Honor among thieves

Chapter Seventy-Eight

“Malden, no one loves me,” Cutbill said. He poured two cups of wine from a pewter jug. He held them both out to Malden to choose which he would drink from. Malden took the one on the left. Cutbill quickly took a drink from the one on the right, to prove he hadn’t poisoned them both. It was all done without much attention, a formalized ritual they both instinctually understood.

“That isn’t… completely true,” Malden said. “The thieves of your guild-”

“They fear me,” Cutbill said. “Perhaps some of the more intelligent among them, who understand a portion of the things I do, even respect me. Please don’t misapprehend me. I have no desire to be loved. I never have. When I was first putting the guild together, I had to make of myself a completely unlovable villain. Do you know anything of how I became who I am?”

“Is this another test?” Malden asked.

“If you like.”

Malden sat down in a comfortable chair, laying Acidtongue in its scabbard across his knees. He thought back on what he’d heard-rumors and hearsay, mostly, but over time he’d established a few real facts. “There’s some mystery about where you came from originally. Whether you were born in Ness or some other place. What I’m sure of is that you took a crew of common thugs and criminals and turned them into the most lethal gang in the city. This was, when-twenty years ago?”

“Twenty-five,” Cutbill corrected.

Malden frowned. Cutbill must be older than he’d thought-or he must have started his career in crime much younger than would seem probable. “By murdering the leaders of other gangs, you consolidated your power. Many of your rivals tried to draw you into open warfare in the streets, but you favored the knife in the dark, the carefully staged accident, and on occasion,” he finished, looking down into his cup, “poisoning.”

“The city watch cared little if one thief or another turned up dead in an alley come morning-but they would never have tolerated gangs of villains attacking one another in broad daylight.” Cutbill shrugged. “Further, had I butchered thieves indiscriminately I would have been left with a weakened force of my own. When I killed one man, I could absorb all his crews, and my organization grew.”

Malden nodded. “In other words, you rose to power because you were nastier than any other criminal in Ness.”

“Instead, say I was more efficient. More practical. I had to make many difficult decisions back in those days. Respond to threats in the same hour they arose. I did not sleep like a normal man, not for many years. Even today the slightest sound or even an odd smell will waken me. It is not a life I recommend.”

“And yet when you absconded from your post, you gave that life to me.”

Cutbill laughed, a short, unpleasant sound that did nothing for Malden’s nerves.

“Why?” Malden demanded. “I originally thought you were afraid of the barbarians, like all the rich men. That you had escaped to some safer place. Yet here you are-hiding in the very place you supposedly fled. Why disappear at all?”

“Because it was your turn.”

Malden just stared at Cutbill.

“You are capable of the one thing I could never achieve. Because of the things I’ve done, the people of Ness think me a shadowy villain. A bogey to scare children with, like Jarald of Omburg.” Cutbill looked up at the ceiling, at the Chapterhouse above them. “You, Malden, are quickly becoming a folk hero. The son of a whore, penniless and despised, who became the most daring-the most dashing-thief in Ness. And now, so much more. They’ll write ballads about you someday.”

“You flatter me.”

“Never,” Cutbill said, quite serious.

Malden shook his head, trying to make sense of this. “But even so, what of it? The guild was doing a brisk business. The money was coming in faster than anyone could spend it. Despite the fact the city’s deserted, we’re actually turning a nice profit by looting abandoned homes. Why wouldn’t you want to be in charge of that?”

Cutbill said nothing for a while. He went to the hearth and poked at the fire. Drained his wine and refilled their cups. Malden wondered if he was trying to think of the proper words. He’d never imagined Cutbill could be at a loss in that regard.

“Because,” he said, at last, “I saw what was coming.”

“The barbarians,” Malden guessed.

“Not the specifics. But I knew that things were about to change. There are signs, if you know how to look for them. I knew I’d taken the guild as far as my abilities allowed. Already there were forces in place that threatened to destroy all I’d made. The relationship I enjoyed with the Burgrave had become increasingly strained. Once, he and I shared an understanding. He believed that the guild of thieves served a needful purpose by keeping crime in the city to a certain acceptable level. In recent years, however, my power continued to grow. It was only a matter of time before he decided I was too influential to be allowed to continue. I knew the jig was up when Pritchard Hood became the new bailiff, a man who would have slit my throat with his own hand if he could.”

“He certainly tried to slit mine,” Malden agreed.

“If my organization was going to survive, I needed to prune away the one thing that would hold it back, keep it from growing. From developing into something new. And that one thing was me. I needed to vanish so people would forget how much they feared the guild-it had to shed its evil reputation. But that meant I would need a successor. You were the obvious choice.”

“Because people love me?”

“Because of that, yes, and because you have a brain in your head. You don’t always use it, but when you do you can think your way out of most scrapes. You see beyond the immediate circumstance, and grasp the why and the wherefore.”

“So you tried to kill me, knowing I would survive,” Malden guessed.

“No. I tried to kill you, knowing if you didn’t survive, then I’d made a mistake that could have cost me everything. There was no guarantee for you, Malden. There couldn’t be. I chose Prestwicke very carefully as well.”

Malden frowned. “Prestwicke.” He considered something, something he didn’t like very much. Which made him think immediately that it must be true. “If he had killed me-if he had met the terms of his contract-”

“Then,” Cutbill confirmed, “he would be sitting in that chair, holding that same sword. Drinking my wine, even now.”

Malden swallowed thickly.

“You both made promising candidates. I needed to know which was the better choice. That’s why I tried to have you killed.”

Malden jumped to his feet, wrapping his hand around Acidtongue’s hilt. “Prestwicke was a sadist. A madman!”

“And a devout servant of the Bloodgod,” Cutbill pointed out. “The people wouldn’t have called him Lord Mayor. They would have called him High Priest. But the result would have been the same.” Cutbill placed one hand on Malden’s shoulder. Malden fought the urge to shrug it off. “For many reasons, I’m glad it was you. But he would have served. Now, will you sit down and hear what is to come?”