Merdon saw Cringle’s awed expression and a smile ghosted across his face.
“Appearances Cringle. Never show off your wealth.” Merdon cautioned as they climbed.
Before long they were exiting onto the roof through a small window. Merdon slipped through easily and Cringle, although smaller, found it difficult to contort his body to fit through the frame but eventually managed. He left his bag inside. The view was amazing. They were three stories up, one storey higher than most of the houses around them. Cringle could see the mansions of the rich people higher up the rise and also parts of the walls of Belvedere. The city Plaza was off to his left and when he turned around, part of the harbour was also visible.
“Look Cringle, not only with your eyes but with your mind also. Try to find connections and reasons. Most cities start near a harbour if they are on the coast and you’ll see buildings down the hill that were once grand in their day but as time passed the richer people moved away from the smell and noise of the harbour and went uphill. Remember, rubbish rolls downward. The square was constructed in the middle of the city so rich and poor could meet and Trade but it is also a barrier of sorts. All things are linked. Find the connections.”
They sat on the roof in the sunshine for almost an hour as Cringle scrutinised all before him. Merdon said nothing, appearing to doze in the warmth of the sun. Cringle saw where the tannery had been placed next to the east wall, among other businesses such as the slaughterhouse and the dye works so the Wandering River could provide fresh water and take the wastes away. It meant the residents in the city wouldn’t have to put up with the smell of the businesses which generated foul waste. The stables for the cavalry were over there too. In fact, a lot of Belvedere’s industry was concentrated in the south eastern part of the city adjacent to the Wandering River. Cringle also saw how the building housing the Council of Ten and the offices of the Courts and Government had been built on the western side of the Plaza away from a lot of the traffic on the main thoroughfare of the city which ran from the gates down to the harbour. Eventually an oddness tickled at Cringle’s mind.
“Who built the walls of Belvedere?” He asked Merdon.
“A good question lad. You’ve noticed how they are unlike the rest of the place. The answer is no one really knows and I can find no record which relates to their construction. An old rumour mentions dwarves. Never mind. Now I’ll show you to your room and I suggest you have a nap. We’ll be out late tonight.”
Cringle struggled back through the window frame and recovered his bag, marvelling at the ease with which Merdon noiselessly flowed through the small opening. Down they went and on the second floor Merdon opened what appeared to be a cupboard door revealing a rather plain but neat and comfortable room beyond. He smiled at Cringle’s reaction and left him there to think on the day.
Knocking awoke Cringle and he slipped on his boots and stepped into the hallway. Merdon was waiting for him with a dark cloak in his hand which he handed to Cringle. Without saying a word Merdon silently led the way out of the back door. Cringle followed and just as he stepped out he was grabbed from behind and felt the point of a knife in his back.
“Always look first. Even if you think it safe. Now let’s go.”
Merdon pulled the kitchen door to and locked it with a complicated key before inserting a sliver of wood between the bottom of the jamb and the door. He then led off with Cringle following, keeping to the side of the street and trying to copy the noiseless slink Merdon had perfected. They made their way into the older part of town where Merdon stopped in a doorway and addressed Cringle in a hushed voice.
“We never rob the poor. Only them with money and we don’t kill. Bad for business. Every city has its underbelly and those with money like to let off steam as much as the next fellow. They come down here for sport. Of all descriptions.”
Merdon led on and soon they approached a doorway in a storage shed from which people were coming and going. A muted crowd noise came from within the building and the odd cheer now and again. They slipped in and Cringle saw his first cockfight. The birds were plucked bare underneath and wore vicious blades attached to their spurs. They were held in sight of each other, struggling more and more to get at their rival. The betting was completed during this time then at a signal from the ringmaster, the birds were released. It was loud and bloody, with people egging on their favourite and cheering or cursing as the bout continued. Eventually one bird was declared a winner and the pair were removed ready for the next bout as the lucky ones collected their winnings.
Merdon observed Cringle as he watched the cockfight and at its conclusion, he leaned over to have a quiet word with the young man.
“We didn’t come here to watch the birds Cringle. They are someone else’s diversion. Sit back up here and watch that lad over there and the young girl serving drinks.”
Cringle did, carefully but still nearly missed the moment the boy lifted a purse and melted back into the crowd. Same with the little girl delivering drinks. She walked past someone, to deliver the mug of ale in her hand and was bumped into, or seemed to be. Amid the cursing she managed to pick a pocket and continued on her way to deliver the drink. Merdon pointed out a largish man sitting in the shadows toward the rear of the establishment.
“He’s their manager. He takes a stake from them but allows them to work here and offers protection in case they’re sprung. Usually he just starts a fight and they get away in the melee. About a tenth of the people in here know what goes on but they won’t say anything. No one gets hurt and someone with money has a little less. Right. On to the next place. Pull your hood up. Shadow your face as it’s one easily remembered.”
They left the cockfights and the noise behind as Merdon took Cringle further down the hill toward the harbour where they entered a sizable inn. Sailors from the boats were in full swing, guzzling ale, singing loud song and partaking in raucous banter. Gaudy-faced women, scantily dressed in what appeared to be underwear were cavorting with the sailors. Every so often one would take a sailor upstairs and return about fifteen minutes later to leave him at the bar.
“This is another way of separating someone from their money but the customer gets something in return. Usually the doxies are straight up but sometimes take a little more while their client’s back is turned. Sex can be a powerful weapon and many a man has rued the day his lower brain took over. These girls are harmless but there are some in the city who are quite capable of murder if crossed. Here, get some ale down you lad.”
They moved from inn to inn drinking the odd ale here and there, Merdon pointing out the various lurks and tricks of the thieving trade and eventually Cringle found he had difficulty in walking straight. He’d never drunk ale before and as they left the sixth inn it all caught up with him and he leaned against a wall of an alley vomiting onto the road. Merdon laughed merrily then Cringle once again felt a sharp knife poke him in the back, drawing a little blood.
“Another lesson Cringle. Don’t ever get drunk again unless you are in a secure place. You’re now defenceless and I could have robbed or killed you easily. Learn fast boy.”
Cringle sobered up rapidly, the knife to his kidneys helping the process along. Eventually they returned to Merdon’s house and Cringle watched as Merdon checked his front and back doors to make sure the tiny sliver of wood he had left stuck between door and jamb was still in place before he entered. It had been a long day for Cringle and he went out like a snuffed candle when his head hit the pillow.
Early morning sunlight needling through the window wakened Cringle who felt as if birds had been nesting in his mouth. He opened his squinting eyes to find Merdon sitting beside his bed toying with a wicked looking thin bladed knife.
“You sleep too soundly. Never assume you are safe, even if you think you are among friends. I’ve been here since the sun rose. Why Arwhon picked you as his Servant I’ll never know but I hope you won’t be the death of him.”
Cringle’s lower lip trembled as he answered Merdo
n.
“I don’t know either but I’m learning all sorts of things faster than I ever learned before. I want to do the best I can but everyone thinks I’m useless.”
Tears welled in his eyes as Merdon sat looking down at him.
“Girls trick that. Crying. Doesn’t work on me at all. I’ve no sympathy. You do or you don’t. That’s all there is to it. I suggest you get up and come down for breakfast. You’re going to be working hard today and you’ll need sustenance.”
Cringle gathered himself together, determined to meet Merdon’s approval today. There would be no more tears. In the kitchen there was porridge for breakfast and another cup of strong cafke. Cringle made sure it was cool enough before he took a sip. Merdon smiled to himself. The lad could learn. And he would.
Cristal and Shiri were having an early breakfast together when Mendle came rushing into the dining room.
“Cristal, Cristal, come quickly and see!”
She rushed out, not waiting for a reply. Mystified, Cristal and Shiri quickly followed Mendle into the spare room beside the kitchen.
“Look,” Mendle said, pointing to the waterclock.
It was running backward. The drops of water were flowing from the collecting basin upward, back through the dripper and on into the jar at the top. They all stood there in amazement as the pointer of the clock moved imperceptibly backward in time. Cristal gasped as realisation dawned.
“Kuiran. Somehow he has found a way to use water to tell us he is alright. That man. Raleen has chosen well. It must be Kuiran. Who else would, or could, make a waterclock work backward.”
The clock stopped and resumed its normal working and although they watched it for another ten of its minutes, it was just a normal waterclock now. They went back to finish breakfast, both Cristal and Shiri in a happier frame of mind. Hopefully Arwhon would find some way to communicate with them as well.
Cringle was learning the streets of Belvedere, or rather its byways and shortcuts, the narrow spaces between buildings which opened into laneways or courtyards with back exits. The dead ends which weren’t and those that were. Later he would be up on the roofs negotiating his way about while the city below was unaware of his presence. After a while Cringle relaxed into Merdon’s rough and ready style of teaching, deciding he was actually having fun as he learned. He was noticing more now, looking through quickening eyes and remembering nearly everything he saw as Merdon was apt to ask him about things they passed anytime. Cringle was improving day by day and swore to himself his tears were a thing of the past. Merdon noticed the lad carrying himself with more confidence and nodded his approval to himself.
It was time.
The next day was like a birthday to Cringle. Better. His birthdays up until now had been mostly unmarked. Merdon took him into a room on the third floor and drew open yet another cupboard door. It led into another small room which Cringle entered. Inside were arrayed dozens of knives of all shapes and sizes in a vast assortment of sheaths, hung all over one wall from floor to ceiling. Another wall bore different weapons, some of which Cringle couldn’t even guess the purpose of while a third wall supported odd thieving paraphernalia, some of which Cringle recognised from his recent training.
Merdon watched his reactions from the doorway.
“Choose one knife Cringle. Carefully mind. Think about its use and feel. Be sensible about it.”
Cringle looked first, surveying the whole collection and mentally picking out one or two knives for further study. The knife he chose couldn’t be too large or too small, nor could it be neither too heavy nor too light. It needed to be something he couldn’t damage or break easily but had to be sharp. He took one up and pulled the blade out of its sheath, turning it this way and that. It didn’t feel right in his hand. Nor did the next two or three he tried. Eventually he found a knife near the floor of the little room, almost by accident, as it was partly concealed by another, larger blade. It had a plain wooden handle and wasn’t flashy at all but when Cringle pulled the blade out of its sheath, the steel shone with an appealing dull gleam and had thin watery lines running through it. He tested the edge and found it to be very sharp.
“This one. I like it best.”
“Well. A wise choice Cringle. There’s a lot of history in that blade. Like you, I think it originally came from Cheshwon and it’s yours now. Look after it and it will look after you. Put it on and while you do I’ll choose you two or three more.”
“But I don’t need two or three more.” Cringle replied.
“Trust me,” was all Merdon said as he stepped through the doorway to join Cringle in the small room to delve through the blades.
Three more knives came out of the weapons room but none Cringle would have chosen. They were small and light with thin, sharp blades and rather complicated sheaths. It was only when Merdon strapped one to the inside of Cringle’s left forearm, his right ankle and the back of his belt inside his trews did Cringle realise the lessons he was getting were not just those he would get from a Master at Arms but from someone who knew how to survive in a potentially lethal environment.
It felt right somehow.
“Tomorrow I have a Council meeting.” Merdon started to say but stopped at the expression on Cringle’s face.
“Yes. I’m on the Council of Ten. Thanks to Cristal. I represent the poor classes of this fine city. Someone has to. For the rest of the day I’m going to show you as many of the secret signs the Thieves’ Guild uses as I can find and tomorrow you’re going to stay here and write them out for me a dozen times along with their meanings. I have to remind you it is death to let anyone know about them. Also, if you need something to do, you can practice drawing your various knives and resheathing them. Try to learn to do it with your eyes closed. Same as being in the dark really.”
Cringle’s head was nodding fit to fall off. He was frightened and elated all at the same time.
“Right. Let’s get to it.” Merdon snapped and Cringle fell in behind him for a tour of the streets.
The Thieves’ Guild written vocabulary was complex and diverse, consisting of odd squiggles, arrows pointing all ways, circles with lines through them and all sorts of geometric designs. They were placed up high or down low where the eye wouldn’t naturally catch them and at times were so faint as to be barely visible. They were written in chalk, lightly scratched into the surface, sometimes painted but always indecipherable to any who didn’t know the code. Merdon related the meaning of each one he pointed out and Cringle laboured to remember them for the morrow.
That evening they stayed in, Merdon instructing Cringle to draw every design he could remember and adding a further ten new ones when Cringle had exhausted his memory. All Cringle had to do the following day was write their meanings down.
Sleep was normally a time of complete blackness for Cringle with the odd dream thrown in as a bonus but now, since his first rude awakening by Merdon, he slept lightly and as Merdon crept into his room before dawn, Cringle rolled off his bed to the side away from the door and drew his new knife from its sheath. An approving grin lit Merdon’s face and he gave his first bit of praise to the now shaking lad.
“Excellent. We’ll make a thief out of you yet.”
“Don’t want to be a thief.” Cringle stubbornly disagreed. “Swore to Arwhon I was never goin’ to be one again. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to train with you though. Somethin’ about knowin’ your enemy is what I read in one of Cristal’s books.”
Merdon looked thoughtful.
“I’m beginning to see a little of what Arwhon saw. Do the work I set you and I’ll expect progress by the time I return.”
So saying, he pivoted silently on his heel and was gone.
Cringle did well and Merdon was pleased when he returned later that afternoon to inspect the lad’s efforts. The meanings were correct and all there, written out in Cringle’s cramped hand, squeezed onto the pages to conserve the precious paper. He demonstrated to Merdon how he could produce his various knives, even bli
ndfolded and Merdon was a little taken aback to find all the sheaths now wore a light patina of oil.
Night followed day and day followed night. Cringle’s training ground on without a break. Two weeks had come and gone and the lad had been introduced to others of his age and been involved in all sorts of arranged training fights. Cringle was disgusted. No one fought fair and every time he ended up on his back he resolved to get up and try to remember the move which put him there. He was still growing and fast. His muscles hardened up with the constant prowling, jumping, swinging and sparring he was doing and he became far more limber. Like Arwhon before him, the speed of his improvement was exceedingly rapid. So rapid in fact, Merdon got to puzzling over it and visited Cristal surreptitiously one evening.
He was shown into the drawing room where he found Cristal and Shiri deep in conversation. It stopped suddenly as he entered. Cristal indicated a comfortable chair and had some distilled mead brought for Merdon. She waited until he was sitting at ease.
“Well.”
“Nothing amiss Cristal, no cause for alarm,” he reassured. “The Servant is doing well. Too well. I came to ask what you know of him. Frankly, he is learning at a pace I find unbelievable.”
Cristal sat back and Merdon saw Shiri’s curious eyes narrow slightly as the import of his statement was digested. The two women looked at each other for a moment before Shiri turned to Merdon.
“Is he not just a bright, clever lad who’s thirsting for knowledge and soaking it up like a sponge?”
Merdon sipped his drink as he thought for a moment.
“I gave him his own knife and three hideaways. In one day, while doing other work, he learned to draw and replace them blindfolded and he oiled the sheaths without having to be told. Almost as if he knew how to do it. He learned all the secret markings and their meanings that same day. Besides, I threw him into some rough and tumble with some lads his own age and he took a pounding for a day or so then started beating them. I couldn’t believe it. So quick.”
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