Den of thieves

Chapter Ninety-Five

Witchly light filled the sky over the common, and the gruesome sounds of Hazoth’s demise made the air shiver. Malden did not look back over his shoulder, as much as he might have enjoyed watching Hazoth meet his sticky end. He had places to go yet tonight, things to achieve, or all could still be lost.

He could see his path easily in the weird illumination as he broke for the streets beyond the common, intending to lose himself in that maze and make good his escape.

He was not to be so lucky.

Ahead of him on the Cripplegate Road, a score of men in cloaks-of-eyes were waiting with weapons in hand. They moved quickly to cut off any avenue of escape, circling around him should he even think to return to the ruined villa. When Malden was completely surrounded, one of them came forward and held out an empty hand. “Give it over, thief,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” Malden tried.

“We know you’ve got a dagger at your belt. Give it over or I’ll run you through and take it from you.”

Malden stared at the man with pure hatred. But there was nothing he could do. He drew the bodkin from his belt and handed it over. “I’ll want that back, now.”

With a chuckle, the watchman tossed the knife over the wall of the Ladypark.

Malden’s heart sank. The message was clear. He wasn’t going to need the knife anymore. He would not be given another chance to use it.

The rank of watchmen parted and someone came through the gap. Anselm Vry-with an expression of annoyance on his face.

“You really couldn’t do it with less fuss?” he asked.

Malden blinked in feigned incomprehension. “Do what, milord? I was only walking on the common, something I often do at night. I find it calms my mind. I’m not sure what’s going on over there,” he said, pointing at the green fire dancing on the other side of the common, “but I think you should definitely go investigate.”

Vry sneered at him. “What’s that on your belt, then?” he asked.

Malden patted his belt as if he couldn’t guess what the bailiff meant. Then he said, “Oh!” and unbuckled his belt to remove it. “You mean this.” The belt had been threaded through the golden crown he’d hidden under his cloak. He handed it over to Vry, who snatched it away from him.

The bailiff closed his eyes and held the crown up in both hands. His eyes snapped open for a moment and he stared at Malden, but then looked away and nodded. “Yes, of course, milord,” he said, as if talking to the crown, not to Malden. “You,” he said, to one of his watchmen. “The bag.” A velvet sack was brought forth and the crown placed carefully inside. “Very good, thief,” Vry said.

Malden bowed low. “So, may I inquire if there is a reward? I prefer it in gold, but will take silver if I must.”

“I’ll count it out in steel,” Vry said with a short, nasty laugh. “You-kill him. Then form a detail and carry his body to the Skrait. Make sure you weigh it down so no one ever finds it.”

A watchman with a halberd came lunging forward, but Malden had expected this and was already moving. He scurried up the wall of the Ladypark and dropped into a stand of bushes on the far side. There, he lay still and held his breath.

A half dozen faces appeared over the top of the wall, including Vry’s. They peered into the darkness for a long minute before withdrawing.

“It makes no difference. Let panthers and wolves fight over him now,” Vry said. “If he lives through the night, we’ll just find him in the morning.”

And with that they left.

Malden stayed still for a while longer, and then, when he was sure no one was watching, he got up and started looking for his bodkin.