Stephen Deas: The Thief-Takers Apprentice

‘You want to lick them, thief-taker?’ Blacksword yawned. When he looked up at all, mostly he looked at Berren rather than at Master Sy. Every time it made Berren shiver. Yes, boy, I’m looking at you. Remembering you. Remembering who you are.

Master Sy shook his head. ‘See, lad. These are a pair of thieves who think they own the world. Little men who all started like you. Remember that, lad. Once upon a time they walked the streets clearing dung for a penny a week. Now Threehands here thinks he matters. He’s got men like your Master Hatchet wrapped around his finger. He pays money to the city so that people like me leave him alone. Don’t you, Threehands?’

Threehands blew a snort and shook his head. ‘You don’t know the half of it, thief-taker. Piss off now and maybe I’ll give you until nightfall to get out of the city.’

‘He runs his gangs and he buys men like Blacksword here to keep men like me away from him.’ Master Sy grinned. ‘How’s that working out for you, Threehands? Anyway, lad. He thinks he’s important, too important for us to touch him. He really does. Well, lad, here’s your first real lesson. You ain’t worth a brown bit as a thief-taker if the thieves don’t soil their trousers when they see you coming. ’ He lunged forward and took a back-handed swing with his sword so fast that Berren wasn’t sure whether he’d seen it right. No one moved. Then Blacksword spasmed, gurgled, and half his face fell off. He rolled over onto the floor, twitching and arching his back. Master Sy’s sword had caved in his temple on one side and come out of his cheek on the other, splitting him neatly in two along a line that ran just under his nose. Berren gulped. The thief-taker rounded on Threehands. Threehands backed away into a corner.

‘You… You… You can’t! I’m going to mess you up, thief-taker. I’m going to carve you so bad that your mother won’t recognise you.’ The sneering disdain was all gone now, though. Berren could see Threehands for what he really was. A coward.

‘My mother’s dead,’ said Master Sy shortly. ‘My father too, before you go there. Thank you for bringing back those painful memories. You make what I have to do now so much easier.’ He sheathed his sword and jumped onto Threehands, dragging him to his feet. Berren skittered away. Madness! Threehands was beaten and broken, but he was also a lot bigger than Master Sy. He wasn’t about to miss out on his opportunity, either. He went for the thief-taker with everything he had, fists and feet. Berren stumbled back to the door, ready to run. The two men were too close and moving around each other too fast for him to dare the crossbow. And yet, as he watched, something strange happened. For all that Threehands looked bigger and stronger, he never seemed to land a punch on Master Sy. He lunged, and every time the thief-taker somehow wasn’t there. Master Sy, on the other hand, landed blow after blow. Not like Threehands’ great swinging fists, but short punches that seemed to find their mark every time, mostly into the ribs and kidneys. Punch after punch after punch, and then Threehands gave a roar and hurled himself at Master Sy and somehow ended up face-down on the floor. The thief-taker landed on his back with a tiny knife in his hand. He put it straight to Threehands’ throat. Berren watched, heart pounding. Half of him wanted to run, but a macabre curiosity held him fast.

‘Mudlarks,’ the thief-taker said, and with a flick of his wrist cut off an ear. Threehands screamed. ‘Canal.’ He stabbed the knife into Threehands’ shoulder and twisted. Threehands shrieked again. The knife moved back to Threehands’ throat. ‘Everything you know. Right now.’

‘Khrozus’ blood!’ Threehands squirmed like and eel but Master Sy had him fast. ‘Kelm’s Teeth! Pelean’s screaming ghost!’

‘That’s the feel of a blade inside your flesh. I’m just going to keep on going deeper and deeper until I hear what I want to hear. Yes, yes, keep wriggling and squirming. It’s a good test for me. I’ll do my best not to cut into anything important until I decide I want to.’ Master Sy leaned forward to shout the last three words into Threehands’ ear.

Berren’s skin prickled. Half of him still wanted to run, but now he wasn’t sure which one of the two men scared him the most.

‘Yes, yes, yes. Don’t kill me, thief-taker. Your promise. Your word.’

‘Tell me what I want to hear and I’ll leave you alive, Threehands. My word as a gentleman.’

‘Yeh. Right. Whatever you think that is. Ahhhh!’ Threehands screwed up his face as Master Sy tightened his grip. ‘Yeh, yeh. There are mudlarks who go up the canal now and then. Something to do with the docks. I don’t know what they do there.’

‘How do they get into the inner city, Threehands?’

‘How should I know? Find out for yourself, thief-taker. Maybe they fly. Maybe they turn invisible. Maybe they’re snow-faeries in disguise.’

‘Not helpful, Threehands, not helpful. No, that’s not enough to keep you alive. Where do they leave their boats?’

‘The usual place, thief-taker. We look after them until they come back.’

‘For a price.’

‘Do I look like a bleeding philosopher?’ He squealed as Master Sy twisted the knife.

‘Philanthropist. What about once they get into the city?’

‘Not my patch and you know it, thief-taker. Could be anything. Don’t much care as long as they pays their dues to pass up the canal. Stuff in the docks, is what I heard. Like you said.’

‘What stuff in the docks?’ Master Sy shifted his weight, digging a knee harder into Threehands’ back. Threehands groaned.

‘I don’t know! They’re just hands, I know that much. They don’t even know what they’re heading over to do. Someone inside the city tells them. Something to do with ships. That’s all I know!’

‘Yes, yes.’ Master Sy sighed. ‘Sad thing is, that’s probably true. Well let’s suppose I have a fair idea who it is. You still haven’t told me enough for me to have bothered coming out here. I could have guessed all this from the comfort of my rocking chair. What about coming back? How do they come back? That’s what I really want to know.’

‘Same way. They come back the next night, right late and always soaking wet and stinking. Straight out of the canal. Out from under the water like they’re fish-men or something.’

‘Are they fish-men?’

‘Don’t be a half-wit, thief-taker. There’s no such thing. That’s just stories for frightening the likes of your soldier-boy. ’

Master Sy smiled. ‘Do they have poles with them, Threehands. Short bamboo poles?’

‘Yeh.’ Through the pain, Threehands managed to sound puzzled. ‘How’d you know?’

The smile grew wider. Master Sy withdrew his knife. ‘They walk under the water, Threehands, breathing through tubes. That’s how they get through Shipwrights. People would notice boats, but the tip of a pole? In the dark? That would work. Thank you, Threehands. That’s the last piece of the puzzle.’ For a moment, the thief-taker relaxed. Straight away, Threehands convulsed, kicking his legs up and twisting, trying to free himself. He almost managed it, but after a few seconds of furious grunting, the thief-taker had him pinned again.

‘Now now, Threehands.’

‘You got what you want and you’ve killed three of mine already. Now piss off before you become the most important thing in the rest of my life.’

‘Oh, I mean to be.’ Master Sy turned and slashed his knife across the back of Threehand’s left knee. Threehands screamed.

‘You bastard!’ He must have seen the knife come up a second time. The scream turned into a begging whimper.

‘No! No! Please, not…’

The knife slashed the back of the other knee. Berren had no illusions about what Master Sy had just done. Threehands had been hamstrung. He’d never walk again. For someone who lived the way Threehands lived, Master Sy might as well have killed him. It would have shown more mercy.