transaction of the guild-including the names of every thief who had failed Cutbill and slain for their mistakes. He knew it would never have been left behind if the thieves deserted this place, and if the Burgrave raided it, he would certainly have confiscated the ledger as evidence against Cutbill.
No, Cutbill would never have let that book out of his sight. It was his life’s work, and he spent every day scribbling figures on its wide vellum pages. Yet Cutbill himself was nowhere to be seen, which was itself a wonder. As far as Malden knew, the guildmaster never left this room.
The place was not, however, empty. At first glance Malden’s eye ran completely over the old man sitting behind the desk, and failed to even register his presence. Then Lockjaw lifted a hand in greeting, and Malden jumped.
“Welcome home, lad,” the oldster said. His voice was thin, starved by many years of earning his sobriquet. Lockjaw knew many secrets but had earned them by keeping them close. He was famous for never betraying a confidence… until the maximum profit could be made by divulging it.
“Old friend, well met,” Malden said, and bowed to his elder. He had learned a great deal from this man and loved him dearly. “Is Cutbill available?” Perhaps he had simply stepped out to use the privy. Or maybe he was sleeping.
“Gone,” Lockjaw said.
“Gone? Just gone?”
“Like every man in the city who could afford to flee, aye.”
Malden could scarcely credit it. Cutbill would never leave Ness
… but then, he’d never known Lockjaw to actually lie. He was a master at the half-truth, but he never lied. “And his bodyguard, Tyburn? What of the other thieves?”
Lockjaw shrugged. “Most of ’em joined up already.”
Malden nodded carefully. “They went to join the Burgrave, you mean. That madness seems to have spread through the city like a fever. But then, tell me, who’s in charge down here? Have you taken Cutbill’s place?”
Lockjaw favored him with a very short chuckle. More of a ha. “Me, lad? Not a chance.”
“But-someone must be holding the reins.”
“Aye, Cutbill’s most trusted man’s been given mastery of the place.”
Malden frowned. He could think of no one that Cutbill actually trusted. “Most trusted” in this case could only mean the one Cutbill least expected to betray his interests. “Now who would that be?” Malden asked.
“You, lad. He left it all to you, to await your return.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“That’s ridiculous,” Malden said. How could he be Cutbill’s most trusted man? More to the point-why had Cutbill even expected him to return here? The guildmaster had sent an assassin to kill him. It had very nearly worked.
“Let me get the others,” Lockjaw said. He looked as if saying so much already had thoroughly tired him out. Ducking behind a tapestry on one wall, he emerged a few moments later leading Loophole and ’Levenfingers. The other two oldsters looked bleary-eyed, as if they’d been sleeping.
“Oh, lad, you’re a welcome vision,” Loophole said, and embraced Malden fondly. Malden had no reservations returning the warmth. ’Levenfingers patted him on the back and was all smiles.
“Cutbill was one of the first to leave the city, back before any of us had heard there was barbarians coming,” ’Levenfingers told him. “Things have been hard here, with no one leading us. Every day a few more men grew tired of waiting and just left, and we couldn’t stop ’em. We might have fled ourselves, had we anywhere else to go. We’ve been taking turns sitting watch, waiting for you. I never doubted you’d be back, not me. I’m sure you’ll have things whipped into shape in no time at all.”
“Surely,” Malden said, wishing he had any idea how he was supposed to make that happen. “Listen, fellows, I’ve been away a long while. I was at Helstrow, almost until the barbarians arrived-but I’ve had no news since then. What’s been happening?”
The oldsters looked at each other as if they didn’t want to answer. “Helstrow’s fallen,” ’Levenfingers said.
“Sacked,” Lockjaw agreed.
“The fortress is in the enemy’s hands, and the king, they say, is dead.”
Malden’s jaw dropped. Croy had been there, helping to lead the troops. Whatever else he thought of the knight, Malden had always believed Croy to be a master of things military. If Helstrow had fallen, that meant Croy had failed, and that was nearly unthinkable. “I assumed it would still be under siege-”
“Taken by base treachery,” Loophole said, looking less outraged than grudgingly respectful. If a master thief wanted to take a city, he wouldn’t use force of arms, of course. He would steal the place out from under its current owners. It sounded like the barbarians had much the same idea. “The people enslaved, the army there broken and routed. The news came a sennight ago, just when the Burgrave started raising his own troops.”
“I saw them marching in Market Square,” Malden said.
’Levenfingers nodded sagely. “And that’s just the latest batch. Many more-many thousands of ’em-are already encamped along the river Skrait. Ready to engage the enemy, should he tend this way.”
“I have trouble believing the people of Ness would jump so quick to the defense of the crown,” Malden said. “I know these people! A more corrupt, self-serving rabble you’d never find.”
“At first, it was hard for the Burgrave to inspire anyone to patriotism, true. But then the rich folk all started running like dogs,” Loophole said. “About the time the fortress fell. They must have had better information than us, because most of ’em left in a single night. Took only what they could carry, headed for anywhere they thought they might be safe. It’s clear they had no faith in their common man.”
“The next morn,” ’Levenfingers went on, “the Burgrave declared them all traitors, and as such, their worldly goods was fair game. So he seized their plate and their coin, all their land. Sold everything for gold royals. Then he addressed the people, standing tall on a dais in Market Square. Said a plague had been purged from the city, a plague of faithless cowards. Said only good, honest working men remained. Said they deserved a reward for being true.”
“A reward?” Malden asked.
“Gold,” Lockjaw answered.
“Every man what signs on with the Burgrave gets a gold royal, and a promise of another for every month he’s in the field.”
“Aha!” Malden said.
Now he had it. The cripple who tried to recruit him had mentioned good pay. He hadn’t mentioned any numbers, though.
He certainly hadn’t said anything about gold.
One gold royal was a full year’s wages for an untrained laborer in Ness. Even a skilled apprentice in a smithy, or for that matter a master in the guild of gleaners, could expect to see only a handful of the big gold coins in his lifetime. And of course they weren’t usually handed out as pay-most commerce in the Free City took the form of silver, or copper pennies and farthings. A single gold royal was a small fortune, and the promise of twelve a year was a promise that a man could get rich by fighting.
If there was one way to motivate the people of Ness, one thing sure to get their attention, it was an appeal to their greed. The Burgrave knew his people well, it seemed.
“But such folly!” Malden went on. “How many soldiers does he command now? If every able-bodied man in the city joined, that would be what, how many? Twenty thousand? There’s no possible way he could spend twenty thousand gold royals-a month-for long. He’ll bankrupt his own treasury!”
“Some have noticed that,” Loophole said with a shrug. “Some have even lampooned the Burgrave for it, and given pretty speeches to that effect in the squares and the taverns.” Another shrug. “Then the royals started appearing in the hands of men who’d never even seen one before. Men whose most marketable skill was leaning against a tavern wall and hoisting a tankard back and forth to their mouths. The gold is real, Malden.”
For now, the thief thought. It would run out pretty quick at that rate. But he supposed that wasn’t as big a
