‘You need emperors for a good sword, lad, and several of them. Still, maybe you can do some sword-smith a favour, eh? Get yourself a bargain.’
‘Yeh.’ Berren nodded again. He thought about how long it would take to get that sort of money. Years, probably. He turned away so the thief-taker wouldn’t see his face and followed as they walked into the evening. Master Sy talked on about this and that, a bit about swords but mostly about what he’d been doing and about the Headsman. Berren nodded and grunted and pretended to listen but his mind was far away. He was thinking about Velgian and what he’d done, and he was thinking about swords. He was thinking about how to get one. For the purse and the fistful of golden emperors inside it, that’s why …
By the time they reached the Two Cranes, Berren had his mind back where it was supposed to be. Master Sy slipped into the twilight shadows of an alley a few dozen yards from the hostel’s entrance. There were guards watching the street, snuffers with swords looking out for any riff-raff who might cause trouble for their wealthy guests. When the doors opened, the air spilled out from inside. It smelled of perfume and spices and wine and carried the sounds of laughter.
There was a sword-monk too. Berren didn’t see at first, not until Master Sy pointed. And then Berren had to look again. He gasped.
‘Tasahre!’ He was certain it was her. Now and then he caught a glimpse of movement as she lurked in shadows of her own.
‘Yes. They’ve been watching me,’ murmured Master Sy. ‘Making a right nuisance of themselves actually.’ The thief-taker grunted. ‘You know how I spend my nights, lad? I hide out here watching people come and go. Quiet as a mouse, stealthy as a shadow, me. Then some idiot comes along dressed in bright yellow and props himself up against a wall where he thinks nobody can see him and now everyone in the Two Cranes thinks they’ve got a sword-monk after them. Fun to see how many have got the wind up them but it’s still a nuisance. Moon-Day nights I get her. Today she can make herself useful.’ Master Sy lowered his voice. ‘When the Headsman comes out, I need you to stay here, out of sight. I’ll tell you what to do. And do not let her see you!’
‘But-’
The thief-taker put a finger to Berren’s lips. He grinned and looked slightly sheepish. ‘That night you and Master Velgian had your coming together, Kol was coming to see me anyway. He was coming to tell me that the Headsman’s got something up with the harbour-masters in the House of Records up near Reeper Gate. I’ve been watching long enough to know the Headsman spends a lot of time up there and he’s keeping some curious company. The House of Records is about the safest place I can think of for him to keep something short of leaving it on his own ship. It costs money and it can’t be anything big he’s got there, but whatever it is, it’s well guarded. It has a very good lock on it too, judging by the keys he keeps on his belt.’
‘You want me to-’ Pick his pocket? Was that it?
‘What I want you to do right now, boy, is stay very quiet and still and use your eyes.’
For a long time they watched in silence. People came and went, mostly small clusters of men in rich clothes and always with one or two snuffers nearby. The sounds from inside the Two Cranes grew louder as the night drew on. The warm late-spring air finally began to cool and a dampness started to rise out of the streets from the afternoon rains.
‘There!’ Master Sy crouched beside Berren as six men came out of the Two Cranes. Two snuffers walked in front, lean and wiry with eyes that darted from side to side and fingers never far from the hilts of their swords. A few paces behind came two men in long dark cloaks and fancy hats. They were laughing together. One of them was short and so fat he was almost round, with an equally round fat face and an eyepatch. Here and there, curls of light hair escaped from under his hat. He looked old. Not old old, not grey and hobbling old, but older than Master Sy.
The second man was taller, younger. He walked with a cane and he had a loud voice with a heavy accent that cut the air. When he laughed at the fat one’s jokes, it was more a braying honk than proper laughter. Behind them both came another pair of snuffers, long and lanky this time. These ones carried short straight swords, like the one Master Sy had.
The thief-taker rested his hand on Berren’s shoulder, cautioning him to be still. The six men walked past the mouth of the alley. The snuffer in front glanced straight at Berren but saw nothing but shadows. For a few seconds after they passed, Master Sy stared as though he was lost in some faraway place. When he came back, it was with a snap.
‘Boy, do you see the fat fool with the eyepatch?’ The men were already on the fringes of the docks, mingling with the crowds there. Berren squinted.
‘Yes, master. I do.’
‘That’s the Headsman. Best you remember his face. Did you see the keys on his belt?’ The thief-taker’s lip curled. He waved something under Berren’s nose, a bunch of keys. ‘Look what I got. Borrowed. Copied. Put back again. All without anyone knowing. See, you’re not the only one who knows a trick or two.’ He pulled Berren back, deeper into the shadows, whispering. ‘And so we come to why I’m bribing you with a particularly fine piece of sausage tonight. It was a good one wasn’t it?’
‘It was very nice.’
‘A favourite of yours, am I right?’
Berren nodded.
‘I want to see what’s the other side of this key. What about you?’
Of course he wanted to come! But still, he hesitated. ‘What do I have to do, master?’
The thief-taker scowled. ‘I need a pair of eyes to keep watch. If it goes wrong, I need someone who can take a message to Justicar Kol and tell them whatever we found. And I might need someone to … I might need a diversion.’
Someone to run, he meant, and be chased. Berren sniffed. ‘You and your gammy leg.’ The thief-taker’s leg had never quite recovered. If you didn’t know him, you’d never notice most of the time, but he couldn’t run the way he used to. Berren had seen him wince on the stairs once or twice too. He saw the thief-taker’s face darken and wished he hadn’t said anything. ‘Yeh,’ he said quickly. ‘Whatever I can do, master.’ He arched his back, stretching his spine and beamed. ‘Afterwards, I want you to teach me something,’ he said. ‘Something I can use in a fight.’
For what seemed like an age the thief-taker didn’t even blink. Then, very slowly, he nodded. ‘Something you can use in a fight.’ He raised an eyebrow. Berren nodded vigorously then stopped as the thief-taker waved him away. ‘Lad, eventually you’ll learn that I, too, have a sense of humour, so I’ll pretend that was a joke and laugh about it, shall I? Ha. Ha ha. Heh. There. Are we done now?’
‘But ma-’
The thief-taker growled. ‘Listen, boy, I’ve been teaching you how to fight since the day you came to me. I’ve been teaching you how to stand, how to move, how to hold a weapon. I’ve been teaching the muscles in your arm how to be strong-’ He stopped, and then hissed. ‘Berren, knives and swords kill people. So who, exactly, do you want to kill? Velgian? You saw what happened to him — is that how you want to end?’
‘I-’
‘Of course, mostly what knives and swords kill are idiot novices who think that having one makes them invincible. Right up until someone with a good stout stick gets inside their guard and knocks them down. And then, because they’re up against someone with a sword, and because that scares the living sun out of them, they make sure as Khrozus that you stay down.’ He sighed and shook his head.
Berren stared glumly into nothing. His shoulders slumped. ‘I just want to beat Tasahre. Just once.’ He gritted his teeth. When disappointment came knocking, what did a sword-master do? They didn’t wail and moan and cry, that was for sure. They fought back. He looked up again, fingering the gold token around his neck. There was always Varr, always the prince …