Den of thieves

Chapter Fifty-One

There were many eyes watching Hazoth’s villa the next day, when Anselm Vry sent his watchmen in to take the crown back. It was an overcast morning, with a light drizzle falling from time to time. For Malden and Kemper, who watched from the north end of the common, it was a miserable way to spend their hours. They had intended to spend the day studying what could be seen of the villa from afar. When the watchmen arrived, however, they hid themselves in the bushes hard by Ladypark and kept out of sight as best they could.

Kemper shuffled endlessly through his precious cards, reestablishing the bond he had with them that let him hold them when another deck would fall through his hands. Malden had nothing to do but sit and hold the collar of his cloak tight against his neck, trying to keep the chill rain from running down his back. Yet he would not have moved from the spot. Though he could not know for certain, he believed he knew exactly what the watchmen had come for. Somehow, it seemed, Vry had learned where the crown was-and that could be a very bad thing. If Vry found the crown now, if Hazoth allowed it to be taken, it would be the end of all his-and Cutbill’s-schemes. It would mean death for both of them.

Meanwhile, Croy watched from the house of his wealthy friend, in comfort, with a flagon of wine and a loaf of bread for breakfast. This could be the day he finally freed Cythera from her bonds, he thought. If Vry was successful and found the crown, it would be the end of Hazoth. Cythera and her mother would be freed of Hazoth’s enslavement and they could go anywhere they liked. Croy could take Cythera away from him, he could marry her and bring her to his castle. Everything could turn out right.

As for Cythera herself, she watched from inside the villa and perhaps had the best view. Certainly she had the most to gain from this. Hazoth’s punishment of the night before had been cruel, and she ached for the sorcerer’s comeuppance. She very dearly wished she could just watch and see it play out. However, she was forced to pay attention to her regular duties-seeing to the needs of the villa, arranging for foodstuffs to be delivered, sheets to be changed and washed, silver coins handed out to all Hazoth’s retainers and servants, so she was often away from the windows. She did not know what to think, or what this raid could mean. She dared not hope for too much.

None of them would leave-or breathe easily-until it was done.

It seemed to take forever for the watchmen to gather at the southern end of the Ladypark. First came their serjeant, a big fellow in a cloak-of-eyes with a red hem. He brought two porters who set up a tent where he could sit in relatively dry comfort. Next his men arrived, four of them, carrying halberds and watching the sky with doubtful looks. There was a great deal of discussion between the four and their officer, none of it particularly heated.

Only four, Croy mused. Four against a sorcerer. What was Vry thinking?

When the time for discussion was done, the men each took a cup of ale. They leaned on the hafts of their weapons and drank their ration in silence. When the cups were empty, they left the tent and walked across the common. Their boots kicked up crystalline spray from the swampy grass as they marched toward the villa. The serjeant remained in his tent, where it was dry.

“Now ye’ll see somewhat, lad,” Kemper said with a wicked grin. “This oughta be a bloodbath, and no foolin’.”

“You think Hazoth won’t even let them in,” Malden said.

“More fool if’n he does, eh?” Kemper laughed. “Ooh, it’s gonna be good. After what they did t’me, strappin’ me up in that donjon. I can still feel the silver bitin’ into me wrists an’ ankles. Let’s see how them cloaks-of-eyes like it, bein’ hoisted in the air. Ooh, it’s lovely.”

Malden could not share the card sharp’s vindictive glee. He wasn’t sure how this would play out, but he knew if Hazoth killed the watchmen, or even if he just refused them entry to his house, it would only mean more trouble. Vry couldn’t leave it at that-he would have to send more watchmen, and more after that, until every armed man in the city was standing outside Hazoth’s gate demanding to be let in. That could hardly end well for anyone involved, and it would make it impossible for him to get in and steal the crown back. He didn’t know what he should hope for now. He could only watch, and pray for the best.

The four watchmen reached the gate of the villa just before noontime-though only Cythera was aware of the correct time. Hazoth had a mechanical clock on the second floor landing of the villa. Its persistent ticking had always soothed her before, the way it cut the day up into tiny portions, making her hours of bondage easier to digest. Now each tick and each tock were blows against her senses, as all her hopes depended on this next hour.

The watchmen stopped just outside the gate. One of them hallooed the guards and demanded entry in the name of the Burgrave. Cythera alone could hear the response-and alone was astonished by it.

“Well met, fellows. The Magus bids you enter and be welcome,” the guard said. He turned and made a signal toward the rose window at the top of the house, and the magical barrier came down, the wet air itself seeming to sigh in relief.

The watchmen filed through the portico and into the great hall. Up on the gallery, Cythera was busy counting the silver-an important job in a sorcerer’s house, since any spoon Hazoth ate with could be used against him by a rival wizard. She bent over the cutlery in case anyone (human or invisible) was watching, but listened close to what was said below her.

“I have an official message from the bailiff, which I must present to you, milord,” one of the watchmen said. “Then we must ask to search your house.”

Hazoth did not sound particularly worried. “Very good, let me hear it.”

“It is as follows,” the watchman said. He had not been carrying a scroll-most likely he’d memorized the message so he could recite it now.

“Greetings to our good friend Hazoth, much beloved of the Burgrave and of the king his liege. It is with heavy heart that I, Anselm Vry, must send you this deputation today. Certain evidence has been advanced concerning the theft of an item the Burgrave considers the most valuable of all his possessions. This evidence tends to suggest that the item in question may currently be found within the bounds of your property. Under common law I am empowering these men to search the house, outbuildings, and lands of your villa, with all care being taken to minimize the disturbance, and especially any damage, to said property. Your cooperation in this search, my dear Hazoth, will be most gratefully received. Should said item be found upon your land or property, or on your person, or in any way concealed or possessed by your esteemed self, this deputation shall have the power to remove it to safety, and at that time, but not before, criminal charges may be brought against you or any agent in your employ found to have any part in the theft, movement, or concealment of said item. Signed, your servant, Anselm Vry, Bailiff of the Free City of Ness.”

The watchman cleared his throat. Apparently he had finished his message.

“I don’t see nothin’,” Kemper said, sounding annoyed as he peered out through the rain at the distant villa. “No flashes o’ light, no hellish smoke boilin’ from the windows. No fiery hands clutchin’ at the watchmen or demons comin’ up through cracks in the soil. You think maybe he just magicked ’em straight into the pit?”

Cythera stepped over to the railing of the gallery and looked down on the scene-watchers be damned.

Croy held his breath.

“Very well,” Hazoth said. He lifted one hand and gestured toward the stairs. “Would you like to begin your search in my chambers, or down here in the public areas of the house? And may I offer you something to drink or eat?”

The watchmen looked embarrassed. “We’re under orders, Magus, not to take aught from you, not even a cup of small beer, as it might be cursed. Not, uh, not that we would think you would do such a thing.”

“Perish the thought,” Hazoth said.

“If you’ll just stand aside we’ll get to things, and leave you in peace as quick as we can.”

“Certainly,” Hazoth said, and stepped away from the stairs.

The search took much of the afternoon. Cythera was required to assist the watchmen-she held the keys to all the locked rooms, and could open some of the magically sealed doors and cupboards for them. The watchmen seemed surprised by some of the house’s more unusual furniture, but never said a word, even when a book in the library jumped off the shelf and fluttered like a fish out of water at their feet. It tried to follow the watchmen as they backed out of the library, as if begging them to take it with them and free it from Hazoth’s villa. Cythera knew what the book contained and didn’t blame it. Still, she bent to retrieve it, and running one calming thumb along its spine, slotted it back in its place on the shelf.

What’s taking so long? Malden wondered as he toyed with the bodkin at his belt.

They’re being thorough, at least, Croy told himself as he clutched his hands together and leaned forward in his chair.

The last part of the house to be searched was the third floor. The chains in the master bedroom drew the watchmen’s attention, and they made a brave try at searching the laboratory, despite the noxious fumes. Other rooms barely drew their notice. By daylight most of the truly dangerous parts of the third floor were subdued and harmless, for which Cythera was glad-she would not have liked to explain some of the things the watchmen would have seen had they come after dark.

When they reached the sealed and locked hallway that led to Hazoth’s inner sanctum, they didn’t even glance at the door, just kept walking past.

“Here, I can open this for you, though you must be careful inside,” Cythera told them. “I believe he disarmed all the traps, but still it would be well if you-”

“Milady?” a watchman said. “There’s no door there.”

Cythera frowned and pointed out the door again. “This one.”

“Don’t see nothin’,” one of the others said. “Nothin’ there.”

She studied their faces-especially their eyes-looking for any sign that their minds had been clouded by magic. Hazoth must have enchanted them not to see the door, she thought-and she did not dare to try to break that spell. As for the watchmen, they just stared back at her, blinking occasionally, as if they were bored and wished to return to their work.