Honor among thieves

Chapter Fifty-Two

Money kept coming in, as it always had, and that was enough to keep the guild of thieves quiet. Not that there was much noise in the city anyway. The better share of the shops and workplaces in Ness had closed down, their windows boarded and their bustle silenced. As Malden and Cythera walked through the streets they’d always known, they kept remarking to each other how different it seemed.

One didn’t notice the crowds, the clamor, the noisome smells, and the piled filth until they were gone, really. “We should have a war every year,” Malden japed, “if only to keep the streets clean.”

Cythera laughed, but only softly, and not for very long. She was distracted that day. Something was on her mind. Yet when he asked her what it was, she simply changed the subject.

“Look, Malden,” she said, and pointed toward a little alcove by the entrance to a close. “When was the last time you saw one of those?” She indicated a small clay statue of the Bloodgod, in the shape of a man with eight arms. Seven on one side, each holding a tiny clay knife or club. The eighth was alone on the other side, clutching the stem of a tiny flower.

“It’s been a while,” Malden admitted. Images of the Bloodgod were technically forbidden by law, and most were kept behind closed doors. The Burgrave had never bothered to tear them down-in fact, when Malden broke into the palace earlier that year, he’d seen a quite large and beautifully gilded statue of Sadu inside. Still, such an ostentatious display was enough to comment on. The official religion of Skrae was the church of the Lady. Religious tolerance was unknown in Helstrow or Redweir-in those places anyone who publicly professed to worship Sadu could be arrested and fined. The Bloodgod’s followers had never quite died out, however-Sadu was too well loved by the common people, especially in Ness, where his worship was unofficially tolerated. Though the priesthood of the Bloodgod had been outlawed and exterminated, his altars and his images ritually defiled or broken, the people continued his worship in their own small ways, and the Burgrave had always been smart enough not to punish them too zealously for it.

Still, displaying his image was a risky act. “Devotion is on the rise,” Malden said. “Religion is popular again in Ness. This was always such a sinful place. I hope people don’t ruin it by becoming virtuous now.”

“They’re terrified,” Cythera said. “The people, I mean. I suppose they have good reason.”

“Even in Helstrow I saw men turning to Sadu for help,” he told her. “He didn’t seem to respond.”

The tiny image was not the only sign of faith at large in the city. The Lady was widely venerated as well. Green and white streamers fluttered from every balcony, showing her colors. They’d been placed there by Pritchard Hood to remind the citizens that their lord was out on a holy crusade and that they should remember him in their prayers. Hood made a daily speech to that effect in Market Square, though few stopped by to listen.

The new bailiff never missed an opportunity to appear in public and remind everyone he was in charge. Malden wished to know more about this man-especially how he could be bought. He and Cythera were walking toward a tavern where Malden expected to learn such things. When they arrived, he sent her in to get a bottle of wine and two cups, while he excused himself to use the alley. Velmont was waiting for him in the shadows back there.

The Helstrovian had much news, though none of it what Malden had wanted to hear. “This new bailiff’s taken his master’s word to heart, all right. Hood’s employed thief-takers-just bravos, in troth, but sharpish men who’ll get their catch, don’t doubt it. It’s just a question o’ time afore he’s got someone to hang.”

Malden cursed. “Who is this bastard? Where did he come from? The old bailiff, Anselm Vry, was a corrupt and ambitious man. Pritchard Hood must be the same to have got the office so fast.”

Velmont shrugged. “I asked a few fellas for his story, like you told me. They said Hood was an acolyte at the Ladychapel but never took priestly orders. Found out he was better wi’ the church books than at sayin’ prayers. He worked fer Tarness as an exchequer until recent days.”

“Any suggestion he was more creative with his numbers than the law would like?” Malden asked hopefully.

“Not as I’ve heard. Your Burgrave took notice of him somehow and snatched him up last year. Put him in a place o’ trust, and he’s prospered ever since. Now he’s top dog in this city.”

“We need to find out just how holy he really is,” Malden said. “You’ve done good work getting this much. Go, now, and find out what you can about these thief-takers. Maybe we can grease them, and save ourselves some real trouble.”

“Me hinges could do wi’ a mickle oil themselves,” Velmont suggested.

Malden nodded and spilled coins into the Helstrovian’s hand. In an instant Velmont was gone. Malden headed into the tavern and found Cythera waiting for him with a smile.

There was one consolation to wartime, at least. He had Cythera around as often as he liked. He resolved to spend the afternoon enjoying himself, and before he knew it the sun was setting. For the first time in his life-a lifetime spent working mostly at night-he hated how soon the sun sank in autumn time. “Come,” he told her, releasing her hands and draining his last cup. “I’ll make sure you get home safe before night fully falls.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, her eyes burning into his. They’d both had a bit too much to drink. Malden wondered if he would be invited to stay the night on the Isle of Horses. He could think of more romantic love-nests, but wherever Cythera was, he knew he could be happy.

He was laughing and holding her hand openly as they passed once more by the close where the image of Sadu had been put out. He wouldn’t have given it a second look had he not by accident trod on a piece of clay that shattered under his boot. He looked down and saw the arm of Sadu that held the flower. The idol had been dragged from its niche and smashed to pieces on the cobbles.

“Oh, that’s not right,” Cythera breathed, and bent to pick up the idol’s broken head. “Someone knocked it down. Who would do such a thing?”

Malden glanced up at the alcove where it had stood. Green and white streamers had been tacked up in its place.