The King's Assassin (Thief Takers Apprentice 3) (20 page)

‘It’s here somewhere,’ muttered the thief-taker. They reached a wall and Syannis stopped. ‘Door.’ A line of golden torchlight lit up the floor. Syannis lifted a latch. ‘You
will
have to kill, Berren. I hope you realise that.’

‘If it comes to fighting then I will. But I can’t just murder a man. That’s not what I am.’

‘Bugger,’ said a voice from the other side. Wood scraped on stone, the sound of a chair being pushed back. ‘That’s three in a row.’

Syannis opened the door a crack. ‘Then wait here!’ he hissed. Torchlight filled the space beyond. The air was thick with smoke.

Another voice muttered something, then Syannis threw open the door and leaped out of the gloom, sword flashing. Three soldiers sat around a table. Over the reek of torch smoke, Berren could smell wine. There were dice, coins . . .

And blood. The thief-taker’s short sword sliced through the first man’s neck and stabbed the second straight through his gaping mouth. By the time Berren reached the table, Syannis had done for the third too, opening his throat from ear to ear in a single slash. ‘I told you to stay where you were!’

‘And I didn’t.’

Syannis nodded at Berren’s sword. ‘I hear you’ve finally learned how to use that.’

‘You call me a dark-skin thief again, you’ll learn a lot more.’

‘That was for Hain, not for you.’ Syannis dragged the bodies back into the cellar, then ran to a heavy locked door and took out his keys again.

‘Now what?’

Syannis opened the door and stepped inside. Dozens of crossbows lined the walls and boxes full of bolts were stacked on the floor. An armoury. ‘Not the sort of weapon you want people running around with most of the time.’ He bared his teeth. ‘Did Talon teach you to use one of these at last?’

‘I taught myself.’

‘Good.’ The thief-taker closed the door and locked them inside. ‘Take one and sabotage the rest.’ While Berren cut nicks into the crossbow strings, Syannis set about clearing the back wall of the armoury. When he was done, he pressed his ear against it and began tapping the panelling. Then he stopped, pulled a hand axe from his belt and swung at it. Berren cringed. In the confined space of the armoury, the blow sounded like a clap of thunder.

A thought came to him: he was alone with the man who’d killed Tasahre. Alone where no one would see. He finished with the crossbows and took the last one for himself, cocking it softly while Syannis hacked at the wall. Then he held a bolt in his other hand and looked at it. Looked at it, and at the thief-taker.

No. Couldn’t do that. Even though a part of him wanted to.

‘My grandfather’s grandfather built this armoury,’ Syannis said as he tore at the thin veneer of wood, pulling it away. ‘No one alive knows this door exists except me and Talon. And now you.’ He finished and held up a candle so that Berren could see. Behind the wood was another wall, made of stone, and in the wall a door. Everything was covered in ancient cobwebs. The door had no lock, but it was heavy and the hinges were rusted almost solid. It took the two of them together to pull it ajar. Beyond was yet more wood.

‘We put a panel over it,’ muttered Syannis. ‘It’s a single piece of wood. A good hard . . .’ He rammed it with his shoulder. There was a loud crack, but the panel held. ‘Damn! Stuck!’

‘Stop!’ hissed Berren.

‘I felt it move! Another . . .’ Syannis made to charge the wall again. This time Berren held him back.

‘Wait!’ He took the bolt he was still holding and fitted it to the crossbow. For a moment, as it pointed at Syannis, he caught a flash of what it would feel like if he pulled the trigger right there and then. Exaltation, for a moment, and then sadness. Emptiness.

He fired the crossbow into the panel Syannis had been trying to knock down. ‘You left Hain and brought me because I’m the thief, didn’t you? When we’re done here, you give me what you promised and then I want nothing more to do with any of you.’ He held the crossbow bolt and nudged at the panel. As soon as he felt it give, he stopped and, using the bolt as a handle, moved it slowly aside. Silently, until there was gap large enough for him to squeeze through.

‘See,’ he whispered. ‘That’s how a cut-purse thief from Shipwrights’ does it. He does it
quietly
.’

22

EXIT WOUNDS

B
erren stepped cautiously through the space where the panel had been into a long wide passage that ran along the back of the castle. Here and there glimmers of light crept through narrow slits of windows.

‘We used to call this the Long Gallery,’ whispered Syannis. ‘Go left. That way leads to the royal apartments. Meridian should be there. And Aimes.’

‘You’re never going to get him out. Not quietly enough. Not through all those doors and passages.’

‘What if he
wants
to come?’

On either side pictures hung on the walls; in alcoves busts stood on pedestals. There was too little light to make out the faces staring down out of the shadows, but their presence made Berren’s skin tingle. He felt himself being watched. Something didn’t feel right. He stopped. In the gloom Syannis almost walked into him.

‘What?’

‘Listen!’ Berren stood absolutely still and held his breath. Faint noises came from outside: the wind, the idle chatter of a pair of bored guards by the wall, even a distant hiss that might have been the sea. Within, everything was quiet.

‘I hear nothing. Come on!’ Syannis pushed passed him.

‘Yeh. Nothing.’ And that wasn’t right, was it? Anxiously, Berren followed. At the end of the gallery an archway led into darkness.

‘The king’s apartments. Aimes’ rooms will be here somewhere.’

Berren stopped again. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was getting worse. If these were the king’s apartments, then where were the king’s guard?

‘The sun-chapel is to the left. Through the arch.’ Syannis’s voice was barely audible now. ‘That’s how we get out. There’s another passage down to the caves. The rooms on the right will be the king’s. Go straight on.’

‘Where are the guards?’

‘Guards?’ Syannis snorted. ‘
I
never used to sleep with men at my door and neither does Meridian. We’re past the guards. They’re outside.’

The darkness was so complete that Berren had to hold his hands out in front of him not to walk into a wall. He took one careful step after another, dreading the moment he’d put a foot down and tread on a creaking board or a sleeping cat. But this was a castle, he told himself. The floors were made of stone; there wouldn’t be any animals roaming free at night, nor would there be plates, mugs, bowls or any of the other things his feet had found while creeping through people’s bedrooms.

I was younger then
, he reminded himself.
Smaller and lighter and with agile feet. And I didn’t have anyone with me
.

He fumbled his way through the darkness and into another long hallway. There were more narrow windows here, letting in just enough starlight to see by.

‘The king will be at the far end,’ whispered Syannis. ‘The other rooms will be Meridian’s and the princess’s.’

‘Gelisya?’ The uncomfortable feeling turned sharp. He found himself thinking of Saffran Kuy. Saffran Kuy, who had his fingers all over Meridian’s little princess, whether Meridian knew it or not. ‘I’m telling you, this doesn’t feel right. It shouldn’t be so dark. If not guards then there should be pot boys. Maids. Night servants.
Someone
. And whoever comes this way at night would need some light.’

Syannis hissed between his teeth, ‘What do you suggest? We can hardly come back again another day, not
now
. No, they’re here. They have to be.’ He put his hand to the nearest door. ‘This one. These rooms were the finest. My father’s. Meridian will be here.’ He growled like a threatened wolf. ‘Then we take Aimes.’

Time slowed. Berren lunged for Syannis, trying to pull him away, but his legs felt as though they were made of treacle. Syannis lifted the latch and pushed and then everything Berren had been afraid of began to happen.

‘He’s here!’ shouted a voice behind the door. ‘He’s here! To arms!’

Old memories filled Berren’s head of all the times he’d nearly been caught as a boy. When all you could do was run and dodge, dart down the narrowest, darkest, least used alleys. Some place narrow where big men would be slow, some place high where they couldn’t reach, then some place dark where they wouldn’t see you. You hid, and you prayed.

He’s here?
They knew Syannis was coming! They’d known all along!

‘The sun-chapel!’ snapped Syannis. He lunged with his sword into the darkness and roared. There was a grunt and a crash. Berren fled back to the chapel, but the archway was filled with men coming the other way now. Real terror gripped him – more soldiers, and they’d been lying in wait! He must have walked right past them without knowing!

‘Master Sy!’

In the darkness he couldn’t see how many there were. He had no idea even where Syannis was. He staggered. A hand clutched at his arm. He wrenched himself away.

‘Run, boy!’ The thief-taker’s voice. He was already ahead. Berren bolted, bouncing off the walls as he ran. He caught a glimpse of the thief-taker in the shadows of the Long Gallery. Other dark shapes were running through the far end of the hall. More soldiers!

Syannis skidded through the hidden doorway into the armoury. Berren skittered after him. There were guards only seconds behind him, coming from both ends of the gallery, but they
were
all behind him now, that was what mattered. After the armoury it was a quick sprint across the guardroom and then a long straight run all the way to the Pit and the sump and out with no one standing in their way. His eyes gleamed. They
would
get away!

He crashed into Syannis, who was fumbling at the guardroom door with a key. The thief-taker swore. Berren slammed the door into the Long Gallery shut behind him and put his shoulder to it. ‘For the love of the sun! Keep your exit open! First rule of thieving you daft bastard!’ The first soldiers crashed into the other side of the door and almost knocked Berren off his feet, forcing him slowly backwards. A sword stabbed through the gap, missing him by an inch.

‘Got it!’ Syannis had the other door open. Berren screwed up his eyes and leaped towards it. Soldiers sprawled into the armoury sending crossbows crashing all about. A hand caught his arm. The grip was strong, strong enough to spin him around before he broke free. He stumbled as he lurched out of the armoury.

‘Get him! Get him!’

Syannis was ahead, darting down the steps to the cellar. Berren flashed past the dead guards slumped at their table, soldiers pouring after him. He felt the air move as someone threw a spear and missed the back of his head by a hair’s breadth. He raced through the cellar, down the steps and round the corner towards the Pit. The soldiers’ armour and swords slowed them down. He was gaining on them.

Almost there!

He unbuckled his belt and threw it to the floor, sword and all, ready for the sump. With a bit of luck someone would trip over it. Syannis was right in front of him now, slowing him down. They reached the cave where Hain was waiting for them. Around the pit, Berren ran one way, Syannis the other. There must have been at least a dozen soldiers chasing him, but Berren felt like laughing again, because he knew they’d never catch him. He’d reach the sump and be in and they’d never—

Out of the darkness a figure stepped in front of him. Berren didn’t even have time to see who it was, but there was only one person it could be: Hain. They smashed into each other. Something hit Berren’s head. He stumbled a few steps, staggered into the low wall around the Pit, almost fell in, pushed himself away and then someone was on his back, bearing him down, pressing him into the ground with such force he could barely breathe. He thrashed and squirmed and watched, helpless, as Syannis reached the sump while more arms grabbed at his legs.

But the thief-taker didn’t dive into the water; he kept coming. The soldiers holding Berren down suddenly let go and scrabbled away, and then Syannis was among them, slashing and stabbing like a wild thing. They fell back from his assault and for a moment Berren was free. He didn’t pause. As soon as he was on his feet, he ran.

‘Go! Go!’

He didn’t have a sword any more, but even if he had there were too many guards. The last thing he saw before he hurled himself into the water was Syannis, backing after him, holding off half a dozen men, with more racing around the Pit to take him from behind.

The water was like ice. On the other side, he waited, dripping wet and freezing cold, but Syannis never came. Eventually, long after he knew there was no point in waiting any more, he left. The horses were exactly where Syannis had said they would be.

Hain. They’d all say it was Hain who’d betrayed Master Sy, who’d warned Meridian that the thief-taker was coming, the when and the how, but Berren wasn’t so sure. Just at the very end, he’d seen a face lying in the darkness. Hain’s dead eyes, open wide, staring at some unseen terror. And in that moment he thought he’d caught a smell of something that shouldn’t have been there. A whiff of rotting fish.

23

THE PRINCESS AND THE SLAVE GIRL

B
erren galloped through the kingdom of Tethis. He stopped at a farm, helped himself to a barn for the night and was gone with the dawn. He rode through the countryside, skirted Galsmouth with its garrison of fifty king’s guard, crossed the river and entered Gorandale. For a few days he passed through rolling hills dotted with the occasional flock of sheep. He saw shepherds and a few quiet villages nestled in among the valleys, but little else. Syannis had left food with the horses. Hard bread, biscuits, dried meat and cheese. Enough to keep four men for two or three days; more than enough for Berren.

His head fluttered like a moth around Syannis’s flame. They’d walked straight into a trap. Syannis could have dived into the sump and saved himself, but he’d hadn’t and now he was probably dead. Berren had thoughts about selling the horses, about taking the money and finding a ship and never coming back. But for most of the time he thought about all the things that had happened since the day in Deephaven when they’d first met in a dingy alley that smelled of blood and piss, when Syannis had been nothing more than a thief-taker with three dead men scattered at his feet. He remembered how he’d wanted to be like that, to fight like that. He’d wanted it more than anything. He’d have given his soul.