Den of thieves

Chapter Thirty-Six

Knightly interruptions notwithstanding, Malden’s preparations were finished long before midnight. He scouted out Godstone Square-a modest plaza deep in the Stink, where the residents were unlikely to open their windows at night-and found the proper spot to lie in wait, then gathered together the tools he needed. This largely amounted to stealing some poor citizen’s clothesline and digging an old but still sound basket out of a rubbish pile in an alley. Not the most sophisticated tools, but the simplicity of Malden’s plan was its strength.

The Stink at that hour of night was all but deserted. Up on the Golden Slope, across the river in the Royal Ditch, the rich would be up and about, taking their night’s entertainment in gambling houses or playing cards or listening to chamber music in their well-lighted apartments. They would be out in the streets in the murk of night, led along the wide avenues by the linkboys who ran through the streets carrying pitch torches. Down here, though, the poor could afford little light after the sun set. Candles were expensive, oil lamps doubly so. The people of the Stink kept out of their dark streets, sleeping early behind thick shutters and locked doors. Only thieves prospered after dark here. Thieves like Malden.

He took his place, then settled in to wait. His body drooped with the need for sleep and his belly was far from full but he’d learned a long time ago how to ignore his muscles and wait in silence for long periods of time.

It was no more than two hours later when Bikker and Cythera approached the square. They came silently, without lights, and walked directly up to the Godstone itself in the middle of the crossroads.

A monolith about fifteen feet tall, inscribed with dread runes that time had weathered to illegibility, it had been a center for the worship of the Bloodgod centuries ago. The first Burgrave had ritually defiled it, however, and the people stopped coming. Too big and too heavy to be carted away, it waited out the years and the rain in mute witness. Even the bloodstains that once washed its lower half had faded away to nothing, and now it served only as a landmark, an unloved boil on the face of an unloved district. Neither Cythera nor Bikker even looked at it as they approached. Their eyes studied the shadows, the corners, the recessed doorways of the houses around them.

They did not think to look up. Malden stirred himself carefully-his limbs were stiff with immobility-and cleared his throat.

His two employers did not flinch. As one they turned their faces upward and looked upon him where he crouched atop the stone. Bikker looked annoyed. Cythera looked merely like she wished to be somewhere else.

He could sympathize. “Did you bring the gold?” he asked.

Bikker’s face softened. “You could at least have picked a less public meeting place.”

“Certainly. A dark alley, perhaps? Or maybe we could have met at the top of a cliff above the Skrait, so you could just push me in.”

“You don’t trust us?” Cythera asked. There was no hurt in her tone.

“I don’t trust him. He killed two just to draw attention.” Malden rose to his feet and paced back and forth atop the stone. It was just barely two strides across. “As for you-I can imagine why you took your little boat away. I don’t think any of us expected things to turn out this way.”

“If you mean we didn’t expect you to bungle the job,” Bikker growled, “you’re right, there.”

Malden laughed-though not loudly. “We all survived. I have the thing you want. As long as you have my gold, I think we did just fine.”

Cythera reached beneath her cloak and drew forth a bulging sack. It looked heavy in her slim hands, but she showed no sign of effort as she lifted it. “All the same, you’d do well to lie low after this. We drew more scrutiny than we would have liked. And they’ll be looking for the object.”

“Bah,” Bikker said. “They probably think it’s buried in the rubble. Come down here, boy, and give it to me. Then we’ll leave your gold. Then we’ll never see each other again, if you know what’s good for you.”

“I have a better notion.” Malden kicked the basket over the side of the stone so it dropped to the cobbles at their feet. The clothesline tied to its handle had its other end in his hand. “Put the gold in there and I’ll raise it up. Then I’ll throw you your prize.”

“Out of reach of my sword, up there,” Bikker said. His face showed a kind of grudging admiration. “Of course, you can’t stay up there forever. Eventually you’ll have to come down, and I can wait a long time.”

Malden favored him with a grim smile. If it came to that, he knew he could leap to the wall of the nearest house and be over its roof before the swordsman could climb the Godstone. He didn’t say as much.

“Enough,” Cythera said, and placed her sack in the basket. Malden hauled it up quickly, before Bikker could grab at it. It was as heavy as he expected-there must be ten pounds of gold in the sack. His heart lurched at the prospect. Opening the sack, he was relieved to see it was not full of stones or bars of lead. Quickly, he counted the money. One and a hundred golden royals! The exact amount he needed. He tied the sack to his back underneath his cloak.

“Many thanks,” Malden said. “As for your prize-it’s at the bottom of a horse trough two streets to the west. I would have brought it with me, but I couldn’t bear its incessant babbling.”

“You-You blasted fool,” Bikker frothed. “What if some vagrant stumbled upon it and hawked it already to a pawner?”

Malden shifted his shoulders so the gold at his back clinked. “Not my problem anymore.”

Bikker cursed and dashed out of the square, shouting for Cythera to stay and watch Malden. When he was gone, Malden slipped easily down the side of the Godstone, using the carved runes as handholds, and bowed deeply before her.

“It’s not wise to anger him,” she said with a sigh.

“I don’t intend to meet him again.” Malden turned on his heel to dash away. Something stopped him. He should have known better, especially after meeting Croy, but he couldn’t help himself. What if there was a chance? “You, on the other hand-”

“Me? You’d wish to see me again?” she asked.

“I think I made that clear, when last we spoke. If you’re amenable.”

A strange look crossed her eyes. Her face was too opaque with tattoos for him to read it. “Then perhaps,” she said, “I have something you might like to hear. There’s another reward. From my master.”

“Hazoth?” Malden said, confused. “I want nothing else from him.”

“Then take it from me,” she said, her voice soft and low. She stepped toward him and smiled. “A kiss. Just one. Don’t you find me desirable?”

Malden laughed, but more from uncertainty than the humor of it. “More than any woman I’ve known in a long time.”

“Perhaps I find you handsome. Perhaps I merely want to show my proper thanks.”

Malden’s heart raced. The offer certainly held its attractions. Yet it seemed strange she should offer it as coming from Hazoth. What had she meant?

She was very beautiful. Especially by moonlight. White flowers were blooming in the ink just below her left eye. Exotic, and all the more comely for it.

She moved closer, close enough to embrace him.

Malden took a step back. Something was happening here, something he didn’t understand. There was one thing he definitely needed to know. “Oh, milady, you’ve tempted me sore. But I’m not sure my new friend Sir Croy would approve,” he said.

“Croy,” she said, like a woman waking from troubled dreams. She blinked rapidly and straightened her posture. It was all Malden needed to hear. The offer of a kiss had not been given in good faith. Hazoth must have charmed her into making it-or maybe Sir Croy was testing him for some reason. “Did you say-”

Before she could finish her question, though, Malden was gone. He was really getting quite good at slipping away in the dark.