4
THE THIEF-TAKER
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.
‘You see those ships,
boy? Those ships can take you anywhere in the world. Eight years
ago I came here on one of those. I know this city better than I
know my home now. Watch out for the ones with the black flags.
Those are the slave-ships of the Taiytakei and they’ll take you
places even further than I’ve been, whether you like it or not. But
that’s not what I want from you, lad. When I’m done with you,
you’ll come here every day and you’ll look at the flags. You’ll
tell me if you ever see four white ships on a red field. That’s one
thing you can do for me. If ever you do, there’s an emperor in it
for you.’
They crossed over the
Avenue of Emperors and climbed to The Peak, the top of the low flat
hill that overlooked the bay, and the richest part of the city. At
the top of The Peak sat Deephaven Square, an enormous paved expanse
of marble. One end of the square was fully occupied by the
magnificent solar temple, the even more magnificent Guild Hall, and
behind them both sat the looming bulk of the Overlord’s Palace. At
the other end of the square were the infamous city moneylenders.
Along either side, the houses of Aria’s richest merchant-lords
competed for attention. In sunlight, gaudy colours and murals and
statues of bronze and marble and even gold fought with each other,
blended into a confusion of glittering opulence. Now, under the
moon, they were muted and dull. Berren looked around, twitching and
jittery. Old instincts had him. This wasn’t a place where someone
like him was supposed to be. Boys like him disappeared up
here.
The grip on his arm
tightened. ‘You like gold, lad? Here are the gold-kings of your
city. There’s a mile, maybe a bit more between the river-docks and
the sea. The men here make more money every day buying and selling
across that mile than you will ever see. Money is the blood of this
city. The rest of it, the flesh and bones where everyone else
lives: that sprawls inland, that’s the stuff you know. But here is
its heart. Ships and money, lad.’
Berren gawped and
nodded as if all that made any sense. The thief-taker tugged him
sharply away and headed inland again. Down Lime Street and then
along Stonecutter’s Way, leaving Berren to wonder what he should
make of all this. They crossed Four Winds Square again and walked
into the Courts District, but before they’d gone a dozen yards the
other side, the thief-taker turned sharply to his left, almost
pulling Berren’s arm out of its socket. They plunged into the
shadows of a narrow street where the darkness was so thick that
Berren might as well have been blind. Then down an alley and into a
yard. The thief-taker stopped, fumbling at the wall with his
fingers. He reached under his coat and pulled out a key. He gave it
to Berren.
‘Open the lock,’ he
said, propelling Berren to a tiny iron door set into one wall of
the yard and barely visible in the gloom. Berren did as he was
told. He offered the key back and it disappeared under the
thief-taker’s coat.
‘In you go, boy.’ The
thief-taker almost threw Berren inside and then quickly followed.
He lit a lantern and sat down. Berren looked around. He wasn’t sure
what he’d expected, but certainly not this. The house – what he
could see of it – was tiny, even smaller than master Hatchet’s. The
furniture was old and battered. There was nothing here worth more
than a few copper bits, except what the thief-taker carried. For a
moment, Berren was more bewildered than scared.
‘Did you think I was
rich, boy?’
Berren said nothing.
He nodded.
‘You saw the
Secretary to the Courts give me a purse and say that it was filled
with gold. It’s true; I was well rewarded for hunting down those
men and bringing them back. I was well rewarded for others before
them and will be rewarded again. But I rarely receive much gold. My
rewards are what you see here. This house, in this yard. Other
things like that. Goods and services and favours.’ He laughed. ‘I
suppose you would have much preferred the shiny golden
emperors.’
Berren
nodded.
‘And what use is
gold, lad? Not good for much except what you can buy with it, and
favours are much less easily stolen than gold. How much money does
it cost to stay at an inn for a night? A few pennies, perhaps, but
my tastes run a little finer than some sailors’ flophouse. Ten
emperors must sound like a ransom for a king, but how long, do you
suppose, could you live on so much gold?’ The thief-taker shook his
head. ‘Why am I asking you? To you, it probably seems like enough
to last forever. I promise you, boy, that gold would barely last
someone like me a year. So I take things like this house
instead.’
Berren frowned,
though he still didn’t dare speak. ‘You saw the purse, is that what
you’re thinking? But you never saw what was in it. Not until too
late, at least.’ He laughed again. All of a sudden he was talking
easily, as though they were friends. Sometimes, when Hatchet sent
Berren to collect a debt or to deliver a warning, men would speak
to him like this. Usually he took it as a sign that they were
terrified of Hatchet. Usually they were sweating. With this man he
didn’t know what to think.
The thief-taker
seemed to read his thoughts. His demeanour changed again, grew hard
and distant. He looked at Berren for a long time before he spoke
again.
‘I came to this city
years ago, looking for something. I had almost nothing. I took what
work I could get, for what money I was offered. As you’ve seen, I
have a sword, and I know how to use it. Finding honest work was
hard. Finding dishonest work was easy. I’ve known plenty of men
like your Master Hatchet. I’ve killed for them. I know what they’re
like.’ He grinned, showing his teeth. ‘Then I learned more about
how this city works. I betrayed the men I worked for, betrayed them
for a few crowns. Ever since, I’ve hunted thieves for the money put
on their heads. The rewards can be pleasant enough, as you’ve
seen.’ He shook his head. ‘Certainly better than picking pockets
and lurking in alleys. That way leads you to the mines, boy. There
or to your ancestors.’
Berren listened,
feigning interest. When he’d been hauled away from Hatchet he’d
assumed it was for one of the usual punishments – a beating, to be
shackled in public and have abuse, rotten fish and the occasional
stone thrown at him. He didn’t much fear those. Worse was the
prospect of being sold to one of the work-yards. Boys caught
thieving were often sent to the yards and they were said to be
dreadful places. But if the man was going to send him to the yards,
why all this?
‘Sir?’
The thief-taker
looked at him in surprise. ‘You have a question?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m very
sorry I stole your purse, sir. I promise it’ll never happen again.’
It was a practised speech, one that Hatchet had taught them all.
He’d used it a few times, too. Usually there was more, about how he
was an orphan caring for his little sisters and trying to keep them
from starving. That sort of thing. Usually it didn’t work, but the
times it did were enough to make it worth a try.
The thief-taker spat.
‘I’d be a piss-poor thief-taker if I fell for that. Try again, lad.
A bit harder this time.’
‘Sir, what do you
mean to do with me?’
The man gave him
another long look. ‘Better. What’s your name, boy?’
‘Berren,
sir.’
‘Well then, Berren, I
mean to keep you, that’s what I mean to do with you. Until you have
worked off your debt to me. I have need of someone to keep my
possessions, such as they are, in order. Someone to run errands and
buy goods. Someone to keep an eye on what ships are in the
sea-docks. A boot-cleaner, knife-sharpener, water-carrier and
flag-watcher.’
To Berren this
sounded a lot like being a slave. In fact it sounded a lot like
being with Master Hatchet except with a much better prospect of an
easy and early escape, possibly with some of the thief-taker’s
goods or money. So he said nothing.
‘Rich men have
house-boys who are slaves, is that what you’re thinking?’ His new
master bared his teeth with disdain. ‘They’re for decoration, and
that’s certainly not what I have in mind for you! No, you’ll work,
boy, and work hard. You stole from me. For that you must absolve
yourself.’
Again Berren kept his
silence. A few days. Then the man would let his guard down and
Berren would be away.
The thief-taker
stared through him. ‘I’m thinking I might take an apprentice,’ he
said slowly. ‘Someone to learn what I know.’
Berren blinked. He
suddenly saw the fight in the alley again, as clear and vivid as if
he was right back there, drenched in the rain. He saw the
thief-taker with his sword, powerful and deadly, cutting down his
assailants. ‘Does that mean you’d teach me swords?’ he
blurted.
‘If I were to decide
you were worth taking on as an apprentice?’ The thief-taker
grimaced. ‘Yes, lad. In time and if you proved yourself then I
suppose I’d teach you the beginnings of how to use a
sword.’
In his head, Berren
still thought he’d run away after a few days. But something warm
and bright was building inside his stomach. ‘Sir? May I ask
something? You said a thief once stole something precious from you.
What happened to him?’
The man’s laugher
died and a bitterness entered his voice. ‘Nothing, lad. Absolutely
nothing at all.’