Den of thieves

Chapter Eighty-Three

Malden scrubbed at his eyes with the balls of his thumbs, trying to clear away the burning smears of light that flickered in his skull. His eyesight returned very slowly-whatever caused that flash of light had been strong enough to blind him. He could only hope it wasn’t permanent.

His hearing was unaffected. He could sense there were other people in the sanctum now. He could hear them walking around him. And he could hear someone applauding.

“Very impressive indeed. I thought it was a clever trick that a gutter ape had learned to read! Now I see that animal cunning can evolve to handle basic problem-solving as well, given an adequate stimulus. Though of course, I should not be surprised. Last summer we had a mole that burrowed into the garden, coming through the barrier from underneath the ground, where I never thought to extend it. Vermin will always find a way.”

“Good evening, Magus,” Malden said, because the voice belonged to Hazoth. Fear washed down his back like a spill of icy water, but he tried to keep his voice level.

“Did I say you could speak? No. Still. You’re a bold rodent, aren’t you? Courage is admirable, even in lower orders of life. So I’ll forgive that breach of manners. I’ll forgive your insolence, if only once.” Hazoth strode over to stand before Malden, who was hunched over, still rubbing at his eyes. He could see nothing in detail, just vague shapes and shadows.

“You bested the Eye of Klaproth,” Hazoth said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “I wonder-did you somehow see through its illusions, or is it simply that your simple mind was incapable of providing the imagery it works with? Either way, your primitive brain has served you quite well. You might have actually succeeded-I was preoccupied, and I might have remained ignorant of your presence if Cythera hadn’t warned me.”

“Wh-What…?” Malden managed to ask.

Cythera?

“Even a fool of Sir Croy’s caliber would not think he could cut his way into my house, not with the magical barrier in place. It was a noisy diversion you had him make out front, but I could not figure out why he was doing it. So I summoned Cythera and demanded she tell me everything. Every detail of your ambitious little plan. And she did, without much hesitation.”

Cythera had betrayed him? Malden could scarcely credit it. She had so much to lose-but then he supposed Hazoth had ways enough to get information from her. He moved one hand down toward his belt, inching it toward the hilt of his bodkin.

But… no. He could barely see. Striking out blindly now would be foolish. He fought down his immediate reaction, the rage at being discovered, the terror of what was to come next. It wasn’t useful to him. He could deal with it later, if he lived through this.

“Interesting. Look, look at this, Cythera. You can see his thoughts as they grow ever so slowly in his head. Watch his hands, and his mouth. They give him away. Fascinating, really.”

Malden held his tongue.

“You’re a rodent, my friend, and nothing more. A verminous little animal. Yet you do amuse me, after a fashion. I thank you for bringing a bit of excitement to my tedious routine. Here. You shall have a reward-I will return to you your eyesight.”

Instantly Malden’s eyes cleared. He blinked a few times and then looked around him. The room had changed little. The flames burned a healthier hue now, and the light was better so he could make out more of the sanctum’s contents, though he saw little to recommend the improvement. Hazoth was exactly as Malden remembered him, though now he was wearing a nightshirt and a fitted leather skullcap.

Cythera stood behind him, her eyes downcast. She looked as lovely as ever, even if Malden knew she’d betrayed him. She met his gaze and mouthed an apology, though she did not speak out loud. She looked so piteous, so sympathetic, that he wondered if he could summon up real anger at her betrayal.

He found he could not.

She had pinned her hopes to Croy’s star and been disappointed. She had hoped Malden could help her, and that appeared to have failed, too. Her life-and that of her mother-were bound in unholy union with Hazoth, and she could not free herself. She needed help so she had turned to anyone she could get, even a poor thief like him. He’d done his best, and she had helped him to the full extent of her ability. But they had both known it was a long shot. A suicide mission. No, he could not blame her now. Had she maintained her innocence, if she’d held her tongue, Hazoth would have taken out his rage on Coruth.

Malden knew Cythera would never let that happen, if she had any choice at all.

He glanced over at Coruth and the leaden box that held the crown. They were unchanged.

“Quite safe,” Hazoth said. He walked over to the magic circle and bent to inspect the chalk lines on the floorboards. While he was thus busy, Malden looked over at Cythera, trying to think of what signal to send her.

All he could do was shrug.

Cythera turned her gaze on the tree that was her mother. A single tear rolled down her painted cheek. Malden’s heart went out to her. She must have dared to hope when she saw how close he had come to rescuing Coruth. The plan had gone so smoothly, and now… Well. Things had changed.

He longed to speak to her. To reassure her, perhaps, though what words he would use to do so escaped him. Hazoth had not given him permission to speak anyway, so he kept silent. He tried to communicate with Cythera using just his eyes, but she would no longer look at him.

“One thing,” Hazoth said, rising to his feet again, “escapes me. I would like to have an answer before I decide what to do with you, little rodent.”

He came back over to Malden and stared down at him with unquiet eyes.

“What you are doing here is quite clear. You came to steal back that which you were paid for,” Hazoth said. “Why you would do so is no mystery. I imagine you think that if you can recover the item you will be able to bargain for your life with those who seek it. A logical conclusion, though there is one fallacy in your reasoning. The players in this game outstrip you in power and in intellect. They would be glad to have the thing back, certainly. But they would not let you live once they had it. Don’t you see? You’ve learned too much. An animal in possession of a secret is a dangerous animal. They would slaughter you even more readily than I.”

Malden bit his lip.

“You may speak,” Hazoth told him. “In fact, I insist. Tell me who sent you, and what they want from the crown?”

Malden frowned. “Surely you know the answer. The Burgrave wants what was stolen from him. He will be embarrassed if he appears tomorrow in the Ladymas procession without his crown.”

Hazoth smiled. “The Burgrave? Do you mean Ommen Tarness? I really don’t think he was the one who employed you.” He laughed at the thought. “No, not Ommen.”

“Why should he not?” Malden asked.

“Because Ommen Tarness is an idiot,” Hazoth answered.