Den of thieves

Chapter Forty-One

And then Cutbill was alone. For quite a while he continued to make his notations. Then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Malden,” he said in a clear voice, “the main problem with skulduggery and subterfuge is that all the involved parties must actually know how it is done. For instance, they should know when it is safe to emerge from hiding without being told. Will you come out of there now? I have something to say to you.”

Malden’s heart fell inside his chest and crashed into his vitals. He opened the spy closet door and stepped out. Cutbill gestured for him to approach.

“I imagine you heard all that,” Cutbill said, when Malden stood contrite and fidgety before him. “I imagine you followed most of it. Surely you grasped in just what desperate straits our esteemed bailiff finds himself. And you must have drawn the naturally following conclusion-that he will not be swept under the current alone. You understand, then, how much trouble has found its way to my doorstep.”

“Yes,” Malden confirmed.

“Someone, it seems, did a very rash thing. They stole the Burgrave’s crown out of his tower. I can, of course, understand how a thief would covet it. It must be one of the most valuable things in the city. Yet it has never been stolen before, not in the eight hundred years since it was made. Do you have any idea why?”

“The… consequences that would follow from its theft.”

“Indeed!” Cutbill said. He scratched another entry in his ledger. “It was my belief that you were a clever sort, and here I have proof. You follow me precisely. May I be certain, then, that you would never do something so foolish, so irretrievably stupid, as to bring down my entire organization? I’m afraid I can’t be certain of that at all. I think you’ve done just such a thing, Malden. I think you’ve made a very bad blunder.”

“I thought-”

“Here,” Cutbill said, and tapped at an entry in his ledger, “is receipt of your dues payment. One and a hundred gold royals, paid in full. And here,” he said, flipping forward a page, “is an expenditure of one groat.” Cutbill dug a halfpenny out of his tunic and handed it to Malden.

“What’s this for?” Malden asked in a small voice. He stared at the coin in his hand.

“It is the traditional severance fee. When a thief leaves my operation he receives that price.”

“I see.”

Cutbill made another entry. “It is to be placed in the thief’s mouth. After his tongue has been cut out to make room. Then his throat is slit. Normally, Bellard does the honors, but he isn’t… available today. Would you be so kind as to perform the necessary operations yourself, with that rather silly dagger you carry?”

Malden couldn’t breathe. He tried to speak but no words would come. Unable to bear his own weight, he sat down on the edge of Cutbill’s desk.

“In your own time, of course,” Cutbill said without looking up.

Malden drew his bodkin and held it before him.

He could-he could kill Cutbill, now. He could strike the guildmaster down. There was no one in the common room to come to Cutbill’s defense. He could kill the man, and then run-and run-and And yet, he didn’t do it. Cutbill must have considered the possibility when he ordered him to self-slaughter. There must be good reason for Cutbill not to fear his blow. Perhaps… perhaps Cutbill had some defense that was not immediately apparent. A charm against blades. A spell up his sleeves. Or a cunningly hidden archer, ready to pierce him through with an arrow at the first sign of violence.

Yes, that was exactly the sort of thing Cutbill would have.

Malden lowered his weapon.

“You,” Cutbill said, “have achieved something Vry could never do. You have single-handedly destroyed my organization. All by making one phenomenally poor choice. You chose not to tell me what you were going to steal.”

“I–I didn’t wish to implicate you, or the guild,” Malden protested. “Already that has paid dividends-the shewstone found no lies in your heart. And now Vry has no proof I was working on your behest.”

“Proof? Proof is for the rich. When a man of property must be taken to court, and tried by his peers, then proof is required.” Cutbill glanced up at Malden for the first time. “When the bailiff comes for me the next time, there will be no trial. He will have my name because he will torture enough people until one of them names me merely to make the pain stop. And then he will do as he promised.”

“He only has seven days, though. He won’t be able to find the crown in that time.”

“Everyone knows that perfectly well. That will not stop Vry from destroying me.”

“I know where it is,” Malden said. “Right now. Or at least, who has it.”

“That would be useful information. Too bad a dead man can’t provide it.”

“But you could simply tell Vry where it is, and-”

“That would change nothing. No.” Cutbill laid down his pen and tilted his head back as if his neck was tired from stooping over the lectern for so long. “That would only speed the process. The only chance, the only possibility of a chance of resolving this in my favor, is if I could somehow recover the crown myself. If I could bring it to the Burgrave before Ladymas. He and I already have an understanding. He could chain Vry like the dog he is. But of course, I can’t get the crown, now can I? It is in hands I dare not snatch at.”

Malden shook his head. He knew exactly where this was going. Cutbill wanted him to come to the conclusion on his own, however. He, Malden, would have to regain what he had already sold. It would be his only chance to save his life. “Let me do it. Let me go to Ha-”

Cutbill clucked his tongue.

“-to the man who has it,” Malden said, glancing at the corners of the room, knowing Cutbill did not wish to hear Hazoth’s name spoken aloud, but unsure who might be listening. “I’ll buy it back. Or trick him out of it.”

“Quite unlikely,” Cutbill said.

“Permit me to try,” Malden pleaded. What choice did he have?

“Very well,” Cutbill said. “Do what you can. Let us be clear, though. Should you fail, I will be killed.”

“I know that,” Malden said. “I heard-”

“I will be taken to the dungeon, and tortured, and then hanged. Perhaps drawn and quartered. That will take a few days. During that time, while I yet live, I will still be able to contact my remaining thieves. At least a few of them will remain loyal to me. They will ensure one thing: the moment I perish, your throat will be slit from ear to ear. If you fail, Malden, we will both die.”

“And if I succeed-you must grant me a reward,” Malden said.

“Oh? Must I? Tell me, what is your heart’s desire?” Cutbill rejoined.

Malden swallowed the lump in his throat. “My life, of course. And reinstatement in your books.”

“I suppose you can’t have one without the other. Go, Malden. You don’t have much time, so you’d better get started now.”

“I promise you I will-”

“Leave me,” Cutbill repeated.

Malden fled.