Stephen Deas1: The Thief-Takers Apprentice

No, wait! He stopped. Out of breath, he walked slowly back up to the Barrow and peered inside. The tavern was full, its tiny shutters open wide, flooding the street around it with the noise of talk and the smell of stale beer and a whiff of Moongrass. Cautiously, Berren left the crossbow in the shadows and pushed his way inside. Men stopped what they were saying and watched; they didn’t stare, but they followed him with their eyes nonetheless. This time Berren didn’t care. He pushed his way to where Kasmin was standing with some of his customers, chuckling at some joke one of them had made. They stopped when they saw Berren. The old man’s eyes narrowed and his lips drew back to show his teeth. Kasmin made more sense now. He, too, knew what the thief-taker could do. That was why he’d been so scared.

Berren bowed. A perfect bow, exactly as Master Sy had taught him. ‘Sir. I need your help.’

‘If Syannis wants something more, tell him to come and ask for it himself.’ He glanced left and right at the men beside him. ‘At another time.’

‘My master didn’t send me, sir. I am asking your help for me, sir.’

‘You?’ Kasmin sneered half-heartedly. It was a show, Berren realised. For the men who were with him. He set himself firm.

‘I need a blade, sir. A sword.’

The men around Kasmin roared with laughter. Kasmin didn’t even blink. ‘I have no swords here, boy, and even if I did they wouldn’t be for you.’

‘I need-!’ he started to shout, but a cuff round the face knocked him to the floor.

‘What you need is manners,’ snarled Kasmin. He grabbed Berren by the shirt and hauled him to his feet; then lifted him up into the air and carried him through the bar and threw him out the door. He stared as Berren shakily got back to his feet.

‘Sir…’ However much it hurt, he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t face Jerrin and his gang alone. Not if he hoped to win.

‘Now piss off!’ Kasmin roared, and he turned and strode back into his tavern to a chorus of raucous shouting. Berren made a series of angry gestures at the men staring at him through the windows and hurried away. A minute later he was back, though, this time in the yard behind the tavern, skulking in the shadows. Kasmin had to have a sword in there somewhere, he just had to, and one way or another, Berren needed it. He watched the door to the back of the tavern. He’d been this way already once.

The door opened. Kasmin rolled out an empty barrel into the yard. Then he looked straight at where Berren was hiding. He stood still, then let out a long breath. ‘Whoever you are, I can smell you. So who’s there?’

Other times Berren might have run, but not tonight. If it came to that then he was closer to the gate than Kasmin. He stepped out into the evening gloom.

‘Sir, I need a sword.’

Kasmin shook his head and laughed. ‘You’re one persistent stable-mucker, aren’t you? Khrozus!’ he shrugged. ‘I meant what I said. I don’t have a sword and I wouldn’t give it to you if I did. And no matter what Syannis and I used to be, if you come into my tavern again like that, I’ll do more than throw you out onto the street. You’re a thief-taker, boy. Whatever was once between your master and me, you’re not welcome here.’

‘I need…’

Kasmin rolled his eyes to the sky. ‘What bit of no don’t you understand?’

‘Then will you at least hold a message for me, for Master Sy?’

‘Fine. Make it quick.’

‘If I don’t come back, tell him I went looking for Lilissa. She’s a friend to Master Sy.’

‘Well her mother was at least,’ muttered Kasmin. ‘Heard that much.’

‘Tell him Jerrin One-Thumb took her and I went after him. Tell him…’ And then it all came out, about what he’d found when he’d gone looking for her, about One-Thumb and the Harbour Men and The Maze and the harbour-master’s snuffers. Kasmin just stood there. Didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just stood.

‘Bit long,’ he said, when Berren finally finished. ‘Don’t know if I’ll remember all that. But I suppose I got the bits that matter.’ He took a long look at Berren and sighed. ‘How many of these “Harbour Men” are there?’

Berren shrugged. ‘At least five. Probably seven or eight.’ Yeh. Might even be that, he mused to himself. Jerrin had had friends outside Master Hatchet’s gang.

‘Then a sword won’t help you, boy, not when you don’t know how to use it and I ain’t got one anyway. Go home. Wait for Syannis.’

‘I know Jerrin. He’ll…’ He couldn’t bring himself to say it. ‘He might hurt her.’

‘He might just hurt her anyway. After he’s done with killing you.’

Berren said nothing, just stuck out his jaw. He was going. Right now. No matter what. If Stealer and a crossbow with one bolt were all he had, then Stealer and a crossbow with one bolt would just have to do.

Kasmin tipped his head back and swore loudly at the sky. ‘Ah, for the love of…’ He sighed and threw up his hands in despair. ‘Look, boy. If I pass your message on to Syannis, he’s going to know you were here. And then he’s going to ask me why I didn’t stop you.’

Berren took a step towards the street. ‘Because you couldn’t catch me.’

‘Fine. Reckon that might even be true. Wait there.’ Without pausing for an answer, Kasmin turned and strode into his tavern. When he came out again, he was holding a long knife in a sheath. He tossed it at Berren’s feet. ‘Better for you than a sword. Anyone ever tell you anything about how to fight? At all?’

Master Sy’s words were there in his head, just as the thief-taker had spoken them. ‘Run. If you can’t run, stick them good and hard and watch it all the way.’

‘Good advice as any.’ The old man shook his head. ‘You know you’re fighting too many, don’t you? You know you’re going to get yourself killed, right?’

Berren shrugged. He hadn’t really given it much thought, truth be told. It was a thing that needed to be done and that was all there was.

‘Going to do it anyway, eh? Well you bring me my knife back, boy. My lucky blade, that is. Saved my life twice since I gave up soldiering and came to this godsforsaken hole of a city. Hold it close, boy. Pick them off one by one. Don’t play fair. Don’t let them see you coming. Kill ’em from a distance with that crossbow. Ach,’ he waved Berren away. ‘Why am I wasting my breath on you. You’ll be dumb and you’ll get yourself killed or else you’ll get lucky and learn something. That’s pretty much how it goes. I could feel that mail you’ve got on under your shirt. Make the most of it. Now piss off. I got customers.’ He turned and stamped back inside. Berren watched him go.

‘Thank you,’ he called. He tucked the knife and its sheath into his trousers. Picking up his crossbow and wrapping Master Sy’s coat around him, he set off once more for Trickle Street. Strange thing was, even though he knew Kasmin was probably right, he didn’t feel scared at all.

Berren reached Trickle Street as the sun was setting, sinking into the sea beyond the docks at the end of the street. Trickle Street didn’t go anywhere much, just crept down from The Maze to the sea-docks like a thief, hoping no one would notice. No one had much use for Trickle Street either, and now Berren found it empty. He took off Master Sy’s coat, folded it carefully and left it. Thing only got in the way. Then he went to the hole in the fence. One-Thumb was right. Whenever he’d had to run, he always came here, to the derelict arse-end of the sugar traders’ warehouse. This was his place, not One-Thumb’s. He knew it inside and out, better than anyone. One-Thumb had come here to make a point.