9
PIRATES
‘Pirates.’ Master Sy glared.
The bald man clucked
his tongue. ‘Pirates, young Berren.’ He cocked his head at the
thief-taker. ‘Well, Syannis? Is there something you should be
telling the boy?’ When Master Sy didn’t answer, the bald man smiled
thinly. ‘Well, if you won’t then I will. Once upon a time, the folk
from the fishing villages a little further up the coast used to row
down at night whenever the moon was full. They’d come around the
Wrecking Point and into the harbour and they’d try to climb up the
mooring ropes onto the ships anchored there. Now, the people on the
ships weren’t stupid, mind; they used to set guards on watch to
stop that sort of thing. Most nights the folk in the little boats
came away bloodied and empty-handed, if they came away at all. It
was a trip for the desperate and the starving.’
‘People like your
Master Hatchet might send boys like you,’ muttered the
thief-taker.
‘But every now and
then they’d manage to take a whole ship. Then they’d gut it. They
used to throw the crew overboard and then steal everything they
could carry. First we’d know about it was when the bodies started
to wash up in the harbour. It used to be a real problem back in
my thief-taking days, but that was
before your time. The merchant-lords, when they came back after the
civil war, took the opportunity to hire a company of sell-swords.
While no one was paying any attention, they put an end to any
piracy from the fishermen once and for all. Never mind what they
did or how, but you can be sure it wasn’t pretty.’ The Justicar
barked out a laugh. ‘After Marshall Kyra crucified Talsin’s son on
Pelean’s Gate during the siege, a lot of things weren’t pretty in
these parts. Anyway, there’s been little to speak of since I’ve
been Justicar here, and that’s how I like it. At least until now.
Now it seems that they have taken up their old ways
again.’
Master Sy was shaking
his head. ‘It’s not fishermen.’ He took what looked like a short
wooden knife and drew it across the top of his tankard,
decapitating the foam growing out of the top. He flicked the head
onto the floor and did the same for Berren. ‘Try it. Go easy
though. This isn’t like the beer you know from
Shipwrights.’
Berren picked up his
drink and sipped. Then his eyebrows furrowed in amazement and he
took a long slow swig. ‘Wow!’ It was like drinking bitter honey.
Master Sy was right, it wasn’t like the weak watery beer in the
taverns around Loom Street. Nothing was like the beer in the
taverns around Loom Street. That tasted
like the dirty water that used to drip out of the bottom of
Berren’s dung-cart when it was raining.
Justicar Kol drummed
his fingers impatiently. ‘Well someone’s coming round the Point. Who else would it
be?’
‘That’s where you’re
wrong. I don’t think anyone is coming
round Wrecking Point. And that means it could be anyone. My gut
tells me Siltside.’
‘Oh, well, yes all
right, that is who else it would be.
Just a little awkward matter of how they’re getting right across
from one side of the city to the other without anyone happening to
notice.’ Justicar Kol screwed up his face. ‘Mudlarks. Has he told
you about the mudlarks, young Berren?’
Berren nodded
vigorously. He took another gulp of beer and swilled it around in
his mouth. He couldn’t remember ever tasting anything as good as
this. And it was going straight to his head, too. He could already
feel a warm buzzing behind his eyes.
‘Nasty folk. Thieves,
the lot of them. If it was down to me I’d sail across the river
with a boatload of militia gangs and be rid of them. Gods! The
Overlord would be happy to pay for someone to do it, too, and if
not him then the merchant houses would. What do you think, young
man? Should we sail across and put an end to them?’
Berren thought fast.
Yes was the answer the bald man was
waiting for. But the bald man had the look of someone who liked
laying traps. So he asked: ‘Why don’t you?’ instead.
Justicar Kol threw
him a wry smile. ‘There’s those iron balls again,’ he purred. ‘You
might have made a good choice here, Syannis. If he doesn’t stab you
in the back when he’s done with you.’ The Justicar chuckled at
himself, then looked Berren in the eye. ‘Because, believe it or
not, I’m not allowed to, young man. They’re not in my jurisdiction.
The river marks a border. The city itself lies under Imperial
administration, and that means me. Over there?’ He stuck out his
bottom lip and shrugged. ‘Strictly, if they pay any taxes at all,
then it’s to the Borolans in Tarantor. One of Aria’s great noble
houses. One with a rather strained relationship with the throne in
Varr, too. I’m afraid Lord Mellith is far more concerned about who
his errant cousin chooses for his friends than he is with us and
our trivial little pirate problems. So they endure.’
‘But couldn’t you
just . . .’ Berren stopped himself. He knew he shouldn’t be asking
questions of someone like the Justicar, but the beer was making him
bold.
‘Couldn’t we just
what? Sail over there and burn the place down?’
Berren looked
sheepish. That was pretty much what he’d been thinking, but when
the Justicar said it out loud, it didn’t sound half as clever as it
had seemed. Kol looked Berren over and sniffed. ‘You’re one of
Khrozus’ boys, aren’t you? One of the thousands of bastards that
Khrozus’ army gifted us before they left. You can probably thank
the mudlarks you were born, boy.’ He sniffed. ‘Yes, we had a go at
the mudlarks once. There are a lot of people in this city who
remember that. They remember the civil war that came a year later
as well, and they can’t shake an uneasy suspicion that the two were
somehow related. The city nearly died in the siege. I was here and
it was hell. We ate the dead, boy. And when we didn’t have any of
them left, we started on the sick. You don’t see it on the surface
now, but underneath it’s there. People remember. Those big weevils
you can buy down by the docks, roasted and spiced? They call that a
delicacy now, but no one ever used to eat weevils. Not until they
had to. So the mudlarks stay. Sheltering under a confusion of
authority and bureaucracy and a reluctance to do anything. Some
people even think of them as the city’s lucky charm. It’s true that
now and then a few of them will try to sneak in among the boats and
barges at the river docks to steal whatever they can find, but so
what? Keep me out of it. Keep all of us out of it.’ He raised his
tankard. ‘A toast! To the mudlarks!’ He took a deep draft. Berren
raised his tankard too. The sudden movement made him sway sideways,
so much so that he almost fell off his stool.
‘Good, eh?’ The bald
man lunged and pulled Berren towards him. He hissed in Berren’s
ear. ‘Your master is looking for thieves and pirates. There are
plenty of them over there across the river. Make it stop and
there’s gold in it for both of you.’
A hand shot across
the table and grabbed the Justicar’s arm. He let go.
‘Been here a while
have you, Kol?’ Master Sy withdrew his hand and sipped his beer.
The Justicar’s face twisted into a thin and mirthless
grin.
‘You’d be just right,
Syannis. I’ve got a bag of gold for you. Go and find yourself a
company of sell-swords and help yourself. You can be a king at
last. King of Siltside.’ He chuckled mirthlessly to himself. Berren
flinched. He didn’t quite understand, but the cold fury around
Master Sy was strong enough to freeze the whole room.
‘Mercenaries are more
my little brother’s line,’ said the thief-taker crisply. ‘I’ll
write and see if he’s interested, but I rather doubt you could
afford him.’
The bald man smirked.
‘Maybe I should write to him myself. One crappy little kingdom is
as good as another, right? Or perhaps he’d like to be a thief-taker
too. I’ve always got room for more. So. My pirates. When are you
going to get rid of them?’
‘Someone in the
harbour-master’s office is up to his neck in it.’
The Justicar’s face
changed again. He looked hungry now. The sort of face a leopard
might make as it circled its prey. Berren slouched back on his
stool, sipped at his beer, which was still delicious, and listened.
His head was humming nicely now. This was probably the best place
he’d ever been. Certainly the best he’d been to with Master
Sy.
‘Can you prove
that?’
The thief-taker shook
his head angrily. ‘Not yet. But I will.’
‘You do it soon,
Syannis. I have the guild on my back. They’ll take matters into
their own hands if things get much worse.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And
you’re not the only thief-taker who’s after my gold. Who knows?
Maybe one of the others will get there first.’
Master Sy shrugged,
unconcerned. ‘I’ll tell you what I know and you can share it with
whoever you like. I’ve spent nights out on Pirates’ Point and they
don’t come around into Fisherman’s Bay. I’m certain they row out
from the inside of Wrecking Point but I’ve searched and I can’t
find their boats. So far the goods they steal haven’t found their
way back into the city. I’m guessing they go south, out through
Siltside, but I don’t know that for sure and I don’t know how they
get there.’
Justicar Kol wrinkled
his nose. ‘And what’s this about the harbour-masters?’
Master Sy snorted.
‘Hiding boats somewhere in Deephaven Bay? Someone in the docks
knows who and where.’
Berren’s head was
starting to feel thick and fuzzy on the inside. He grinned. ‘Master
Hatchet. He knows lots. Lots and lots.’
The two men stopped
talking and looked at him. ‘He thinks he does,’ said Master
Sy.
‘I think you’d better
get your apprentice home. First time for proper beer, young Master
Berren?’ Berren leered back. Amazing to think that he’d found
Justicar Kol so frightening at first, when he was just a small old
man with creases in his face and no hair on his head.
‘It’s the best!’
Berren smiled. He looked in his tankard and was surprised to find
it was empty. He stood up, swayed. For some reason, it seemed like
a good idea to bow to someone important like bald Justicar Kol. And
he knew how. He was really good at bowing now. Really, really
good.
He bowed, stumbled,
banged his head on the edge of the table and sprawled across the
floor. For a minute or so he lay there, too apathetic to move. Then
he giggled. There was a puddle on the floor and beer was dripping
from somewhere.
‘Nice, Syannis,’ said
a faraway voice. ‘I’ve met him now. Don’t bring the boy back here
again.’
Arms reached under
his shoulders and hauled him up into the sky. He was in a room full
of lots of people and they were slowly spinning around him. He
closed his eyes, but the spinning didn’t seem to want to stop. He
was starting to feel a bit sick.
‘Boy, you’re going to
hate the world this evening.’
‘Are we going to
fight pirates now?’ he slurred. His tongue was suddenly too big for
his mouth and none of his words came out properly.
‘No, boy. You’re
going to bed. You’re going to be sick and then you’re going to
clean it up. And then in the morning, we’re going to start you on
learning your letters. When you’ve done that, you can fight as many
pirates as you like.’