Honor among thieves

Chapter One Hundred

The Lemon Garden could no longer hold all the supplicants who wanted a piece of Malden’s precious time-and some of the more devout citizens had begun to object to entering a whorehouse just to make their points heard. Malden took offense at that, but he knew better than to alienate his people by venting his personal feelings on them. So he took over the moothall, a massive stone building in the Spires just off Market Square. Once, the masters of every guild in the city had come there to discuss public policy. Now that the guildmasters were all gone, fled long before the barbarians arrived, it stood empty and its hearths cold.

Velmont built a fire in the enormous fireplace of the main meeting hall, while Malden walked around and around the long oak table, studying the coats of arms hung up by the rafters. The guilds those heraldic symbols belonged to had built Ness, and made it free, even more than Juring Tarness-it had been the money they accumulated that gave Ness its power. Many, many times in its history the kings of Skrae had tried to tax the city, or to enslave its population despite its charter. Always they’d been bought off with tributes and fat bribes. Ness had bought its safety and its freedom with money earned by hard work and shrewd dealings.

That was the official story anyway. It ignored the fact that since the beginning of the guild system the actual workers-the laborers, the unskilled and the eternally apprenticed-had been exploited and ruthlessly kept down, all so the merchants who sat in this hall could squeeze out another farthing from their misery.

“I was downstairs in the cellar, earlier,” Velmont said when his fire was blazing cheerfully away and the room began to warm up. “They got some flash regalia down there. Guild symbols all in gold, and enow ermine and sable to make a menagerie.”

Malden nodded. “They had a grand procession every year. They would trot out the symbols of their mysteries-ornamental tools, ceremonial robes and hats and the like. Basically a way to celebrate their own importance.”

“I was just wonderin’,” Velmont said, a sly look in his eye.

Malden sighed. He knew what Velmont was asking for. For the first time a stab of conscience struck him. The regalia down there was steeped in mystery and tradition-it was part of Ness’s folk heritage, and now Velmont wanted to plunder it? How dare he?

Malden, once called Malden the Thief, could only laugh at himself. How far he had come. There had been a time when he would have tricked Velmont just so he could get first dibs at the stuff.

Now he could only think of how to use the regalia to firm his grasp on his people. “Get a team of thieves down here. Pick the ones who are the best archers, and the most loyal. Cart it all away, but be quiet about it.” The thieves had begun to grumble again, now that there was very little left in the city worth stealing. They were happy to serve Malden as Lord Mayor, they said, but if he was also going to be the guildmaster of thieves, he needed to line their pockets. He knew he could not afford to lose their favor, not when they still represented the best pool of able-bodied men under his command.

The whores, conversely, had never complained once. It seemed that they got what they truly wanted-recognition as full citizens, a little respect-just by being associated with him. He could count on Elody and Herwig and the other madams, at least.

Of the honest folk, who made up ninety percent of his constituents, he could be neither sure nor comfortable he knew how to appease them, and that worried him. If Cutbill was right and the siege was about to come to a head-and he had no reason to doubt it-then now was the time he had to solidify his power. Now was when he had to make common cause with his people, so when he asked them to fight-and die-for him, they would not hesitate.

For nearly a week he had refused to meet with any civic group, because he’d had more important things to worry about than their petty concerns. If they were starving, or terrified by the bombardment, or just desperate for recognition, he’d had no time for their feelings. Now, his neglect was starting to feel like a mistake. Perhaps they would not have turned so maniacally toward the Bloodgod and supernatural aid if they thought they had their Lord Mayor’s ear.

That day, he was in a mood to give them anything they wanted. As long as it didn’t mean losing the city in the process.

Velmont ran out just as the first supplicants started filing in. Malden recognized them at once, though they’d changed their clothes. They were dressed in scarlet and crimson now, with even their leather dyed burgundy.

The self-ordained priests of the Bloodgod. Perhaps the worst of his enemies, he thought. At least he knew where he stood with the barbarians.

There were three of them. Thin, wild-eyed men with shaggy hair and beards. He could barely tell them apart. Only one of them spoke, which meant he didn’t need to remember three names.

“Hargrove, is it?” Malden asked, falling down into a chair at the head of the table. He threw one leg over the arm of the chair and studied his nails. “I’ll ask you to be plain and not waste much of my time. I have a war to fight, you know.”

Hargrove scowled and made a complicated gesture before his face. Most likely some exhortation to Sadu. “Milord, we have not come here to condemn you, nor to censure you. You are His chosen instrument in this world,” he said. “That much has been made plain to us. Yet questions do remain.”

Malden rolled his eyes. “Of what sort?”

“Lord Mayor, you’ve never shown any sign of true piety. At least not since you resanctified the Godstone. You don’t come to our services. You’ve made no sacrifice since then. The people wish to know you believe as they do.”

“The people would be better occupied helping me break this siege,” Malden said.

“But that is exactly the point! The barbarians cannot be repelled by strength of arms. Not any such strength as we possess. Our only chance of turning them away is through divine assistance.”

“Mmm. My mother was a good woman,” Malden said.

Hargrove’s face crawled all over itself. It was known everywhere, of course, that Malden’s mother had been a whore. “May I inquire what that has to do with-”

“It was she who taught me about religion. About Sadu.”

All three priests lowered their heads at the mention of the Bloodgod’s name. They clasped their hands together and said something quick and formulaic.

“At that time the Bloodgod had no priests, nor any church in the city. Yet people still worshipped Him in their hearts. They kept that flame alive, no matter what the Burgraves did to try to snuff it out. My mother taught me that was all that was necessary. That we thank Him every day for the justice He brings to this world-the only kind of justice the impoverished will ever see.”

“Things have changed,” Hargrove said. “Now we have a better way to approach Him. A more effective method of beseeching His aid.”

Malden nodded. He knew what this was really about. “A more visible, more-pragmatic way. A way to show our faith in public, and to share it with each other.”

Hargrove actually smiled. “Exactly! A living church, for the first time in centuries. But that church cannot exist on private faith alone. If you were to make an appearance at one of our services, or-”

“Or if I were to grant you some kind of official commission?” Malden asked.

“Well, ah, that would be most useful in bringing the fire of belief to those not as-as firm in their faith, here in Ness.”

“Very good. Let’s see. The first time you came to me, you asked to be allowed to distribute the city’s food supply.”

“It was always the province of the church to do so, in olden days. Grain was gathered by the church in autumn, and portioned out over the winter by the priests. It was the only way to make sure the poor received enough to eat. This tradition of charity kept Ness alive through many a hard winter.”

“None so hard as this one,” Malden said. “Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of charity and compassion.” Or graft, he thought, or hoarding, or making sure the priests get to eat first, before all those less righteous people who come demanding a bit of bread to keep their families alive. “I’m of a mind to give you exactly what you want. In exchange, I wish only your blessing-and that you not question my piety anymore.”

“I can assure you,” Hargrove said, bowing low, “such questions have fled altogether from our minds.”

Malden saw the priests out of the moothall. He found Velmont standing by the door, having already rounded up enough thieves to clear out the cellars.

Malden waved the others on, toward the regalia in the cellars, but he grabbed Velmont’s sleeve as the others filed cheerfully in. “How much of my audience did you hear?” he asked the Helstrovian thief. “Did you hear what the priests asked for?”

“I heard you givin’ ’em what they hankered for this whole time, e’en after you turned ’em down before.” Velmont looked confused.

“Ah, but back then there was an actual stock of food to be considered. How much is left now?”

“A mite,” Velmont confessed. “A few days, if everyone sticks to one meal a day, and a paltry one at that. What kind o’ fool gives up his last crust o’ bread to folk that’d spit on his shadow?”

“The kind who doesn’t want to be in charge of foodstuffs tomorrow. Tomorrow, when there is no more. When the bread runs out, the starving people will have to ask the priests for food, not me. I’ll be able to say I gave over responsibility for that to the most trustworthy men in Ness. Furthermore, there may be a few head of livestock still tucked away somewhere. How likely are the priests to waste those animals in sacrifices, if they know they’ll have no other source of meat?”

Velmont laughed, long and loud. “Ye’re gettin’ good at this, boss.”

“I’ve had a good teacher,” Malden told him. “All right, send in the next beggar who wants something I can’t afford to give away. I’m ready.” He went back to perching himself on a carved wooden chair, one leg over its arm in a pose of carefully studied insouciance. The image he presented was half his power. Cutbill had taught him that, too.