The Warlock's Shadow

by Stephen Deas

  ‘Mouth closed, boy.’ Master Sy was already sitting down. Berren quickly followed beside him.

  ‘They were …’ He looked for the right word and couldn’t find it.

  ‘Lovely?’ offered Master Sy. Berren nodded. That would have to do. They were like all the best of the women he’d seen with the prince, the curved beauties from the higher reaches of Reeper Hill, mixed with the honest earthiness of Lilissa. If there was a word for that, he didn’t know it.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ he sighed.

  ‘The Grim has the pick of all the girls in the city, or at least the poor ones, which amounts to much the same. Rich men come here, and I promise you: every girl The Grim puts to work becomes a mistress to one of them. Sometimes a man in the throes of passion lets slip a little secret or two. Sometimes those secrets somehow make their way back The Grim. Somehow, to some, this comes as a surprise.’ He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. ‘Rich fools. Deephaven’s contribution to the empire.’

  ‘The Grim?’ Berren snorted. Last he’d heard, The Grim had been some pirate who’d made his fortune during the civil war before Berren had been born. He’d been a pirate then and the rumours around The Peak were that he was still a pirate now, just a different sort of pirate. Hardly a dirty old man running a tea-house, surely?

  ‘Yes. I hear he chooses them himself.’ Master Sy leaned back and spread out his arms. ‘The Golden Cup. They say they brew the best tea in the city and bake the best pastries. Master Mardan and Master Fennis both swear these teahouses will be all the rage soon. Deephaven will be full of them and then Varr and the City of Spires and everywhere else in the empire. I think Master Fennis is even considering throwing in his sword and giving up thief-taking altogether to go and start one in Varr.’ He laughed. ‘Can’t see it myself. You imperials are all too dark and dour and gloomy for something like this. I gather the prince came here soon after he arrived and didn’t think much of it at all. I told Fennis he should try his luck further south. Go to Torpreah or Helhex where it’s warmer. Varr?’ He shook his head, still laughing. ‘The place is buried in snow for half the year. What would they do with a house like this?’ Then he frowned. ‘Keep your eyes open for Kol. He’s supposed to be joining us.’

  He was interrupted as one of the serving girls came back with a silver tray. She leaned over the table, laying out an array of small silver cups and bowls. Berren tried not to stare. The girl wore her shirt loose. You could see all the way down to …

  For an instant she caught his eye. Hastily, Berren looked away, blushing furiously. The girl smiled very slightly then finished by setting down a plate with a dozen tiny little things that Berren might have called cakes if they’d been about ten times bigger.

  ‘Is there anything else I can give you gentlemen?’ she asked, glancing again at Berren. Yes, Berren wanted to say, but all the air had been sucked out of him. Master Sy smiled politely.

  ‘Thank you, that will be all.’

  The girl left. ‘Master, don’t you …?’

  ‘This isn’t Reeper Hill,’ said Master Sy sharply. ‘They’re not ground-floor girls here, and even if they were, the likes of you and I couldn’t afford them.’

  ‘But.’ But what? He sighed again. Master Sy was frowning. He never liked talking about women.

  ‘Right. While we’re waiting for Kol, watch carefully while I show you how this works. Not that you’re ever likely to need to know how to pour tea properly, but you might as well learn.’

  The thief-taker started doing things with the teapot and the various minuscule bowls of this and that. Berren pretended to pay attention while watching the serving girls out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t stop thinking about the monks, either. As soon as they were done here, he was going to get to see them fight. A demonstration! And then after that, they were going to teach him! The best sword-monks in the whole world and they were going to teach him! Him! He couldn’t sit still.

  Maybe she was actually a boy who happened to look a bit like a girl. They wouldn’t really make him train with a girl, would they?

  ‘I’ll give up, shall I?’ grumbled Master Sy. He didn’t sound angry. If anything, he was almost smiling, something Berren rarely got to see. ‘No, no, you’re right. You go ahead and stare at pretty girls. I suppose you deserve it. We did very well out of His Highness’s stay here.’ The thief-taker patted his pocket. ‘I’ve got a handful of silver crowns for you. Our prince certainly pays better than Justicar Kol ever did, and the justicar, when he bothers to get here, owes me a purse too.’ His almost-smile turned into a full grin. ‘And with half the city’s thief-takers on bodyguard duty for the last few months, I’m sure Kol’s got a nice backlog of bounties that need sorting out. He’s probably pissing himself thinking that we’re all going to retire or else spend the next few months in our cups while the city goes to rats.’ The thief-taker lifted his teacup. He closed Berren’s fingers around the other cup and lifted Berren’s hand into the air between them. Then he touched the two cups together. ‘Here’s to us then, lad. The best thief-takers in the city. What shall it be this time? There’s goods going missing in the sea-docks again.’ There were always goods going missing in the sea-docks. Ever since one of the harbour-masters had tried to have them both killed, Master Sy had taken to watching them all. Every one of them had their fingers in something.

  Berren shook his head. ‘Can we do something else? I’m bored of the docks and they all still think it was one of us who murdered that fat bastard VenDormen.’

  ‘They do.’ For a moment, Master Sy smiled again. ‘Don’t you find that very useful? Makes them all nicely scared of us.’

  ‘Makes them keep their mouths shut too.’

  ‘Some of them.’ The thief-taker shrugged. ‘There have been barges robbed down at the river docks. Whole cargoes vanishing in the night.’

  ‘Mudlarks,’ sniffed Berren. ‘Kol just wants an excuse to send you over there with some of his soldiers to burn them out again.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘What about whoever it was who tried to break into the prince’s rooms, eh? Isn’t there a reward up for that?’

  Master Sy snorted. ‘Won’t be from Kol. He doesn’t usually worry too much about people getting murdered. Things getting stolen, that’s more his interest. There’s been some curious stuff showing up in the night markets of late. A few wagoners getting a little too rich. Velgian tells me they even had Taki black powder. Maybe we’ll start there.’

  ‘But no one else even saw what happened!’ Berren had a picture clear in his mind. A silhouette in the scent garden of the Watchman’s Arms. Short with two swords slung across his back, almost exactly like a sword-monk.

  ‘Lad, that’s trouble of the worst sort. Best you keep out of it.’ Which was the thief-taker’s way of saying he was already thinking about it. ‘I tell you what interests me: someone broke into the courthouse a while back. Killed two guards and stole some papers. Kol’s paying well to get whoever did it. Very well.’

  Berren shrugged. He was just the apprentice, after all. He wasn’t sure he cared what they did. He’d be stuck in the temple learning letters and swords for however long the sword-monks were here anyway. Master Sy could go and do what he liked.

  Learning swords from a girl. He shuddered.

  The thief-taker wasn’t smiling now. If anything he was looking angry. Outside, across the square in the Temple of the Sun, the noon bells started to ring, calling the faithful to prayer. ‘No.’ Master Sy shook his head. ‘Best leave that one well alone.’

  Berren shrugged again. ‘What if it was a monk?’ he asked, eyeing the serving girls as they walked past.

  ‘Then you’d be dead and the prince too most likely. Might as well ask if it was one of ours. A bad thief-taker.’

  ‘Don’t they all go bad, sooner or later?’ That’s what Master Sy used to tell him. Don’t trust any of the others. Too much temptation.

  The thief-taker glared at him. ‘Go on then, lad, who was it?’

  ‘Can’
t be Master Mardan or Master Fennis. Too tall, both of them.’

  ‘Velgian’s worse with a blade than with those fearful rhymes of his.’ The thief-taker laughed. ‘Did you know he got mugged? He was down near the river docks on his way back from the River Gate the day after your little set-to at the Watchman’s Arms and he got jumped, right outside the House of Cats and Gulls. Couple of mudlarks. One of them thumped him in the face, the other one cut his purse and they left him there, sitting on his arse in the slime with nothing but a bloody nose to show for it.’ Master Sy shook his head. ‘Some thief-taker, eh? Tiarth isn’t in the city at the moment. I suppose there’s plenty of others though. Plenty of snuffers too.’ The Golden Cup was growing noisy. Even though the temple bells were still pealing, men were coming through the doors in a steady stream. Fat men, mostly, all of them dressed in rich clothes. For a moment, Berren forgot about Master Sy. He stared open-mouthed as one of them groped the serving girls and laughed to his friends. The girls put on a good show of being amused. Whether they meant it or not, Berren couldn’t tell.

  ‘Money, lad,’ hissed the thief-taker. ‘The guild-house is right next door. A few pious fellows go out across the square to the temple for midday prayers. Most of them come in here for Grim’s sweetmeats. They have riches, lad, more than you can dream. They can make you into a prince of the city or they can swat you away without even blinking. These are the ones who pay Justicar Kol, these men. We take their coin. Everyone does, one way or the other, even your precious prince. Watch them closely by all means, but do it with care.’

  Master Sy finished his tea and poured himself another. For a few minutes they watched the growing crowd in silence together. Now and then the thief-taker would point out a face and whisper a name. As the Golden Cup grew full, one of the serving girls slipped over and whispered in Master Sy’s ear. The thief-taker nodded. A moment after she went, he got to his feet.

  ‘Come on, lad. I don’t know what’s happened to Kol, but we don’t want to be late for your monks.’

  Berren frowned. He knew exactly how long noon prayers took and it was longer than this. He glanced down at the pastries still left on the table.

  ‘In your pockets, lad.’ They didn’t even go out the same way they’d come in; they slipped out the back as though they were servants.

  ‘She asked us to leave, didn’t she?’

  Master Sy didn’t answer, but once they were outside, he stopped. The look on his face when he turned was enough to make Berren take a step back.

  ‘The Golden Cup isn’t for us, lad. It’s for fat f–’ He took a deep breath. The anger fell into slow retreat. He seemed to reach for some different words but couldn’t find any. Eventually he simply shook his head. ‘Not for the likes of us. That’s all there is to it. Come on, lad. I don’t think we’ll be coming back.’

  8

  DRAGON-MONKS

  They walked around the back of the Golden Cup, through the alleys until they were on the edge of Deephaven Square again. Master Sy stopped near the temple gates where a man was selling sweet pancakes laced with honeyberries, yellow and round like the midday sun. Suncakes. The thief-taker bought a couple for each of them, took a mouthful and gave a satisfied belch. ‘Don’t suppose you ever get out from your lessons during the day, but these are the best suncakes in the city. Expensive, but the best.’

  Berren, who skipped prayers to eat one whenever he could afford it, said nothing. He licked the crumbs off his lips and followed Master Sy through the gates. The priests and the novices were still at their devotions but the monks were outside. They’d drawn a circle in the sand and had started to practice, stretching their arms and their legs between frenzied bouts of sparring with sticks. Berren walked up to the line in the sand and plonked himself down to watch, munching away on his second suncake. He’d never seen anyone doing the things these sword-monks could do, and this was just practice! He’d never met anyone who could bend their legs so far for a start, and when they went on to handsprings and backflips, his jaw dropped. It was as though they were bouncing right back up off the ground! He drew a breath between his teeth.

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘Impressed?’ Master Sy sounded anything but. ‘Acrobats do this in Four Winds Square every festival.’

  Berren nodded. He’d seen them too. But acrobats didn’t have swords.

  After a few minutes, the monks seemed to notice they were being watched. Two of them stopped, the girl and the oldest of the monks, the one who’d been standing and watching the others. The girl stared at Berren with open animosity. Berren stared back. With her hair cropped short, a sunburst tattooed across her face, she might as well have been a boy. Even the tight yellow shirts the monks wore didn’t help.

  The older one cocked his head at Master Sy.

  ‘I am the elder dragon here,’ he said. His tones were flat and formal, empty of either friendship or hostility. He glanced briefly at Berren. ‘Has this boy been trained at all?’

  Master Sy bristled. ‘He’s had some lessons, yes. Mostly on stance and grip and basic technique.’ Berren wrinkled his nose and glanced at the sky. A few. Nowhere near enough.

  ‘Can he hold a sword?’

  The thief-taker stood up and beckoned Berren to do the same. When they were both on their feet, he put his own sword into Berren’s hands. ‘Show them your guard.’

  Obediently, Berren took up a defensive stance. He gritted his teeth and curled his toes as the girl shook her head and rolled her eyes. The elder dragon inspected Berren thoroughly. He put a gentle palm on Berren’s shoulder. Then, without seeming to move at all, he pushed Berren over as easily as if he’d flicked a leaf into the air.

  ‘Who taught him to stand like this?’ Berren’s shoulder felt as though he’d been kicked by a horse. He could hardly move his arm; he cradled it as he struggled to get back to his feet. The elder dragon had been touching him. How could he hit so hard from so close?

  ‘Actually, I did,’ frowned Master Sy. ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t break him.’

  The elder dragon gave a bow. ‘Of course.’ He waved a hand and beckoned the girl forward. The more Berren looked at her, the more he thought of the silhouette he’d seen in the scent garden. That could have been a girl, he supposed, if it had been a girl that looked like a boy …

  ‘This is Tasahre. Tasahre is the youngest of my students. I am considering having her train your apprentice. Her skills are adequate.’ As though the Prince himself hadn’t singled her out! Why did he have to point at her? Because she’d been the closest when he’d happened to think about it? Berren clenched his teeth.

  The elder dragon nodded to himself. ‘The experience will do her good.’ His voice was carefully neutral; Tasahre, however, looked anything but indifferent. She glared venomously at Berren. Berren glared back.

  Master Sy frowned. ‘She and Berren must be almost the same age.’

  ‘Tasahre has been with the order since she was three years old. She has been holding a sword since she was six. She is not one of my better swords, but I am confident that any shortcomings in her technique will be unimportant in this case. I imagine she would have been your boy’s equal at about the age of ten, yours by the age of twelve.’

  Master Sy snorted. ‘That’s a hard claim to credit.’

  The elder dragon took a step to the side, beckoning the thief-taker to cross the ring in the sand. ‘You may see for yourself if you like.’

  For a long time, Master Sy didn’t move. Tasahre watched him, muscles tense like a coiled snake waiting to strike.

  ‘The boy is yours, after all. It is right and proper that you should test his teacher.’

  ‘Oh, I’m quite sure it’s not your little sword-monk who’s being tested.’ Master Sy stared back at Tasahre. The elder dragon smiled blandly.

  ‘It will also be useful to Tasahre to see the style of her pupil’s previous teacher. This way she will see the flaws that have been brought to his training and she will know what corrections must first be made before
any bad ways become habit. Assuming it is not all too late for that. As you observed, they are almost the same age. In many ways, your boy is far too old to learn.’ Berren’s stomach tightened. His heart beat faster. He was going to show her! It wasn’t as though Master Sy hadn’t taught him anything at all!

  ‘I’ve always been told there’s not much point in teaching a man what to do with a sword until he’s at least strong enough to hold it properly.’

  ‘Interesting.’ For the first time, the elder dragon allowed some emotion to show: he looked very slightly intrigued. ‘Your own teacher came from Caladir or Brons then?’

  ‘Kalda, actually.’ Master Sy sounded annoyed. ‘You won’t have heard of it. Small school on the fringes of the Dominion. They took their instructors from the sun-king’s court where they could. Oh, and she did a lot of real fighting. On battlefields, you understand. Killing people. We used to have a lot of that.’

  ‘Ah.’ The elder dragon nodded solemnly as if that explained everything. Then he beckoned again. In the background, the doors to the temple were swinging open. Midday prayers were over. Finally Master Sy nodded. He took back his sword and crossed the line in the sand, walking slowly, keeping his back to the sword-monks with his blade in his hand. Tasahre didn’t move, although her eyes left Berren and followed the thief-taker instead. The novices were coming out of the temple. They weren’t allowed to run, and the sight of them walking as fast as they possibly could would have made Berren laugh, except … Except something was in the air, some sense of expectation and it made him uneasy. Master Sy was twirling his sword, loosening his arm. They weren’t using practise weapons either and Berren knew exactly how sharp Master Sy kept his steel.

  The thief-taker turned around and drew up into a neutral guard. Tasahre didn’t move. More and more priests and novices were streaming out of the temple now. They sat at the edge of the ring in the sand, watching, full of anticipation. Berren stared too.