23
CROSSING OVER
Like the harbour on the other side of the city, the
river docks were always busy. Berren slunk across them in twilight,
feeling his way uneasily along the floating jetties, sticking out
like a sore thumb amidst all the boat-boys who ran nimbly back and
forth as though they’d been born there. Not that that mattered as
long as Master Sy stayed in his house. After a couple of hours’
searching he found what he was looking for. Three boats towards the
south end of the docks, where the Overlord’s barges were kept. He
bought a bag of spiced roasted grasshoppers with some of the
pennies he’d stolen on the way to Bedlam’s Crossing, and then
wandered over to the soldiers who stood guard at the Overlord’s
docks. They eyed him with suspicion.
‘I’m Master Syannis’
apprentice,’ he told them and offered up the bag. ‘Are you on the
run to Siltside tomorrow? ’ They weren’t, but by the time his bag
was empty, he knew which boats would be used. Half an hour later he
was in the front one, curled up in the bows under a tarpaulin, with
coils of rope piled up around him. The night air was warm and
moist, typical for a Deephaven summer. Later in the night, as he
dozed, the night-rain came, a light fine mist at first, then fat
heavy drops. It drummed against the tarpaulin, trying to get in.
Berren wrapped his arms around his head and ignored it. At least
the tarpaulin didn’t leak. Not like Master Hatchet’s roof. Then the
next thing he knew the rain had gone, it was dawn, there were
voices grumbling and the boat was tossing and rolling as men
clambered aboard. Peeping out from under his cover, Berren saw at
least a dozen men. They had burning torches and ringmail coats and
were loading the boat with heavy crossbows, boasting about how many
mudlarks they were going to kill. A part of him couldn’t believe it
had been so easy. Another part wished it hadn’t, but it was too
late for turning back.
‘There will be no
killing unless we have to,’ said a sharp voice. Instinctively,
Berren ducked down, not even peeping any more but letting his ears
do the work. Master Sy was on the same boat! ‘And put those torches
out. It’ll be light enough where we’re going.’
‘They’re not for
light, thief-taker. They’re for burning mudlarks.’
‘No
killing!’
There was some more
grumbling and muttering about how the mudlarks most likely wouldn’t
let there be much choice in the matter. Then the motion of the boat
changed as they started to row out into the river
current.
‘How am I supposed to
keep a look out when the bloody sun’s coming up right in my eyes,’
growled a voice just a few feet from where Berren was hiding.
‘Can’t see a cursed thing.’
The reply came from
Master Sy. ‘Your Justicar chose the time, not me. They’ll see us
coming and they’ll be forewarned. We’ll not be taking them by
surprise.’
‘Aye, should have
come at dusk with the sun behind us for that.’
‘The hours they wake
and sleep are driven by the tides. They come out when the tide is
low to forage for food. The tide is high now. The time is good
enough.’
‘Better be,’ grumbled
someone else. ‘Otherwise we’ll be wading across half a mile of
shitty mud.’
‘Wading? You’ll be
sinking with all that ringmail on.’ After that the boat was quiet
for a while, silent except for the creaking of the oars and the
splash as they dipped into the water. High overhead, seagulls
called up the dawn to wake the river.
‘Shit!’
‘Khrozus’ Blood!’ The
boat rocked violently.
‘Shields!’
‘What was that? Was
that an arrow?’
‘I said shields!’ The
boat rocked again. Somebody roared with rage.
‘Holy Kelm! That
nearly took my head off!’
‘Arrows! Arrows!
Raise your shields!’ The cry echoed between the boats. Berren
shifted, trying to peer out from under his tarpaulin to see what
was happening. Except as he lifted up the oiled canvas to peep
outside, someone was staring right back at him.
‘Gotcha.’ Hands
grabbed hold of him and pulled him out and then forced him down. In
a blink there was a knife at his throat and several angry faces
glaring down at him. Justicar Kol’s soldiers, when you came to see
them up close, were an ugly lot.
‘Who the flying
beggar’s luck are you?’
‘Shields, you witless
rats!’ shouted someone further back.
‘I’m with Master
Syannis,’ Berren squeaked. ‘I’m his apprentice.’ Most of the
soldiers were at the oars, eight of them, four on each side. The
others, the ones that held Berren, were haphazardly waving shields
in the air. Even as Berren looked up, he saw an arrow streak over
the top of the boat, missing them by a few strides.
‘Keep rowing, you
dolts! And keep your shields up.’
‘Let him go!’ shouted
Master Sy. ‘He’s mine. He shouldn’t be here but he is.’ The look he
gave Berren was one of sheer fury. ‘Boy, if you get stabbed out
here today, it’ll be bliss next to what’s waiting for you when we
get back to Deephaven.’ His eyes flicked back to the horizon. ‘Now
row! Row with all your strength! The quicker you get there the less
time they’ll have shooting arrows at us. Hold your shields up and
hold them together and hold your nerve. There’s only a few of
them.’ The thief-taker picked up a crossbow and cranked it back.
‘Make yourself useful, boy. Load another one for me.’ He stood up
and fired, then ducked back behind the shields. ‘Swing a touch to
the port, lads. Another hundred yards is all.’
‘Aye, and then the
fun really starts,’ growled an oarsman. Berren peeked around the
shields. The boat was coming up quickly on a scattering of wooden
huts, rising from the water on stilts. Wooden gangways ran around
each of the huts and a maze of bridges, some of them made of wood,
some of them nothing more than a pair of ropes strung between two
posts, linked them together. The huts seemed to go on forever.
There must have been hundreds of them. At least on the nearest
ones, no one was shooting at them, although he could see a few men
gathered there, waving clubs and some sort of harpoon.
‘When we get off, we
have to be quick, lads,’ snapped Master Sy. ‘Lightning fast. Else
they’ll cut the bridges and then it’s back to making our way about
on the water, except they’ll be shooting at us from the sides as
well as the front. The Bloody Dag’s not far from here if he’s at
home, and he’s not the sort to run. And I want him alive, lads, and
so does the Justicar. You hear me? Alive and squealing. Doesn’t
bother me if he’s got one or two bits missing, as long as his
tongue can still cluck.’ A hand grabbed Berren’s head and yanked
him back into the middle of the boat. ‘Crossbow, boy!’
Berren handed the
thief-taker another crossbow and took the one he’d fired. He looked
at it, helpless. The handle Master Sy had used to cock it had
fallen out somewhere and he had no idea what he was even looking
for.
‘Here.’ Berren
assumed it was the crank, but Master Sy was pressing a dagger into
his hand. ‘Tell me you at least had the sense to wear the mail I
gave you.’
Berren looked
sheepishly at the bottom of the boat. The truth was that the mail
shirt chafed and was uncomfortable, and after the Barrow of Beer
he’d only ever put it on once and then taken it off again. It was
on the floor of his room, back in Deephaven.
Master Sy rolled his
eyes. ‘Well it won’t protect you from an arrow anyway.’ He stood up
and then quickly sat down again. ‘Twenty yards, lads. Keep those
shields up!’ He cocked a crossbow himself. ‘Hold this,’ he said,
and then started working on another. ‘Once we’re ashore, keep out
of the way. If any trouble comes after you, run. If you can’t run,
stick your knife in them. Stick it in good and hard. And listen,
lad, listen good. You get into a fight, the most important things
are your eyes and your feet. In a fight, people tend to look away
at the last second. Don’t. When someone takes a swing at you, don’t
take your eyes off them. When you stick a knife in them, you watch
it all the way. Got that?’
Berren nodded. At the
front of the boat, one of the men staggered and swore as an arrow
hit his shield.
‘Five yards,’ shouted
the thief-taker. ‘Ship your oars, lads! Grab your swords! Grapples
ready!’ There was a scream and a string of shouts from the boat
behind. An arrow had found its mark at last. ‘Two yards! Grapples!’
Two of the soldiers heaved coils of rope and grappling hooks over
the wall of shields and began to pull. ‘Brace!’
A heavy jolt knocked
Berren off his feet as the boat ran into the walkway around the
nearest hut. The soldiers staggered, but the thief-taker was
already running. ‘On, lads! On!’