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.