybe you can do some sword-smith a favour, eh? Get yourself a bargain.’
‘Yeh.’ Berren nodded again. He thought about how long it would take to get that sort of money. Years, probably. He turned away so the thief-taker wouldn’t see his face and followed as they walked into the evening. Master Sy talked on about this and that, a bit about swords but mostly about what he’d been doing and about the Headsman. Berren nodded and grunted and pretended to listen but his mind was far away. He was thinking about Velgian and what he’d done, and he was thinking about swords. He was thinking about how to get one. For the purse and the fistful of golden emperors inside it, that’s why …
By the time they reached the Two Cranes, Berren had his mind back where it was supposed to be. Master Sy slipped into the twilight shadows of an alley a few dozen yards from the hostel’s entrance. There were guards watching the street, snuffers with swords looking out for any riff-raff who might cause trouble for their wealthy guests. When the doors opened, the air spilled out from inside. It smelled of perfume and spices and wine and carried the sounds of laughter.
There was a sword-monk too. Berren didn’t see at first, not until Master Sy pointed. And then Berren had to look again. He gasped.
‘Tasahre!’ He was certain it was her.
Now and then he caught a glimpse of movement as she lurked in shadows of her own.
‘Yes. They’ve been watching me,’ murmured Master Sy. ‘Making a right nuisance of themselves actually.’ The thief-taker grunted. ‘You know how I spend my nights, lad? I hide out here watching people come and go. Quiet as a mouse, stealthy as a shadow, me. Then some idiot comes along dressed in bright yellow and props himself up against a wall where he thinks nobody can see him and now everyone in the Two Cranes thinks they’ve got a sword-monk after them. Fun to see how many have got the wind up them but it’s still a nuisance. Moon-Day nights I get her. Today she can make herself useful.’ Master Sy lowered his voice. ‘When the Headsman comes out, I need you to stay here, out of sight. I’ll tell you what to do. And do not let her see you!’
‘But–’
The thief-taker put a finger to Berren’s lips. He grinned and looked slightly sheepish. ‘That night you and Master Velgian had your coming together, Kol was coming to see me anyway. He was coming to tell me that the Headsman’s got something up with the harbour-masters in the House of Records up near Reeper Gate. I’ve been watching long enough to know the Headsman spends a lot of time up there and he’s keeping some curious company. The House of Records is about the safest place I can think of for him to keep something short of leaving it on his own ship. It costs money and it can’t be anything big he’s got there, but whatever it is, it’s well guarded. It has a very good lock on it too, judging by the keys he keeps on his belt.’
‘You want me to–’ Pick his pocket? Was that it?
‘What I want you to do right now, boy, is stay very quiet and still and use your eyes.’
For a long time they watched in silence. People came and went, mostly small clusters of men in rich clothes and always with one or two snuffers nearby. The sounds from inside the Two Cranes grew louder as the night drew on. The warm late-spring air finally began to cool and a dampness started to rise out of the streets from the afternoon rains.
‘There!’ Master Sy crouched beside Berren as six men came out of the Two Cranes. Two snuffers walked in front, lean and wiry with eyes that darted from side to side and fingers never far from the hilts of their swords. A few paces behind came two men in long dark cloaks and fancy hats. They were laughing together. One of them was short and so fat he was almost round, with an equally round fat face and an eyepatch. Here and there, curls of light hair escaped from under his hat. He looked old. Not old old, not grey and hobbling old, but older than Master Sy.
The second man was taller, younger. He walked with a cane and he had a loud voice with a heavy accent that cut the air. When he laughed at the fat one’s jokes, it was more a braying honk than proper laughter. Behind them both came another pair of snuffers, long and lanky this time. These ones carried short straight swords, like the one Master Sy had.
The thief-taker rested his hand on Berren’s shoulder, cautioning him to be still. The six men walked past the mouth of the alley. The snuffer in front glanced straight at Berren but saw nothing but shadows. For a few seconds after they passed, Master Sy stared as though he was lost in some faraway place. When he came back, it was with a snap.
‘Boy, do you see the fat fool with the eyepatch?’ The men were already on the fringes of the docks, mingling with the crowds there. Berren squinted.
‘Yes, master. I do.’
‘That’s the Headsman. Best you remember his face. Did you see the keys on his belt?’ The thief-taker’s lip curled. He waved something under Berren’s nose, a bunch of keys. ‘Look what I got. Borrowed. Copied. Put back again. All without anyone knowing. See, you’re not the only one who knows a trick or two.’ He pulled Berren back, deeper into the shadows, whispering. ‘And so we come to why I’m bribing you with a particularly fine piece of sausage tonight. It was a good one wasn’t it?’
‘It was very nice.’
‘A favourite of yours, am I right?’
Berren nodded.
‘I want to see what’s the other side of this key. What about you?’
Of course he wanted to come! But still, he hesitated. ‘What do I have to do, master?’
The thief-taker scowled. ‘I need a pair of eyes to keep watch. If it goes wrong, I need someone who can take a message to Justicar Kol and tell them whatever we found. And I might need someone to … I might need a diversion.’
Someone to run, he meant, and be chased. Berren sniffed. ‘You and your gammy leg.’ The thief-taker’s leg had never quite recovered. If you didn’t know him, you’d never notice most of the time, but he couldn’t run the way he used to. Berren had seen him wince on the stairs once or twice too. He saw the thief-taker’s face darken and wished he hadn’t said anything. ‘Yeh,’ he said quickly. ‘Whatever I can do, master.’ He arched his back, stretching his spine and beamed. ‘Afterwards, I want you to teach me something,’ he said. ‘Something I can use in a fight.’
For what seemed like an age the thief-taker didn’t even blink. Then, very slowly, he nodded. ‘Something you can use in a fight.’ He raised an eyebrow. Berren nodded vigorously then stopped as the thief-taker waved him away. ‘Lad, eventually you’ll learn that I, too, have a sense of humour, so I’ll pretend that was a joke and laugh about it, shall I? Ha. Ha ha. Heh. There. Are we done now?’
‘But ma–’
The thief-taker growled. ‘Listen, boy, I’ve been teaching you how to fight since the day you came to me. I’ve been teaching you how to stand, how to move, how to hold a weapon. I’ve been teaching the muscles in your arm how to be strong–’ He stopped, and then hissed. ‘Berren, knives and swords kill people. So who, exactly, do you want to kill? Velgian? You saw what happened to him – is that how you want to end?’
‘I–’
‘Of course, mostly what knives and swords kill are idiot novices who think that having one makes them invincible. Right up until someone with a good stout stick gets inside their guard and knocks them down. And then, because they’re up against someone with a sword, and because that scares the living sun out of them, they make sure as Khrozus that you stay down.’ He sighed and shook his head.
Berren stared glumly into nothing. His shoulders slumped. ‘I just want to beat Tasahre. Just once.’ He gritted his teeth. When disappointment came knocking, what did a sword-master do? They didn’t wail and moan and cry, that was for sure. They fought back. He looked up again, fingering the gold token around his neck. There was always Varr, always the prince …
The thief-taker was looking at him through narrow eyes. It took Berren a moment to realise that Master Sy was laughing, shaking his head and laughing.
‘And that’s all is it? You want me to teach you something to beat a sword-monk? Nothing difficult then.’
Berren nodded.
‘You want to show that upstart girl what a thief-taker can do, eh?’
Berren nodded again.
‘That upstart girl over there who can’t hide in shadows for shit? The one who almost broke my leg?’ Master Sy had a gleam in his eye now. ‘Well now then, why didn’t you say? That’s different.’ He stood up, tightened his overcoat and shook his head, still muttering to himself. ‘Wants to show off to a sword-monk? Oh Berren, you have no idea.’ He laughed then patted Berren’s shoulder and peered out of the alley. ‘Well well. Now you’re talking about a very particular fight, and so we shall see what we can do. Tomorrow. Abyss-Day. When we’re done with our business tonight, I’ll teach you something that no sword-monk has ever faced. My promise.’
17
THE HOUSE OF RECORDS
The thief-taker led the way to the docks. Most of the buildings that faced the sea were great wooden frames walled up with bricks, little more than shells for storing the mountains of kegs, barrels, crates, sacks and chests that flowed in and out of the city. The thief-taker walked on past all of those up to the Wrecking Point end of the harbour near the Reeper Gate. There was a huge stone building here, almost like a castle with tall walls and windows that were high above the ground and barred ti
ght enough that not even a boy-thief could slip between them. The gate was open but there were guards on it, the Emperor’s guards no less, with their swords and the burning eagle on their chest. An archway ran past the gate and the guards, into darkness between black walls of shadow.
‘Been here before?’ asked Master Sy. He jangled his stolen keys.
Berren shook his head. There were no ships anchored at this end of the bay, no crowds of drunken sailors or grumbling labourers here. It wasn’t the sort of place where raggedy dock-boys were welcome, and in his time with Master Hatchet he’d learned to avoid the Emperor’s guards.
‘First time for everything then.’ Master Sy slapped him on the shoulder. ‘The Emperor’s House of Records. Although I doubt the Emperor himself has the first idea that he has such a thing.’ He walked towards the gates, brazenly in the open. The soldiers stiffened but then relaxed again.
‘Master thief-taker,’ nodded one. Syannis stopped in front of them, in the lamplight pooled in front of the gate. He turned and took his time to look back over the docks.
‘Busy night?’
‘Quiet. You got business here?’
‘Yes.’ Berren had never heard a lie slip well off his master’s tongue, but he was hearing it now. Selling silk and honey, old Hatchet would have said. ‘Questions for our harbour-masters. A few answers too.’
‘They’ll be out and in their cups by now.’ The guards exchanged a laugh as they stood aside. The thief-taker lingered for a few moments longer and then walked on between them, down a vaulted passage that led into a large open square. They paused there, in the shadows. Berren looked around, taking it all in. The buildings here weren’t like the rest of the docks. They were smaller and made of stone, with chimneys and windows that made them look like people actually lived in them. Some of them even had lanterns burning over the doors and snuffers slouching outside them. The snuffers up here were supposed to be even worse than the ones on Reeper Hill.