‘Syannis! You bastard!’ The old man almost ran and embraced the thief-taker as though they were brothers. At once, the noise around them resumed.
‘Lad!’ Master Sy had to shout to make himself heard now. ‘This is Kasmin. Kasmin is a very old friend, even if he’s a rogue. Kasmin, this is Berren. He’s my apprentice. Stop and take a look at him for a moment.’
Then something strange happened. Kasmin looked at Berren, and then he looked again, and then he stared as though he’d seen a ghost. ‘Bloody Kalda,’ he whistled. ‘Either my memory’s gone or he’s the spit of…’ He glanced at Master Sy and stopped.
‘Isn’t he just.’
‘Gods blind my one good eye if he’s not.’ Kasmin threw his arms around the thief-taker again. ‘Anyway, it’s been a bloody long time.’ He looked down at Berren. ‘Well boy, I used to serve your master too, once. When we were back in the old country. Long time ago that was now. Bad times, but we still had some fun.’ The old man grinned. ‘Do you remember in Forgenver when we…’
‘Time enough later for that, old bones.’ Syannis spoke softly but his words fell like an axe. He smiled a wan sad smile. ‘Serve your prince a drink before he collapses.’
Kasmin forced a laugh. ‘Anything you like, your Highness.’ A space had formed in the crowd around the pair of them. Berren saw it in the faces of the others in the tavern. No one wanted to stand next to a thief-taker.
‘I’d like a bottle of your best Malmsey, old bones. The very best you’ve got, because I’ve heard you’ve got your hands on something very fine indeed.’
For an instant there was a hesitation. For an instant, something wasn’t right. Then Kasmin grinned and nodded and jumped back behind his bar as though nothing had happened. It had, though, and if Berren had seen it, so had the thief-taker.
A moment later, two glasses and a bottle were on the bar. ‘This what you’re looking for?’ Kasmin was all smiles. Everywhere except his eyes. His eyes were wide, nervous, ready to run.
Master Sy picked up the bottle, looked it over. Then he put it down. He nodded.
‘Exactly what I was looking for. Old friend, we need to talk. I’m afraid you’ve crossed my path the wrong way this time.’
The old man still grinned, but underneath he looked terrified. Berren knew all about that look; it was the one that he used to see from people who owed money to Master Hatchet. ‘Sure. Come round tomorrow though, eh? We’ll talk all you like. Chew the fat. Dredge though our memories. Whatever you want.’ There was no conviction in the old man’s words. Not one bit.
‘No.’ Master Sy grabbed the tavern-keeper’s wrist and held it tight. ‘You need to tell me how you came by this and you need to do it right now.’
‘I got customers, Syannis.’ His voice broke, became pleading. Hopeless.
The thief-taker shook his head. ‘Not any more, old bones. Not any more.’
Five minutes and a lot of grumbling and shouting later, the Barrow of Beer was empty and still. Kasmin shut the door and put a bar across it. Then he sat down heavily on a stool. Master Sy settled in front of him. For a long time, neither of them said anything. Berren sat quietly in a corner.
‘I’m looking for pirates, Kasmin,’ said Master Sy at last.
‘I fought some of those a long time ago.’ Kasmin sounded immensely sad. Berren picked up an abandoned tankard and helped himself to a few mouthfuls of beer. It was weak and watery stuff next to the beer from the Eight Pillars of Smoke but nowhere near as bad as the stuff he and the other boys had used to sneak out of the Red Loom when Master Hatchet sent them in to cause some trouble.
The thief-taker stood up. He walked to the bar and picked up the bottle again. This time he poured himself a glass. Then he came back and sat down, bottle in one hand, glass in the other.
‘I remember. Look me in the eye, Kasmin. Tell me you bought this. Tell me this is honest trade. Look me in the eye and tell me that and I’ll be on my way.’
The old man shook with bitter laughter. ‘Can’t tell you that, old friend. You know I don’t have the gold to buy something as fine as that bottle for an honest price.’
‘No, old bones, I know that.’ He glanced over his shoulder at Berren. ‘Lad, get the other glass from the bar. Bring it here. Pour yourself a mug of something and then go wait out the back.’
Berren did as he was asked and wandered through the tavern and out into a little yard, sipping on his mug of beer. Halfway through he wrinkled his nose and tipped the rest onto the dirt. It was starting to make his head fuzzy again and that conjured up all manner of unpleasant memories. And when it came down to it, the beer didn’t actually taste particularly nice. He put the mug on the ground and squatted against the wall, waiting for the thief- taker to finish his business. He waited a long time. Eventually he must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, the sky was lightening with the first touches of dawn and Master Sy was shaking his shoulder.
‘Come on, lad,’ said the thief-taker gently. ‘Let’s go.’ He sounded sad. As they walked out of the yard and into a tiny dingy alley that ran up the side of the Barrow of Beer all the way down to the docks, Berren kept sneaking glances at him. There weren’t any bloodstains, but that only made him all the more curious. He stopped to peer through a window as they passed the front of the tavern. It was hard to see much through the filth and the way the cheap glass warped the world. He could make out a figure, though, sitting still on his stool, exactly where Berren remembered him.
‘Come on, lad.’ The thief-taker pulled him away. ‘He’s got ghosts enough without needing us as well. Leave him be.’
Berren twitched impatiently. ‘Master, where are we going?’ The whole night looked like it had been an enormous waste of time. Now he was tired and irritable and just wanted to go back to sleep.
‘Yes, yes.’ Master Sy shook his head. ‘We’re going home, and then we’re going to pack our bags and go down to the river docks and find ourselves passage up the river. Once we’re moving you can sleep all you like.’
Berren scowled. ‘Where are we going, master?’
‘Wherever we’re needed, lad. Wherever we’re needed.’
PART TWO
AN EXPEDITION AND A FEW LESSONS ON TAKING A THIEF
19
DRIFTING ON THE RIVER AND EATING PIE
Berren lay sprawled out in the sun, eyes closed and half asleep. A gentle wind blew across his arms and his face. The midday heat was like a warm blanket wrapped over him. He dozed, on and off, lulled by the sounds of lapping water and creaking wood. Deephaven was an hour down the river behind them, and the quiet was staggering. Sometimes one of the lightermen would call out; a sail would flap, the barge would shift a little, and then it was back to the rhythm of the water and the wood. The sounds were like someone breathing in and out; slow, deep and restful.
And then there was the smell. The sweet, fresh smell of the river. The way the air smelled up past Sweetwater, except even sweeter still. Filled with trees and grass and flowers from the farms and the woods on the city side of the river. Berren had never ventured much further out of the city than the edges of the River District, and even then only the once and with Master Sy as his guide. They were well beyond that now. He stared at the vast openness, at the swathes of green, the huge trees and the forests they made up on the Haven Hills that overlooked the city. Other smells came and went, too. More familiar smells drifting in wisps off the road that ran beside the river, the great wide River Road that ran out of the River Gate, through Sweetwater and right on to the other end of the world, as far as Berren knew. To the City of Spires and the imperial capital of Varr and maybe even further than that. Sometimes, when he wasn’t snoozing, Berren watched the road for a bit just to see what he could see. He tried to count the wagons and the carts but quickly lost track. Once he saw a black-clad galloping horseman racing towards the city. An Imperial Messenger! He stared, enraptured, then jumped up and pointed and shouted
