15
SANCTUARY
In the backstreets of the Craftsmen’s Quarter, he
managed to get himself lost. The wound in his arm burned. When it
stopped bleeding, he put his shirt back on to try and hide it, but
it kept breaking open again; soon the upper part of his sleeve was
stained red and stuck to his arm. People stared at him in the
streets and veered away. Looking like he did, he had to be careful
to avoid any of the local militia gangs, which meant keeping away
from the main streets and that took even more time. When he reached
Weaver’s Row and Moon Street the sun was high and the bells from
the solar temples were already calling people in to midday prayer.
Half the day gone already. And then, somehow, he managed to walk
right past the moon-temple doors without seeing them, despite them
being as big as a house.
When he found them
the second time around he pushed the little side-door open and
flopped down onto the floor inside. The door closed slowly, pushing
back the light and the heat and the sound from outside. In the dim
cool quiet, Berren took a deep breath and sighed. His head lolled.
Suddenly the only thing he wanted was to go to sleep.
‘Hey! Boy! What do
you think you’re doing here?’
Out of the gloom and
the shadows, someone in pale robes was coming towards him. Much too
briskly to be Garrent. Berren tried to focus. His eyes
wandered.
‘Hey! Get up, boy!’
The priest had a long silver staff. He stopped, standing over
Berren and rapped the end of the staff sharply on the ground. ‘Get
up I said!’
Berren looked
blearily up at the priest’s face. ‘I’m looking . . . for Teacher
Garrent.’ Now that he was here, he couldn’t think of a single good
reason why he’d come. If he found Garrent, what would the old man
do? Send him straight back to the thief-taker, that’s what. He
struggled to get back to his feet. ‘It doesn’t
matter.’
‘Teacher Garrent is
asleep, so you have me to deal with instead. What is it that you
want? Oh.’ The priest peered at Berren’s arm. ‘You’re
hurt.’
‘Yes.’ Berren shook
himself away. ‘Someone . . . cut me.’ He shivered. Jerrin had tried
to kill him. It was a terrible truth to face.
‘They didn’t try very
hard. I don’t suppose you have any money, boy? Anything of any
value at all?’
Berren shook his
head. ‘Why, sir? Do I need to pay to rest here?’ He didn’t have the
energy to argue or get angry. His arm was hurting quite badly now.
All he wanted was to close his eyes and drift away. ‘It’s all
right, I’m going now. Thank you, sir.’ Thank
you? Thank you for what?
‘When one comes for
healing, it is customary to make an offering of some
sort.’
‘I don’t want
healing, sir. I just wanted a place to sit for a while.’ Berren
almost tripped over his own feet as he headed for the
door.
‘Teacher, boy. I’m a
priest. That means I’m a teacher, not a sir. What’s your
name?’
‘Berren, sir. Uh . .
. teacher.’ His eyes kept on closing all by themselves. This was no
good. He shook his head, hard, trying to wake himself up. He’d been
fine until he’d gone into the temple. The sooner he was back out
again the better. He opened the door. And screwed up his face as
the brilliance of the daylight outside crashed into him and almost
bowled him over.
‘Berren?’ The priest
took a step back and chuckled. ‘Berren the thief-taker’s boy?’ He
looked at Berren. Berren peered back, eyes squeezed almost shut
against the light, mouth half open. ‘If you are, then you have some
explaining to do to your master. He came in here last night. He
thought you might come by looking for a place to sleep. Looks like
you found yourself somewhere less savoury.’ The priest smiled.
‘Come on boy, I’ll see you home. A couple of days’ rest and you’ll
be fine, although I can’t promise that’ll be true after your
master’s finished with you. Still, he’s not really one for
beatings, your master. Is he?’ The priest came towards him, one arm
reaching out, the other still holding his staff. Berren froze for a
second, petrified. Then he turned and bolted out into the street.
He ran straight into a clutch of old women, each with a basket full
of sheets balanced on their head. Baskets scatted across the
street. The women howled curses as Berren bounced off them and
away. He dodged between the shouting buyers and sellers who packed
out Weaver’s Row, and a few seconds later the women and the priest
were all out of sight. At least here in the bustle, no one had time
to pay him much attention. They might watch him pass and hold tight
to their purses, but everyone here had better things to do than
call down the street militia . . . Gods, he was so
tired.
‘Berren?’ He jumped,
ready to run again, then stopped and spun around. The voice was . .
.
‘Lilissa!’ He grinned
a feeble grin and then, as an afterthought, bowed. The way a
gentleman should bow to a lady. She didn’t smile or curtsey back,
though. Instead, her hands jumped to her mouth and she
gasped.
‘Look at you. You’re
bleeding! And look at your face!’
His cheek didn’t hurt
as much as his arm, but he had to admit that it did hurt. ‘It’s just . . .’ He was feeling woozy
again. ‘It’s just a little thing.’
‘Oh! Look at you!
You’re about to fall over. Come on! Let’s get you home.’ She took
hold of his wrist. He pulled away, shaking his head.
‘Not back to Master
Sy. I don’t want to go back to Master Sy.’
‘Why not?’ She
reached out for him again, and again he stepped back.
‘I don’t,’ he
snapped. ‘I just don’t. All right?’
She let her hand fall
back to her side and looked him up and down. ‘All right. I’ll take
you to my home then. You can’t wander about like this. If any of
the city guardsmen find you, they’ll think you’re one of Khrozus’
boys and send you off to sea or even worse, to the
mines.’
He almost blurted out
that he was one of Khrozus’ boys, but
something stopped him. Maybe he was just too tired to speak. He let
her take his hand, which was unexpectedly warm and nice and made
him feel safe. She led him past the yard where the thief-taker
lived, down another narrow alley that smelled strongly of dogs and
to a tiny door. As she opened it, she brushed against him. A shiver
ran down his spine. She smelled of the usual city smells, of fish
and sweat, but of something else too. Flowers. She led him inside.
The whole house smelled of them.
‘Lavender,’ she said,
smiling at him. Sheets of cloth hung everywhere, each one a
different colour. They glistened, still damp; on the floor sat half
a dozen buckets filled with dark water. Lilissa caught his eye.
‘We’ve been dyeing today. That’s why I was in Weaver’s Row, to buy
some more sheets.’
‘You dye sheets?’ He
caught his arm on a peg set into the wall. Gasped and staggered,
and then Lilissa had her arms around him, holding him up, stopping
him from falling. He took a deep breath and sighed. She felt
good.
‘I’m making banners
for the wedding festival.’ She let him lean on her as she led him
through the front room of the house and into a second tiny room at
the back. There was one blanket on the floor, a few more rolled up
in a corner and space for nothing else. Berren slumped down. He lay
back until his head was resting on the floor. He doubted he could
have gotten to his feet again even if his life depended on
it.
‘I’d forgotten about
that.’
Lilissa laughed. She
sat on the floor beside him. ‘How can you have forgotten about
that? I thought people talked about
nothing else!’
‘Master Sy didn’t
like to . . .’ He choked on the words. ‘Don’t tell him I’m here,
will you?’ He turned, managed to focus his eyes on her face. It was
a very lovely face, he thought, when you stopped to look at it. Not
really beautiful, not like Club-Head’s women, but nice. Friendly.
Would have been pretty if it wasn’t for the freckles, but still . .
.
She smiled again and
looked away for a moment. ‘You’re so lucky,’ she said.
‘Am I?’
‘To have a master
like Master Syannis.’
Berren shrugged. ‘I
don’t feel lucky.’ He tried to grin. ‘What I feel is a lot of pain,
and I reckon I’m tired enough to sleep through a whole solstice
celebration.’
She laughed. For a
moment, her fingers brushed his hand. ‘Master Syannis is probably
the most honest, most honourable man in this whole city. Probably
the whole empire. He’s like a prince.’ She squeezed down beside him
and whispered in his ear, so close that her lips almost brushed his
skin and he felt the wet warmth of her breath. ‘I heard once that
he really is a prince, run out of his
home by wicked sorcerers.’
‘He’s not a prince.’
Lying beside him, Lilissa had somehow paralysed him. He’d forgotten
about how tired he was; instead, he had a strong urge to turn
towards her and kiss her. Except he couldn’t move, not even a
muscle. Isn’t that what Garrent called him
too? The thief-taker prince?
‘Maybe not, but he’s
a good man. He looked after my ma and now he looks after me. He
never asked for anything and he’s never lifted a hand against an
honest man.’ She smiled. ‘He’s teaching me to be a
lady.’
His cheeks were
burning. She was so close. He grunted.
‘There’s other
thief-takers in the city,’ Lilissa murmured. ‘Plenty of them, but
you and Master Syannis are different. The rest aren’t much
different from the thieves they take, but Master Syannis, it makes
no difference to him whether his thieves are street urchins or
princes, whether they steal a loaf of bread or a kingdom. To him, a
thief is just a thief. You’re so lucky that he’s your
master.’
Berren’s eyes closed.
He felt Lilissa shift beside him, felt her hair brush across his
face and then a warm touch of skin on his cheek. And then he was
asleep.