that’s a duel, and half the city comes out to cheer.”
“I’m sorry you see it that way,” Croy said.
And Malden believed him. Looking into the knight’s eyes, he was convinced, utterly, that Croy’s world really was that simple. That honor meant the difference between life and death. That there were more important things in the world than a full belly and a warm place to sleep.
And of course, in that world damsels in distress had to be rescued.
“Where does Cythera come into all this?” Malden asked.
Croy’s eyes sparkled at the sound of her name. “It was while working for the Burgrave that I first met her. She and her mother lived in the Golden Slope then. Her mother is a witch, did you know that?”
“She mentioned it,” Malden said.
Croy smiled. “Perhaps you think that I mean she is some toothless hag, selling powdered bat wings and working simple hexes on strayed lovers. Nothing could be further from the truth. Witchcraft is simpler than sorcery, but it’s cleaner, too. Coruth-Cythera’s mother-counted half the best families of Ness amongst her clients. She consulted with the Burgrave on matters magical… and once, when she came to the palace, she brought her daughter with her. Cythera. I was enchanted when I first laid eyes on her.”
Malden looked away. He could understand only too well.
“We barely exchanged a half dozen words at that first meeting,” Croy said. “Yet I knew when first we met that I would love her forever. I asked her to promise she would be mine someday. She wanted to say yes but she knew she was not her own mistress, not so long as Hazoth lays claim to her services. Anyway, she was too young then to make such a weighty decision. Now she has flowered into womanhood.”
“Flowered is the right word,” Malden said, thinking of her tattoos.
Croy didn’t seem to get the joke.
“Never mind. Tell me more of Coruth. How did she end up in Hazoth’s thrall?”
“For defying him. About ten years ago she decided to take Cythera away from here-she considered Hazoth to be an ill influence on Cythera’s education. She knew Hazoth wouldn’t like it. Should Cythera ever get more than a few miles away from him, the link between the two of them will cease to function and he’ll be prey to every demon in the pit. Coruth knew he would do anything to keep that link in place. She tried to flee Ness with Cythera anyway. They made it as far as the city gates, but then-then Hazoth worked a spell on Coruth. He forced her to march back to his villa and submit herself to imprisonment in a magic circle. His power was just too great to resist. Cythera was immune to the spell, but for her mother’s sake she could only watch in horror as Coruth struggled and writhed, fighting every step.”
“Coruth has been locked away in the villa ever since?” Malden asked.
“Should she become free even for an instant, she could wreak a terrible revenge on Hazoth. He’ll never let her go willingly, and as long as he has her, he has Cythera, too.” Croy laughed. “That’s where we come in. Together we’ll fight our way into the villa, striking down every man who-”
“Sneak,” Malden said.
“What?”
“We aren’t going to fight our way in. We’re going to steal in during the night and get the crown before Hazoth even knows we’re there.”
“And free Coruth in the process, yes?” Croy asked. He looked like he didn’t like what he was hearing.
“If I can. For Cythera’s sake,” Malden said.
Croy seemed to take that as a yes. He clapped Malden on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, even if you are a thief. For Cythera! You can keep the blasted crown. Once Cythera is free of Hazoth’s bondage, she and I can marry. She will bear me a son, and if he is worthy, I will pass Ghostcutter to him when I am too old to lift it.”
He strode over to Kemper and took the sword from the card sharp’s hands. Kemper didn’t try to stop him. The silver edge of the sword was one of the few weapons that could kill him, after all. Croy lifted the sword above his head and made a swooshing pass through the air with it, careful not to break any of Malden’s simple possessions.
“In the past, I have been… confused. My duty to the Burgrave and my devotion to Cythera were at odds. Now I see, though, that destiny has led me to this pass. By freeing Cythera, I will recover the crown-and keep to both my oaths. My heart is clear.”
He seemed lost in a reverie. Malden took the opportunity to whisper to Kemper, “What make you of this story?”
Kemper laughed. “Methinks we’ve a walkin’ fairy tale in this ’un. Never once did I hear such piffle afore. Yet I heard he fought his way out o’ Castle Hill ’gainst two dozen men or more. I wouldn’t cross him, if’n I was you.”
“I’m afraid you’re right. Maybe we should have just cut his throat when we had the chance.”
“O’ course, mayhap there’s a way to profit o’ this anyway,” Kemper pointed out. “There’s liable to be some fightin’, afore this is all through.”
Malden looked over at the knight and the swords he was holding in his hands. “We could use a man who’s good with a sword, it’s true. This one’s wounded, though. He wouldn’t last five seconds against Hazoth’s guards.”
“Mayhap we don’t need to tell the guards that he’s hurt,” Kemper said. “I bet they take one look at ’im and run off.”
It was possible, Malden thought. Certainly, having the knight on their crew wouldn’t hurt.
While they spoke, Croy pulled on his clothes and put both his swords back in their rightful scabbards. Any idea Malden had possessed of keeping the knight as his prisoner was forgotten. “I’ve listened to your story, Sir Croy,” he said, “and I’ve decided to help you.” Of course, he’d always meant to steal the crown back. Frankly, as he saw it things were the other way around-he would allow the knight to help him. But it didn’t hurt if Croy saw it his own way. “Together we’ll retrieve the crown, and together we’ll save Cythera.”
“You’re a good man. I knew it when first we met,” Croy said, bounding over to grasp Malden by the forearms. “I saw in your eyes that you were a friend of Cythera.”
“A… friend. Yes,” Malden said. “Of course, I will expect some sort of recompense for my trouble.”
Croy’s face darkened in mid-beam. “I told you, I can’t offer you any money.”
“No,” Malden said, putting an arm around Croy’s shoulders. “No, I don’t suppose you can. But you do have one other thing that I want.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Later that day, Malden climbed up on top of a house in the Stink near the cloth market. Below him lay Woolcomb Square-actually a triangular space where five roads came together-with merchants doing a bustling trade, hanging out bolts of fine loden and broadcloth on high wooden racks. The women who came there to buy grabbed up handfuls of the stuff and rubbed it against their cheeks to test its softness, or tugged hard at it to measure its strength.
In their midst a girl in a tattered kirtle sold ribbon from a tray around her neck, lengths of her wares hanging down like multicolored tongues. The ribbon covered her hands nicely, and Malden watched with professional appreciation as she went up to one goodwife after another and clutched at their skirts, begging them to buy a little something so her family wouldn’t starve. When inevitably the female citizens clouted her across the ear to make her give off, she would cry and run away-straight to the dilapidated stall of a button seller who never seemed to make a sale. Her tiny hand would plunge deep into a barrel full of sequins and the button seller would nod in satisfaction. She was good, this urchin, and Malden chuckled because he never saw the coins she stole. She was just that fast.
Behind him Croy clambered up over a gutter and onto the roof. Malden gestured for him to get down, to lie prone on the scorching-hot shingles, just as he had.
“I beg your pardon for taking so long getting up here,” Croy said. His face was white as milk. “I fear I’m not fully recovered yet.”
“I’m less worried about your speed than your noise,” Malden told him in a harsh whisper. “With all the metal you’re carrying, you clang and rattle like a cutler’s wagon. Do you really need to carry both those swords all the
