Stephen Deas - The Thief-Takers Apprentice

Almost on cue he heard a shout and then running footsteps belting away down one of the side-streets. Somewhere nearby a dog started barking. The thief-taker paused for the slightest instant, then kept on going. Fifty yards or so in front of them, a bored-looking gang of street militia ignored the sounds too. You learned quickly enough how it worked in the city. There were the streets that were safe and then there were the streets that weren’t. After dark, which ones you used depended entirely on how you and the local militia got on.

The gang was coming up the hill towards them. They looked relaxed, didn’t seem too bothered by anything. Berren’s stomach clenched. As they passed, Master Sy gave them a short nod and they exchanged greetings. Berren had to bite his lip to stop himself from walking faster. The idea that the street militias were his friends now was going to take some getting used to.

Master Sy was grinning.

‘Master, where are we going?’

‘We’re going to see an old friend of mine who also happens to be a thief.’

Berren frowned, trying to digest this. How could a thief-taker have a friend who was a thief?

‘Lad, a thief-taker has to earn his bread. There’s no reward in grabbing any old petty pickpocket or cut-purse or robber in off the street. What would you do with them? Take them to Justicar Kol? He doesn’t want to know. That sort of thievery is beneath him. Take them to the street militias? You could if you wanted to but they’ll not thank you for it and they’ll certainly not pay you.’ He shook his head. ‘If I see a thief cut a purse and I hunt him down and teach him the error of his ways, it’s because I hate thieves, that’s all. But this thief is a friend.’

‘But…’ That still didn’t explain why Master Sy was friends with a thief.

Abruptly Master Sy stopped. They were close to the edge of Market Square, still well lit with night time braziers and torches. Like the docks, the market never quite went to sleep. It thinned out a lot, but there were always people there trying to sell something and always people willing to buy.

‘Look down there.’ Master Sy frowned. ‘You can’t really see it in the dark. I’d heard of this city, you know, long before I ever came here. Even in my far-away little backwater, we’d heard about Deephaven. And do you know what made it so famous to us? That.’ He pointed. ‘The thing that you can’t see down the end of that street. The Upside-Down Temple. I’d heard of that long before everything went wrong and…’ He shook himself. ‘When I was younger than you, I always wanted to come here, just to see the Upside-Down Temple. I thought it must be the most amazing thing in the world. And then when I did get here, I had nothing more than the clothes on my back, the sword on my belt and a belly full of revenge. I had other things to do. It was more than a year before I was ready to come and see it. It was like a prize I was going to give myself once I’d started a new life and at least pretended to abandon the one I’d had.’

The thief-taker took a deep breath and sighed. ‘And then when I’d done all that and I did come here, it was tiny. After everything I’d thought it would be, it was such a disappointment.’ He put a hand on Berren’s shoulder. ‘Most people are the same, lad,’ he said gently. ‘Especially at your age. Like thief-takers who turn out to wear a secret skin of armour, maybe. You learn to live with it. Get used to it, even. And then when you meet someone who isn’t, it’s hard not to like them. Even if they’re a thief.’ He let out a heavy sigh. ‘Of course, when in the end they let you down like everyone else, you’ll feel it all the harder.’

Master Sy led him on through Market Square, past the brazier men with their glowing coals, their roasting nuts and their sizzling strips of meat and fish. Leftovers from the day, heavily spiced to hide the smell of them already turning bad, sold for absurd coin to drunks and men who didn’t know any better. It was a heady place at night, the market. Women paraded themselves, or else padded softly in the shadows, calling with siren voices to anyone who went past. Bands of players staked out their territories and danced, juggling brands of fire in ever more strident displays. Voices erupted from nowhere, singing songs of faraway places and lost times. Now and then, wagons rolled in through one of the many roads that entered the square. They dropped their sides, shouted their heads off until they had a crowd, hawked their stolen wares and ten minutes later they were gone. Men and women from all parts of the city came to the night market, rich and poor. The market militia did their best, but between the thieves and the cut-purses and the snuffers with their swords come to guard the rich folk, the tension was always there. Having a thief-taker in their midst didn’t exactly help, either.

‘You might think it would be easier to wear a hood,’ said Master Sy, after a gang of boys about Berren’s age began following them across the square, hooting obscenities and throwing the odd stone and piece of rotten fruit. His eyes glittered. ‘Sometimes it seems that way, but in the end it’s always a mistake. Never hide your face, lad. Make sure they always see you coming. Make sure they know who’s about to happen to them.’ He changed direction, striding swiftly towards one of the wagons. The small crowd around it seemed to sense him coming; its raucous shouting fell silent and it parted as the thief-taker approached. The gang of boys dropped back, suddenly uncertain. The three men on the wagon let out a volley of curses, but they were far too late for making a quick escape. They froze. Like startled animals, Berren thought. It made him feel powerful, three big men struck helpless with fear. That’s what he wanted. Even more than learning swords, that was what he wanted.

Master Sy walked up to the cart and planted his feet. ‘Well, well, Lockjaw. You’ll have to be a lot quicker than that.’

The middle one of the three men on the wagon shuffled his feet. He was big, almost as big as Master Hatchet, but now he looked like a child caught in the act of doing something he shouldn’t.

‘Your boys?’ Master Sy jerked his head towards the gang that had been following them. Idly he reached into one of the crates on the cart and drew out a handful of something dark and crumbling. He sniffed his hand and then let whatever it was fall back.

‘Um. I don’t know who they are, Master Syannis, sir.’

Master Sy pulled out a small knife. Around them, the crowed edged and melted away. The thief-taker started poking around in the crate with the blade.

‘Dirt, Lockjaw? You selling dirt?’

The man on the cart looked wildly from side to side. ‘Er. Yeh.’

‘I heard you were in Varr.’ The thief-taker reached into the crate again. This time his hand came out holding something that looked like an onion. Tension poured off the men in the cart like sweat.

‘Yeh.’

‘Something to do with goods for the emperor’s wedding, that’s what I heard.’

‘Yeh, that’s true. Right patriotic, me. Long live his Imperial Graciousness.’

‘So how was it?’

‘Eh? I don’t…’

‘The wedding, Lockjaw. Bells ringing all over the city about a couple of weeks back. Big celebrations. Festival up in Deephaven Square. Even you can’t have missed that. They might even have let you in up there for once.’

‘Well…’

‘Oh, but you were in Varr, so you’d have missed the bells. Must have been a very fast horse you rode to get back here so quick. Got a fast horse, have you? Suppose you must, since that’s the only way you’d be back in Deephaven by now if you’d been in Varr. Must have run the poor animal into the ground.’ Master Sy sniffed his hand again, not waiting for an answer. ‘So what? Is this what you’re selling? Smells good enough to eat.’ He started to brush the dirt off. On the cart, one of the men took a sudden step forward and then froze again, just as quick. One look, Berren saw. One little look from the thief-taker was all it took, and the man had stopped in his tracks.