Stephen Deas1 - The Thief-Takers Apprentice

Berren took a step back. He shook his head, not quite sure what to say.

‘Your girl?’

This time Berren nodded.

‘I like the look of your knife, boy. You leave that here and I’ll let you go. Both of you. You hear?’

Berren nodded again, more quickly this time. He dropped Kasmin’s knife on the ground and then the sheath as well. Glad to be rid of it.

‘You’ll not be telling no thief-takers about us, now will you, boy? If I were you I’d keep my mouth tight shut. You got that?’

Berren nodded again.

‘Go on then. Piss off. Both of you.’

There was blood on his hand. Someone’s. Not his. Jerrin’s, maybe, from when Kasmin had cracked his skull. He wiped it on the leg of his trousers then ran to Lilissa, still squatting on the ground and sobbing into her hands. He tugged her to her feet and looked at her. One eye was red with tears, the other purple from a huge bruise on one side of her face. Her hair was a tangled mess. She was still wearing the dress that had made her look like a princess, the one she’d worn to the Captain’s Rest, except now it was ripped and ruined.

He touched her swollen cheek. She was beautiful. Then he looked around him. Kasmin had his knife back now; he and whoever the men were he had with him were already turning to go. Sticks was staggering off as fast his legs would carry him; Hair and Waddler and the rest of Jerrin’s boys were long gone. There was the mudlark boy, pulling himself on his arms to get away, wailing and moaning. And then there was One-Thumb, flat on his back and dead as a rat. Berren felt sick. This was thief-taking?

He turned away. His head was spinning, his throat was as dry as parchment. His skin tingled, his arms and legs felt as though they didn’t really belong to him any more; the rest of him seemed so light that he might lift right off the ground and fly in the first gust of wind. Nothing seemed quite real any more.

Except Lilissa.

He took her hand. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home.’

They sat at a table together in the Golden Hart, the closest tavern to The Peak that Master Sy was prepared to afford. It was a place where rich people went, not thief-takers, and certainly not a dung-boy cut-purse from Shipwrights. It was the middle of the day, the sort of time when a place like this was quiet and empty, but the few people there still stared at them both, muttering under their breath as Berren and Master Sy passed their tables. The tavern-keeper, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered in the least. He gave the thief-taker a nod as if they were old friends. Almost before Master Sy was in his seat, a whole roasted duck was set down on the table in front of them. Then bread, still warm from the oven, two glasses, and a bottle of something dark and red. Master Sy picked up the bottle and turned it over in his hand. He was smiling.

‘Now that’s something you don’t get to see every day.’ He sighed a happy sigh. He was limping, Berren had noticed. Not badly, but enough that Berren could see. ‘You drink much wine in Shipwrights, lad?’

Berren nodded vigorously. Watery stuff that Hatchet’s boys stole from Club-Headed Jin when they got the chance, which wasn’t very often. And then they’d wait for Hatchet to be asleep or drunk, and they’d get it out and pass it from one to another in the dark. Times like that they’d all been a gang together.

Times like that. Yeh. He’d spent most of the night lying awake, thinking of One-Thumb lying dead in the dirt. Thinking of the horror on Lilissa’s face when she’d seen the blood on his hands. He’d gone to Trickle Street to save her, to win her, and somehow, in the saving, he’d lost her. He’d seen it in her eyes even as they were leaving. It left a bitter taste, one that jarred with the thief-taker’s good humour.

Times like that. Yeh. Times like that hadn’t come around too often. Mostly they’d been at each others’ throats, like cats in a cage.

‘Well not like this you haven’t.’ Master Sy broke the wax seal around the bottle’s neck and levered the cork out with a knife. ‘This is from my home, lad. It’s come halfway around the world to be here. Just like me.’ He poured one for himself and then tipped a thimbleful into Berren’s glass. ‘Mind, though. Remember the beer in the Eight Pillars of Smoke. This is stronger stuff. Try not to make an idiot of yourself. Sip it. If you gulp it, it’ll knock you flat. Like all the best things in life.’

Berren took a sip. Even as the wine touched his lips, it seemed to steal into his mouth, setting his tongue on fire. He recoiled and coughed and the thief-taker laughed. Then Master Sy tore a wing off the duck and waved at Berren to eat.

‘What happened to your leg, master?’

‘Oh, I landed badly chasing one of the Dag’s pirates in the tunnels under Reeper Hill.’ He shrugged.

‘Did you get them?’

‘They were there right enough. Hiding away with their loot. Caught them red-handed. Unfortunately Justicar Kol and his soldiers got there first. Kol himself.’ He shook his head. ‘I forget, sometimes, that our Justicar used to swing a sword with the best of them. No.’ He sighed. ‘Our pirates are all done now. We did what Kol wanted us to do. We got the Bloody Dag out of Siltside and then we rounded up his men and now they’re all dead or on their way to the mines and that’s the end of it.’ Master Sy’s lips twitched, as though he’d tasted something sour. Berren paused between stuffing strips of juicy meat into his mouth.

‘What about…?’

‘And where were you last night?’ This time the thief-taker raised a knowing eyebrow. Berren flushed and looked away.

‘I went to Mistress Lilissa, like you said. Just in case.’

‘Hmmm.’ Master Sy nodded. ‘Didn’t do anything you shouldn’t, I hope.’

Berren shook his head. What was he supposed to say? Master Sy always knew everything, always. ‘I kept her safe,’ he said, which was at least true. ‘I didn’t touch her. I just kept her safe.’

‘Then you did good.’ The thief-taker sniffed and gave Berren a look that cut like glass. ‘Kasmin came by in the small hours. Seems there was some trouble in the Barrow of Beer last night.’ His eyes didn’t flinch and Berren felt like they’d nailed him to his chair. ‘He didn’t say much as to what it was about. Mentioned something about you having a run-in with a gang from the docks.’

Berren opened his mouth, but at the sight of the thief-taker, everything he could think of to say dived straight back down his throat. The thief-taker raised a hand. ‘I don’t think I want to know anything about it. Kasmin said you did good, and he doesn’t say that about much. I half expected to pay a visit to Mistress Lilissa and find you a bloody mess on the floor again, but no, the next thing I know you’re on my doorstep. And not even a scratch. Although you do look as though you were up for most of the night.’

‘Talking.’ Berren gave a non-committal shrug. Yeh, they’d talked. Not for long, though. He’d spent most of the night roaming the city. Lilissa’s face when she’d looked at him had been too hard to bear. You could hardly blame her for wanting a nice safe fishmonger’s son. Not after what she’d seen. But still, looks cut worse than blades sometimes. After that, he couldn’t have slept even if he hadn’t kept on seeing Kasmin crack One-Thumb’s head open. ‘Did he…?’ Ah, what to say that wouldn’t make things worse? But that was the thing about Master Sy, the thing that made him the thief-taker he was. You never knew how much he knew. And the only way to deal with that was to say nothing at all.

‘Did he what?’

‘Did he say anything else?’