by Stephen Deas
He sat still, staring at the waves. Deephaven had been his home. For all its sins, it had given birth to him. The city and the sea. He’d probably miss the water. The sound of it, even the smell of it. The jaunty river men and the surly mudlarks, the rainbow breeds of sailors from across the oceans, the warm sultry nights and the winters where people didn’t freeze to death. The colours, the way the markets always held something he’d never seen before, every single day. Yes, he’d miss all of that.
But not the thief-taker with his hands covered in blood. Not Tasahre, lying soaked in crimson, head lolling sideways. Not the shadow-thing that called itself Saffran Kuy.
He kicked himself. He was going to Varr. He was going to serve a prince, a real prince, not someone who got kicked out of his palace a decade and then some ago. If the worst came to the worst and this Prince turned out no better than the last, there was always work on the city walls. The whole world could work on the walls of Varr and they’d still never get finished. Apparently that was a joke. He’d heard it said and heard people laugh, too. Didn’t see it himself.
The sky started to lighten. Nights were short in the summer. Over in the city the crowds were thinning as people either staggered to doze in a temple to the sun somewhere or else passed out in the streets, fodder for the press gangs. He got up. When he tried to walk, the sword and its scabbard kept getting between his legs and tripping him up. In the end he wrapped the sword back into its bundle and ran across the city with it slung across his back.
He went down the back of Reeper Hill and Shipwrights’ and towards The Maze. Lilissa lived there now, somewhere. His first love, gone to be with her fishmonger. He didn’t know exactly where; Master Sy wouldn’t tell him and Lilissa didn’t want him to know. All in all that had probably been for the best. Everything to do with her seemed so childish now.
Tasahre. A part of him had died with her. Or maybe she wasn’t dead after all – maybe that sword monk had reached her in time and touched her with a mark of the sun, like the elder dragon had done to Master Sy, and turned her at the brink and brought her back. Maybe? Could something like that have happened?
No. No, he couldn’t even start to make himself believe it. She was dead and no one was going to miss him. Hardly anyone would even notice except Master Sy, and Berren would never be able to look at the thief-taker again without seeing Tasahre. Leaving was nothing to be sad about.
He walked through the Sea Gate into the docks. They looked like a battlefield. Clusters of drunks huddled together. Others shambled aimlessly towards the temple near the gates. A few were laid out flat, some of them already being dragged towards boats, bobbing on the sea. Berren skirted around the edge of all that. The Maze, that was his place. He knew exactly where he was going: to the half-collapsed cellar of the old Sheaf of Arrows, the place he used to go when he ran with Hatchet’s gangs. It was as good a place as any to hide for a day.
He turned a corner and walked straight into a gang of men pushing a handcart. He stumbled and almost fell.
‘Hey, lad. Careful there!’ One of the men reached out, offering him a hand. Berren took it without thinking.
‘Ever thought of going to sea?’ asked another one behind him.
The grip on his wrist was strong, pulling him up. Very strong.
He had a moment, just long enough to realise who these men were, before something hit him round the back of the head.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For some reason this was a hard one to get right. Thanks to my editor at Gollancz, Simon Spanton and to my wife Michaela, both of whom earned their keep putting up with me through this.
I should also mention The Boxer Rebellion, who provided a substantial part of the soundtrack to my life while this was being written.
Also by Stephen Deas from Gollancz:
THE ADAMANTINE PALACE
THE KING OF THE CRAGS
THE ORDER OF THE SCALES
THE THIEF-TAKER’S APPRENTICE
Copyright
A Gollancz eBook
Copyright © Stephen Deas 2011
All rights reserved.
The right of Stephen Deas to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2011 by
Gollancz
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane
London, WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
This eBook first published in 2011 by Gollancz.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 0 575 09454 3
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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