Free The Thief-Taker's Apprentice by Stephen Deas

happening to notice.’ Justicar Kol screwed up his face. ‘Mudlarks. Has he told you about the mudlarks, young Berren?’

    Berren nodded vigorously. He took another gulp of beer and swilled it around in his mouth. He couldn’t remember ever tasting anything as good as this. And it was going straight to his head, too. He could already feel a warm buzzing behind his eyes.

    ‘Nasty folk. Thieves, the lot of them. If it was down to me I’d sail across the river with a boatload of militia gangs and be rid of them. Gods! The Overlord would be happy to pay for someone to do it, too, and if not him then the merchant houses would. What do you think, young man? Should we sail across and put an end to them?’

    Berren thought fast. Yes was the answer the bald man was waiting for. But the bald man had the look of someone who liked laying traps. So he asked: ‘Why don’t you?’ instead.

    Justicar Kol threw him a wry smile. ‘There’s those iron balls again,’ he purred. ‘You might have made a good choice here, Syannis. If he doesn’t stab you in the back when he’s done with you.’ The Justicar chuckled at himself, then looked Berren in the eye. ‘Because, believe it or not, I’m not allowed to, young man. They’re not in my jurisdiction. The river marks a border. The city itself lies under Imperial administration, and that means me. Over there?’ He stuck out his bottom lip and shrugged. ‘Strictly, if they pay any taxes at all, then it’s to the Borolans in Tarantor. One of Aria’s great noble houses. One with a rather strained relationship with the throne in Varr, too. I’m afraid Lord Mellith is far more concerned about who his errant cousin chooses for his friends than he is with us and our trivial little pirate problems. So they endure.’

    ‘But couldn’t you just . . .’ Berren stopped himself. He knew he shouldn’t be asking questions of someone like the Justicar, but the beer was making him bold.

    ‘Couldn’t we just what? Sail over there and burn the place down?’

    Berren looked sheepish. That was pretty much what he’d been thinking, but when the Justicar said it out loud, it didn’t sound half as clever as it had seemed. Kol looked Berren over and sniffed. ‘You’re one of Khrozus’ boys, aren’t you? One of the thousands of bastards that Khrozus’ army gifted us before they left. You can probably thank the mudlarks you were born, boy.’ He sniffed. ‘Yes, we had a go at the mudlarks once. There are a lot of people in this city who remember that. They remember the civil war that came a year later as well, and they can’t shake an uneasy suspicion that the two were somehow related. The city nearly died in the siege. I was here and it was hell. We ate the dead, boy. And when we didn’t have any of them left, we started on the sick. You don’t see it on the surface now, but underneath it’s there. People remember. Those big weevils you can buy down by the docks, roasted and spiced? They call that a delicacy now, but no one ever used to eat weevils. Not until they had to. So the mudlarks stay. Sheltering under a confusion of authority and bureaucracy and a reluctance to do anything. Some people even think of them as the city’s lucky charm. It’s true that now and then a few of them will try to sneak in among the boats and barges at the river docks to steal whatever they can find, but so what? Keep me out of it. Keep all of us out of it.’ He raised his tankard. ‘A toast! To the mudlarks!’ He took a deep draft. Berren raised his tankard too. The sudden movement made him sway sideways, so much so that he almost fell off his stool.

    ‘Good, eh?’ The bald man lunged and pulled Berren towards him. He hissed in Berren’s ear. ‘Your master is looking for thieves and pirates. There are plenty of them over there across the river. Make it stop and there’s gold in it for both of you.’

    A hand shot across the table and grabbed the Justicar’s arm. He let go.

    ‘Been