Warlock's Shadow (18 page)

‘With writing on. Yes. I hope after tonight you’ll see why I wanted you to learn letters.’ The thief-taker was whispering even though the house was empty. He quietly closed the door behind him. Berren was trembling with excitement.

‘What now, master? Are we here to take something?’

‘Secrets, that’s what we’re after. One of those snuffers couldn’t wait to run off as soon as he saw me. He’ll go to the Two Cranes. How long to get there, do you reckon, at a run?’

‘Five minutes, maybe?’

‘And then he’s going to look for the Headsman, but we already know the Headsman isn’t there, so that’ll slow him down a bit. Say another couple of minutes and then another five for the Headsman’s snuffers to get here.’ The thief-taker stretched and massaged his knee. ‘Might as well take a quick look at whatever there is for us to see while we’re waiting.’ He strode into the first of the downstairs rooms, the biggest in the house, with a large table and a dozen chairs laid around it.

‘We’re going to wait for them?’ Berren gulped.

‘Don’t know how else we’re going to find out which strongbox is the right one, and even if we did find it on our own, I doubt we’ve got the keys to
that
.’ Master Sy picked up a piece of paper and a quill. ‘Here, make yourself useful. I want you to search for something.’ He wrote some letters down and gave Berren the paper. ‘If you see anything with this name, you bring it to me.’ Berren looked at the paper and screwed up his eyes in concentration.
Radek of Kalda
. ‘And make a mess. When the harbour-masters come in tomorrow, I want them to know that
someone
was here, even if they don’t know who it was.’

‘But they’ll know that from the guards!’

The thief-taker smiled nastily. ‘Yes, lad. They will.’

They moved from room to room. Master Sy tore open drawers and scattered papers across the floor. Berren followed. After a few minutes, the thief-taker stopped.

‘Give me the keys,’ he snapped. Berren tossed them to him. He paused, listening out but there was nothing to hear. ‘Go upstairs. Hide. Stay there and stay out of sight. I’ll be down the back. And listen: you hear anyone come in, you don’t move a muscle, lad. You leave the rest to me.’ Master Sy vanished into the darkness. Berren heard the keys jingle for a few seconds after he was gone, then nothing. He crept up the stairs and set about searching for a good place to hide, but in the dark, everywhere seemed as good as everywhere else. Idly, he picked up a few papers that lay on a desk. They came in different types, he realised, after he’d tried to read a few. Some of them even had the Emperor’s seal on the bottom! There were lists of which ships were in the harbour. For each ship, there were lists of what cargo the ship had brought and what cargo it was taking away. He had to go to a window and hold the papers up to the moonlight to even read them at all. It was hard work and it took so much of his attention that he almost didn’t hear the door at the front of the house open.

‘We should get the watch,’ murmured a voice from downstairs. Berren froze.
Gods! That was quick!
He crept to a corner by the windows where he could hide in a little alcove behind an old heavy desk.

‘Oh no. If he’s here, I don’t want the watch being around.’

Berren crouched down and huddled back as deep into the shadows as he could go.

‘Just him, right? Him and maybe his boy.’

‘Right bloody mess he’s made, that’s for sure.’

‘Never mind that,’ snapped a new voice. Berren stifled a gasp. Was that the man with the cane and the grating laugh? Could that be right? There couldn’t be many voices like that in Deephaven, not in the whole world! But they’d seen him leaving the Two Cranes! He wasn’t supposed to be here! ‘I don’t give a fox’s beard about all this crap. He’s been here and if we’re lucky then he’s
still
here and you can do what I pay you for.’ There was some shuffling and then the creak of footfalls on the stairs. ‘You! Go on! Check upstairs! You! You come with me. I want to see if he’s found the strongbox.’

Strongbox?
Berren’s ears pricked up.

The door to the room where Berren was hiding eased silently open. Berren crouched down, pressing himself even further back into the shadows. The man with the cane had snuffers with him and all Berren had was his stupid wooden waster. His heart beat faster, climbing up his throat. He could run, that’s what he could do. He could run for the door and away like the wind. His legs tensed …

The thief-taker slipped into the room and eased the door shut behind him. Berren caught a glimpse of him in the frail light that filtered in through the windows. The feet on the stairs reached the top. In silence, Master Sy crept behind the door. He opened his coat and drew the stubby sword he carried.

‘Who’s here?’ called the snuffer at the top of the stairs. ‘I know there’s someone here. I can smell you. Show yourself or it’ll be the worse for you.’

Master Sy took a tiny step closer to the door.

‘The watch is on its way. Show yourself now!’ The voice dropped. ‘Look, I don’t care what it is between you and them foreigners. We can come to some arrangement. I’ll say you were already gone. But, by Khrozus, if you don’t show yourselves right now, I’m going to kill you.’

Berren’s heart jumped. He’d seen these snuffers and knew how they were armed, with long curved cavalry swords left over from the civil war or with short straight blades like Master Sy. The ones he’d seen with the Headsman had worn padded jackets, maybe even lined with mail …

He looked towards the door but Master Sy hadn’t moved. He was still standing motionless, his sword held at the ready.

‘No one down here,’ shouted a voice from downstairs. Berren heard a second pair of boots climbing the stairs. ‘Someone’s been in the room but they didn’t find the box. I say he’s already been and gone.’

‘Well someone’s up here,’ said the first snuffer. He must have been right outside the door. ‘I can feel it.’

‘I still say we should go out and get the Emperor’s men.’

‘And how do we explain what
we’re
doing here, eh? Khrozus! What a festival of shit this is!’

‘Kelm’s Teeth! Look at this mess.’

‘If he’s here then you’re going to find him,’ bellowed the man with the cane. ‘You find him right now and you kill him. If he’s gone then you still find him and you still kill him. You dogs clear about that? The Headsman’s going to have a fit.’

Footfalls sounded on the hall outside. Berren saw Master Sy ready his sword. He was holding it in front of his face now, the blade horizontal, pointing at the door. His other hand reached out …

T
he door flew open. For a moment it blocked Berren’s sight. Master Sy disappeared from view. The door began to swing to. Outside in the hall, two shouts and one clash of steel rang out. Then there was silence.

The door stopped, half-open. Something was in the way, stopping it from fully closing. Berren hardly dared to breathe. And then he heard his name. It was Master Sy’s voice, a low whisper.

‘Berren?’

Berren went to the door and pulled it open again. What stopped it from closing was a pair of boots. One of the snuffers was lying there, flat on his back. The thief-taker’s sword had ripped his throat out and there was blood everywhere. Berren gawped in awe. He wished he’d been standing somewhere else when the door had flown open so he could have seen what Master Sy had done.

Out in the hall, by the top of the stairs, a second snuffer lay still. Master Sy was standing over him.

‘Come here.’

Berren ran over. The second soldier had his throat slit open as well.

‘You want me to teach you to fight?’ whispered the thief-taker.

Berren nodded, almost salivating at the prospect.

‘Then take a long look, because this is how it ends.’ He ran down the stairs, favouring his good leg, leaving Berren behind to stare at the bodies and wonder.

When Berren was done staring at the bodies, he ran his hands through their pockets and helped himself to their purses. He’d been right about the jackets and they had good boots and good clothes too, and if he’d been with Master Hatchet there was no question: he’d have stripped both the snuffers of as much as he could carry.

There was a shout from below, another clash of steel and a strangled cry: ‘You? You’re dead!’ That was the man with the cane. Whatever Master Sy’s reply, it was too quiet to reach up the stairs. Berren took a sword from one of the snuffers. The usual old cavalry swords were too long for Berren’s arms, but this … this was perfect. A sword like Master Sy’s. The man’s belt was too big and he couldn’t get the scabbard free, but he didn’t care. Simply holding a real steel blade made him feel six feet taller. Made him feel like he was a man, not a boy any more.

Another yell came from below and another clash of blades. Berren bounded down. In the gloom of the hallway he saw the man with the cane, his back to the front door. He had a sword, but his hand was shaking. Between him and Berren stood Master Sy, his long coat hanging loose. He had a sword too and
his
was as steady as a rock. Two more snuffers lay slumped in the passageway, dead or well on their way.

‘No, no.’ The man with the cane was shaking his head. ‘No!’ He looked from side to side as though some miracle might save his life. He reached one hand behind him, fumbling for the door. Master Sy took a step forward; the man skittered sideways.

‘Deephaven is a long way from Kalda. What does the Headsman want here? What does Radek want?’

‘We should have killed you in Forgenver.’ The man was almost crying with frustration and fear and rage.

Quick as a snake, Master Sy lunged. The man with the cane darted back for the door. He turned the first blow away but he wasn’t quick enough for the second. Master Sy’s blade caught his hand, cutting it in two. The man’s sword, three of his fingers and a ragged piece of flesh fell to the floor. The man screamed.

‘Age making you slow is it?’ growled Master Sy. ‘I remember you. Radek’s Weasel, we used to call you. Made you the Headsman’s nose-picker did he? Never did your own dirty work if I remember, but you were quick. Not so quick now, eh?’

The man fell to his knees. He clutched his ruined hand. Blood ran steadily down his shirt. He was weeping now.

‘The temple. What business has the Headsman got with priests? Why does he keep bringing them here?’

Priests? Berren suddenly forgot about his new sword. Priests? Master Sy hadn’t said anything about priests or temples. Did he mean
his
temple?

‘Nothing! I don’t know anything about that! He doesn’t tell us!’

‘That’s very hard to believe.
Very
hard to believe.’

‘It’s true!’ The man’s voice grew shrill. ‘But he’s been to see the grey wizard too! They got their own thing going. I can tell you all–’

‘You’re a liar!’ Berren couldn’t see Master Sy’s face, couldn’t see much of anything in the gloom of the hall, but he heard the rage biting into every word. The thief-taker took a step forward and raised his sword.

‘Don’t! Don’t!’ The man’s cane lay on the floor near Berren’s feet. It gleamed golden in the moonlight. ‘There’s things you don’t know. It’s all different now. Listen to me! Gold! Sackfuls of it. Plenty enough to share. You could be a part of it!’

‘With you?’ A high-pitched tone of disbelief crept into the thief-taker’s voice. ‘Be a part of something with you and the Headsman and Radek? After what they did?’

‘Listen, damn you! You kill me, your life won’t be worth shit.’ He glanced at Berren. ‘You kill me, you’re dead, prince. Dead. Both of you are dead.’

The thief-taker leaned forwards and spat in the man’s face. ‘Even now you can’t help but show yourself for the turd that floats to the top of the sewer.’ He drew his sword back, ready to strike. ‘Besides, you said I was dead already.’

‘Radek knows you’re here! The Headsman already sent word! Kill me and you’re a dead man! But listen to me! It’s the black powder. Everything’s changed!’

‘Not for me!’ The thief-taker screamed something else, something that sounded like a name but was so contorted with fury that it came out as an animal sound. Then he drove the short blade of his sword down through the soft flesh between the man’s neck and his collar bone, with all his strength behind it. The Weasel lurched, gurgled, rolled his eyes and then fell forward, the weight of him tearing the sword out of Master Sy’s hand.

‘Boy,’ he hissed without looking round, ‘go find somewhere else to be.’

Berren backed away and crept up the stairs to the dead snuffers. For something to do he finished taking the sword-belt off the lanky one and put it on. He fumbled his sword back into its scabbard. Then he stood, imagining how he looked. The belt was definitely too big and the scabbard dragged on the floor however he tried to wear it. He could still take the sword, though, couldn’t he? No one else needed it.

Slowly, he drew it out of its scabbard again. This turned out to be a lot harder than it looked.

‘You want to start with something lighter,’ said Master Sy from the top of the stairs. He was leaning against the wall, watching. ‘It’s too heavy for you,’ he said.

‘Can I keep it?’