Warlock's Shadow (10 page)

Berren didn’t answer. Until last night, the house had hardly been lived in for the best part of a twelvenight. He went into the kitchen to fetch a jug of water. It tasted of dirt and copper. When he came back, the thief-taker was snoring.

He was still snoring that evening when Berren gave up and went to bed, snored through most of the night while Berren tossed and turned and dreamed and was still snoring in the morning while Berren ate his breakfast and went out to buy himself some candied fruits. Berren took his time, meandering around the city while he ate his treats. Along Weaver’s Row and Moon Street, down the Godsway to the river docks, skirting the dead-fish stink that hung around the House of Cats and Gulls. He walked along the Waterfront with its hustle and bustle of sailors and traders and market stands, then grudgingly out through the River Gate on to the jetties at Sweetwater to bring back buckets of fresh water to drink.

Midday prayer bells rang across the city as he walked back up the Godsway and slowly home. If Master Sy was still sleeping, he swore he’d stuff him in a handcart and wheel him to Teacher Garrient, no matter what his master had said.

He paused as he went through the door. The house was silent. The thief-taker was still in his chair. He didn’t look as though he’d moved since Berren had left him, but his eyes were open.

‘You’re missing your lessons,’ he murmured as Berren came close. Then he looked around, as though he was in a stranger’s house and not his own. There wasn’t much to the thief-taker’s parlour – a table, three crude wooden chairs, a fireplace and that was it – but Master Sy seemed suddenly intent on inspecting every corner as though checking to see all his walls were still where he remembered. He stopped and stared at a crack in the plaster, then frowned and moved on.

‘I was …!’ Missed
lessons
? Furious indignation boiled up Berren’s throat, into his mouth, all ready to be hurled across the room. Master Sy raised a hand.

‘With the sword-monks, lad. That’s what I meant. I think they practice every day.’

Berren’s anger faded. Sword-monks. The prince had given him what he wanted, what he’d always wanted. He ought to be excited but he wasn’t. Anxious, that was more like it, after what they’d done to his master. Scared even, perhaps a little downhearted.

‘They’ll hurt you too. That’s they way they train. They won’t break you though.’

If it was down to taking a beating every day then Sterm the Worm and his cane could do that already. Tasahre. He’d caught her name and he’d caught the evil look in her eye before she’d done her best to cripple Master Sy. She was horrible. She was a monster.

The thief-taker gave Berren a long hard look. ‘You know what, lad? I’m hungry. Famished.’ He tossed a silver crown across the room, straight into Berren’s hands. ‘Go and get us some …’

Which was as far as he got before the door flew open and there was Justicar Kol. In one hand he held a loaf of bread. In the other he was brandishing a pair of sausages and a rolled up sheet of paper which he waved at Master Sy as though it was a sword. ‘What in the name of Kelm’s sweet-scented crap have you two done?’ He frowned, gave Master Sy a hard look and then stared at the thief-taker’s knee. Where Tasahre had struck there was now a bruise, black and livid purple and the size of a man’s hand, from the bottom of the thief-taker’s knee to halfway up his thigh. ‘What happened to you? Kicked by a mule?’

‘By a monk.’

Kol blinked. Berren shrugged. Not all that long ago he’d been terrified by Kol, the bald former thief-taker who now set the bounties. Now, out of his official robes, he was short and nondescript and not frightening at all. The sausages, though …

‘Impressive,’ muttered the thief-taker, looking at Berren. He grinned. ‘Put them on the table, Kol.’

‘Hungry?’ The justicar brusquely shoved Berren aside and sat down at the thief-taker’s table. ‘Yes, they said you’d be hungry. Make the most of it because it looks like we’re all going to starve this summer.’

The thief-taker sent Berren into the kitchen for a pot of old dripping and a knife. They sat down at the table. Master Sy broke the justicar’s bread and then he and Berren tore into their unexpected lunch.

‘They said you’d be hungry,’ said the justicar again. He looked at Berren. ‘So the story I hear is that you saved our glorious prince’s life. Then the Autarch snubs the Emperor, our prince uses you to humiliate the Autarch’s monks, the monks can’t do anything about it so they take it out on your master? Nice.’ Kol put a hand on Master Sy’s shoulder and grinned at him. ‘Actually, I did hear you got into a fight with a girl. They didn’t tell me the bit about her breaking you so good. Knee was it, Syannis?’ He peered hard at the bruise and then poked it.

‘Ouch!’

‘Hey! Look what you got given!’ Kol looked back at Berren. ‘Got a funny mark on his skin that didn’t used to be there, eh? Slept for exactly a day straight. Hence me showing up now and not this morning, and bringing lunch with me. I reckon, if you were to get your lazy self up out of that chair, master thief-taker, you’d find that leg of yours is working perfectly well again by now. A bit stiff and sore perhaps but nothing more. You know how many times I’ve seen that mark? Every day.’ The justicar rolled up his sleeve, up past the elbow. He pointed to a little white mark on the skin there, amid a mass of scarring. At first it seemed a blemish, like a star, but when Berren looked closer he saw that it was a sunburst like Master Sy’s. Older and harder to make out, but there was no mistaking what it was. That was something you forgot about Kol, until he chose to remind you from time to time, that he used to be a thief-taker too. ‘Got that before your master ever came to Deephaven. They don’t do it for just anyone, either. That’s a healing mark that is. Monk got a bit carried away then, did she? Not a good omen for you, Berren, eh?’ He made a face.

‘I know what the seal is, Kol,’ grumbled Master Sy.

‘Double-edged sword, that mark. Very doubled-edged. Means they can come to you for a service and they don’t tend to ask for small things. Still, better than not being able to walk, eh?’

The thief-taker paused from his bread and sausage to stretch out his leg. He frowned, looked surprised for a moment, then went back to eating. Kol rolled his eyes.

‘Tell you what, why don’t I read this
very important
proclamation aloud, since you’re all so busy stuffing your faces with my food. Spare me the pain of watching you chew.’

Master Sy paused for a moment. ‘You owe me a purse, Kol, for wet-nursing your prince. And that emperor for our little bet about an heir, I might add.’

The justicar ignored him. He hesitated. Something hung in the air around him, something waiting yet reluctant to come out. Berren fingered at the pouch around his neck, the safest place he could think of to keep the prince’s token. Kol caught his eye.

‘You won’t be going anywhere while these monks are still here to teach you swords, eh? Pity.’

‘I’d sell that,’ said Master Sy quietly. ‘Sell it and forget you had it. There’s nothing but pain and misery in something like that. You don’t believe me, you go and ask Kasmin. If you can find him.’

For a long second, no one said anything. The silence around the justicar grew thick and dense. Kol bowed his head. ‘Ah. See. That’s part of what I came here to tell you. Kasmin is dead.’

S
ilence hung in the thief-taker’s parlour. Outside, a wind rattled the shutters, but otherwise all was still.

There was no one out in the yard today.

Kasmin had been Master Sy’s oldest friend. Almost the last reminder of the life he’d once had, long before he sailed into Deephaven with nothing but the clothes on his back and the sword at his hip. They’d been thief-takers together for a while, working for Kol back when Kol had some hair, or that’s how Master Sy always put it.

‘How?’ Master Sy’s question cracked the air like a whip.

‘Crossbow. They found him a few mornings back. Shot twice. In the spine and in the back of the head.’

‘How many is a “few” mornings back, Kol?’

The justicar squirmed. ‘Eight.’

‘And you didn’t tell me?’

‘I didn’t know for four of them.’

‘And then you still didn’t tell me?’

Kol cocked his head. ‘I’d have come yesterday, but you were sleeping.’

‘Kol!’ That was Master Sy’s dangerous voice. The one he used right before his sword came out.

The justicar took a deep breath. ‘You were working for His Highness. If I’d told you, you’d have gone looking for whoever did it. Just like that. Dropped everything. Made both of us look like arses.’

‘Who did it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, why am I asking? Like you care who murders who down in The Maze.’ Abruptly the thief-taker stood up. He winced as he put weight on his bruised knee. ‘Don’t pretend he somehow matters.’

‘He was one of us once, Syannis.’

‘Get out!’

‘I can’t.’ He unfurled the piece of paper he’d brought. It smelled slightly of sausages. ‘Read it!’

‘Get out, Kol. I have business.’

‘Syannis, you’re not a thief-taker any more. Read it.’

Master Sy growled. His fists were clenched and his knuckles were white, resting on the hilt of his sword. Kol took a deep breath. He rolled the paper up again. ‘All right, read it later. I’ll tell you instead. As of yesterday afternoon, those monks are my thief-takers. Whether I like it or not. The Sunherald has decreed it. I’d say that’s mostly thanks to you two, by the way. Just so you know why the rest of them hate you now.’

The thief-taker spat. ‘And what’s the Overlord say? It’s his city, not the Autarch’s.’

The justicar looked furtively about, as if there might have been some fourth person in the thief-taker’s tiny living room that he somehow hadn’t noticed. ‘Look, the Overlord is the Emperor’s man in name, but he’s his own man first. There’s close as anything a civil war brewing, same one as has been coming ever since Khrozus knocked old Talsin off the Sapphire Throne. The Path never accepted Khrozus, they never accepted his son, they have a lot of sway with the guild of merchants and the guild of merchants are the ones with the money. So the Overlord’s been sitting very carefully on the fence for some time now and I can promise you it’s going to take a lot more than a few irate thief-takers to push him off it. The Overlord says we do our jobs and keep the peace. Monks or thief-takers, it’s all the same to him.’

‘And you, Kol?’

The justicar shrugged. ‘Replace my thief-takers with swords-monks? It’s an honest justicar’s wet dream, Syannis. Incorruptible maniacs with no concern for their own wellbeing, the power to smell lies and taste sorcery? Who scorn gold and despise greed and do it all in the service of a god who doesn’t care which sea-house gets the better of the others each month? Gods, Syannis, they’re even free. Like I said, an honest justicar’s dream. I give it six months before the merchant houses realise just how much they don’t want people like that poking around in their affairs and make the Overlord get rid of them. Until then, though …’ He shrugged and dropped a purse on the table. ‘What I owe you, wager and all. There’s enough there to keep you through to winter if you’re frugal with it and we’ll be back the way we were well before then.’ He backed away from the table and stood in the doorway of the thief-taker’s house. ‘If you choose to spend your time chasing after whoever your lad saw in the Watchman’s Arms, or anyone else for that matter, don’t look for any help from me. If I were you, I’d keep very quiet. In fact, if I were you I’d get out of the city for a while. They’re watching. In particular, they’re watching you.’

‘Get. Out.’

Kol shrugged. ‘I’m sorry about Kasmin. He was a good thief-taker once. Not a great one, but at least he was honest. I’ve set my new helpers after his killer. There’s simply not much else I can do. When there’s news I’ll let you know.’

He left. Berren watched him go but the justicar hadn’t even made it to the end of the yard before he turned and came back, shaking his head. ‘Look, I know enough to know that if anyone wanted Kasmin, there’s a good chance they’re after you as well. A justicar doesn’t get to have too many friends, so I’d prefer not to lose any more. Keep an eye open, Syannis. Make sure someone’s got your back.’

For a long time after the justicar had gone, Master Sy sat exactly where he was, still as a becalmed ship, not blinking, not even seeming to breathe. Then he walked to the door, swirled on his cloak and strode out into the yard, limping very slightly.

‘Have you been looking?’ he muttered.

Berren hurried after him. ‘What is it, master?’

‘I promised you an emperor if you ever saw a flag. Four white ships on a red field. Shot twice? In the head and in the back? Looks like that’s one piece of gold I’ll get to keep.’ He spat on the cobbles. ‘Just as well, since apparently I can’t afford an emperor right now.’

‘I look every day, master. Well most days. It’s not there. Not that one.’

‘Really? Well let’s see. Get that purse before someone steals it!’

Berren bolted back to the house. He swept up Justicar Kol’s purse from the table and looked inside. Thirty or forty silver crowns glittered back at him and one golden emperor. Food and firewood until autumn if they were careful. He tied the purse onto his belt and stuffed it inside his trousers, then ran back out again after his master. For a man with an injured leg, the thief-taker could still manage a turn of speed when he wanted and he was already almost at Four Winds Square by the time Berren caught up again. One hand tapped his chest where Prince Sharda’s gold sigil hung around his neck. It was becoming a habit, checking it was still there.