Warlock's Shadow (5 page)

‘Tomorrow is Abyss-Day. The monks would never cross the threshold of a foreign temple on Abyss-Day.’ The words came out by themselves, mechanical, exactly the sort of dull useless knowledge that Teacher Sterm drilled into him. He sighed. The food, wherever it was, smelled so
good
.

‘Sun-Day then.’

‘They might not be here for another week. Teacher Sterm says they won’t arrive until the month of Storms is out.’ He sighed.

Master Velgian shrugged. ‘Then it must be some other group of monks of the fire-dragon who caused such a fuss in Bedlam’s Crossing yesterday.’

Berren’s mouth fell open. ‘Really? They’re in Bedlam’s Crossing already?’ Bedlam’s Crossing was the last ferry across the river before the east bank turned into swamps and everglades. On a fast horse, that was less than a day’s ride away. ‘Wait – how do you know?’

‘Every imperial messenger who comes into the city has to go to His Highness first. Some daft old law. Not that His Highness cares, but that’s the way of it. Anyone else who happens to be around, they get to hear too.’

‘Then they
will
arrive tomorrow!’ Berren was hopping from one foot to the other, the feast completely forgotten in his excitement.

‘No, you’re probably right about them waiting until Sun-Day before they enter the temple. Unless they come
here
first.’ Velgian chuckled.

‘Here?’ Berren squealed, which got him a few glances from some of the other soldiers and the feast guests in the hall. Velgian glared.

‘Quiet, boy! No, probably not. There’s no love at all between the Sapphire Throne and the Autarch of Torpreah. I think letting dragon-monks and His Highness loose into the same city is quite enough cause for worry, never mind putting some of them in the same room. I very much doubt they’ll be coming here.’ He chuckled and put an arm around Berren’s shoulder and walked him out of the hall. ‘Khrozus’ Blood, Berren, I remember you when you came up to my shoulder. You’re as tall as me already. Now go and sleep.’

Berren went back to his room. He tossed and turned, trying to sleep before he was ready, and it was all the worse for having a head filled with fire-dragon monks. He’d never seen one, probably almost no one in Deephaven had, and he couldn’t help but wonder what they’d look like. Eight feet tall with sinewy arms and tree-trunk legs, with fierce and noble faces and wearing red silks, with long curving golden swords and maybe, just maybe, when you looked hard you might see a flicker of flame in their eyes …

He woke up to Master Sy, kneeling beside him with a candle, gently shaking him. Everywhere was suddenly black and silent. He yawned and stretched and rubbed his eyes and reluctantly sat up.

‘Bloody prince gave me the slip,’ murmured the thief-taker as they walked. ‘He’s not here. Keep your eyes open in case, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t come back at all tonight.’

The stairs down into the inner halls were guarded as ever, as were the arches into the moonpool yard and the scent garden. Berren walked through and settled onto his usual bench. There were all sorts of places for sitting in the scent garden. Mostly he moved about to keep boredom at bay, looking for a place where he could comfortably hide from anyone who crept in and still keep a careful watch on the wall with the prince’s window. Not that anyone ever
would
come creeping in past all the other guards with their swords and their armour. Besides, anyone with any sense would come over the rooftops. That was the second rule. First thing a Shipwrights’ boy learned were the three rules of not getting caught: Go somewhere narrow where big men will be slow. Go somewhere high where heavy men will fall. Go somewhere dark where you can’t be seen.

He couldn’t do narrow and he couldn’t do high, not down here in the garden, but he could at least do dark. He sat on the bench closest to the windows he was watching. He’d grown used to listening to the snores or sometimes the other noises that filtered down. Sometimes he could count how many of the ladies from Reeper Hill the prince had with him.

Master Sy left and then came back again a few minutes later carrying a wooden board piled up with food. ‘I hear the feast was a disaster.’ He laughed and sat down beside Berren. ‘Looks like the food was good enough though. Plenty left over at the end for the likes of us. It’s cold but it’s still the best food we’re likely see for the rest of the year. Enjoy! Velgian and Fennis are practically rolling on the floor, fat as pigs. There’s lots more where that came from if you’re still hungry. Probably doesn’t matter if you slip off for a bit. He’s got his cousin up in his room waiting for him anyway.’

They sat and ate together in silence for a while. Berren picked at the food. It was rich; slabs of meat in heavy sauces and not the sort of thing he was used to at all. In the end, he scraped most of the sauces aside. Meat was a luxury, but what was the point if you ended up making yourself sick over it?

When they were done, Master Sy patted Berren on the shoulder and stood up. ‘They’ll be gone in a few days. You’ll miss this.’

Berren snorted. ‘Miss getting up in the middle of the night? Not likely.’

‘Till the evening then.’ Master Sy left. The scent garden fell still and silent and Berren was alone to count the long dull hours of the night, grain by grain.

An hour had passed, maybe two, when sudden loud voices rang out of the tavern halls. Berren had been dozing. He jumped up and scurried to peer around the archway from the scent garden. The full moon was high overhead and it lit up the yard and the moonpool better than any lanterns could have done. The prince came out into the yard with a lady on each arm. ‘Good feast was it?’ he called. The guards around the doors bowed and murmured something in reply, too quiet for Berren to hear. One of the ladies laughed. The other one was looking nervously about. Berren stayed hidden in his shadows where she couldn’t see. He’d assumed the women with the prince were just another pair of ladies from the houses on Reeper Hill but now he wasn’t sure. They were dressed too well, too properly.

The prince marched on past, across the yard and into the rooms he called his own. Berren sighed. He went back to his place in the scent garden and began to pick at the last cold leftovers on his plate. From the prince’s window overhead, he heard the sound of a door opening and soft laugher. Another hour of moaning and groaning and gasping and sighing to keep him awake – just what he needed!

Another voice broke in, a man’s voice, one he hadn’t heard before. ‘Hello Sharda! I see you’re having fun.’

Berren froze. For a moment he wondered who the other voice could be and whether he should raise the alarm; then he remembered what Master Sy had said. The prince’s cousin was up there. Berren strained his ears. Whatever the prince said next was too quiet.

‘I have news,’ said the first voice.

Another pause, maybe some footsteps. ‘Good news, I hope. How’s …’

‘I have
news
.’ The voice was laden with some heavy meaning that Berren couldn’t begin to guess. He heard more footsteps; the door opened again, there was another mumbled conversation, this time between the prince and his ladies and then more footsteps and the door closed. Now the prince’s voice changed. The lazy drunken rolling words suddenly were gone, turned sharp and brittle as ice. Berren was half up off his seat. He’d been about to watch the prince’s ladies as they left in case he caught sight of their faces again, but the prince’s tone froze him fast. He sat down again. The talk was too quiet at first, but then came the crash of someone stamping on the floor. ‘Of course. What of it?’

A bark of angry laughter and more words that Berren couldn’t hear.

‘Leave? Why would I do that? They can all get along quite nicely without me. They’ve all made that perfectly clear and I don’t see why I should …’ The prince stopped. The other man’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. Berren stood up, moved closer, tilted his heard trying to hear. They were talking too quietly, though. Even when he stood up on his bench, each rustle of leaves smothered the whispered words. Something about the Emperor and an heir and the prince going back to Varr, that was all he could make out.

The prince gave a heavy sigh. He walked to the window and suddenly he was right over Berren’s head. ‘Why, Elmarc? Why do they want
me
?’ He laughed now. ‘Me, of all people? I’ll be no good for her at all.’

More words that Berren couldn’t hear and then there was a long pause. When the prince spoke again, his voice was choked and quiet and Berren couldn’t hear either of them any more. Finally there were more footsteps and the door opened. There was a snort. ‘You never did anything wrong by me, cousin,’ said the voice that wasn’t the prince. ‘A good few other people maybe, but not by me. I’m all for gathering another band and going back up north and hunting that white-skinned bastard into his grave. Just let’s take a sorcerer of our own with us next time, eh?’

Berren heard the door close. After a bit, he saw the tall figure of Ser Elmarc walk out into the yard and away into the bulk of the Watchman’s Arms. For the rest of the night, he heard the prince toss and turn and pace the floor and mutter to himself. At dawn, when Master Fennis came down to send Berren on his way, the prince was still awake.

T
he dragon-monks didn’t come that day but the news spread like a fire through the temple once Berren let slip they were at Bedlam’s Crossing. Even the most demure novices struggled to keep their excitement in check. Berren had the unusual pleasure of sitting quietly at the front of Teacher Sterm’s class, watching The Worm’s cane flick out at other people for a change.

‘They’re in the city,’ Master Sy told him that evening as they sat in the scent garden. ‘I imagine they’ll arrive at the temple gates exactly as they open. At dawn.’

Which was when Berren was supposed to be there, except he was always late. This once, though, this once he’d be there when he was supposed to be and he’d see them! Full of himself, he started to tell Master Sy what he’d overheard the night before, all full of questions about what it might mean. He’d just passed the bit where the prince had sent his ladies away when Master Sy put a finger to his mouth and slowly shook his head.

‘You didn’t hear anything, lad.’

Berren stopped. He frowned, puzzled. ‘What?’

‘You were dreaming, lad. Nodded off and imagined it.’ He gave a pointed look back towards the arch into the moonpool yard. Two soldiers were still on guard. ‘I’m sure if Ser Elmarc and His Highness were talking, they wouldn’t have been talking loudly enough for anyone to hear them.’

‘But …’ Master Sy’s glare cut him off.

‘Don’t make the same mistake, boy.’

‘What? I don’t …’

‘Oh for the love of Khrozus!’ The thief-taker rolled his eyes. His voice dropped. ‘If anyone was standing by an open window having a conversation, they probably didn’t mean for anyone else to hear it. That mistake. Don’t make
that
mistake, the one where you have a conversation you don’t want anyone to hear when you can’t see who’s actually listening! Emperor Ashahn has sat on the Sapphire Throne for twelve years. His first heir was born on the first day of this year. Heh!’ For a moment, he grinned. ‘Which reminds me: Kol owes me an emperor.’ The grin vanished. ‘There are those who don’t like the idea that he’s founding a dynasty but that has nothing to do with us. We’re little people, Berren. In the affairs of princes and kings, little people end up getting squashed.’ He sounded bitter.

‘Right.’ Berren nodded. ‘I didn’t hear anything then, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Right.’ He’d been looking forward to telling Master Sy about what he’d heard for the whole day. He sighed. Master Sy, though, was looking pleased with himself.

‘His Highness will be leaving in a few days, back to Varr for the spring festival. We’ll have the Emperor’s head in our purses again. I think we might take a day or two of leisure before we go and see what work Justicar Kol has to offer a pair of thief-takers. We’ll go down to the old lookout tower on Wrecking Point. You can tell me about everything you didn’t hear there.’ They sat together in silence for a while longer and then the thief-taker nudged Berren. ‘Get some rest, lad. You want to be fresh when your dragon-monks arrive don’t you? I’ll get Fennis to take over down here a bit earlier tomorrow.’

Fresh? Not much chance of that, not unless he dozed in a corner of the scent garden though his watch, although he was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t do just that. He’d been doing this stupid job for days and nothing had happened at all. No one had even come in to his little garden, not once, not if you didn’t count Master Sy and the other thief-takers. Kelm’s Bones! If they really thought someone was going to try and climb in through the prince’s window, they’d never had put him there in the first place! For all Master Sy’s fine words sometimes, he was still an apprentice and they all still treated him like a child.

And he was still thinking that when Master Sy shook him awake in the middle of the night. He grumped and grumbled and got up, shaking off stupid dreams full of dragon-monks, and shuffled off down the stairs into the back of the Watchman’s Arms. A bowl of cold porridge was waiting for him, his breakfast. He sat down and tried to settle somewhere comfortable to doze, but he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. Every now and then he looked up, sure he’d heard something. After a bit he shuffled over to a far corner, hidden behind some stupid bush that was supposed to smell of something nice but smelled to Berren of fish – everything smelled of fish tonight, the city finally overwhelming the scents of the garden. It was a good place to hide though. He couldn’t see the yard but he could see the prince’s window and in the night shadows, he was invisible. Grumbling to himself, he poked his breakfast with his spoon. It was cold and congealed and his belly still hadn’t forgiven him for the night before. He wrinkled his nose and pushed it away.