Stephen Deas: The Thief-Taker's Blade

Syannis sniffed. There was a smell, over the top of the salt and the seaweed and the fish. A smell of something dead. Something he'd come to know, back in the old country, before he'd been forced to flee his home and his life. A scent he thought he'd never smell again until he came here, and found he was by no means the first Tethis refugee to wash up in Deephaven.

“Got a cold, Taker Syannis?” snapped Kol. “As well as getting onto that boat, I suppose it goes without saying that you have to come back again, and so do I.” With that, he tossed the purse into the gang of dockside militia. “You lot can look after that for now.” Which meant the purse had nothing but a few copper pennies and some rusty bits of metal in it. No one in their right man gave a purse full of emperors to the dockside militia to look after. “What's more, we have to come back before dawn. And since none of you have the first idea why, let me tell.” He pointed out to sea. “That, out there, where we're going, is a Taiytakei ship. Tore into the harbour at dusk like a virgin priest up Reeper Hill, dropped anchor, cut its sails and best I hear it, everyone jumped overboard. Interesting point of note number one. Interesting point of note number two: The crew, they weren't Takis.”

He stopped for a moment to let that sink in. The Taiytakei were precious about their ships. Everyone knew that. No one moved or spoke, but the thinking was deafening.

“So who were they?” It was Orimel the witch-breaker who broke the silence, probably because he was the one thinking least of his own purse.

“A handful of them got off into the ship's boat. They've been brought ashore and taken to the temple. They're not well.”

“Plague-ship!” hissed Taker Fennis. Justicar Kol clapped his hands.

“Exactly,” he said, raising his voice. “A plague ship. Which is why our friends in the militia here won't be coming with us, but instead will be guarding the dockside, making sure no one except us goes anywhere near it.” He turned to face the militiamen. “Right lads?”

“Plague-ship my arse,” muttered Kasmin. Syannis nudged him in the ribs. For a plague-ship they'd send priests, or else they'd wait until daylight, cut her anchor, tow the ship out to sea and set her on fire. No, this was something else. Even in The Eight, the greed on Kol's face had been clear enough.

The Justicar led the way down the steps, picking his way across the slime and the seaweed and the barnacle-crusted stone. One by one the thief-takers followed.

“You here. You there.” Kol pointed at benches with waiting oars. Syannis sat where he was told. Given where he'd been born, it was an odd thing that he knew how to row.

“Remember the night we slipped out of Galsmouth?” Kasmin sniffed. Syannis didn't answer. Of course he remembered. They both remembered. Rowing out to sea, just the two of them, a fishing boat waiting somewhere in the murk of the night. Both filled with rage and fire and the certain knowledge that they would soon return to avenge their families and what had been done to their kingdom.

And now here they were, both of them. Years older. Kingdom still unavenged. Kasmin's family were dead and Syannis' might as well have been. Next to him, Kasmin let go of his oar and gulped a mouthful from the bottle in his pocket. The spirits Kasmin kept in his pockets had been getting stronger over the years. Making up for what's happening to the one inside , Syannis thought. But it's not going to happen to me.

“Oars, gentlemen. The round end goes in your hand, the flat end goes in the water. Waggle them back and forth and the miracle of motion occurs!” Kol kicked the boat away from the dockside. “Come on, come on, put your backs to it. Last thing we need is for the sun to come up and find us helplessly adrift.”

“Then maybe you'd better pick up an oar and help,” snapped Kakrim.

Kol laughed. He sat back in the stern of the boat, crossed his legs and lit a pipe. “Then there'd be three of us on one side, no one to balance out Taker Kasmin here and we'd spend all night going round in circles. Besides, Taker Kakrim, one of us needs to keep an eye on which way we're going, and it's probably best that it's the one of us that knows which ship we're going to, eh?”

Kasmin laughed. The other thief-takers muttered to themselves and started to row. The boat pulled away from the waterfront, leaving the militiamen staring at them, slowly receding into the distance. As they left, Syannis noticed, the remembered smell of something dead slowly vanished on the breeze.

4 thAbyss Day, Month of Floods

Land. Lucky Sanct. The charts are right. Gods preserve us, but what sorcery was that storm? Maybe the shifting shadow of the calendar will change our fortunes. Weather bright, seas calm. Little wind this close to land.

1 stSun Day, Month of Lightning

With a fair wind and a month at sea, Kurotos lies to the West. The Taki ship is well provisioned but I have chosen a cautious course that will keep us close to land. I cannot fathom the nature of the storm that brought us here, but the coastal waters here are more secure and the proximity of land will ease the discontent of the crew. Today we put in for water and fresh meat. I will permit two days ashore, no more. Kurotos and Sanct's gold awaits us and I am keen to know if the Dread survived the storm and is waiting for us there. Sanct becomes increasingly tedious, demanding that we sail East instead to the port of Deephaven, a place of which I have never heard and have no wish to visit. He should consider himself fortunate that he and his gods-forsaken casket haven't been abandoned in this wild place. The crew would have it done in a blink if I did not stop them. For myself, though, I cannot believe that he had any part in the storm that drove us here. Fair weather still. Some rain but the wind remains kind.

“Well then,” said the witch-breaker once they were away from the shore and the sounds of their oars would muffle their talk. “Since it isn't a plague ship, what is it, Kol.”

“Plunder, plain and simple,” muttered Fennis behind them.

“No.” The thief-taker's voice was emphatic. “It's not just that.”

Kol took a long pull on his pipe and blew a slow stream of smoke into the night air. “Might be, might not.” He leaned forward. “One thing you should keep in the front of your thoughts, though. This is a Taki ship. In the morning, once the other Takis know it's here, they're going to be banging on the door of the Overlord's Palace, demanding he give it back. And he will, too. Now our Overlord, being the lazy sort of fellow he is, he might not get around to even getting out of bed until midday, but you can be sure that the Takis will be up a lot sooner than that. Most likely they won't wait for an answer. I'll wager you an emperor to a crown that they have a boat in the water within a glass of sunrise, and men on-board a glass after that. Now our good champion the Overlord, he's going to to say yes, yes, of course his good friends the Taiytakei, those good friends who shower him with gifts, of course they can have their ship back. But in the back of his mind, there'll be this little voice kicking and screaming. A Taki ship? You all know the stories. No one but a Taki gets on one of their ships. Why? Good question. So I say let's find out. And since it was apparently overrun by a gang of pirates on the run from the Sun-King, who knows what they might have done while they were aboard. All sorts of things might have gone missing. Charts, for a start.”

In front of Syannis, Orimel the witch-breaker coughed. “I'm sure we all understand, Justicar, that it is our, ah. . civic duty to pillage anything that isn't nailed down and hand it over to you as soon as we are ashore. But the crew, please tell me about the crew. The ones who abandoned this apparent treasure-palace in such haste. The ones who jumped into the sea to drown rather than revel in the fruits of their plunder. The ones who lie dead in the docks temple.”