The Thief-Taker's Apprentice (13 page)

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Authors: Stephen Deas

BOOK: The Thief-Taker's Apprentice
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‘Maybe I’ll come back to settle this and maybe I won’t. This is between me and Jerrin, though. If you see me, you just stay out of my way, that’s all.’
Waddler looked up at him with wide bulging eyes and nodded vigorously. Then Berren turned away and ran, off into the narrow streets that knitted the back end of the sea-docks into the markets district and the Craftsmen’s Quarter behind them. By the time Sticks and Hair came around from the other side, he was long gone.
15
SANCTUARY
I
n the backstreets of the Craftsmen’s Quarter, he managed to get himself lost. The wound in his arm burned. When it stopped bleeding, he put his shirt back on to try and hide it, but it kept breaking open again; soon the upper part of his sleeve was stained red and stuck to his arm. People stared at him in the streets and veered away. Looking like he did, he had to be careful to avoid any of the local militia gangs, which meant keeping away from the main streets and that took even more time. When he reached Weaver’s Row and Moon Street the sun was high and the bells from the solar temples were already calling people in to midday prayer. Half the day gone already. And then, somehow, he managed to walk right past the moon-temple doors without seeing them, despite them being as big as a house.
When he found them the second time around he pushed the little side-door open and flopped down onto the floor inside. The door closed slowly, pushing back the light and the heat and the sound from outside. In the dim cool quiet, Berren took a deep breath and sighed. His head lolled. Suddenly the only thing he wanted was to go to sleep.
‘Hey! Boy! What do you think you’re doing here?’
Out of the gloom and the shadows, someone in pale robes was coming towards him. Much too briskly to be Garrent. Berren tried to focus. His eyes wandered.
‘Hey! Get up, boy!’ The priest had a long silver staff. He stopped, standing over Berren and rapped the end of the staff sharply on the ground. ‘Get up I said!’
Berren looked blearily up at the priest’s face. ‘I’m looking . . . for Teacher Garrent.’ Now that he was here, he couldn’t think of a single good reason why he’d come. If he found Garrent, what would the old man do? Send him straight back to the thief-taker, that’s what. He struggled to get back to his feet. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Teacher Garrent is asleep, so you have me to deal with instead. What is it that you want? Oh.’ The priest peered at Berren’s arm. ‘You’re hurt.’
‘Yes.’ Berren shook himself away. ‘Someone . . . cut me.’ He shivered. Jerrin had tried to kill him. It was a terrible truth to face.
‘They didn’t try very hard. I don’t suppose you have any money, boy? Anything of any value at all?’
Berren shook his head. ‘Why, sir? Do I need to pay to rest here?’ He didn’t have the energy to argue or get angry. His arm was hurting quite badly now. All he wanted was to close his eyes and drift away. ‘It’s all right, I’m going now. Thank you, sir.’
Thank you? Thank you for what?
‘When one comes for healing, it is customary to make an offering of some sort.’
‘I don’t want healing, sir. I just wanted a place to sit for a while.’ Berren almost tripped over his own feet as he headed for the door.
‘Teacher, boy. I’m a priest. That means I’m a teacher, not a sir. What’s your name?’
‘Berren, sir. Uh . . . teacher.’ His eyes kept on closing all by themselves. This was no good. He shook his head, hard, trying to wake himself up. He’d been fine until he’d gone into the temple. The sooner he was back out again the better. He opened the door. And screwed up his face as the brilliance of the daylight outside crashed into him and almost bowled him over.
‘Berren?’ The priest took a step back and chuckled. ‘Berren the thief-taker’s boy?’ He looked at Berren. Berren peered back, eyes squeezed almost shut against the light, mouth half open. ‘If you are, then you have some explaining to do to your master. He came in here last night. He thought you might come by looking for a place to sleep. Looks like you found yourself somewhere less savoury.’ The priest smiled. ‘Come on boy, I’ll see you home. A couple of days’ rest and you’ll be fine, although I can’t promise that’ll be true after your master’s finished with you. Still, he’s not really one for beatings, your master. Is he?’ The priest came towards him, one arm reaching out, the other still holding his staff. Berren froze for a second, petrified. Then he turned and bolted out into the street. He ran straight into a clutch of old women, each with a basket full of sheets balanced on their head. Baskets scatted across the street. The women howled curses as Berren bounced off them and away. He dodged between the shouting buyers and sellers who packed out Weaver’s Row, and a few seconds later the women and the priest were all out of sight. At least here in the bustle, no one had time to pay him much attention. They might watch him pass and hold tight to their purses, but everyone here had better things to do than call down the street militia . . . Gods, he was so tired.
‘Berren?’ He jumped, ready to run again, then stopped and spun around. The voice was . . .
‘Lilissa!’ He grinned a feeble grin and then, as an afterthought, bowed. The way a gentleman should bow to a lady. She didn’t smile or curtsey back, though. Instead, her hands jumped to her mouth and she gasped.
‘Look at you. You’re bleeding! And look at your face!’
His cheek didn’t hurt as much as his arm, but he had to admit that it
did
hurt. ‘It’s just . . .’ He was feeling woozy again. ‘It’s just a little thing.’
‘Oh! Look at you! You’re about to fall over. Come on! Let’s get you home.’ She took hold of his wrist. He pulled away, shaking his head.
‘Not back to Master Sy. I don’t want to go back to Master Sy.’
‘Why not?’ She reached out for him again, and again he stepped back.
‘I don’t,’ he snapped. ‘I just don’t. All right?’
She let her hand fall back to her side and looked him up and down. ‘All right. I’ll take you to my home then. You can’t wander about like this. If any of the city guardsmen find you, they’ll think you’re one of Khrozus’ boys and send you off to sea or even worse, to the mines.’
He almost blurted out that he
was
one of Khrozus’ boys, but something stopped him. Maybe he was just too tired to speak. He let her take his hand, which was unexpectedly warm and nice and made him feel safe. She led him past the yard where the thief-taker lived, down another narrow alley that smelled strongly of dogs and to a tiny door. As she opened it, she brushed against him. A shiver ran down his spine. She smelled of the usual city smells, of fish and sweat, but of something else too. Flowers. She led him inside. The whole house smelled of them.
‘Lavender,’ she said, smiling at him. Sheets of cloth hung everywhere, each one a different colour. They glistened, still damp; on the floor sat half a dozen buckets filled with dark water. Lilissa caught his eye. ‘We’ve been dyeing today. That’s why I was in Weaver’s Row, to buy some more sheets.’
‘You dye sheets?’ He caught his arm on a peg set into the wall. Gasped and staggered, and then Lilissa had her arms around him, holding him up, stopping him from falling. He took a deep breath and sighed. She felt good.
‘I’m making banners for the wedding festival.’ She let him lean on her as she led him through the front room of the house and into a second tiny room at the back. There was one blanket on the floor, a few more rolled up in a corner and space for nothing else. Berren slumped down. He lay back until his head was resting on the floor. He doubted he could have gotten to his feet again even if his life depended on it.
‘I’d forgotten about that.’
Lilissa laughed. She sat on the floor beside him. ‘How can you have forgotten about
that
? I thought people talked about nothing else!’
‘Master Sy didn’t like to . . .’ He choked on the words. ‘Don’t tell him I’m here, will you?’ He turned, managed to focus his eyes on her face. It was a very lovely face, he thought, when you stopped to look at it. Not really beautiful, not like Club-Head’s women, but nice. Friendly. Would have been pretty if it wasn’t for the freckles, but still . . .
She smiled again and looked away for a moment. ‘You’re so lucky,’ she said.
‘Am I?’
‘To have a master like Master Syannis.’
Berren shrugged. ‘I don’t feel lucky.’ He tried to grin. ‘What I feel is a lot of pain, and I reckon I’m tired enough to sleep through a whole solstice celebration.’
She laughed. For a moment, her fingers brushed his hand. ‘Master Syannis is probably the most honest, most honourable man in this whole city. Probably the whole empire. He’s like a prince.’ She squeezed down beside him and whispered in his ear, so close that her lips almost brushed his skin and he felt the wet warmth of her breath. ‘I heard once that he really
is
a prince, run out of his home by wicked sorcerers.’
‘He’s not a prince.’ Lying beside him, Lilissa had somehow paralysed him. He’d forgotten about how tired he was; instead, he had a strong urge to turn towards her and kiss her. Except he couldn’t move, not even a muscle.
Isn’t that what Garrent called him too? The thief-taker prince?
‘Maybe not, but he’s a good man. He looked after my ma and now he looks after me. He never asked for anything and he’s never lifted a hand against an honest man.’ She smiled. ‘He’s teaching me to be a lady.’
His cheeks were burning. She was so close. He grunted.
‘There’s other thief-takers in the city,’ Lilissa murmured. ‘Plenty of them, but you and Master Syannis are different. The rest aren’t much different from the thieves they take, but Master Syannis, it makes no difference to him whether his thieves are street urchins or princes, whether they steal a loaf of bread or a kingdom. To him, a thief is just a thief. You’re so lucky that he’s your master.’
Berren’s eyes closed. He felt Lilissa shift beside him, felt her hair brush across his face and then a warm touch of skin on his cheek. And then he was asleep.
16
FORGIVENESS AND BETRAYAL
T
he daylight outside was gone when he woke up again, turned into grey twilight. The afternoon rains had come and gone – he could smell it in the air. Lilissa was gone too. He could hear her in the next room, though. Two hushed voices arguing about something. He froze, fearing the other voice must be Master Sy, but the voice was that of a woman. When he made out the words, they were talking about banners and dyes and sheets. He sighed and sat up.
‘Easy, lad.’
Berren almost jumped out of his skin. Even though he knew the thief-taker was there, he could barely see him. Master Sy sat in the pool of shadows beneath the tiny open window, still as a statue.
‘Nasty scratch you got yourself there.’
Berren scrambled to his feet and lunged for the door, but that was like treacle trying to outrun lightning. The thief-taker caught him around the waist and hefted him over one shoulder as though he was a sack of firewood.
‘Hope you haven’t been making a nuisance of yourself. Mistress Lilissa is someone I call friend, and I’m always good to my friends.’
Yeah? How good?
he wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare. The thief-taker carried him easily out of the bedroom and deftly picked his way between the hanging sheets outside. He nodded and smiled at the two women. Berren glared at Lilissa.
I hate you
, he mouthed, but if she saw, she pretended she hadn’t. Then they were out, in warm evening air that smelled of damp stone and roasting nuts. Berren’s stomach rumbled.
‘Not had much to eat while you were out and about, eh lad?’ There, right outside the entrance to the yard where Master Sy lived, stood a brazier. An old man shuffled to and fro beside it, roasting nuts. The old man’s back was so bent that his head was permanently staring at his feet. He must be daft, Berren decided, to set up here. No one came down this alley in the evenings.
The thief-taker paused. ‘Evening, Master Jux.’
The bent-in-half man gave a nod. ‘Master thief-taker.’
‘I’ll have a handful for my supper if you don’t mind.’
The old man swept most of the nuts off the fire and into his hand. They must have been scalding hot, but he didn’t seem to notice. He tossed them clattering into a pan.
‘Keep them for me for a moment, Master Jux.’ The thief-taker walked on past, into the yard. He went into his house and up the stairs. Then he dumped Berren into his room and bolted the door.
The last thing Berren smelled before he drifted back to sleep was roasted nuts, wafting up through the gaps in the floor.
He awoke in the morning to find the thief-taker sitting over him again. He had a battered bowl of warm water, some strips of cloth and a needle and thread beside him. Without a word, he set to cleaning the wound on Berren’s arm. When he was done washing, he picked up the needle.
‘This is really going to hurt quite a lot, lad. My little brother was always much better at this than me, so I’m afraid it’s going to be an ugly scar too.’ Then he jammed a piece of cloth into Berren’s mouth, sat on his chest, wedged Berren’s arm between his knees and set to work. No hesitation, no more warning, straight into Berren’s skin with the needle. Berren screamed. The needle had looked almost as big as Jerrin’s knife. Now it felt like Master Sy was driving a burning spear-shaft into his flesh. The screaming didn’t stop, even as he bit on the cloth; he tried to tear himself free, but the thief-taker had him fast. Wave after wave of agony raged up from his arm. Tears came, forced out of his eyes. He started to think his head was going to explode, even as he kicked and kicked, trying to gain some sort of purchase to lever himself free.

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