Stephen Deas - Warlock's shadow

‘We should get the watch,’ murmured a voice from downstairs. Berren froze. Gods! That was quick! He crept to a corner by the windows where he could hide in a little alcove behind an old heavy desk.

‘Oh no. If he’s here, I don’t want the watch being around.’

Berren crouched down and huddled back as deep into the shadows as he could go.

‘Just him, right? Him and maybe his boy.’

‘Right bloody mess he’s made, that’s for sure.’

‘Never mind that,’ snapped a new voice. Berren stifled a gasp. Was that the man with the cane and the grating laugh? Could that be right? There couldn’t be many voices like that in Deephaven, not in the whole world! But they’d seen him leaving the Two Cranes! He wasn’t supposed to be here! ‘I don’t give a fox’s beard about all this crap. He’s been here and if we’re lucky then he’s still here and you can do what I pay you for.’ There was some shuffling and then the creak of footfalls on the stairs. ‘You! Go on! Check upstairs! You! You come with me. I want to see if he’s found the strongbox.’

Strongbox? Berren’s ears pricked up.

The door to the room where Berren was hiding eased silently open. Berren crouched down, pressing himself even further back into the shadows. The man with the cane had snuffers with him and all Berren had was his stupid wooden waster. His heart beat faster, climbing up his throat. He could run, that’s what he could do. He could run for the door and away like the wind. His legs tensed …

The thief-taker slipped into the room and eased the door shut behind him. Berren caught a glimpse of him in the frail light that filtered in through the windows. The feet on the stairs reached the top. In silence, Master Sy crept behind the door. He opened his coat and drew the stubby sword he carried.

‘Who’s here?’ called the snuffer at the top of the stairs. ‘I know there’s someone here. I can smell you. Show yourself or it’ll be the worse for you.’

Master Sy took a tiny step closer to the door.

‘The watch is on its way. Show yourself now!’ The voice dropped. ‘Look, I don’t care what it is between you and them foreigners. We can come to some arrangement. I’ll say you were already gone. But, by Khrozus, if you don’t show yourselves right now, I’m going to kill you.’

Berren’s heart jumped. He’d seen these snuffers and knew how they were armed, with long curved cavalry swords left over from the civil war or with short straight blades like Master Sy. The ones he’d seen with the Headsman had worn padded jackets, maybe even lined with mail …

He looked towards the door but Master Sy hadn’t moved. He was still standing motionless, his sword held at the ready.

‘No one down here,’ shouted a voice from downstairs. Berren heard a second pair of boots climbing the stairs. ‘Someone’s been in the room but they didn’t find the box. I say he’s already been and gone.’

‘Well someone’s up here,’ said the first snuffer. He must have been right outside the door. ‘I can feel it.’

‘I still say we should go out and get the Emperor’s men.’

‘And how do we explain what we’re doing here, eh? Khrozus! What a festival of shit this is!’

‘Kelm’s Teeth! Look at this mess.’

‘If he’s here then you’re going to find him,’ bellowed the man with the cane. ‘You find him right now and you kill him. If he’s gone then you still find him and you still kill him. You dogs clear about that? The Headsman’s going to have a fit.’

Footfalls sounded on the hall outside. Berren saw Master Sy ready his sword. He was holding it in front of his face now, the blade horizontal, pointing at the door. His other hand reached out …

The door flew open. For a moment it blocked Berren’s sight. Master Sy disappeared from view. The door began to swing to. Outside in the hall, two shouts and one clash of steel rang out. Then there was silence.

The door stopped, half-open. Something was in the way, stopping it from fully closing. Berren hardly dared to breathe. And then he heard his name. It was Master Sy’s voice, a low whisper.

‘Berren?’

Berren went to the door and pulled it open again. What stopped it from closing was a pair of boots. One of the snuffers was lying there, flat on his back. The thief-taker’s sword had ripped his throat out and there was blood everywhere. Berren gawped in awe. He wished he’d been standing somewhere else when the door had flown open so he could have seen what Master Sy had done.

Out in the hall, by the top of the stairs, a second snuffer lay still. Master Sy was standing over him.

‘Come here.’

Berren ran over. The second soldier had his throat slit open as well.

‘You want me to teach you to fight?’ whispered the thief-taker.

Berren nodded, almost salivating at the prospect.

‘Then take a long look, because this is how it ends.’ He ran down the stairs, favouring his good leg, leaving Berren behind to stare at the bodies and wonder.

When Berren was done staring at the bodies, he ran his hands through their pockets and helped himself to their purses. He’d been right about the jackets and they had good boots and good clothes too, and if he’d been with Master Hatchet there was no question: he’d have stripped both the snuffers of as much as he could carry.

There was a shout from below, another clash of steel and a strangled cry: ‘You? You’re dead!’ That was the man with the cane. Whatever Master Sy’s reply, it was too quiet to reach up the stairs. Berren took a sword from one of the snuffers. The usual old cavalry swords were too long for Berren’s arms, but this … this was perfect. A sword like Master Sy’s. The man’s belt was too big and he couldn’t get the scabbard free, but he didn’t care. Simply holding a real steel blade made him feel six feet taller. Made him feel like he was a man, not a boy any more.

Another yell came from below and another clash of blades. Berren bounded down. In the gloom of the hallway he saw the man with the cane, his back to the front door. He had a sword, but his hand was shaking. Between him and Berren stood Master Sy, his long coat hanging loose. He had a sword too and his was as steady as a rock. Two more snuffers lay slumped in the passageway, dead or well on their way.

‘No, no.’ The man with the cane was shaking his head. ‘No!’ He looked from side to side as though some miracle might save his life. He reached one hand behind him, fumbling for the door. Master Sy took a step forward; the man skittered sideways.

‘Deephaven is a long way from Kalda. What does the Headsman want here? What does Radek want?’

‘We should have killed you in Forgenver.’ The man was almost crying with frustration and fear and rage.

Quick as a snake, Master Sy lunged. The man with the cane darted back for the door. He turned the first blow away but he wasn’t quick enough for the second. Master Sy’s blade caught his hand, cutting it in two. The man’s sword, three of his fingers and a ragged piece of flesh fell to the floor. The man screamed.

‘Age making you slow is it?’ growled Master Sy. ‘I remember you. Radek’s Weasel, we used to call you. Made you the Headsman’s nose-picker did he? Never did your own dirty work if I remember, but you were quick. Not so quick now, eh?’

The man fell to his knees. He clutched his ruined hand. Blood ran steadily down his shirt. He was weeping now.

‘The temple. What business has the Headsman got with priests? Why does he keep bringing them here?’

Priests? Berren suddenly forgot about his new sword. Priests? Master Sy hadn’t said anything about priests or temples. Did he mean his temple?