Den of thieves

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The rough hands that dragged Malden inside the door threw him down to land on hands and knees. The butt of a halberd struck him in the back, and someone put a boot on his neck and pushed him down to the floor. His bodkin was wrenched from its sheath and his purse dragged out of his belt. A man of the watch found the sack of gold at his back and tore at it until it burst open and coins bounced and rolled across the rushes that strewed the floor.

“Lady’s kneecaps, there’s a treasure,” someone swore. Malden could see little from where he lay save for boots and the bottom of Cutbill’s desk. He could hear the voices of half a dozen men, however, and knew he was hopelessly outnumbered.

“Stolen, do you think?”

“Of course-where are we, but the citadel of crime?”

“Ought to seize it for the city coffers.”

“Make an accounting of it, so we can split it later and-”

“Count it. All of it. And then place it here.” When this last voice spoke, the watchmen around Malden all came to attention. “Let him up, so I may speak with him,” the voice said. The boot on Malden’s neck moved away and he scrambled backward to get to his feet. Finally he was able to see what was happening in the office.

The watch lined the walls of the room, the points of their halberds almost scraping the ceiling. In the center of the room Cutbill sat at his ledger, quill pen in his hand-just as Malden remembered him from their last meeting.

Standing next to him was Anselm Vry.

Malden recognized the bailiff of the Free City, as would any citizen of Ness. After the Burgrave, Vry was the human face of the city. As bailiff he not only led the watch but also saw to every administrative detail of city life-enforcing the Burgrave’s edicts, seeing that weights and measures were kept scrupulously exact, overseeing the moots of the trade guilds. He was the second most powerful man in the city, and if he were here personally, it could mean only one thing. He knew the crown had been stolen, and he wanted to find it at any cost.

Malden had already seen the price that Bellard had paid.

“Is he one of yours?” Vry asked, staring at Malden.

The question was directed, however, at Cutbill. “One of my thieves? No, of course not,” Cutbill answered. He made a notation in his ledger. “Look at the state of his clothing. My fellows can afford to dress themselves.”

“And this money? This gold?” Vry demanded.

Cutbill did look up then. He glanced at the stacks of gold coins a watchman was placing on his desk. Then he turned his gaze on Malden and lifted one eyebrow. He was sending Malden a message, which was this: be circumspect and do not gainsay me. Malden was wise enough not to acknowledge that he had received the instructions.

Cutbill gestured dismissively with his pen. “The money is mine, yes. This boy is merely here to deliver it. Perhaps before we say anything else, he should be sent on his way.”

Vry studied Malden with concentrated disdain. “Very well. Give him his knife back-he’s no danger to anyone with that pig-cutter.”

“Boy,” Cutbill said, “if you leave by the door to my left, you’ll find yourself well on your way back to the Stink.”

Malden nodded and accepted his bodkin from the watchman holding it. He did not ask why Cutbill was sending him out through the door on the left, when it was the door directly behind Cutbill’s desk that led back to the surface. He pushed back the tapestry that hid the specified door and stepped through. Beyond was a tiny room with no other exits-a closet, really, empty of furnishings or ornament.

It did have one defining feature, however. Just to one side of the door, at the height of a man’s eyes, a very small hole had been drilled through the wall. Someone looking through that hole could see-and hear-anything that happened in Cutbill’s office.

So this was a spy chamber. If Cutbill had sent him here, it was with good reason. Malden placed his eye against the hole and made himself silent.

Back in the office, the bailiff and the guildmaster of thieves were already in close consultation.

“If it was one of your thieves who stole the crown,” the bailiff said, “I will hang every one of your crew. You I’ll have drawn and dismembered, and your remains scattered across the kingdom. I’ll have this place torn down, and your organization-”

“It was not one of mine. Of that I can assure you. Not one of my thieves would think the prize worth the effort. After all, how could they sell the crown once they had it? No fence in the Free City would accept it, much less pay for it. That means its value for us is nil. You must look elsewhere, milord Vry.”

“Perhaps someone else commissioned the theft. Someone who would stand to gain by embarrassing the city.”

“But why would one of my thieves take on such a job? Surely they would know how much trouble it would cause for my operation. I do not recruit dullards or fools.”

In the closet, Malden winced.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Vry fumed. “I can hardly trust you to speak the truth. You’ll say anything to save your neck, won’t you, Cutbill?”

“I’ve spoken plainly with you, and told all the truth I know.”

“Luckily I need not take you at your word.” Vry snapped his fingers and one of his watchmen hurried out of the room. He came back a moment later, leading a robed figure with a heavy wooden mask covering his face.

Malden gasped. Luckily no one heard him.

“A wizard, Vry? You’ll put me to the question by magery? Surely not,” Cutbill said as the magician was led over toward his lectern. “You’d never break one of your own precious laws.”

Vry shrugged. “It’s true. No man may be condemned in the law courts by sortilege or divination. Yet this is no law court. As for the point of ethics involved, well… needs must when the Bloodgod drives.”

Cutbill pursed his lips and put down his quill. “Very well. And how should it be done, hmm?”

The magician brought something out from the folds of his robes. A slab of stone about the size and thickness of a book. One side of it had been ground and polished as smooth as glass. “It is a shewstone,” its owner said in a burbling, unnatural voice. “It sees what is hidden, what is placed out of sight. I must unveil to use it properly.”

The watchmen stirred uneasily at the thought. Neither Cutbill nor Vry reacted at all. “Do it,” Vry said.

The magician reached up and pushed his mask up on top of his head.

Malden’s cry of horror was swallowed up in the general chorus.