night, instead of sitting on the waterfront in the sunset with a pretty young girl beside you.’ He pulled Berren to his feet. ‘Come on, lad. You did good. We’ll get Garrent to take a look at that when we get back. In the meantime, if you think you’re going to be sick, try to make sure it’s not all over me.’
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
