Honor Among Thieves (28 page)
I
didn’t want this job, Malden thought. I never asked for it. Surely, this is Cutbill’s punishment upon me. Yet what did I do to him, ever? I worked in his employ, helped to make him rich.
Now he had to clean up the mess Cutbill had left behind.
Loophole had been one of the guildmaster’s favorites, one of his oldest cronies. He was well loved in the guild of thieves. If he was to hang, the guild would tear itself apart—the thieves would blame Malden for the oldster’s death, and they would remove him from office, in a rather pointed fashion.
Malden had no choice but to stop the hanging. He gestured for Velmont to follow him, then hurried out into the night.
The brazen doors of the Ladychapel stood open. Yellow light spilled out across its marble steps. Malden walked in to the smell of incense and the heat of braziers, and for a moment he was dizzy, his thoughts swirling in his head like a whirlpool.
At the altar, Pritchard Hood knelt with his hands clasped in prayer. A single priest dressed in green vestments stood behind the altar, hands lifted in supplication. Behind him a gilt cornucopia glared in the light of a hundred candles.
The air in the church was thick and still. Malden felt like he was wading through molten glass. He was barely aware of Velmont walking behind him.
Pritchard Hood did not stir as Malden approached. The priest stared at the thief, perhaps expecting Malden to desecrate these holy precincts. As bewildered and frightened as he was, Malden knew better than that. He did not know to what extent Hood truly was a zealot, or if he merely had taken up faith in the Lady as a shield, or as a political gambit. It didn’t matter. If he did something rash now—like spilling blood on the altar—he would have a thousand new enemies to contend with.
“Pritchard Hood,” he said.
The bailiff turned slowly, as if still lost in communion with his goddess.
Malden scowled. “You’ve taken an innocent old man.”
“I would hardly call Loophole innocent,” Hood said with a chuckle. “He’s one of the most infamous thieves in Skrae.”
“He’s an old man. He hasn’t stolen so much as a farthing from you or anyone in this city.” Malden crossed his arms in front of him, careful not to let his hand fall to the hilt of Acidtongue where it lay on his hip.
“He got his name by crawling through an arrowslit in the barracks building on Castle Hill. He stole money from the Burgrave’s men.”
“That was twenty years ago.”
Hood smiled, showing all his teeth. “The Lady never forgets evil done unto Her people. You would know that, Malden, if you had any religious instruction. Those who live good lives, by honest means, are rewarded by Her. Those who do evil are punished by Her servants in this world. Servants like me.”
Malden shook his head. “The Bloodgod’s justice is more to my liking. That comes to the poor man and the rich alike. All are judged and tortured for their sins in the pit of souls. Sadu needs no servants to wreak his vengeance for him.”
The priest started to tremble as Malden spoke. “That name is never spoken in this house,” he insisted. “You violate the very stones of this church with your tongue!”
Malden ignored the priest. “Let Loophole go, Hood.”
“Is that a threat, Malden? It means nothing to me. Your thief will hang at dawn tomorrow. And his last words will indict you. The Lady wills it, so let it be done.”
Bile rose in Malden’s throat, but he knew he was beaten here. He could not strike down Hood in the church. Even if he did, it wouldn’t guarantee Loophole’s freedom. But he had to do something. The entire guild of thieves would be watching him. There was no more time for delay, or appeasement, or begging for patience.
As he walked back out of the Ladychapel, he saw there was no more time for thinking either. Half a dozen men stood on the steps, making a rather poor attempt at looking nonchalant. He knew them all—they were thieves, burglars and sharpers and robbers. They were the ones who had never had any confidence in his leadership, and they were here to show him how low his reputation had sunk.
They were all armed.
“Velmont,” Malden said quietly, “can I trust you?”
“What color’s your money?”
“It’s gold, Velmont. Bright gold.”
“You can trust me jus’ fine.”
Still—two against six.
“Gentlemen,” Malden said, nodding at the six.
One of them stepped forward. His name was Tock, and Malden had recruited him into the guild personally. The guild’s recruiting methods were not always gentle. Tock had reason to hate Malden long before Cutbill fled town. “You look tired, Malden. The strain of leadership getting to you?”
“They took Loophole tonight,” Malden said, trying to appeal to camaraderie.
“So we heard. Now there’s a man who deserved your protection. But where were you when he was taken? In a bawdy house, they say, holed up in a private room.”
Malden didn’t bother to explain himself. Cutbill never would have. Of course, Cutbill would have had armed bravos waiting in the shadows, ready to strike as soon as Tock made a move for his knife. “I’m going to get him released. You can help me with that, or you can try to stop me.”
One of the six drew a long cleaver from his belt. Tock opened his hand, palm level with the street. This wasn’t just a bunch of angry thieves, then. It was a crew—organized, if they’d bothered to work out signals. Able to fight as a unit.
Malden and Velmont had never fought back-to-back. He had no idea how the Helstrovian thief would do if it came to that.
“I’ll say again, you can help me,” Malden told Tock.
“You got a plan, Malden?” Tock asked.
“Always,” Malden lied.
“You going up to Castle Hill, to the gaol? You going to sneak in and get Loophole, sneak out again with him over your shoulder?”
Some of the six laughed at the idea. Until that moment Malden had been considering the very thing. Now he needed to rethink.
“No,” he sighed. “That would be folly.”
“Then what’s your grand scheme?”
Malden closed his eyes. And heard singing. The priest inside the Ladychapel was leading the evening hymn service, and Pritchard Hood, his only constituent that night, was lending his voice.
“Ah,” Malden said, because suddenly he had it. “I’m going to say a little prayer.”
I
t wasn’t easy getting the word out so late in the evening. The honest people of Ness (such as they were) tended to lock their doors after dark and go to sleep early—candles were expensive, and after a long day of work everyone just wanted to rest. The streets weren’t safe after dark, no matter how deserted they might be. Malden had placed his hopes, though, on that segment of the population that made its living after the sun went down.
His thieves came first to Godstone Square, as they had before—alone, mostly. Some expressed quiet support for Malden’s scheme, while others, Tock the foremost among them, had come because they expected it to fail and they wanted to see Malden destroyed. Lockjaw and ’Levenfingers came and stood quite close to the Godstone. Whether they believed in what Malden was about to do or not, they owed Loophole that much. Slag, like all dwarves, was at his most awake after dark, when the sun didn’t burn his eyes. He showed up late, however, and grinned in apology to Malden—then held up ink-stained fingers to explain his tardiness.
Velmont moved pantherish through the crowd of thieves, looking for any sign of treachery. Malden had no doubt he found much, but for the nonce at least the knives stayed concealed.
The thieves were not alone for long. Coming in groups of six or ten for safety, the harlots of Ness arrived with some fanfare, the madams leading their girls in cheers of solidarity. Elody cheered the loudest, but Malden was pleased to find that Herwig had brought every working woman she could find. The House of Sighs must have closed its doors for the night, for the first time in living memory.
They were not the last to arrive. Malden’s agents had gone deep into the Stink, even to the poorest neighborhoods where thieves weren’t any safer than rich merchants. They had pounded on doors and called out the news in ringing shouts. He had expected a few graybeards and old women to heed the call. He was surprised to see a goodly number of cripples, the sick, and even matronly women who should have known better. Soon the square was so full the crowd spilled out into the surrounding streets, and window shutters flew open as the local residents looked to see what all the clamor was for.
Malden wasn’t ready to start, however. Not until Pritchard Hood arrived.
For much of an hour he waited, standing atop the Godstone just as when he’d addressed his guild, back when Ness had seemed a sane and safe place for a good-natured thief. He said nothing to the gathered folk, other than to welcome them and greet those he knew. He gave them no encouragement. What he was about to do was a solemn act, not the antics of a clown at a harvest season fair. Though never much of a believer himself, Malden was acquainted with the way the old priests of the Bloodgod had acquitted themselves. They had taken their rites most seriously, and he intended to do the same.
When Pritchard Hood did finally arrive, along with six of his burliest watchmen, they shoved their way through the crowd until they stood directly beneath the Godstone. Malden was intrigued to see that the watchmen carried not their usual polearms but mallets and picks. Interesting. It seemed Hood had a demonstration of his own to make.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Malden,” Hood shouted up at him. “This place has been ritually defiled. There’s nothing sacred about this piece of rock.”
Malden smiled down at the man. “You think Sadu cared when the priests of your Lady washed this stone with vinegar and sang their little songs over it? Do you think He even noticed?”
“I think He trembled in His pit,” Hood replied, looking around him. “I think He knew that His time was past, and that the age of the Lady had come.”
“Ah, but your sort always think that gods can be cast aside when they’re no longer wanted.” Malden looked around the crowd. He saw the rapt faces, the strange calm in their eyes. “When it’s politically convenient.” He made his voice boom out over the crowd so all could hear. He only wished he could do this in the daylight, so people could see better. Loophole would hang at dawn, though, so he had very little time to spare.
“True believers know that gods do not die,” he went on. “Sadu’s children have not forgotten Him. Here, in Ness, we’ve always been guaranteed our right to worship whatever god we choose. Even if it’s not in the Free City’s charter, every Burgrave has upheld the freedom of each man to choose his own god. You seem to disagree with that liberty.”
“There is only one goddess who can save Skrae now. What exactly do you expect Sadu to do for you tonight?” Hood demanded. “What are you going to ask Him for? To crack open the earth so the walls of the gaol fall and your old thief can run away? I’ll just catch him again. Maybe you wish Sadu to send demons to aid you.”
A murmur went through the crowd. Demonology was the province of sorcerers, and no one trusted them. If that was Malden’s aim, he was about to lose any support he might have hoped for.
Luckily he had something else in mind. “I beseech the Bloodgod for one thing only. The only thing he ever promised to us: justice, for every man and woman. And I offer him his chosen sacrifice in exchange.”
He unsheathed his belt knife and, quick enough that he didn’t even wince, slashed open the skin of his left palm. He showed the wound to the gathered people, then clenched his hand several times to make the blood flow.
“For you, Sadu!” he cried, and then bent low so he could slap his bloody hand against the surface of the Godstone. Blood dripped down its face, dark in the moonlight so all could see.
For a moment not one person in all of Godstone Square breathed.
Pritchard Hood broke the silence by laughing. “Malden, you’ve undone yourself! You know blood sacrifice is illegal in Skrae, and has been for a hundred years. You know perfectly well that anyone making sacrifice to this stone is subject to penalty of death.”
Malden glanced at the mallets and picks the watchmen held. “Come and catch me then, thief-taker,” he said.
Had Pritchard Hood brought a ladder and climbed up to bring Malden down, Malden would have been utterly lost. Had he sent an archer to the rooftops overlooking the square, Malden would have been slain on the spot.
Instead, Hood decided to catch two birds with one snare. “You’ve given me a wonderful excuse to do something no Burgrave or bailiff has ever had the courage to do before. I thank you, Malden! You six—take it down.”
One of the watchmen lifted his mallet and brought it down hard on the face of the ancient stone. Cracks appeared on the surface of the Godstone and fragments of its substance fell away. Time and weather had made it fragile, and it would not take long before the watchmen toppled it and broke it into rubble.
At least, if no one stopped them.
Pritchard Hood had made a grave miscalculation. The Lady, it was taught, put every man in his station by Her sacred decree. Those who prospered in this life owed Her their allegiance, for She was the giver of all wealth and bounty. The kings of Skrae and all their nobles, every rich merchant and guildmaster in the kingdom, every legally sanctioned priest, all worshipped the Lady and disdained the rites of the Bloodgod. They had repressed—savagely—the worship of Sadu. They had fought wars against His faithful. But they had never quite wiped out the old faith.
The poor, the dispossessed, the outcasts of society never forgot Sadu’s name. They would never let it be forgotten.
When word of the barbarian invasion reached Ness, all the rich citizenry had fled. All the merchants were gone, all the petty nobles and courtiers, all the hierarchs of the Lady’s church had left the city to its fate.
The ones who stayed behind had done so because they couldn’t afford to leave. The same people who were Sadu’s children. The true faithful, the ones who remembered the old ways, were the people who filled Godstone Square that night.
Before the watchman could swing again and break the stone, the pure fury of the pit was unleashed.
