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Authors: Stephen Deas
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have need of aid and I can’t help you, come to him. You’ll find him here much more often than you should.’
Mardan threw back his head and laughed. ‘That’s so true. Teaching your boy a few lessons, are you? Send him to me, Syannis. I can give him a few of my own.’
‘Oh I’m sure he can learn drunkenness without any help. But either way he can wait until I’m done with him.’
Mardan wagged a finger in front of Master Sy’s nose. ‘It’s an art to do it well and then win a fight, though. As you well know, my bloody-nosed friend.’ The black haired thief-taker laughed. ‘I suppose you’re here to see Kol, eh? Well we’re done with our business. Sharing a cup or two for the pleasure of it, we were, but I don’t suppose you’d wish to join us.’ He chuckled to himself again. ‘Come on, little imp, let’s be going.’ He picked up a bulging bag from the floor and threw it easily across his shoulder. The second of the three men rose from the table. This one was smaller, slighter, much more like Master Sy. He wore a hood that cast most of his face in shadow, except for the sharp point of his nose. He almost seemed to float across the floor as he left.
‘That other man was Teacher Orimel,’ said Master Sy after they were gone. ‘He’s a witch-breaker. Don’t be fooled. Mardan is taking his coin, not the other way around.’ The thief-taker pulled up one of the now vacant stools and sat down. Berren fidgeted from one foot to the other. The last man wore clothes that spoke of money, but he was bald, his lips were thin and bloodless and his eyes were the eyes of a killer. He looked like a snuffer and he made Berren scared.
‘Sit, lad.’ Master Sy patted the other empty stool. Berren did as he was told. He sat, stiff and straight, still ready to flee. The bald man raised an eyebrow and pretended to smile.
‘Hello, Syannis.’
The thief-taker gave a solemn nod. ‘Justicar. This boy here is my apprentice. His name is Berren. I brought him here so you would know him.’
Watery eyes looked Berren up and down from the inside out. ‘He reminds me of you,’ said the bald man. ‘Well then, Berren, good day to you. I am Justicar Kol. I am charged with keeping the peace in this city.’
Berren’s jaw dropped. He knew this man. This was the bald man he’d seen at the execution! The man on the platform! The one who’d come out with the executioner. The man who’d . . .
The bald man blinked. ‘Does my name mean something to you?’
‘You were at the execution!’ he blurted. ‘It was you who gave Master Sy that purse. Ten golden emperors, that’s what you said. And it was all rubbish!’
For a moment, the table fell silent. Then Master Sy rolled his eyes. ‘He waited until I came out and then he snatched the purse.’ He sighed. Justicar Kol’s lips quivered.
‘He stole your purse?’ He was smiling for real now. ‘ Your purse. This boy stole your purse?’
The thief-taker shrugged. ‘I was somewhat distracted.’
‘Yes, you told me.’ Justicar Kol was chuckling now. ‘I heard all about you gutting three cut-throats down in Speakslate Alley. I don’t remember hearing the bit where some boy snatched your purse in the middle of it all.’ He looked at Berren and shook his head. ‘Boy, you must have balls of steel.’ He laughed again as the barkeeper wound his way among the tables and plonked three full foaming tankards down in front of them. ‘Syannis, when I’d heard you’d taken on some boy, I have to admit that I wondered what in the name of Kelm’s Teeth you were up to. Now I think I have a much better idea.’ He took hold of his tankard and raised it at Berren. ‘To you, young man. I was a thief-taker once. No one steals a thief-taker’s purse. Really. No one does. It’s a bit like walking up to the Overlord and spitting at him. Dim as a donkey’s arse.’
‘Or telling him that you like the Sun Tower better than his,’ muttered Master Sy.
The bald
Mardan threw back his head and laughed. ‘That’s so true. Teaching your boy a few lessons, are you? Send him to me, Syannis. I can give him a few of my own.’
‘Oh I’m sure he can learn drunkenness without any help. But either way he can wait until I’m done with him.’
Mardan wagged a finger in front of Master Sy’s nose. ‘It’s an art to do it well and then win a fight, though. As you well know, my bloody-nosed friend.’ The black haired thief-taker laughed. ‘I suppose you’re here to see Kol, eh? Well we’re done with our business. Sharing a cup or two for the pleasure of it, we were, but I don’t suppose you’d wish to join us.’ He chuckled to himself again. ‘Come on, little imp, let’s be going.’ He picked up a bulging bag from the floor and threw it easily across his shoulder. The second of the three men rose from the table. This one was smaller, slighter, much more like Master Sy. He wore a hood that cast most of his face in shadow, except for the sharp point of his nose. He almost seemed to float across the floor as he left.
‘That other man was Teacher Orimel,’ said Master Sy after they were gone. ‘He’s a witch-breaker. Don’t be fooled. Mardan is taking his coin, not the other way around.’ The thief-taker pulled up one of the now vacant stools and sat down. Berren fidgeted from one foot to the other. The last man wore clothes that spoke of money, but he was bald, his lips were thin and bloodless and his eyes were the eyes of a killer. He looked like a snuffer and he made Berren scared.
‘Sit, lad.’ Master Sy patted the other empty stool. Berren did as he was told. He sat, stiff and straight, still ready to flee. The bald man raised an eyebrow and pretended to smile.
‘Hello, Syannis.’
The thief-taker gave a solemn nod. ‘Justicar. This boy here is my apprentice. His name is Berren. I brought him here so you would know him.’
Watery eyes looked Berren up and down from the inside out. ‘He reminds me of you,’ said the bald man. ‘Well then, Berren, good day to you. I am Justicar Kol. I am charged with keeping the peace in this city.’
Berren’s jaw dropped. He knew this man. This was the bald man he’d seen at the execution! The man on the platform! The one who’d come out with the executioner. The man who’d . . .
The bald man blinked. ‘Does my name mean something to you?’
‘You were at the execution!’ he blurted. ‘It was you who gave Master Sy that purse. Ten golden emperors, that’s what you said. And it was all rubbish!’
For a moment, the table fell silent. Then Master Sy rolled his eyes. ‘He waited until I came out and then he snatched the purse.’ He sighed. Justicar Kol’s lips quivered.
‘He stole your purse?’ He was smiling for real now. ‘ Your purse. This boy stole your purse?’
The thief-taker shrugged. ‘I was somewhat distracted.’
‘Yes, you told me.’ Justicar Kol was chuckling now. ‘I heard all about you gutting three cut-throats down in Speakslate Alley. I don’t remember hearing the bit where some boy snatched your purse in the middle of it all.’ He looked at Berren and shook his head. ‘Boy, you must have balls of steel.’ He laughed again as the barkeeper wound his way among the tables and plonked three full foaming tankards down in front of them. ‘Syannis, when I’d heard you’d taken on some boy, I have to admit that I wondered what in the name of Kelm’s Teeth you were up to. Now I think I have a much better idea.’ He took hold of his tankard and raised it at Berren. ‘To you, young man. I was a thief-taker once. No one steals a thief-taker’s purse. Really. No one does. It’s a bit like walking up to the Overlord and spitting at him. Dim as a donkey’s arse.’
‘Or telling him that you like the Sun Tower better than his,’ muttered Master Sy.
The bald
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