A Thief in the Night

Chapter Thirty-nine

They had not had the presence of mind to gather up any of the lanterns during their descent to the gallery. What little light Malden had to see by came from above, and after a short while the revenants must have smashed the lanterns and suddenly the three of them were in total darkness.

“Blast,” Slag swore. Malden heard him go through his pack. “I have candles, but no way to make a fucking light. Malden, do you have a tinderbox or-”

Green light burst from Cythera’s palms. It was a sickly flame, a color no decent fire should ever be. “Quickly,” she said. “I’m using the magic I stole from the revenant. It won’t last long.”

Slag rushed to get a candle’s wick into the flame. Once it was burning-with a wholesome yellow light-Cythera let the green flame sputter out again.

“My thanks, lass,” the dwarf said. He held the candle up to show her face. It was streaked with tears but she seemed to have recovered a measure of composure.

“I’m fine,” she told him. She looked up at Malden next. “I’m sure he’s still alive. But you’re right, we can’t get to him now. We don’t have enough rope. So we need to find another way down.”

Malden inhaled deeply. “I think, perhaps, the best way to do that would be to follow his own advice. That we should find a way out of the Vincularium altogether. Slag, you said there would be more than one escape shaft. I’m sure they’re all sealed tight, but with a little work, maybe we can-”

“I can’t just leave Croy here,” Cythera said.

“Just so we can go and get some help,” Malden assured her. “Even if we just go and fetch Herward to help us look.”

“Croy sacrificed his own-” Cythera closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a minute. “He took a great risk for you. He might have died making sure you got down here safely. Will you run away now, when he needs the same consideration in return?”

“What good is his sacrifice, if we all get killed now?” Malden demanded.

“What good is a man, who will not risk a little to save his friend?”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Malden demanded. “Are you?”

“Everyone knows what you are,” Cythera seethed back.

Malden’s eyes went wide with rage. “At least I’m sensible enough to know when a cause is lost, and to-”

“How dare you.” Her eyes flared with anger. She kept her lips pressed tightly together, as if afraid the next thing out of her mouth would be some devastating curse. She said nothing, though. She must have understood he was right. Saying nothing more, she turned away from him and strode off into the darkness. Only a few paces, though-not so far that he couldn’t see her back.

“You’re acting like a fool,” he told her, because he couldn’t help himself.

She whirled around to face him, and he was certain he’d made a terrible mistake. Cythera was no witch but it didn’t take much magic to curse someone. She could turn his guts to jelly, or his skin to glass, with just an oath.

It was Slag who saved him, since he was incapable of backing down himself. “Hold! Hold,” the dwarf said, coming between them. “Be at peace, both of you. Fucking humans. So swift to take offense. You should know that both of you want the same damn thing.”

Malden turned to face the dwarf. “We do?”

Cythera presented her back to them both.

Slag shook his head and looked out into the darkness. “She wants to go down below, to find her betrothed. You want to find an escape shaft. I can guarantee you there’s none on this level. This place,” he said, waving behind him with his free hand, “is all shops. We need to descend, to where the dwarves had their homes. That’s where the shafts will be.” He lifted the candle high.

For the first time, Malden actually looked at where he’d ended up.

The gallery was just a wide opening in the shaft, but beyond it lay a long, broad tunnel lined with low buildings. Each structure had only three walls and no roof-they were more stalls than true buildings. Inside most there stood a counter at waist height for a dwarf, about two feet off the ground. Each stall was festooned with multiple signs, engraved in dwarven runes that Malden couldn’t read.

“So this is a dwarven marketplace?” he asked.

“It was, once,” Slag corrected. His face brightened a little, to see the traces of his ancestors. “Imagine the kinds of merchandise you could get in a place like this. Rare ores, clever tools, exotic fabrics… and the trade goods, things we would bargain for with the elves and then you humans. There would have been hundreds of dwarves here, any time of the day or night, driving hard bargains, making alliances for trade, speculating on prices-”

“Robbing each other blind,” Malden said. He lit a candle of his own and went to the nearest stall. “There’s no security here at all. I can see three different ways to rob one of these shops while the proprietor was standing at his own counter.”

“We don’t fucking steal from each other, lad,” Slag said.

Malden turned to face him and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Never. It’s unthinkable for a dwarf to turn to crime. Why would he? There’s always work to be done in the mines, for any that needs money. Good, honest work. I’ve never understood why you humans would breed so fast you had excess people just lying around, not a thing to do, and not enough food to feed ’em.” He shook his head. “Why, crime’s unknown in our cities. I suppose we murder each other, now and again, when some bastard deserves it. But thievery’s not in our nature.”

Malden gave him a sly smile. “It’s in yours, though. You work for Cutbill.”

“Not as a thief,” the dwarf insisted.

“No, you just make the tools that human thieves use.”

Slag grunted in displeasure. “We make swords and spears, too, but we don’t kill folk.”

“That just makes you an accomplice.” Malden wouldn’t let it go. He was still burning with anger from when Cythera had called him a coward. “You’re leaving something out, Slag. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh, be still, lad,” Slag said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Every liar has a tell. Some small twitch of the mouth as if the lie stings them on the way out. A tendency to tap their foot in fear of being discovered. Or perhaps they close their eyes when they deviate from the truth. I’m not sure exactly what yours is, but I know you’re giving me half-truths.”

“Enough of this,” Cythera said. She shrugged her pack onto her shoulders and headed down the double row of stalls. “You think the way down is through here?” she asked.

“Aye,” Slag confirmed.

“Then let’s get moving. Malden, you can insult and bully us when it’s time to rest. Right now I expect you to walk.”

Malden winced. He didn’t care for this change of disposition in Cythera, not at all. “As milady wishes, of course,” he said, and sketched a courtly bow.

“Save the flattery for later as well.”