Stephen Deas1: The Thief-Takers Apprentice

‘Who the bloody Khrozus is there?’ Hatchet shouted. Then: ‘Who the bloody Khrozus are you? I’ll make you a bloody cripple…’ That had been followed by a heavy crash, the sound of wood splintering and then nothing.

There was a long silence. When Hatchet spoke again, his voice was quiet and strained. ‘What do you want?’

Dim candlelight flickered through the cracks between the floorboards. Berren shuffled sideways, and pressed his ear to the floor, but whoever the intruder was, they spoke too softly for him to hear.

‘I don’t know nothing about it,’ said Hatchet.

Some murmuring followed before Hatchet raised his voice loud enough for Berren to hear again. ‘Him? What do you want him for?’

Pause. Hatchet’s voice took on a sly tone.

‘What’s he worth.’

Silence.

‘A crown? A bleeding crown? What’s that to me? Nothing! You think you can…’ The words stopped abruptly. For almost a minute, Berren heard nothing. Then the narrow stairs up to the attic began to creak. Berren counted the steps. He knew the tread. Hatchet was coming up and that was never good. He didn’t know how many of the other boys were awake. You could smell the fear in the air, though. Tasted sharp.

The door burst open. Hatchet stood there, lit up by a candle held out into the room.

‘Berren!’

Berren rubbed his eyes. Hatchet pushed his way into the attic.

‘Berren, get your worthless soul out here.’ He grabbed an arm and hauled Berren towards the door and down the steps. ‘You’re in trouble, boy. Been stealing. Thieving! Horrible! Never thought to have a thief in my house. After all the things I’ve given you.’ The words were clearly meant for the stranger waiting downstairs. At the bottom, a single candle lit the rooms. Hatchet hurled him into the pool of light. ‘This the one?’

‘Yes.’ The words came out of the shadows. Berren strained to see who it was. The voice sounded refined and educated, with a twang of something foreign to it and there was that smell again, the hint of something…

The man from the alley.

Berren froze. His heart skipped a beat and then began to race. He had to run!

The man from the alley stepped out of the shadows and took hold of his arm. The grip was strong. Not painful, but firm enough that Berren knew he’d not easily tear himself away.

Hatchet was shaking his head. ‘I’m very sorry, sir, that this thief here has caused you such trouble. Whatever his punishment is, I’m sure he deserves it.’ He turned on Berren and hissed at him. ‘Ungrateful boy! Food and shelter I gave you, and how do you repay my kindness? With this!’

‘Here’s your crown,’ sneered the man from the alley. ‘Now let us both hope that our paths never cross again.’ He pulled Berren away, backing towards the door and into the cool night air. Berren watched as the door slammed closed. Behind it he heard Hatchet shouting. Probably one of the other boys had crept out of the attic to better hear what was happening. Whoever it was, Berren winced on their behalf. Most likely, the mother of all beatings was about to rain down.

The hand on his arm grew tighter, a reminder of his own predicament.

‘Someone stole something from me once, years ago,’ said the man from the alley. ‘Something very important and very precious. Something I couldn’t really do without. As a consequence I’m not so fond of thieves. I’m also very good at catching them. I’ve made it my business. Would it surprise you to know that you’re the only person who’s ever stolen from me since? In all that time, not one thief has managed to take my purse. Can you imagine that?’

Berren made a play at being mute. The sky was clear and a near-full moon hung brightly in the sky right above them, but the man’s face was hidden in shadows. Berren couldn’t see his eyes.

The hand on his arm shook him and began to hurt. ‘No, sir,’ he mumbled.

‘Speak up!’

‘No, sir!’

‘Do you know who I am?’

Berren shook his head.

‘I’m a thief-taker. Do you know what that is?’

Berren knew exactly. Someone who hunted down thieves for the bounty on them. He nodded.

‘Where I come from, people often have lots of names. We acquire them the way you Arians acquire gold. They just fall out of the air and land on us. Some of those who know me call me the Undertaker when they think I can’t hear.’ The man laughed. ‘Do you understand?’

Berren nodded. ‘Because you kill people,’ he blurted.

The thief-taker shook his head. ‘No, boy, it’s a play on words. Because I undertake to do things and I always hold my promises. And yes, because sometimes I kill people as I do it. The sort of men who pay me like to have their little jokes.’ He snorted. ‘But unlike others, when I undertake to do something, it gets done. I swore an oath that no one would ever steal from me again without being hunted down and punished. So I’ve come to punish you for stealing from me. Had to. I’m not going to hurt you, not unless I have to. No, but you and I have some business to attend to.’ He pulled Berren around, so they were staring eye to eye, just as they had when they first met in the alley. ‘That man back there. Hatchet. I might hurt him, though. Would you like me to? If you want me to, I will. I’m sure the city would be a better place without him.’

Berren stared at him. Without doubt the man meant every word.

‘I’m sure he beats you.’

Berren nodded.

‘He sold you to me for a silver crown. That’s all. So. Do you want me to hurt him? Just ask. That’s all you have to do. Or nod. We can say nodding if you’re finding it difficult to talk.’

Berren said nothing. He could feel his eyes burning.

‘What if I were to say that I’d let you go? I’d have to. Couldn’t hold on to you while I was crippling your master, now could I? You could get away. If you think I wouldn’t find you.’

Berren could feel the tears ready to burst out of his eyes. He pulled his arm as hard as he could, trying to get away, but the thief-taker’s grip was like a shackle. The man shook him.

‘Answer me, boy.’

Berren shook his head. The tears were out now, rolling down his cheeks.

‘Good.’ The thief-taker nodded. ‘At least now we know you have something to work with in there. Remorse or shame or a bit of both, either will do. Gods know I have enough of both to drown.’ He stared at Berren again, the same half-not-there stare he’d given in the alley, except this time his grip didn’t slip. ‘By the Sun, there really is a bit of him in you.’

Then the thief-taker shook his head, as if in amazement, and he marched Berren away.

The man from the alley, whatever names he had, dragged Berren through the streets of Deephaven. They left Shipwrights, crossed Reeper Hill and skirted the edge of the sea-docks. Out in the deep bay that had given the city its name, dozens of tall ships lay at anchor in the night, silhouettes in the moonlight. Their creaks and groans echoed across the still waters like the calls of restless souls. Berren’s neck prickled at the sound. Sometimes voices rang out, the distant and ghostly shouts of men calling news from ship to ship. They walked past bawdy houses and Moongrass dens, the drinking shops and the gambling holes. Men with hunched shoulders hurried by, hiding their faces. Women strutted on corners, idly flashing their pale skin at anyone who passed. Then the thief-taker turned and led the way up the Avenue of Emperors, the broad straight road that led up from the sea-docks to Four Winds Square and down to the river again on the other side of the city. Even at this hour, a steady stream of carts and wagons rumbled up from the sea. Halfway towards the top, the man stopped. He turned around, dragging Berren with him. Berren would have done anything to get away, but the hand on his arm never relented.