Stephen Deas: Warlock's shadow

That was before.

It seemed he’d only just managed to fall asleep when Master Sy was shaking him awake again to sit for hours in the dark of the scent garden, bleary and cold, listening to people snore. And then, as everyone else was getting up and thinking about breakfast, there was Master Fennis, chasing him on his way with nothing but a crust of yesterday’s bread in his pocket, back up the hill to Deephaven Square and the temple in time to catch a lash of Teacher Sterm’s cane for being late. And that was when he realised that he hadn’t asked Master Sy about Kelm, whoever he was, and sure enough, Sterm had him straight up to the front first to share his ignorance.

That was the way his days became — woken up in the middle of the night, cold and thankless hours sitting in the dark of the garden, more cold and thankless hours of sitting in the gloom at the temple, snatching leftovers to eat whenever he had a spare moment, always rushing from one misery to the next. His head was full of things he wanted, of princes and their women, swordplay and blade-dancing, and he was getting none of it, no swords, no thief-taking, nothing. He barely even saw the prince he was supposed to be guarding. In the temple, the other novices only jeered at him when he tried to tell them how important he was. The solar priests, it turned out, didn’t much care for Prince Sharda of Varr. If they’d known half the truth, they’d probably have rolled on the floor and wept with laughter.

The novices to serve the monks from Torpreah were chosen — not Berren of course. They might have been the most gracious and the most penitent but that didn’t stop them strutting like peacocks when none of the priests were looking, and for once Berren envied them. Monks of the fire-dragon were the best fighters in the world, even Master Sy said so, and now he’d probably never even see them. His misery was complete.

‘Here.’ Master Velgian beckoned Berren over one evening when the Watchman’s Arms was busier than usual. Velgian had replaced Master Mardan, who had apparently said something he shouldn’t and been thrown out. Velgian fancied himself a poet and always carried the same battered old book of verses from Caladir and Brons with him wherever he went. On quiet evenings in The Eight, he sometimes read to the other thief-takers whether they wanted him to or not. There were more soldiers than Berren was used to tonight; there were other faces too, men and women he hadn’t seen before, wandering in and out through the yard around the moonpool. They were dressed in the silks and satins of rich city lords from The Peak, laced with gold and silver and decked with jewels. They looked agitated.

Berren shrugged. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. As best he could tell, the prince was somewhere off and about, most likely up on Reeper Hill again. He’d taken Master Sy with him too.

‘Get a torch, lad.’

Velgian was sitting beside the archway to the scent garden with a square piece of metal on the ground in front of him. Berren got a torch and sat down beside him.

‘Keep that away for a moment.’ Velgian had a waxed paper pouch in his hand. He tipped it over the metal plate, shook out a little pile of black powder then shuffled back a little. ‘Go on. Touch the torch to that then.’

Berren poked the torch at the metal plate. There was a whoosh, a flash of orange light, a puff of smoke and a wave of heat. Berren reeled away. The smoke stung his eyes and the air stank of bad eggs.

‘What was that ?’ He stared in awe at the black stain on the metal plate.

Master Velgian shrugged. ‘I don’t know what they call it. Comes from Caladir. Black powder but with something else as well.’

‘Does the witch-doctor make it?’ The witch-doctor, Master Sy’s old friend from across the sea who lived in an old warehouse by the river, was the only person Berren knew who dealt in potions and powders. Velgian, for some reason, looked petrified.

‘That devil?’ He shuddered. ‘I know Syannis speaks with him sometimes, but take it from me, Saffran Kuy is evil and nothing good comes from any who deal with him.’ He glanced up into the sky and leaned closer. ‘You know how everyone who goes to see him leaves a basket of fish outside when they leave? That’s because he has a pact with the cats and the gulls who live there. They’re his spies. He rides inside them, seeing the world through their eyes, listening to what people say with their ears!’ He shuddered again and then sat back. ‘No, this is what the Taiytakei use to make things that fly up into the air and make pretty lights. A ship came in with some kegs of it a few weeks back, a present ready for the Emperor’s spring festival in Varr. Turns out one or two fell off the back of a wagon on the way and ended up in the night market. Fancy, eh?’ He rolled his eyes and then shrugged again. ‘Bought a pouch of it. Too much money from standing watch over this prick of a prince. Bloody waste. Here, come look at this though.’ Master Velgian led Berren across the moonpool yard and back inside the Arms, into a wide hall that Berren hadn’t seen before. A delicious smell of food laced the air. Paintings and hangings lined the walls here, faces of men from Aria’s history that Berren had had beaten into him by Teacher Sterm, and other faces that he didn’t know. Uniformed servants hurried around them, speaking in whispers. Berren watched them.

‘What’s happening?’

‘The feast of the last moon before the spring, that’s what,’ whispered Master Velgian. ‘His Highness has guests too. They came into the Arms in the middle of the day. Apparently they’ve been looking for His Highness for a while.’ Velgian spat. ‘Can’t have been looking all that hard, that’s all I can say. They’re going to take him back with them though and they might take you and your master too if you’re lucky.’ Then he smirked. ‘If they can find him, of course. Sneaky bastard actually managed to slip out of here without anyone noticing, probably with a bit of help from Syannis. Glad it wasn’t on my watch. So now they’re going to have their big Feast of the Last Moon and some great announcement, and the person who should be the centre of it all isn’t even here.’ He snorted in disgust. ‘I was going to show off that black powder. Syannis said to bring some if I could. Meant for a prince it was, and instead I’m left with you.’

He nodded towards a large man with wild blond hair, leaning against the wall just inside the door. The man had an impatient look to him. His expression had something of resignation in it too, as though he was used to this sort of thing.

‘That’s Ser Elmarc Borolan. Story goes that he and the prince were up in the mountains a year back. Lost a lot of friends. No one says how or why. Be on your guard tonight. Right.’ He patted Berren on the back. ‘Go and get some rest.’

‘What?’ Berren gaped at the table and then looked at Master Velgian, imploring. Velgian shrugged.

‘This isn’t for the likes of us, young Berren. We get to stay outside with the dogs and the riff-raff.’

‘But!’

‘Would you want to stay? Forced to stand still as a statue and silent as a shadow for hours on end while the lords and ladies of the city stuff themselves with every conceivable delicacy and ignore you completely, all the while complaining bitterly about how the whole feast is a complete waste of time without His Highness? I’m sure Syannis is expecting you to sit your watch and continue with your instruction in the temple too. No, to bed, young man.’ Master Velgian frowned. ‘Isn’t it tomorrow that the monks of the fire-dragon arrive?’

‘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 .