‘Haven’t needed to be here.’ Master Sy wrinkled up his face and sniffed the air. ‘I can smell it. Even from here.’ Then he snorted and shook his head. ‘You want to be a bit more careful about that.’
Berren sniffed. There was a sharpness to the air but it wasn’t a smell he could place.
‘You here to bring trouble?’ asked the shadows. Master Sy shook his head.
‘I’m told the city doesn’t need my services just now. Seems to be getting on fine as things are. I’m only here to take in the view if that’s all right with you boys.’ He smiled grimly. ‘You might want to keep your eyes open for any sword-monks coming this way though.’
‘Sword-monks, eh? Never heard of them.’
‘Oh, you will. You can’t miss them. Bright yellow with the sun tattooed on their face. Got sharp noses too, sharper than mine by a yard. By the time you see them they’ll have smelled you out. You might want to think about that. They won’t take kindly at all to what you make down in your cellars there.’
‘Just the tower?’
Master Sy nodded and the door opened wider. ‘Go on then. You know the way. Take your time. You see any of them sword-wotsits of yours, be sure to yell about it.’
The thief-taker stepped inside. Cautiously, Berren followed. The smell was stronger now. ‘What do they-’ He didn’t get any further before a sharp kick on the ankle made him squeak and hop in pain.
‘Manners, boy. You should know better than to be asking questions until we’re back outside. Just use your nose and keep your mouth shut until we’re at the top of the tower.’ He stopped and opened a rickety door that led onto a spiral staircase. The steps were steep and narrow and not quite straight. They were long, too. By the time they got to the top, even Master Sy was out of breath. His knee was bothering him.
‘Master?’ Berren reached out a hand. The thief-taker batted him away.
‘I tell you, once we’re done here, I intend to have myself some fun with these sword-monks.’
At the top of the stairs stood another old door, battered and warped. Shafts of sunlight pierced its cracks, casting brilliant lines across the walls and floor. The thief-taker pushed it open and stepped carefully outside. An old wooden walkway ringed the top of the tower. Wind tore in off the sea, strong and tugging at his clothes; Berren almost lost his balance, but that wasn’t the wind. The wood under his feet tilted with the tower, almost wilfully trying to pitch him off to the street below.
‘Careful.’ Master Sy was laughing. He walked around the platform to the other side, where a half-rotted wooden ladder took them the last few yards to the tower’s flat top. At least here there was a low parapet, even if the mortar was crumbling and whole stones came loose in Berren’s hands.
‘It’s not as high as Garrient’s moon-tower.’ Master Sy had to almost shout to make himself heard over the wind. Berren made a face. Behind them to the east rose The Peak, the rich heart of the city and home to the merchant princes whose towers and temples clustered around Deephaven Square. From there, Deephaven’s wealth trickled reluctantly out into everyone else’s pockets. Somewhere on the other side were the river docks, clustered around the mouth of the Ar, the greatest waterway in the world. The rest of the city, where everyone else lived, sprawled inland. A string of fishing villages spread further up the coast; the banks of the river towards Varr sprouted thickets of inns, warehouses and other lodgings for those who aspired to riches but had yet to find them. All these had grown so close together that it was hard to say where one ended and the next began.
And then there was the harbour, the almost circular sheltered, deep-water cove that gave the city its name. Ships from across the oceans anchored here. It was the largest, greatest, richest port in the empire, probably in the world.
‘Does it ever stop making you wonder?’ mused Master Sy. ‘All this wealth, all this gold. All from carrying stuff across the mile that separates the river and the sea. Just for carting things up a little hill and down the other side.’
Berren shrugged. He rarely wondered about things like that. What
And who, for some reason, kept butting into his thoughts. He clenched his fists.
‘Berren? Berren?’ Master Sy snapped his fingers in front of Berren’s face. Berren jumped.
Yes. That. ‘Er, no. Not really.’ Sometimes he wondered how he could become immensely wealthy in a very short space of time. That was about as close as he got.
‘Well. You seem to think you have good eyes. See any red flags out there?’
‘Red?’ Berren peered. Even the closest ships were hundreds of yards away and there were so many masts all rolling back and forth between each other that getting a good look at any flags at all was a matter of luck.
‘Yellow flags are the ships of the sun-king. Black flags are the Taiytakei. White flags are-’
‘The Emperor’s, but I won’t see many of those. I know.’ Berren squinted across the water. The black-flagged Taiytakei ships generally clustered together at the northern end of the harbour, furthest away from where Berren sat. The yellow flags of the sun-king were at the southern end. Between them were dozens of other ships, mostly smaller ones. Most flew white flags, with a smattering of other colours. ‘What are red ones?’ Had he ever seen a ship decked out in red? He couldn’t remember one.
‘The merchant princes of Kalda,’ said the thief-taker quietly. He was pointing. ‘There. What’s that?’
Master Sy’s finger was aimed straight at the nearest cluster of ships, the yellow flags of the sun-king. Among them, a darker flag flew.
‘Dunno.’ Berren shrugged. The flag was too far away to tell what colour it was except that it was dark. ‘Could be a Taki ship in the wrong place?’
Master Sy shook his head. ‘They keep to their own. Dark red, lad. That’s the colour of the sea-princes of Kalda and the Free Cities. Not that they’re free at all. No, they pay their tithes to the sun-king in Caladir just like everyone else across the Sea of Storms. A ship of theirs will come this far maybe once a year. You’ll always find their ships and the sun-king’s together, because only the sun-king’s Taki navigators know the way. That’s it, lad. That ship.’ He was squinting, his finger shaking. ‘Four white ships? Is that the design? Is that it?’ His voice was hoarse.
Berren squinted as well. Four white ships on red. He’d been looking for those colours for nearly two years. He couldn’t have missed them, could he? Not now … The flags kept flapping though, making it almost impossible to tell. ‘Doesn’t look like it.’ Then, for a moment, Berren saw it clearly. ‘No,’ he said, quite sure of himself. ‘Not four ships. Just one. Or maybe an upside-down tree. But not four.’
The thief-taker lowered his hand. His fingers curled and his fist clenched. He was still shaking, quivering with anger. ‘Or an upside-down axe? Double-headed?’
‘Could be.’ Berren tried to get a better look, but the wind was fickle and the flag danced back and forth, never still for long enough to be clear.
‘Could be.’ Master Sy growled. Repressed fury crackled from every word. ‘Good enough, lad. Good enough. Was it white?’
‘Looked it.’
‘The Headsman.’ The thief-taker nodded to himself, as if that made perfect sense. Berren had never heard of such a man.
‘The what?’
‘The Headsman. Still sailing then.’ He was still nodding as he got to his feet. ‘Bolt in the back of the head, one in the spine. That’d be him all right. Well we’ll see about that.’
Berren got up too, swaying slightly as the pitch of the tower-top caught him out again. ‘Master? See about what? Master?’
But Master Sy was already climbing down the ladder and he didn’t hear. When Berren caught his eye, the thief-taker seemed to be very far away. His lips were drawn back, the teeth behind them clenched.
11
