afternoon, those monks are my thief-takers. Whether I like it or not. The Sunherald has decreed it. I’d say that’s mostly thanks to you two, by the way. Just so you know why the rest of them hate you now.’
The thief-taker spat. ‘And what’s the Overlord say? It’s his city, not the Autarch’s.’
The justicar looked furtively about, as if there might have been some fourth person in the thief-taker’s tiny living room that he somehow hadn’t noticed. ‘Look, the Overlord is the Emperor’s man in name, but he’s his own man first. There’s close as anything a civil war brewing, same one as has been coming ever since Khrozus knocked old Talsin off the Sapphire Throne. The Path never accepted Khrozus, they never accepted his son, they have a lot of sway with the guild of merchants and the guild of merchants are the ones with the money. So the Overlord’s been sitting very carefully on the fence for some time now and I can promise you it’s going to take a lot more than a few irate thief-takers to push him off it. The Overlord says we do our jobs and keep the peace. Monks or thief- takers, it’s all the same to him.’
‘And you, Kol?’
The justicar shrugged. ‘Replace my thief-takers with swords-monks? It’s an honest justicar’s wet dream, Syannis. Incorruptible maniacs with no concern for their own wellbeing, the power to smell lies and taste sorcery? Who scorn gold and despise greed and do it all in the service of a god who doesn’t care which sea-house gets the better of the others each month? Gods, Syannis, they’re even free. Like I said, an honest justicar’s dream. I give it six months before the merchant houses realise just how much they don’t want people like that poking around in their affairs and make the Overlord get rid of them. Until then, though …’ He shrugged and dropped a purse on the table. ‘What I owe you, wager and all. There’s enough there to keep you through to winter if you’re frugal with it and we’ll be back the way we were well before then.’ He backed away from the table and stood in the doorway of the thief-taker’s house. ‘If you choose to spend your time chasing after whoever your lad saw in the Watchman’s Arms, or anyone else for that matter, don’t look for any help from me. If I were you, I’d keep very quiet. In fact, if I were you I’d get out of the city for a while. They’re watching. In particular, they’re watching you.’
‘Get. Out.’
Kol shrugged. ‘I’m sorry about Kasmin. He was a good thief-taker once. Not a great one, but at least he was honest. I’ve set my new helpers after his killer. There’s simply not much else I can do. When there’s news I’ll let you know.’
He left. Berren watched him go but the justicar hadn’t even made it to the end of the yard before he turned and came back, shaking his head. ‘Look, I know enough to know that if anyone wanted Kasmin, there’s a good chance they’re after you as well. A justicar doesn’t get to have too many friends, so I’d prefer not to lose any more. Keep an eye open, Syannis. Make sure someone’s got your back.’
For a long time after the justicar had gone, Master Sy sat exactly where he was, still as a becalmed ship, not blinking, not even seeming to breathe. Then he walked to the door, swirled on his cloak and strode out into the yard, limping very slightly.
‘Have you been looking?’ he muttered.
Berren hurried after him. ‘What is it, master?’
‘I promised you an emperor if you ever saw a flag. Four white ships on a red field. Shot twice? In the head and in the back? Looks like that’s one piece of gold I’ll get to keep.’ He spat on the cobbles. ‘Just as well, since apparently I can’t afford an emperor right now.’
‘I look every day, master. Well most days. It’s not there. Not that one.’
‘Really? Well let’s see. Get that purse before someone steals it!’
Berren bolted back to the house. He swept up Justicar Kol’s purse from the table and looked inside. Thirty or forty silver crowns glittered back at him and one golden emperor. Food and firewood until autumn if they were careful. He tied the purse onto his belt and stuffed it inside his trousers, then ran back out again after his master. For a man with an injured leg, the thief-taker could still manage a turn of speed when he wanted and he was already almost at Four Winds Square by the time Berren caught up again. One hand tapped his chest where Prince Sharda’s gold sigil hung around his neck. It was becoming a habit, checking it was still there.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t sell that after all.’
‘Master, what’s going on?’
The thief-taker didn’t answer. He pushed on as fast as he could, across the square until they reached the two enormous curved bronze swords that rose up out of the stones to mark the entrance to the Avenue of Emperors. The swords were carved with ancient runes in the language of the sun. One solemnly declared the values of honesty, openness and compassion. The other promised bloody dismemberment to thieves and liars. Walking under them always made Berren’s skin tingle — they were supposed to be enchanted — and it took him a second or two to realise that Master Sy had stopped. Not only stopped talking but stopped walking as well.
The Avenue of Emperors ran right across the city, from the river docks on one side to the sea-docks on the other. It ran more or less in a straight line. From high up, near the bronze swords it gave a good view of the harbour. At this time of day, before the afternoon rains, the air was bright and clear.
Something about the ships had struck his master dumb, but however much Berren peered among them, he couldn’t see anything unusual.
‘What is it, master?’
‘I told you when we first met that a man had once stolen something from me. You asked me what had happened to him.’
‘You said nothing.’
‘Nothing. Yes. Can you make out any of the flags from here?’
Berren shook his head. The ships were far too far away. You had to be right down in the docks, preferably on the waterfront, before even the sharpest eyes could make out the colours flown out in Deephaven harbour. What a clever head did was take a look from up here to see if there were any new ships anchored in the bay and then go and ask one of the harbour boys who were forever running up and down the Avenue of Emperors with messages for their rich masters. The harbour boys always knew who’d set anchor and who was about to sail and a whole encyclopaedia more about what ships were carrying and where they were bound. They were always willing to share if a penny or two came their way.
‘I’ll go ask if you like,’ Berren offered.
Master Sy shook his head. ‘I want to see for myself.’
They walked on down the avenue, past the statues of the various emperors of Aria. Master Sy had tried to make Berren learn their names but they’d never really taken. He knew Khrozus the Great, or possibly Khrozus the Butcher or Khrozus the Bloody, depending on who was doing the talking. He knew Talsin, the deliberately broken statue near the top of the avenue. He knew Thortis, the first Emperor of Aria, up next to the bronze swords opposite the current Emperor, Ashahn the Wise. Wise until someone toppled him and renamed him Ashahn the Stupid, at least.
They had to push their way through the thickening traffic pressing down the hill towards the harbour. The crowds began to buffet him. What he really wanted, Berren decided, was one of those new farscope things from the glass-makers in Varr. Not that he’d ever seen one, but Master Fennis had. The prince had brought one with him and they’d all gone up to The Peak one day and climbed the Overlord’s tower. The prince had passed it around. Master Fennis said that it made everything all wobbly looking, but that you could see all the way to the City of Spires. That would have done nicely, Berren thought. He could have scrambled up the statue of some old emperor no one remembered any more, sat on his shoulders and stared out to sea.
‘This way.’ The thief-taker grabbed Berren’s arm and dragged him off into a narrow street that delved into the back-shadows of the Courts District. They emerged on the Kingsway, another wide road leading down to the sea, but the Kingsway didn’t lead directly to the docks so the traffic here was never quite so bad. This was a part of the city Berren didn’t know. Assayers’. Not a place he had much reason to visit. You could still see the harbour clearly enough though.
They reached the bottom of the hill and Master Sy caught Berren’s arm a second time. He stopped outside a ramshackle building of heavy stone that looked as though it had once had some thoughts about growing into a castle but had changed its mind, fallen asleep and drifted slowly into ruin. The thief-taker pointed up. Leaning out over the street at a slight angle was a narrow stone tower. The old Harbour Watchtower. It looked as though it was about to fall down, but then it had looked like that for some fifty years.
The thief-taker banged on the heavy wooden door to the tower. After a long wait, it creaked open.
‘Haven’t seen you here for a while,’ grumbled an old voice from the shadows inside.
