it. After a while he shrugged and turned away. Berren took a hungry mouthful of raw fish and vinegar. The taste was strong and good. He ate it slowly, savouring each mouthful, the tang of it. A breeze was blowing in off the sea, taking the edge off the sultry afternoon heat. The air smelled of salt and waves. Master Sy, for a moment, looked quite content.
‘Who is she?’ Berren asked and then held his breath.
‘Who is who?’
‘Lilissa.’ The same ritual they went through every time Berren asked. Get her out of your head, lad, the thief- taker would say, and that would be that until the next time.
Except this time master Sy grinned. He pushed the last piece of bread into his mouth and swallowed. ‘Like her, do you, lad?’
Berren nodded. He was beginning to understand that when the thief-taker called him ‘lad’, he was safe. If the thief-taker called him ‘boy’ then he’d best keep his mouth shut and his head down.
‘Yes, I thought you might. She’s her mother all over. Easy on the eye, eh?’
Berren nodded again and then bit his lip. This wasn’t quite what he’d expected.
‘Well, all right. Since you’re my apprentice now. She’s a seamstress. She lives a few streets away, just off Weaver’s Row. Her mother did me a very great favour once. After she passed over to the Sun, I took it upon myself to look after Lilissa.’ He shrugged. ‘Really she’s old enough to look after herself. I just watch out for her. And if you don’t keep your hands to yourself with her then I’ll cut them off and dump them in the sea and the rest of you with them. Got that?’ His mouth was smiling but his eyes weren’t. Berren had the uncomfortable idea that Master Sy meant absolutely every word of what he’d said.
‘She’s nice,’ he said, fumbling for something to say and silently cursing himself for not doing any better.
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Is she going to come back?’ There, that was what he wanted to say.
The thief-taker chuckled again. ‘You’re as bad as each other. When you’ve learned your letters, lad. When you can bow to her as though you’re a gentleman and speak to her like she’s a lady, and have found at least a few table manners, then yes, maybe I’ll have some time for her lessons too. Kelm’s Teeth! When you can do all that, you might even start to be useful.’ He walked over to the edge of the docks and sat on the harbour wall, beckoning Berren to sit beside him. Their legs dangled in the air above the lapping waters. Now and then the wind blew spots of salt water into Berren’s face. The ships out in the harbour were all facing the same way, sterns towards him, bows to the wind, swaying on their anchors. The thief-taker looked up at the sky.
‘Reckon the wind’s going to spare us the rain this afternoon? ’
Berren nodded. ‘Night rains later, that’s all.’
‘Be heavy, though. Some nervous sailors out there tonight. ’ The thief-taker grinned. ‘Start pulling their anchors and they’ll drift right into the shore. That’s the trouble with this harbour. Nice and safe except for two things. Sea- wind and pirates. Tell me, lad, if you were a pirate, which of those ships would you pick?’
Berren licked the last pieces of fish and bread off his teeth and belched. The ships all looked much the same. They had different flags, none of them ones that he knew. A lot of them had no flags at all. Some of them were bigger than others. Apart from that… ‘The biggest one, I suppose?’
‘Oh? The one with the most sailors on guard?’
‘The smallest?’
‘The smallest?’ The thief-taker laughed. ‘Don’t lie to me, lad. You wouldn’t chose the smallest. Come on, think. You want the ship with something easy. Nothing too big, nothing too heavy, nothing too valuable but something worth having. Something you could sell in the city nice and quick. Or small, so you could get it out without anyone seeing. That’s what you want. How do you know where to find it? How do you know which ship carries what you want? Oh, and while you’re thinking about that, even if you knew which ship was worth taking on, how would you know which one was which in the dark?’
‘They all look different, don’t they?’
‘Not in the dark, lad.’ The thief-taker sighed and stretched and stood up again. ‘You think about that and tell me when you come up with anything useful. Now back. Letters.’
Berren walked back up the Avenue of Emperors in the fading sunlight, the heavy warm sea-wind blowing him up the hill. He looked at the faces carved into the white marbled stone. Strong faces, all of them. He had no idea who they were, whether they’d been good men or bad men, but he wasn’t sure if that was how emperors should be measured. Strong kings fought wars and won them. Weak ones lost their crowns. Somewhere along here was the Emperor Talsin, who’d lost his throne a few months before Berren had been born. Somewhere else was Khrozus the Butcher, who’d taken it.
‘Which one is Khrozus?’ he asked. Master Sy actually smiled. It sat awkwardly on his face, as though happiness was something that didn’t come to visit often.
‘Up the top, of course. Right slap in the middle of Four Winds Square, riding his horse. He’s up on Deephaven Square at the top of The Peak too, outside the Overlord’s palace. Khrozus on one side, his son Ashahn on the other. We’ll go to visit them one day, but not today. They don’t let people like us so close to the Overlord’s palace except on festival days.’
A drop of something wet slapped Berren on the nose. He looked up, and heavy drops spattered his face. They’d both been wrong about the rains. As the daily downpour began, he laughed and started to run.
That night Berren went to sleep with a smile on his face. It was a little over a twelvenight since the thief-taker had ripped him away from everything he knew, and for the first time he went to sleep without thinking that tomorrow might be the day he would run away.
It wasn’t. He lasted three more weeks.
11
WELCOME HOME
Copying the words Master Sy showed him was one thing. Reading them was another; and when it came to taking thoughts in his head and writing them on to paper, he didn’t have the first idea where to start. It took a few days for Berren to realise that he was never, ever going to be able to do what Master Sy wanted him to do, but the thief-taker was relentless. For three weeks, the horror unfolded. Each day, Berren was left in the house to practice his letters while Master Sy went about his business. Each day, he was supposed to copy out a section of some old book with half its pages missing that Master Sy had found. Each day, he was supposed to read back what he’d written. And each day, he couldn’t. Yes, he could copy what was in front of him well enough, possibly even had a knack for it. But when it came to knowing what the words actually meant, he hadn’t the first idea. Couldn’t even begin. Every day the thief-taker came back, tense and frustrated, the afternoon rains dripping from his hat and coat, already anticipating Berren’s failure. He would listen to Berren stumble and make up a few words, and then he’d rage and swear and tear at his hair. Each day got worse and worse.
On the second Mage-Day in the month of Lightning, Berren had a stick in his hand. He was jumping back and forth around the room, lunging and slashing as though it was a sword, shouting curses at imaginary enemies, something he often did to pass the time when he was on his own. Papers lay strewn on the table. The afternoon rains were hammering down outside and the thief-taker never came home until after the rain had stopped.
Berren didn’t even hear the door, only a change in the sound of the rain. When he looked round, Master Sy stood in the doorway. Berren stood frozen, the wooden sword in his outstretched hand, caught in mid-lunge. The thief-taker didn’t even wait for Berren to speak. He took one look at the papers on the table and scattered them across the floor with a sweep of his hand.
‘Boy!’ he roared, lips tight with rage. ‘So this is why you never learn anything! Stupid boy! Do you think this is all for fun?’
Berren skittered around the table, keeping it between them. The look on the thief-taker’s face made him want to run. It was the sort of look that spoke of broken bones and worse. Weeks of frustration welled up inside him. He snatched up the ink pot. ‘It’s not fair!’ he shouted. ‘I can’t do it and I don’t want to do it! None of it makes any sense and I don’t want to learn your stupid letters!’
Master Sy snarled at him, trembling. ‘Boy, sit!’
