26
NO
REST FOR THE WICKED
Berren barely remembered the return to Deephaven.
Master Sy found another boat from somewhere, a tiny little rowing
boat barely big enough for the three of them. Justicar Kol’s men,
it seemed, would be fending for themselves. As far as Berren could
see, that wasn’t going to be a problem for them.
At some point the
Bloody Dag woke up. He screamed and screamed at Master Sy, making
threats that Berren could hardly understand. And then later, when
the threats didn’t work, then came the pleading, the begging, the
whining. Nothing made any difference to the thief-taker. Nor much
to Berren, who lay curled up in a ball with his eyes tightly shut,
moaning and whimpering at the pain in his head. At some point they
must have arrived at the docks. There were bumps and jolts and
screaming while someone seemed to drive nails into his skull. Then
a big black hole of noise swallowed him up. For some reason, his
dreams were of the same thing, over and over again. The moon-temple
hall, with its column of stone in black and silver and its broken
altar to a broken god . . .
The next thing he
knew, he was lying on the floor, staring at a roof that he knew
like his own hands. His roof, over his
floor, in his room, in the thief-taker’s house. Lying still, flat
on his back, staring into space. From downstairs, he could hear
voices.
He shifted and
groaned. The voices stopped. He heard feet running up the stairs
and then Master Sy was looking down at him, with Teacher Garrent
beside him. Garrent crouched beside him.
‘How do you
feel?’
Behind the priest,
Master Sy only looked impatient. There were still noises from
downstairs, too. Someone else. Tentatively, he touched his fingers
to his scalp. There was a bruise there all right, a tender lump, a
scab but no blood. No open wound. Mostly what he felt was . . .
hungry.
‘The worst is gone,
Berren,’ said Garrent gently. ‘There’s a young fellow from the City
of Spires. Tigraleff. Been learning our ways and he has a good
touch for healing. I managed to get him to have a look at
you.’
‘You’ve been asleep
for three days,’ grumbled the thief-taker. ‘If you’re well again,
we’ve got work to do.’
‘Syannis!’
‘What?’
They both stopped and
looked guiltily at Berren. ‘You rest, young master Berren,’ soothed
the priest.
Master Sy nodded
sharply. ‘Don’t rest for too long. I’m going to the docks tonight.
You can stay here and roll about in your nice warm blankets for
another day or so or you can come and be about some thief-taking
again.’ He leaned closer. ‘Lilissa will be there too.’
‘Syannis!’
The thief-taker
shrugged. He let himself be dragged outside, but closing the flimsy
door behind them didn’t make either of them less noisy as they
argued. Berren couldn’t make out all the words, but he could make
out some: Something about him and the Justicar and mudlarks and the
Bloody Dag and the docks. Something about Lilissa; then something
about letters and teaching Berren to read and write and how Teacher
Garrent didn’t want to do it until Berren was ready and how the
thief-taker didn’t give two hoots what Teacher Garrent thought,
actually, and in fact he’d already paid the solar monastery down in
the Armourers’ Quarter by Deephaven Fort to take him in for as long
as it took. The voices faded as the thief-taker and the priest
creaked away down the stairs, until Berren heard them again,
through the window now, out in the yard, making their farewells. He
shuddered. Letters? Again? The horror!
He lay still for a
while. On the other hand, he was
hungry. Really hungry. The sort of
hungry he only remembered from the worst days with Master Hatchet.
He sat up, checked his head to make sure that the bit with Master
Sy and the teacher hadn’t been a dream. His head was still there,
still in one piece, still hurt like being stabbed when he poked at
the lump, but still not bleeding. A healer from the City of Spires?
For him?
His arm hurt too.
When he took off his shirt to look, he had an enormous bruise. He
stared at it and a grin spread across his face. He’d saved Master
Sy. He hadn’t just helped him, he’d saved Master Sy from the mudlark with the club
who’d been sneaking up on him, and now Master Sy owed him and owed
him big. And owing him big could only mean one thing.
Swords!
Voices from
downstairs reminded him that, on top of everything else, Lilissa
was there. His stomach rumbled. He pulled his shirt back on and
slipped out of bed and over to the door. The faint scent of incense
mingled with the usual smells of old leather and stale sweat and
the ubiquitous city smell, but there was something else. A trace of
perfume. He smiled to himself as opened the door. Lilissa. She’d
been in his room, and not long before he’d awoken. Quietly, he
opened his door and made his way cautiously down the stairs. His
legs felt distinctly wobbly from too much sleep, but otherwise he
felt absurdly well . . .
He froze. His jaw
dropped. There was Master Sy, dressed like a prince. He was in the
middle of putting on a fine tunic embroidered all over with tiny
gold figures. He already had on big puffy white trousers and a pair
of night-black boots that reached his knees, instead of his
ordinary loose shirt, grubby trousers and leather overcoat. Sitting
with him was the most beautiful woman Berren had ever seen, a real
lady, all dressed up like a princess.
Lilissa. It took
Berren a moment to recognise her.
‘Kelm’s Teeth, lad,
you took your time. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to
come.’
Berren hardly heard;
he was too busy staring at Lilissa. Lilissa the betrayer. Lilissa
who had a friend who was a fishmonger’s son. Lilissa the . . .
Lilissa the . . . He finally tore his eyes away and his heart
jumped. Lilissa the unbearably beautiful. He took a deep breath and
clenched his fists and carefully didn’t say a word while he gave
her the best bow he knew how to give. There. Treat her like a lady,
just like Master Sy had said, and never mind what he was really
thinking.
Lilissa returned the
faintest of nods and then ignored him.
‘Don’t stare, lad,’
said Master Sy mildly. Even his voice was different, as though he’d
dressed that up in princely clothes as well. ‘Since you’re up, you
can come with us. Suppose you’ve earned that much. You’d better get
on and get dressed, though. Best clothes, lad. Chop chop. Time
presses.’
Gratefully, Berren
ran back up the stairs. He tried his hardest not to look back down
at Lilissa, but he simply couldn’t help himself. From above,
looking down, you could see . . . You could see more, that was the best way to put it. He shivered
and quickly shut himself in his room. Lilissa the betrayer, he
reminded himself as he dressed for the second time in as many
hours. Lilissa who’d given him shelter and then promptly led Master
Sy right to where he was hiding. Lilissa who had a friend who was a
fishmonger’s son. Lilissa who could have been sitting on the
dockside with him a few nights ago, ogling the sunset while he
whispered sweet nothings in her ear. Lilissa, who made Siltside and
the Bloody Dag and nearly being killed by a swinging lump of wood
seem so desperately distant and unimportant . . .
No no no. He pinched
himself, pulled on his shoes and ran down the stairs.
‘Master! Master!’ But
before he could even speak, the thief-taker was wagging his finger.
He threw Berren a crust of bread. Berren tore into it.
‘Yes, lad. You did
your first bit of real thief-taking.’ Master Sy glanced at Lilissa
for a moment. ‘Turns out to have a bit of wolf in him, this one.
We’ll have to watch him.’ He looked back at Berren and smiled and
Berren puffed up with pride. That was it! Surely Master Sy would
teach him swords now. He beamed even brighter.
‘Master! Why are you
all dressed up like that? What’s happening? Where are we going?’ he
asked through a mouth full of crumbs. That got him a sour look. The
thief-taker’s voice dropped.
‘We’re going to the
docks, lad. We’re going to meet Deputy Harbour-Master Regis
VenDormen. He is a powerful man, and rich and’ – he glanced at
Lilissa – ‘as many old rich men do, he has a fondness for pretty
young women. Lilissa will distract his thoughts, some fine wine
will muddy his thinking, and then we shall see what we shall
see.’
‘Master?’ Berren
realised that Lilissa was staring at him, now. He blushed. ‘See what,
master?’
‘If you believe the
Bloody Dag, and I do, then someone in the harbour-master’s office
is organising piracy against the ships they’re supposed to protect.
Whoever it is, if I take him, he’ll have his head cut off.
VenDormen himself won’t be having anything to do with something
like that, but there’s not much happens in the docks that he
doesn’t know about and so he’s probably already raking a cut. If
we’re lucky, VenDormen might let something slip to tell me who it
is.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Now listen carefully to me, both of
you. For this evening, Lilissa is my ward. Do either of you even
know what that means? It means that for tonight she’s the daughter
of some rich merchant from overseas and that I’m responsible for
looking after her while she’s here.’ Berren glared at Lilissa
again, trying to remember that he was still angry with her. His
heart wasn’t in it though, especially when she glared back and
stuck her tongue out at him. Her eyes sparkled. Master Sy banged a
wooden spoon on the table. ‘Are you listening, either of you? You,
Master Berren, remain my apprentice, the perpetual thorn in my
side. Now you listen to me, both of you! I’ve known Regis for a
long time. If I thought he was dealing with the Dag, I would be
going to the Captain’s Rest alone. Still, you’d best have a care
not to get on the wrong side of him. Be nice, be polite and be
quiet. Keep your eyes open, too. Whoever is behind all this is
going to be as nervous as a virgin soldier right now and they’ll
have dangerous friends, too.’ He gave Berren a long steady look.
‘Much more dangerous than a mudlark with a club.’
Berren forgot about
trying to be angry with Lilissa and stared at Master Sy instead,
eyes wide. ‘Will you have to fight them?’ he asked, thinking of the
ringmail shirt he wasn’t wearing.
The thief-taker
frowned and groaned. ‘Boy, if there was any chance of that, do you
think I’d be taking either of you with me? Do you think I’d bring
Lilissa? Gods! No, boy, there’ll be no fighting tonight. You sit,
you listen, you say nothing, either of you, unless one of us asks
you a question. Regis and I have known each other for years. We’ll
talk about things that sound very dull and then we’ll come home
again and that’s all that’s going to happen. Nothing but polite
business talk over a very fine meal. Dull as mud. Just keep your
mouths shut and your eyes open.’ He glared at Berren. ‘This is
delicate, boy. I want your word. You don’t speak unless you’re
spoken to and you say nothing about our business. Do I have your
promise?’
Berren nodded. He
couldn’t help smiling. Trapped with Lilissa in a tavern, dressed up
in all his finery. It was enough to make a lad from Shipwrights
wonder whether he’d died and gone to the sun. He rubbed his head.
Still sore and starting to ache, but no gaping holes. Good
enough.
Master Sy stood up
and wrapped a cloak around his shoulders. The cloak was something
Berren had never seen before, silver and trimmed with white fur.
The thief-taker offered Lilissa his hand to help her to her feet,
and then took her by the arm to the door. Berren followed. He felt
like he was floating. In the doorway, Master Sy paused. He glanced
back.
‘Remember, lad, what
I said about staring at a lady?’
Berren nodded
vigorously.
‘You’ve been doing it
ever since you came down the stairs. Time to stop now. And
lad?’
‘Master?’
‘Close your mouth,
too.’
He led them out of
the yard. For once they didn’t go down the alley into Weaver’s Row
but the other way, the way Master Sy had brought Berren on their
first night, out into the Courts District and through to the Avenue
of Emperors. A gentle breeze was blowing in across the river
tonight, wafting over the top of The Peak, picking up all the
scents of early evening fires. Roasting nuts, skewered meats cooked
over hot coals, spiced rats baked in clay, a city delicacy ever
since the siege. The sour smell of Clothmakers’ down the hill,
whiffs of smoke from the braziers on the Godsway, fresh wood
wafting out of Cabinetmakers’ Cloister across the street. Other
parts of the city smelled more mundane, but around The Peak where
everyone had money, even the air itself was an adventure. Sometimes
a ship or a barge would come in loaded with fruit to bring some new
scent to the night air; always, by the next morning, everything
would smell of fish again.
As the Avenue of
Emperors levelled out and began to open out into the expanse of the
sea-docks, the thief-taker turned under an ornate metal arch and
into a secluded square, overgrown with trees. There were men here,
Berren realised, watching them. The sort of men he usually saw on
the top of Reeper’s Hill, waiting outside the carriages. Cloaked
and hooded, they had a poised, coiled menace to them. These ones
had long curved cavalry swords left over from the war, held loose
and naked in their hands as they lounged against the walls and in
the shadows of the arch-ways. Snuffers. Berren stared with a
mixture of envy and admiration. Master Sy wouldn’t approve, but
they were the way he wanted to be. They looked
dangerous.
Master Sy wrinkled
his nose. He walked straight through the middle of the square to
the other side. Suddenly Berren found himself standing on the
threshold of the most magnificent building on the dockside,
possibly the whole world, certainly the whole world as far as
Berren had seen it. This, he knew, without even having to ask, was
the fabled Captains’ Rest, the finest tavern in the city, grander
even than Teacher Garrent’s moon temple. It called itself something
different, a loggia, or some other fancy foreign word, but a tavern
was what it was and everyone had heard of it.
Master Sy looked him
up and down, straightening a fold in his clothes here, brushing
away a fleck of dirt there. He spoke sternly: ‘Look around you,
both of you. Everyone who comes in here has money, a lot more money
than us. Watch the way they act, the way they dress. Listen to the
way they talk. See if any of them strike you as unusual.’ He
glowered at Berren. ‘And whatever you do, don’t steal anything.’
Then he smiled at Lilissa, took her arm again and led them to the
door.